#but my other relative we lived with grew up upper middle class and ended up lower middle class after the 2008 recession so i was Privileged

[5-htagonist]

the boondocks is so good. i dont know what black american archetypal character is missing from that show other than ahhh favorable portrayals of black queerness but 2005 (presumably) cishet man creation so you know how that goes.

[melodyplucked]

what does ricky's family look like? outside of his mom and dad, who else in his family does he see often? aunts? uncles? cousins? does/did he have grandparents close by when he was growing up?

so we know ricky has an aunt who lives at least somewhat nearby from the show- whose name pluto brought back to my attention semi-recently is judy... but that's the only canon relation we get for him in the show beyond his parents, so ... i get my free reign here so here are some thoughts

so we learned that mike and lynne were high school sweethearts- (which explains her caution about ricky and nini) but they got together senior year, and admittedly, my thoughts are along the lines that they didn't both fully grow up there if that makes sense.

this is so far from your question, BUT- mike is the reason that the two settled down in salt lake and had/raised ricky there.

lynne grew up in a more standard american city (i say this because she has to have had more exposure to The World and see the potential of having MORE than salt lake and utah have to offer) (not chicago, given ricky's evidently never been there, or at least not that he can remember, given she offers to go see the bean) for much of her life, though more on the outskirts of it, before moving to salt lake halfway through high school when her dad got a new job. i'm almost thinking maybe they lived in arizona, like- phoenix or Maybe scottsdale, to keep them more in the west. lynne's parents, so ricky's maternal grandparents, potentially settled in cape cod or something along those lines like montauk or something, so there's more distance, but i'd also consider them being in scottsdale, arizona, making there a physical distance for sure, but also- it's potentially more Emotional Distance than real solid physical distance that would be truly troublesome to cover. lynne has two siblings, my thought is an older sister, and a younger one, but i kinda want to throw in an uncle, i haven't decided where. her older sibling ended up something of a disappointment to the family, leaving her parents to sort of have to help time after time. leaving lynne to want to Excel to the highest degree. feel good about herself and not be like the one her parents feel somewhat sorry for. it somewhat annoys her that ricky struggles in school since she doesn't feel like she had that option.

i've always thought that lynne came from money, in a way mike didn't so much. not like- rich rich, but- would call themselves upper middle class v much emphasis on the upper part not the middle part. raised the kids to work hard, hence the disappointment that the oldest just... gave up. her older sister has a job and everything, has a kid, ricky's oldest cousin, who he's met a handful of times, but lynne doesn't keep super in touch, and they live far away, so ricky doesn't see that part of his family often. his maternal grandparents he would see more often when he was younger, they'd come to visit when he was a kid, do easter together, that sort of thing. ricky's never really been outside of utah other than one trip to disneyland, and i'd say that trip was probably with his parents and lynne's parents, plus his younger aunt and her baby. (his younger aunt has two kids- both younger than ricky, a daughter, and i'll say a younger son, his cousins, and they're people he sees more often, but move away from salt lake later on, definitely before ricky hits high school). they make less of an effort to travel when he's older / things seem to get more complicated at home for lynne, especially when she starts travelling so much for work, and lynne feels like she did everything the right way, and well... especially as time passes... it drives her crazy that she did all the right things and her marriage still failed ... which- that upsets her parents too.

aunt judy is mike's older sister by a solid 7 or 8 years, and her kids are, as follows, older than ricky. she's the relative that lives closest for them, his parents live somewhat close to aunt judy so she can be near to help them out, and mike goes semi-regularly to help out too. judy's kids for ricky were the cool older cousins, and they were tasked with watching the 'kids' aka the younger kids like ricky, and- beyond that- his mom's younger sister's kids too when they were around. ricky enjoyed playing with the kids, and the big kids, but the older kids are in or out of college by the time he's in high school, and only around for breaks and holidays, and don't have as much space for the baby cousin ricky anymore, aside from maybe one of them who's the one who took him to the skatepark etc. growing up and still goes when he's home.

but ricky's seen a lot of people just- moving on and leaving in his life. for their own family reasons and growing up and college and real lives... but... it's something that sticks with him, and gets brought into what finally pulls the rug out from under him when he's 16...

i've got thoughts on mike's upbringing, but i don't wanna make this any longer than it is, and i already feel like i have stuff i could change in the paragraph or so about lynne's so i'm not gonna make further commitments in this post oops. but- ricky just- doesn't give me the vibes he has a lot of external/extended family really- Around... that he sees often... whether that's due to distance or lack of effort/lack of relationships... his parents and him are more insulated from that world...

[msookyspooky]

Ok, so, I totally imagine James and Y/n meeting when she was a cheerleader and he was on some sort of sports team. I also think James was a spoiled rich kid while Y/n is in the lower class who worked at the movie store with Ray and as a lowkey drug dealer for rich kids (thank Fear Street 1994 for that HC of the drug dealer cheerleader 😔✊)

My H.C is that Y/N liked him for a while before HE asked her out. It started out normal but it went down hill. Controlling behaviour, comments on how she styled her hair, her clothes, etc, before it escalated to physical abuse and isolating her from her friends.

(My ray/yn brain makes my brain go brrrr for him being the first to see the signs 😌)

-🔪

Only thing I'll correct you on is the James being rich and YN being lower class. The entire town of Woodsboro California is relative rich (It's Cali anyways. Houses ain't cheap.) Especially in Sid's friend group....LOOK AT THAT VIEW. HOW BIG IT IS. IN CALIFORNIA? AND HER DAD'S A BUSINESS MAN? Six figures EASY.

Look at Stu's house and Sidney's house. Billy's Dad was a lawyer. Tatum's house looked relatively nice inside too. Randy is the only one we don't see but to be in that friend group I'd say he was at least upper middle class as well. He probably worked at the video store for any other reason a kid from any class does; indepence and extra cash in his pocket bc maybe his parents had cut offs for what they'd pay for. YN is most likely middle class to upper middle class as well.

I understand self inserting and wanting to make her lower class bc I myself grew up middle class but lower middle class when I became an older kid and now we're pretty much lower class without a pot to piss in. Like, my mom has tape on her back window bc we can't afford to fix it. Broke af. I had rich friends growing up and I'm not saying it's impossible for YN to be lower class hanging out with rich friends.

But if she's lower class then so is James bc that's the beginning plot in Set Up.

James went to live with his Uncle who lived in Woodsboro but he came from a shitty home life and that's where his defensive 'fuck all of you' attitude comes from. He even blamed YN while chocking her claiming she thought she was better than him. And the isolation started first THEN him choking her once or twice after Stu and Billy got in his head. Trust that the bruises on YN / physical abuse didn't last long before Billy and Stu used that as an excuse to kill him.

Everything else I can agree with! I don't personally hc YN as a cheerleader but hey YN is YOUR OC / YOU. So if she's a cheerleader in ur hc, she's a cheerleader! If she's a math nerd in ur hc, she's a math nerd! If she was some average kid that just floated and ended up in Sid's friend group, then she was!... And if she's drug dealing cheerleader? What the hell; she is then lol

Her and James DEFINITELY met at a football game or something!! 100% agree! Whether from her cheering or Tatum cheering or him smoking under the bleachers and YN talking to him.

(And Randy seeing the signs first makes my brain haywire too 😤🥴

[dramaticviolincrescendo]

So. Ryan.

I’m going back to s4 for a minute because the wonderful @damngcoffee and I were discussing fleeting yet fascinating Ryan, and I wanted to put my thoughts out into the universe. I hope you don’t mind.

I’ve never thought too deeply about the dynamic between Ian and Ryan before. Even in planning out “In Pieces,” analyzing Ryan’s motives wasn’t strictly necessary because it’s not really something Ian would pick up on based on his perspective in this situation. Ostensibly, it’s quite simple: during his club days, Ian is swinging with a new and visibly elegant circle in a drastically different part of society than he grew up in. That’s why Mickey is so out of his element there, whereas Ian expertly camouflages himself the way he always has. On the surface, there’s nothing out of the ordinary here. Just a party. Just Ian, manic and feeling on top of the world and in his element. Just another red flag missed amidst a sea of them. What happens at the party, however, really seems to potentially indicate that there’s more to this and more to Ryan as a character than merely acting as a clever setup for Mickey to indicate that he and Ian are officially in a relationship.

Up to that point, all we’ve seen surrounding Ian from Mickey’s point of view are real slime balls—older men preying on someone that they don’t necessarily realize is underage, but they definitely know is very, very young and vulnerable. There’s the lap dance guy, the one who can’t run to save his life, and the dude who’s just asking for his fingers to be broken one by one. Mickey alludes to two in particular over breakfast that first morning, and when Ian mentions a regular inviting them to a party, Mickey is focused on a rather specific image of what one of Ian’s regulars must be like.

Then they go to Ryan’s loft, and...it’s classy. Sophisticated. This isn’t a raucous after-party, but a very different atmosphere, full of upper-middle to upper-class ladies and gentlemen who are clearly professionals. Many of them are in suits or dressed nicely, having a late-night drink and speaking tastefully. They’re also substantially older than Ian and Mickey, who are only nearing seventeen and nineteen respectively at the time. These people have careers and, in the case of the sociologist Mickey speaks with, are working on advanced degrees. The only visible drugs are the ones on the table in front of Ian while he’s asleep the following morning. This isn’t the kind of party that we’d expect, knowing where Ian is mentally at this time like we do.

We tend to focus a lot on what Mickey’s response to all this is, but I’d like to use it as a diving board for analyzing a few dimensions of Ryan’s character that appear to indicate that, through the encroaching darkness of Ian’s as yet unacknowledged illness, there are people who are possibly watching out for him. So, here are a few things that stand out about our encounters at Ryan’s loft:

Ian says that Ryan is one of his “regulars.” Based on what we’ve seen so far, this immediately has us thinking there’s a level of sexual interest on Ryan’s side, even if only as something of a voyeur who enjoys watching Ian dance at the club. There’s no physical manifestation of that interest, though. Ryan noticeably doesn’t behave like the skeevy guys we’ve already seen, Ned included. That doesn’t exclusively mean that he’s on the up-and-up, of course, but I found it worth noting that their hug is just a hug, and he doesn’t step out of his role as a cordial host for a second. He treats Ian the same as he treats Mickey: with kindness and social acceptance, albeit with more familiarity. And when Ian goes with him to see what drinks are available, there aren’t any apparent undertones. Ryan immediately heads towards the open kitchen, and Ian follows at a polite distance. Host and attendee—those are our initial vibes as far as Ryan is concerned. It’s jarringly different from our other forays into Ian’s current lifestyle.

Enter the sociologist. What a fascinating individual for Ryan to interact with. He immediately asks if Mickey is with Ian, which is nothing special in itself and serves as a way to engage Mickey in conversation without simply asking what he does. The fact that he moves into that, however, is very interesting to me because he’s so straightforward about it. It’s not an interrogation, yet there’s an element of investigation to it. Perhaps he’s just a curious guy making conversation with someone who looks uncomfortable; perhaps he’s familiar with Ian from these parties and is doing a bit of research into who it is that Ian brought with him, as it is arguably the first time that’s happened. Either way, what he says that he’s studying is a “blink and you’ll miss it” sort of reference. It also flies under the radar for anyone who isn’t familiar with the field of sociology. We end up like Mickey: lost and confused by “transgender sex work and symbolic interactionism within the framework of hustler-client relations,” but generally understanding that he’s studying sex workers and pimps—emphasis on the sex workers. Something we know Ian was at the time, working the front and back of the club as he later admits.

Now, for the uninitiated, symbolic interactionism is a theoretical perspective in the field of sociology that focuses on how our social interactions with other people, social institutions, and the world around us both facilitate our construction of reality and alter or solidify our perceptions of our existing reality. While there are many directions his study may be taking him in, this sociologist is writing a dissertation on the meaning that is made between hustlers and clients—what symbols emerge that define each side, their roles, their meaning to one another, the dissemination of the values and norms that guide their relationships, etc. In short, he’s studying the socially constructed meaning of the relationship that specifically transgender sex workers and pimps have with each other and their clients.

On the surface, that has no bearing on this situation. Mickey’s confused, and it’s an ironic bit of writing to connect him to this group he’s uncomfortable with by showing that South Side Mickey is the pimp that the upper classes of society are studying for their Ph.D. It’s pure satire, a brief commentary on just how different classes of society can be and perhaps even a nod to how lower classes are inside the fishbowl that upper classes are peering into but will never truly experience. To the viewer, however, what a sign that may be, depending on your interpretation. Ian has clearly been around this group of people enough that he’s known. They’re familiar enough with him to say that he’s great and how lucky Mickey is to have him. If Ryan is one of Ian’s regulars, then they know where he came from. They know he’s young, and they know what he does for a living right now. There’s no way this sociologist—studying what he’s studying, asking what he’s asking—doesn’t have some professional interest in Ian’s circumstances. Enough, perhaps, to check in on who this person he’s brought with him is. Ordinarily, I wouldn’t read so much into that, but this isn’t the only time it happens.

The next morning, Ian is asleep and Ryan chooses to wake Mickey first. He knows Mickey wasn’t comfortable with him the night before, which I thought he handled with a lot of grace and good-humor. In most cases, I’d expect more disdain, but not with Ryan. It’s interesting, then, that he didn’t go to Ian first given their familiarity. Sure, he knows Ian worked the night prior. He may just have impeccable manners and want Ian to sleep a bit longer. If he’s a regular, he knows Ian needs it. (He probably also sees the drugs on his coffee table and figures he definitely needs it, but I digress.)

So, he wakes Mickey. He makes a casual joke. Then, when Mickey says he’s not Ian’s keeper, his demeanor shifts just slightly. His expression grows hesitant—tentative, like he’s been meaning to ask something but hasn’t quite worked up to it. For someone who should just be a regular, who shouldn’t care much outside of Ian dancing, whose interest has been that of a polite acquaintance thus far, his gaze is more intent than I’d have expected as he waits for Mickey to tell him if he’s a boyfriend or if he’s someone who is a one-night deal. Are they together, or is Mickey just a fleeting fancy for Ian?

Are they together, or is Mickey taking advantage of this very, very young sex worker that Ryan has conveniently invited to his home after work instead of him going home with some stranger?

Are they together, or is Mickey some stranger?

When Mickey says they’re together, the intensity ebbs and casual Ryan is back. He offers a contented reply and heads off to get breakfast for Mickey, still not knowing what Ian wants. If that was his prime motivation for approaching them in the first place, wouldn’t he have woken Ian up at that point? Wouldn’t he have completed his task of taking breakfast orders? It makes me wonder if that’s not why he woke Mickey at all. It makes for a good excuse when he was delivering food to others who stayed overnight, but the more I rewatch their interactions, and the more I read into how dissonant his position as “a regular” and his behavior are, the more I wonder if there’s something else to Ryan.

A regular who doesn’t seem all that interested in Ian as anything other than an acquaintance—a person, not a dancer or object like literally everyone else in Ian’s new life that we’ve seen so far.

An engineer and photographer Ian says with absolute certainty doesn’t want or expect anything from him.

A professional with professional friends who are studied in the fields of sociology and sex work.

A man somewhat older than them who checks in with Mickey—after someone else has already done so and discovered that their sex worker guest is there with a self-proclaimed pimp—to inquire after his relationship with Ian in a relatively non-invasive manner.

Ian was taken advantage of by so many people as a kid and especially during his initial spiral. I’ve always thought of this as being a lonely time for him even though he certainly felt like he was a part of everything and surrounded by all the wonders of the world. He abandoned the military and his dreams. He flitted into and out of Ned’s home. Monica flitted into and out of his life yet again. His family wasn’t looking until Lip’s hands were tied by the MPs, and even then they were almost immediately distracted by the situation with Fiona and Liam. Mickey was married and seemingly out of reach. He’d left his friends and connections behind.

But maybe, just maybe, there was a guy who saw him at work and saw him. Maybe there was a guy who was a little older, a little more educated, and a little more savvy about the scene Ian was involved in when he noticed this kid dancing on a stage in a place he had no business going to.

And maybe this guy decided that he’d look out for this kid who was in way over his head, indirect and not at all obvious about it, yet someone who cared at a time when Ian unknowingly and unintentionally had to rely on the kindness of strangers.

[lesbiansandgayssupporttheminers]

A rather tongue in cheek look at the British class system.

This post started life as an answer to an ask “how do you know which class you are?”- which is an interesting ask to receive, as I always thought most people in the UK had a strong sense of the class system and their place within it.

In the UK, class extends beyond economic factors and each social class tends to have their own, identifiable culture. This culture is, or can be inherited, and it means that people can sometimes identify as a class that doesn't match up with their current apparent economic circumstances.

Apart from the fact I find this personally very interesting, I do think it’s important to examine the class system in the UK. Classism is a very real phenomenon, which exists, for starters. class definitions are difficult and vary with culture and historical moment, but I'll attempt to lay out some key characteristics from my cultural perspective.

The aim of this analysis is not to offend (although it is, at times, to amuse), nor to present one class as “better” than the others.

 Lower- Working class: Your family have traditionally working in non-professional jobs, such as manufacturing, service/hospitality roles, other “unskilled” jobs. Work was likely insecure (especially post Thatcher) and there were periods of being out of work and relying on benefits. Historically, working class people would have lived in council houses or “tied accommodation” but increasingly, they live in insecure rentals. At times, outgoings will have exceeded the money coming in, and there may have been periods where your family needed to rely reselling goods or unconventional sources of credit in order to make ends meet. Increasingly, even in work families are sometimes relying on foodbanks. You/ your family are less likely to drive and own a car. When you were young, it’s likely that you were informally cared for by relatives, or your parents worked opposite shifts to cover childcare.

You speak with a regional accent- it might be pretty strong and you use regional dialect. You eat “tea” in the evening and “dinner” at around midday. A lot of the men in your family follow a local football team, and likely attend games. They might have a bet on the horses, but are unlikely to actually go to the races. Growing up, you might have gone to the park for a kick about with your mates, but you are less likely to have been part of an official team or organised hobby.

You may well care about your appearance, but you’re likely to do things like dye your hair at home, rather than go to a salon. Your clothes are sometimes second hand, but this isn’t through choice. It’s likely you have some clothes or outfits you consider “best”. You may have piercings or tattoos and care less about appearing “conventional”. When you go out, you probably go to a local pub which some people might consider “rough”, but you also sometimes go out clubbing.

You might be close to your family, and the community you grew up in, but it’s also very possible that these relationships are somewhat strained for various reasons. Celebrations such as Christmas (if you celebrate it) and birthdays were important to your family and your parents might have gone a bit overboard with this, even (especially) if they couldn’t afford it.

 At some point in your life, you’ve used the word “scab” as an insult- even if you didn’t know what it meant.

  Upper-Working class: Your family have traditionally worked in skilled trades, or regular “non-professional” employment such as manufacturing. You might also have relatives in the army or in the police force. These days, they might be self employed, but they would be less likely to employ someone else. There are varying degrees of financial comfort, and these days, your family may own their own home but you’re not “wealthy”. It’s unlikely your family have assets or investments beyond one property and cars. If you’re younger than about 35, you or your siblings might have gone to university, but no-one in your parents’ generation has. Your parents probably have a degree of debt beyond a mortgage (if they have one). You probably spent time in childcare when you were young because your parents had to work. If your parents have a mortgage, they are potentially overstretched by it and concerned about how they will pay it off before retirement.

You probably speak with a regional accent and use dialect words. You also use words like serviette, dessert, pardon etc. Someone in your family is really into football but they are more likely to support a team in the premiership and watch games on TV rather than going to matches- if they are into rugby then it’s rugby league unless you’re from Wales or Cornwall. You probably learned to ride a bike as a child, and it may have been your main mode of transport as a teenager. You’re more likely to do a hobby as part of some kind of formal group or club, but it’s unlikely to be one that requires a lot of expensive equipment.

You/your female relatives are probably quite house-proud and take a lot of care over their appearances. There’s probably time spent fake tanning and getting nails done. You’ve probably got a feature wall somewhere in your house. You might have your own distinct sense of style and belong to a “sub-culture” but if you have tattoos, they’re likely to be well planned and/or relatively easily hidden. When you go out, you probably go out clubbing, but you probably have a “local” too.

Family and community are important to you- it’s likely you haven’t moved that far from where you grew up (unless you were really desperate for work). It’s possible the area where you grew up is pretty deprived, although it may be increasingly a victim of gentrification, depending on where you are from.

You know someone who bought their house via “right-to-buy” and thinks this makes them middle class.

 Middle Class: Your family have traditionally worked in more professional jobs. These may not require a degree (especially historically), but we are talking things like accountant, lawyer, doctor, teacher, civil servant etc. They earned a salary rather than being paid by the hour. Some degree of their assets were probably inherited, and they may have some investments e.g. shares or a buy to let property, but this isn’t the whole of their income (unless they are retired and have a decent pension too).

Your parents owned their own home, and are/will be mortgage free by the time they retire. You probably had regular foreign holidays growing up. Your parents are likely to save up for big ticket items, rather than get into debt. You’re not the first generation in your family where people went to university. It’s very likely you had a stay at home parent for part of your childhood.

If you speak with a regional accent, it’s probably not very strong, and it’s likely you don’t use a lot of regional dialect words. You call your midday meal lunch, and your evening meal dinner. If you go to the pub to watch a sports match, it’s more likely to be the six nations than a football game. But it’s equally likely you aren’t into sport at all. Your parents probably made you get swimming and music lessons growing up, and you may well have a hobby- possibly one that requires a bit of financial investment on your part.

You like to think you have a sense of style, but you don’t like to look like you are “trying too hard”. You might be especially into a certain genre of music or films. You may make a nod to subculture in the way you dress, but if you’re older than a teenager, you probably dress in a relatively “conventional” way. You go out to bars, or chain/mid-priced restaurants, although you might also go to a pub for a meal or if there was music on.

Your family probably don’t all live in the same place, and you may only see them relatively rarely. It’s likely your parents have friends from uni or NCT classes who to some extent take the place of family in your life. You may not have a strong sense of community and it’s very possible that if your parents live rurally, you might have moved to the city for work. You’re probably not very religious.

At some point in your life, you have sneered at someone for being a “chav”.

 Upper-middle Class: Your parents are pretty wealthy and almost definitely went to university. You went to a well known university. They likely went to private school and you probably did too (although not a super famous one). If you didn’t go to private school, you went to a grammar school, church school or the most sought after “comp” in the county (your parents probably moved house to get you in). Someone in your extended family owns a second home, or at least a really nice house in the country. You/your parents almost definitely have inherited wealth and assets, as well. You/your parents may just work in a well paid job, but they may also own a medium to large size company. You probably had multiple holidays abroad each year (and it’s very likely you went skiing). If one of your parents’ cars broke down, it would have been very easy for them to replace it, without needing to save up or get into debt, but you don’t have any fear of debt, either. It’s very likely you can get a job through “connections”. It’s likely they employed a cleaner and possibly a gardener, and maybe au-pair or nanny as well.

You speak with an RP accent, and you might have “pudding” after your “supper”. It’s very likely you play a team sport of some kind, probably rugby, cricket, hockey or maybe lacrosse. You might row, or ride horses, or sail. You’ve always been able to do whatever expensive hobby you like, and money has never been a barrier to progressing. You may well shop in charity shops, and brag about the bargains you find there. You may drive an “old” car, but it’s probably a 4x4, genuinely vintage, or quirky in some other way. You have inherited jewellery and possibly some home furnishings. If you’re talented in some way, (sport or artistic) you were probably given every opportunity to persue this.

Networking is important to you and you feel part of a community. You’re probably quite socially confident. It’s likely you know some of the people you work with socially as well. You probably expect to live a reasonably traditional lifestyle, and you’re less likely to be part of a “sub-culture” (unless you’re making a career as an actor or a musician). You probably observe religious festivals, but you don’t go regularly to a place of worship. You avoid chain restaurants, but you like to go to the village pub.

On some level, you probably think “poor” people bring it on themselves through poor decision making.

Upper Class: Historically, your family were rich enough not to have to work for a living, and someone in your extended family owns a very large amount of land. You’re related to someone with a title. You went to a well known private school and you may have boarded. It’s likely your family own multiple properties- some are rented out and some you live in. Some or all of these were inherited, rather than bought. You may have a “private income” of some kind. Your family may have had to “diversify” in recent years, and you may actually be working more than your ancestors did. You might have gone to a well known university, or you might have gone to somewhere like RAU. Your family own multiple cars, and one of them is probably a 4x4. It’s likely your family employed “staff”. At some point since the second world war, your family may well have had to sell off property etc- but your money worries are “how do we avoid selling off land” not “how do we afford to replace the washing machine”.

You talk like you are from the 1940s, and everyone you know has a stupid sounding nickname. You use your own form of impenetrable slang- probably specific to whatever school you went to. You’ve probably been hunting and you know someone who plays polo. You go to events like Royal Ascot, Henley Regatta, the Boat Race and Goodwood etc. You ski. You’ve been on multiple long haul holidays, and you probably went on a “Gap Yah”.

Everyone you know knows everyone else you know and you’re suspicious of people who you don’t have acquaintances in common with. You’ll get married, in a church (you are CofE and white) and having children is fairly important to you. You’re probably involved with some kind of charity work.

You pride yourself on not being a snob, because you got on well with the people you met in Africa, but you’ve never actually spoken to someone who grew up in a council house.

[lycianthes-art]

Echinacea Chapter 2

Now, as for the princess she had taken Wynn, a unicorn, from the stables, and was now outside Kratom, the kingdom of the Serpentes… Though, even for its title, strangely Kratom housed not only Serpentes but any kind if reptilian.

(Hm? Why did she take a unicorn? Well they’re simply the fastest horses, even faster than a Pegasus.)

In trying to remain inconspicuous she, perhaps, made herself more conspicuous. She donned standard riding boots, though perhaps a little too clean for the average person. A sash of deep green fabric tied around her waist and draped over one leg, making it glaringly obvious that she belonged to the human nobility. A white ruffled blouse, once again too clean for the average person and too ostentatious to be owned by a commoner. Not to mention her dark green cloak, embroidered with golden thread and fastened with a sparkling deep green emerald brooch. Like her mother, she was pale and had green eyes. The main point of distinction was her blonde hair. Now blonde hair was relatively rare among humans—at least rare enough to cause a scandal within the human royal family. Let us save such gossip for another time.

In fact, the only population with a significant blonde demographic were the Dwarves, and perhaps some avian races. Although avian hair color presents more sunshine-yellow than blonde, since it’s genetically tied to the color of their plumage.

Ah, but it seems I’m losing myself again—I have yet to even describe Kratom. Kratom is a large, walled city surrounded by forest. Its influence does not extend beyond this local; thus, the nation and municipality called Kratom are one and the same. Each wall encases a particular social class: The royal palace the center, then the upper class in the adjacent ring, and so on. The lowest class however, lives outside the walls, shunned by society. The citizens of Kratom pride themselves on their ability to blend in—rather, to camouflage themselves within any culture. Their city and architecture showing this well, from the stone, fortressed walls of Echinacea, to the ionic pillars of Verbena. The style mimicking is even shown in housing with the symmetry of the elven citadel Ginko and the Wooden siding of Velvet Leaf—the home of the forest elves. In short Kratoman architecture has elements of every culture in the continent of Evel. Though one thing relatively unique to the residents of Kratom is their love of gold—not just the coins, but jewelry and all manner of finery.

Jewelry tends to only be enjoyed by the elite, which brings us to Kratom social hierarchies. It’s rather… discriminatory by human standards—or any other culture’s, for that matter. For Serpentes and Reptilians, it’s a matter of their physical appearance, which manifests immediately when they hatch. The more animalistic their features, the higher their rank. As such, the queen nearly always resembles a giant snake with arms. Reptilians are limited to lower castes; a form that would merit queen-hood in a Serpentes would only allow a Reptilian to rise to knighthood, or maybe baronet, if they’re lucky perhaps even baron. The lowest class is the most human-looking: a face, arms, legs, torso… one could barely tell the difference, if not for the scales. As for clothing, Kratomans wear none, as they don’t have much need for it thanks to their anatomy.

Now that the sociology lesson is over, perhaps we can continue with the story.

“Wynn, wait here. I’ll be fine without you, this city’s not as dangerous as they say.” Noreen spoke more to herself than her companion

She patted the unicorn on the shoulder, pulled up the hood of her cloak and walked from the safe covering of the forest towards the large, foreboding walls of Kratom.

As she approached the city, the anxiety in her stomach grew. The looming walls did nothing to assuage her fears. A human in Kratom is surely to gain attention, something she did well. And yet she noticed none of it, too wrapped in her own mind and thoughts.

She was oblivious to her surroundings until she reached the middle ring. Kratom is traversed rather quickly, considering the entrance gates to each ring are lined up with the last. When the gates to the middle rig swung open, Noreen was blinded by the streets and ornaments of gold. The stone buildings were a tired, dull beige, easily ignored for the streets lined by day stars and paths of sunlight. She found herself distracted by the glitzy surroundings, her anxiety forgotten. She remained oblivious to the stares of the citizens. She paused by the fountain in the center of the circle. Like the walls and buildings, it too was made of stone, with flecks of gold spread throughout it and its water almost artificially blue. She stood there in awe until the unusual silence of the busy street was broken by the sound of falling coins. This was enough to break her out of her trance and refocus her on her mission… at least for now.

However, upon entering the upper ring her attention was once again stolen by her surroundings. Here, even the buildings were made of gold… or perhaps they were merely covered by gold plating. Even the people were covered in gold. The inhabitants of this ring looked quite different than the bipedal creatures Noreen had passed earlier: they had the lower bodies of their respective species, but with a human-esque torso and face (with the exception of the reptilians, who visibly earn their name). An obvious show to the racial inequality of Kratom. The thought of someone being lesser for their appearance was something foreign to most of Evel. With this thought in mind, Noreen made her way to the palace.

The palace of Kratom was the most beautiful part of the city and as such was always open to foreigners. The palace, instead of beige, was a cool grey to more bring out the warm gold that covered most of it. After entering the large gates of the palace instead of being captivated by the large ceilings painted blue, white, and gold, or perhaps the statues carved in marble of previous rulers. Noreen’s attention was instead captured by her target: Sistrine, the ruler of Kratom. She increased her pace. The guards, now on high alert, reached for their weapons. Before they could do anything, she closed the distance to her target and held a knife to the brown snake’s throat, pinning them in place. Her hood fell off and the snake’s hood flared out. The guards made to attack, but Sistrine stopped them by calmly lifting a hand.

“Child princess, you would not hurt your dear sweet mother, would you?”

However, Noreen simply gritted her teeth in rage and pushed the dagger further into their throat.

“Try me”

The snake’s glamour disappeared. “What stops me from alerting the guards or simply crushing you myself?”

“You’ll be dead before you can try. Besides, cobras don’t constrict.”

“All snakes can, my dear. But so be it. Why do you intrude? What do you wish of me?”

“Information. There’s something I desperately need to know.”

“I’m not a mind reader, darling”

Noreen tensed at the pet name.

“What was the role of demons in The Great War?”

Sistrine looked amused. “You of all people should know that… Considering who your mother is.”

Noreen growled and pushed her dagger ever further into the throat of the snake, tears coming to her eyes, before she came to her senses and bolted.

  Upon leaving Kratom, Noreen had an eerie feeling she was being watched. It wasn’t until she reached Wynn that the culprit revealed themselves. They were a lower-class Kratoman—Serpentes? Reptilian? It is rather hard to tell with the lower classes. Either way, they were tall, with human-like facial features and green scales. Their manner in approaching Noreen was rather happy, maybe even excited.

“Human!”

Noreen audibly groaned at the delay.

“Yes? I’m rather busy”

“Oh, no worries. This will only take all of your time! Um… That was not a threat—“The reassurance did not do much to placate the princess’s unease as the stranger snatched at Wynn’s reins.

Noreen reached into her cloak to retrieve her dagger. “Speak fast”

“Right! Right! See, I overheard your conversation with the queen, and—“

“I thought your class wasn’t allowed to be in the throne room?”

“Oh, we aren’t. Anyway, it sound like you’re going to be doing a lot of traveling, and I want in.”

“It’s going to be dangerous, can you even protect yourself? Other than that how should I trust a stranger at my back? Let alone a Reptilian?”

“No. You’re going to have a lot of strangers. Also I’m a Serpentes, not a Reptilian. Which probably isn’t any better in your eyes, but I’m harmless, not a venomous species.”

“Right… Since I’m in a hurry and you have my unicorn’s reins, I’m assuming it’s easier to just let you come along, as long as you wear this.”

She handed over her cloak, then mounted the unicorn and slid back a little in an attempt to make room for the stranger.

“Of course! Thank you! But first, human, do you have a name?” The stranger did not move nor let go of the reins.

“Noreen”

“Okay, Nora! Well, I’m Sapa!” Sapa made a move to get on the unicorn.

“It’s Noreen, actually.”

“Nora?”

“Noreen.”

“Nora?”

“You know what? Fine.”

After this brief name exchange, Sapa was on the unicorn and Nora was adjusting them to sit side-saddle, with both of their legs over one side. The seating arrangement was rather uncomfortable, but with a unicorn it would be a rather short ride. Though a stray thought did make its way to Nora’s mind, that Sapa’s scales were surprisingly soft.

A few minutes into the ride, Sapa spoke up.

“So… Where are we going?”

“I’m taking Wynn back to the stables.”

“Then we can just finish your mission right then?”

“No, there’s still a lot of things I still don’t know and it would be a rather large risk I’m not willing to take. If I’m wrong I could end Echinacea.”

“But it takes weeks to get to Echinacea from here, on top of that you’re planning on traveling more?”

Nora leaned forward and grabbed onto Sapa as Wynn jumped a fallen tree, causing Sapa to let out a delighted giggle.

“On a unicorn it should only take a few hours.”

“A few hour!?” Sapa yelled in surprise

Nora gritted her teeth. “Yes, when we get there I want you to keep the cloak wrapped tight.”

“Hate to tell you, but I’m quite taller than you, and my feet look incredibly different. I am assuming, at least—I have not seen your feet, nor do I wish too”

“We’re not getting close to the castle, so it’s only if people see you from afar.”

“Even so, from a distance I’d be able to tell a human from a serpentes. After all, I noticed you among the townspeople earlier… Granted if you were Serpentes, you definitely were not supposed to be where you were.”

“Humor me,” Nora huffed

As stated, a few hours into the ride they saw the corral. Nora once more leaned forward and grabbed Sapa while Wynn jumped the fence and came to an abrupt stop. Nora gently nudged Sapa to dismount, then followed suit.

“What now?” Sapa inquired

“Since I had us Jump near the obstacle corral, first thing we do is move the tack there.” Nora started undoing the saddle buckles. “Preferably, you would take the saddle and I would take the blanket and bridle.”

“Why”

Nora stopped on the question for a while, trying to decipher what it meant. In the end she decided to answer both question she thought could be asked, and handed the saddle to Sapa, who took it.

“So they don’t notice I took Wynn, if they haven’t already. And because the saddle is heavy, and you’re likely stronger than me.”

Having finished taking off the tack, Nora started to walk towards the tack rack, motioning for Sapa to follow. Then Sapa turned to Nora.

“Now what?”

Nora sighed. “Now we jump the fence back into the woods and, since the corral is large, hope no one saw us.”

They started walking towards the outer fence.

“That’s it? No provisions? No nothing?”

“I have survival skills.”

“Have you ever had to use them?”

Nora ignored the question and pulled herself up and over the fence.

“I can tell you right now princess, survival isn’t fun.” Sapa scrambled over the fence to catch up.

“I’m not looking for fun.”

“Okay… Do you at least have an idea on where to go?”

“Ginko, Velvet Leaf, Hyssop, Tulsi, Burdock, and then Mallow.”

“Huh? Mallow’s the closest. Why aren’t we going there first?”

“It would be easier to go back to the other side of Evel and then come back, rather than starting closest, going furthest, and then returning.”

“I see… Next question: You’re human, but none of those are alliance countries. Why not? Would a human not seek aid from them first?”

“The problems I seek pertain to my mother. Should we go to alliance country, they would no doubt tell, which would put my life in danger.”

“Why would your life be in danger?”

“That’s a rather personal question, I’d rather not speak on it. Speaking of personal questions though, it’s rather hard to determine your… gender.”

“Ahaha—ah well, that’s incredibly personal, and not something Serpentes share freely… unless you’re trying to bed me?”

Nora cringed and cleared her throat.

“Back to the topic of alliance countries… They’re not really a country, but we might have luck with the elementals.”

“The elemental? No one has luck with them. I mean they don’t die and aren’t really involved in the world too much. I think the only reason the joined the alliance was to protect their forest, right? Not even for themselves, but for the animals they live beside.”

“Normally, you’d be correct. However, one of my dear friends is an elemental.”

“You’re friends with an elemental?!”

“Yes…” Nora said gritting her teeth.

“How does that happen?”

“They basically raised me. I do not know their intentions, though.”

“I’m not one to speak on parents, but that’s unusual for humans, yes? I mean being raised by someone other than a parent, much less an elemental.”

‘No, plenty of people have nannies or wet nurses.”

“What of the common people?”

“I do not know, they tend to have large families. I can’t imagine only two are parents. Could we perhaps travel in silence? At least until we get to the tavern?”

“Sure, after one more thing. Tavern?”

“There’s a tavern rather close to Echinacea run by ogres and wood sprites.”

“An interesting combination—oh, wait, I promised silence.”

They reached the tavern around sunset. The tavern itself was a basic wooden building, but huge. And as for the trip, it was mostly in the promised silence. Though not being able to expend energy on talking made Sapa restless. As they walked, they made sure Nora remained in sight. But, needing to occupy themself, they walked all over, looking at things, bouncing in place—then doing a little jog to catch up with Nora. That was how most of the trip went. For Nora, it was almost as bad as putting up with talking. For Sapa, it was torture.

When the two companions made it to the door, Nora turned to Sapa. The sound of her voice after so many hours of silence surprised the Serpentes.

“Just a tip—you’ll have better conversations with the ogres than the sprites.” She suggests in warning knowing Sapa’s over eagerness for conversation.

“Aren’t sprites supposed to be nicer than man-eating ogres?”

“Stereotypically, maybe.”

Sapa thought for a moment. “And yet your views on serpentes—“

“I’ve known many ogres and sprites. I’ve never known a good Serpentes.”

“Have you known any?”

She did not answer. Instead she pushed open the heavy door and walked inside. The tavern interior—much like the outside—was large, spacious. For perspective, the bar was so huge an average sized human could barely get their head over it. Luckily, Nora was rather tall, and the counter came up to her collarbones. Sapa, on the other hand, has no issues seeing over the counter as it only came up to their chest. The oversized furniture, however, fit the oversized proprietors of the tavern. The ogres—burly, and about three heads taller than Nora. The willow sprites—thin willowy, and even taller than the ogres.

“Noreen!” An ogre behind the counter yelled in greeting.

“Dimitrios!” Nora yelled back, flinging her arms out for a hug. The ogre jumped the bar, gaining glares from the sprites behind the bar, and lifted her into a cheerful hug.

“Um, Introductions… perhaps?” Sapa asked shifting their weight.

Nora waved her hand toward Dimitrios.

“This, as you’ve likely gathered, is Dimitrios. He introduced me to this place.’

He, in turn, put his hand on his hip and waved heartily, His clothes were a mismatch of leather, and he had a fish tattoo on his left shoulder. His skin was pale and sunburnt, his hair was long, thin, and dark. His eyes brown.

She then gestured to the two sprites behind the bar counter. Sprites are creatures made of wood and the magic of the earth. Their bodies made of vines of, in this case, willow wood. On their head grows leaves, once again in this case, willow leaves. Their eyes are, seemingly, balls of light. However, their eyes don’t glow.

“Beata and Dionysia—they got married last spring.” The willow sprites glanced at each other, then waved. Beata kept her leaves braided, and Dionysia had flowers in hers.

She jutted her thumb at the ogre and sprite in the corner. The ogre was sitting, rather reclining in a chair. The sprite was leaning over him, a knife stabbed into the table, seemingly threating the ogre.

“Sybilla and Yannis. Sybilla is Beata and Dionysia’s child. Yannis is Dimitrios’ life partner.”

Sybilla stood taller and glared, her leaves were a lavender color. Yannis looked over his shoulder and waved. Like Dimitrios, he wore a mismatched leather clothing and had sheaves of wheat tattooed on his right shoulder.

Dimitrios brings attention to himself by clapping.

“So, what brings you here? And with such company?”

“We wish to rent to room. I assume this should cover it.” She turned to Sapa and pried the green gem out of its clasp.

“I assume it shall,” called Beata from across the room.

“All rooms are available, here’s the keys to the closest. Rest up well, you look horrible.” Dionysia was all business, as usual.

“Thanks…” Nora walked up to the counter and grabbed the keys.

“Let’s go,” she said to Sapa.

They both walk up the stairs to a large hallway of doors.

“So, these are your so—called survival skills?” Sapa inquired.

“Not the ones I was referring to, but connections are a good survival skill, I think.”

They part at their separate doors.

“Are you going to be okay?” Sapa asked, genuinely worried for the naive princess.

“I’m fine.” She replies on a bit too heavy a breath, “There’s not much to be worried about, I do have a bit of a plan.”

Without elaborating, she walked into her room and lay on the stiff bed. The strength and complexity of her emotions could do all except bring tears to her eyes. The heart-wrenching sorrow, the searing anger, the confusion, and yet she could not cry… was she broken? Eventually, she drifted off, exhausted from travel and thought.

[yndigot]

As for Thomas having never been in a space for gay ppl before, I suppose I can maybe reason around it if we consider that he’s from a small town; then he goes to live in a small village w a job where he’s hardly ever free(and any travelling he does do is also on the job); and he’s working class (and iirc most of those bars etc were geared more towards upper class gay ppl) and you could maybe only find these places if you knew what you were looking for. (Also him never having been to a gay bar in his life and possibly not even knowing they existed might also explain why he was so gosh darn bitter all the time lmao; literally no fun time for him at all)

I dig that people want to talk about this! 

I don’t think Thomas grew up in a small town! Mostly because while RJC changes the way Thomas speaks in different contexts, he does NOT change his own (real life) distinctive Manc accent, so I can’t really headcanon Thomas growing up anywhere but Manchester or very Manchester adjacent. That’s not a small town with no access to city life. (We can talk about why Phyllis doesn’t necessarily sound like she grew up down the street from him. That’s another post. I don’t think Thomas would have gone out of his way to acquire such a distinctive Manc accent, though, so it’s more believable to me that Phyllis has done some work to lose her accent, not that Thomas is faking his.)

If you decide to discount the Manchester of it all, then sure, he can be a small town lad who went to live and work at country houses and has spent most of his life in rural, isolated areas. But I still see problems with that.

I’ll actually believe that he never went to gay bar in Manchester because he’s a first footman in Yorkshire by (probably) his early-ish 20s, which means he probably went into service, possibly some distance from Manchester, at some point in his teens. Since he didn’t arrive at Downton until c. 1910, it’s possible he worked at another house as a hall boy before then. Relatively young. Especially if he was working at another country house, he probably wasn’t going to gay bars on his half day. I’ll also believe that he didn’t know there were gay bars in York because it’s a MUCH smaller city than Manchester, which I think probably makes the gay scene smaller and harder to find, and tbh, if he knew it was there, you’re right -- he wouldn’t have been so miserable. So. He didn’t know about queer spaces where he grew up, and he doesn’t know about them where he lives now. I’m with you so far.

But at least before the war,* he didn’t spend the full year at a country house in rural Yorkshire. He went up to London for the season with the Crawleys. Including one season where he was sneaking around with the Duke. He had all of gay London at his fingertips and never realised it was there? At all? Not even the Duke clued him in? The Duke definitely had access to the higher class places you mentioned. He didn’t even tell Thomas such places existed? Never took him there as a sort of pet? Also, Thomas has clearly been to disreputable clubs before since he knows exactly what sort of scam Dekner is running with Andy. He’s comfortable getting around London and socialising in his (admittedly limited) free time while working for the family. He never found his way to queer spaces?

Grantham House is in St. James’s Square, which is in the West End and VERY close to major queer hubs. He never saw anyone and clocked them? And maybe followed to see where they were going? He never went cruising? No one he hooked up with ever clued in him to places where queer men socialised? I mean, I know I’ve commented in other places about how Thomas is not always good at picking up signals, but I feel like he couldn’t possibly miss ALL of that. (tbh I feel like this is discounting the number of queer men in service generally before the war as well -- when they’re all in the city for the season, he never talks to these other men and none of them clue him in?)

And we’ve got this passage in Matt Houlbook’s Queer London.

The most distinctive venues were in working-class neighborhoods in east and south London -- dockside pubs like the Prospect of Whitby (Wapping Stairs) or Charlie Brown’s--(West India Dock Road). Dock laborers, sailors from across the world, and families mingled freely with flamboyant local queans and slumming gentlemen in a protean milieu where queer men and casual homosexual encounters were an accepted part of everyday life.

Okay, so admittedly, idk that Thomas was dragging himself out to east or south London in the little free time he had in London. And while there were definitely working-class places for queer men, they do seem to be less nightclubs with bands playing and more pubs and coffee shops and cruising venues where men tried to project a very masculine image, and also places where working class pretty boys would congregate and middle class trade would come to pick them up. Maybe he’s just shocked by the open dancing. (This is my generous interpretation of the movie -- that he’s shocked specifically about the fact that it’s a night club and it’s in York, and that ‘I don’t know men like me’ is a statement about his isolation, not about him literally not knowing where he could get laid, if not in York, then certainly in a bigger city.)

Anyway, working class spaces did exist! He seems so shocked not just by the open dancing, but by the idea that a large number of queer men are gathering, and I can’t imagine he’s never realised that queer spaces exist before or that he’s never spent time in them. I just ... have a hard time imagining he’s that sheltered and clueless. There have been chances for him to be exposed to queer spaces, if not ones exactly like the one we see in the movie.

It made for a very sweet moment when he stepped into that club and his face lit up. RJC did an excellent job. I don’t think Julian’s plotting around Thomas’s previous exposure to other queer people makes a lot of sense, though. I fully believe that he doesn’t have queer friends near Downton -- that maybe he’s never really made queer friends that he keeps in touch with (rather than casual encounters that immediately pass out of his life), and so he probably feels very isolated from gay life where he’s living now. I’m sure that contributed to his depression. I tend to think he may have had an extended period of celibacy, possibly since before his crush on Jimmy, which, again, probably contributed to his isolation and depression. I just think pre-war Thomas had to have been exposed to more than the movie suggests.

I’m not discouraging anyone from writing small-town, wide-eyed Thomas if that appeals to you. It’s just 100% not in line with what I felt we got in the 6 series that led up to that movie. To me, it doesn’t feel like it matches the set up from the show. I came out of the movie thinking that Thomas and Richard were very sweet, but wondering how, given what we’d seen of him previously, Thomas had made it to nearly 40, managed to fuck a Duke, comfortably navigated seedy London, possibly(?) knew he was getting cruised at a bar, and still seemed surprised not just that such a place existed in York, but seemingly that such places existed at all. (If he didn’t know he was getting cruised, idk what to do with him, tbh. I do think he realised that Chris was interested in him, though. He was surprised, but he knew what was going on.)

YMMV. I’m not mad about people having very different takes to mine. It just didn’t really work for me. I preferred the more knowing Thomas from earlier on. Does that have to do with the tens of thousands of words I’d written of him being more knowing and worldly about queer spaces before the movie came out? Possibly. That definitely made it harder for me to see him seem so sheltered. If I wasn’t already annoyed with Julian’s approach to Thomas at various points in the series, maybe that also would have made me more willing to buy in.

*I know they went down to London from time to time after the war -- I honestly can’t remember if they were still regularly participating in ‘the season’ after it started to decline as a central part of the social calendar, although I know they did at least do Rose’s season. Maybe they were still doing it every year. Someone’s free to let me know.

(Also this is very quick and messy, sorry.)

[t4tlawlight]

Parentification of a child happens when the parent and child roles are reversed. This can take the form of instrumental parentification, where the child performs physical tasks that should be the parent’s responsibility. This can be things like paying bills, performing chores that are not age appropriate/undertaking all the chores in the household, or being the primary caregiver for younger siblings. These responsibilities mean there is no time to be a child or have any aspirations. Many children who are the victim of instrumental parentification are deprived of opportunities to have a better life, such as education.

-- “I Was a Parentified Daughter”

in the beginning, drama light is exactly the same as manga light. we see him as a young boy, brilliant, planning on becoming a member of the NPA just like his father.

[photo 1: a dimly lit screenshot of light yagami as a child talking into a yellow toy walkie-talkie. his dark hair is a bit past his ears. he is wearing a red, white and blue plaid shirt. light is saying, "I caught sight of the culprit!" photo 2: soichiro yagami is crouching on the stairs. the lighting is shining from behind him, and we can see his face through slots in the railing. he is also talking into a walkie-talkie, saying "Got it, Light. Storm the place."]

[photo 3: soichiro again talking into a walkie-talkie. he is no longer on the stairs, but it's difficult to tell where he is inside the house. he is wearing a green, yellow, and white striped polo(?) and saying, "You can't join the police if you're afraid." photo 4: light as a child still, brandishing a plastic black and orange toy pistol. he's saying, "Roger, I'm going in." into the walkie-talkie.]

-- Episode 1

the light we see in the series proper, however, is not the same as manga light. he’s gentle, and sensitive, and anxious. he suffers from panic attack after panic attack. there’s a misconception that he’s the “dumb” light, which frankly isn’t true.

the difference between them is the death of Light’s mother when he was young. his father was working on a case and refused to come to his ailing wife’s bedside, presumably assuming that she would be fine, so light and sayu were alone with sachiko as she passed.

Policeman: We got a call from the hospital. Your wife’s in critical condition. Soichiro: No, Otoharada takes priority. I’ll go to the hospital later.

[photo 1: a nearly empty hospital room. there are no decorations or well-wishing gifts or cards in the space, just a seemingly bare white cabinet against the wall, a matching nightstand beside the hospital bed, and a pale blue privacy screen off to the side. there is a body (sachiko yagami) under the white hospital sheets; her face is covered with a napkin. child light and his sister, still a toddler, are sitting beside her bed, distraught. soichiro yagami has just entered the room and is looking at the scene with his back facing the camera. photo 2: child light, wearing an unbuttoned black and white plaid short-sleeve flannel over a graphic tee. he is shouting at his father, saying, "I called and I called! Why didn't you come right away?"]  

-- Episode 1

it clearly traumatized light, if not sayu. she later says that he and his father have been distant ever since then.

Sayu: He’s acting really weird. Soichiro: How so? Sayu: I mean, he never worries about you. It’s creepy. Soichiro: That’s not creepy. Sayu: Yeah, it is! You know he’s been cold to you ever since the thing with mom.

-- Episode 2

as a result of this, drama light grew up very different from manga light--manga light is likely upper middle class, given that he can afford to toss away expensive mini tv sets, whereas we can see the yagami family in the drama struggling financially. light gets on sayu about not using electricity to save money:

Light [about the television]: If you’re not gonna watch it, turn it off. You’re running up our electricity bill.

-- Episode 1

drama light simply does not get the same opportunities as manga light. he goes to a just-decent economics college instead of working towards the prestige of To-Oh simply because he cannot afford it.

Light’s boss: Yagami-kun, you want a public sector job? Light: Well, job security. There’s no risk of them running out of business.  Light’s boss: Don’t you have any ambition? Like hitting it big and getting rich? Light: Once you get greedy, there’s no end.

-- Episode 1

but also because of the second change, which is that his father's emotional absence and distance when light needed him most (both as and after his mother’s death) resulted in light shunning his father's line of work entirely; while he still grows up with his father's morals and sense of justice, he has no desire anymore to act upon them.

[photo 1: light's bedroom, where there are so many decorations and personal items it makes the room look very busy. there's a large window along the wall behind soichiro and light. the lighting tints everything almost a blue color behind light, who is sitting at his desk, head turned a bit to soichiro. soichiro is in the doorway, staring at light's back. light is saying, "I'm hoping to get into the local ward office." photo 2: same setting, but now light is looking away from his father. he is saying, "Even if that's wrong, I don't plan to join the police."]

-- Episode 1

L: Does your son want to join the police? Soichiro: No. Light doesn’t have a good impression of my job. 

-- Episode 2

Soichiro: When you were a child, you wanted to become a police officer, didn’t you? But when your mother died, you stopped saying you wanted to join the police. It was watching me that killed your desire to become a police officer, right?

-- Episode 6

furthermore, because he's blatantly depressed, he wants nothing more than to enter the public service and gain some sense of stability in his life

Light [internally]: You can invest your life in something and it might make you money, but it won’t necessarily make you happy.

Light [internally]: As long as I can feed myself and spend my days in peace and stability, that’s all I need.

-- Episode 1

most importantly, when sachiko died, soichiro refused any of the responsibilities of a mother. he was very emotionally closed off and distant, choosing instead to throw himself even farther into his job and leave his children alone in their grief.

Soichiro: You wanted me to realize you were suffering alone. That’s what you tried to tell me, wasn’t it? If I had noticed your cries for help earlier... Your lies... Your suffering... If only I had noticed then.

-- Episode 10

instead, light is the one forced to become the “mother” of the family, so to speak, taking on both the emotional responsibilities of managing both his and his sister’s grief and raising her, as well as the associated household tasks--feeding them, cooking for them, working to put food on the table, fretting about bills, and so on.

[photo 1: sayu yagami, now a teenager presumably in high school. her hair is just past her shoulders. she is wearing a pastel purple top and cropped light blue skinny jeans. she sits on the living room couch with her knees to her chest, smart phone dangling in her hands as she turns her head, calling to light: "Hey, I'm hungry." photo 2: light's bedroom. light is jumping up from his desk in surprise, turning to face sayu, who has entered his bedroom without warning. she is wearing her school uniform. she's asking, "Hey, where's breakfast?"]

-- Episode 1

he's very maternal having to practically raise sayu from a very young age and it results in a very caring, gentle man. on top of his depression, disillusionment with soichiro’s job, and lower social class, he never has the opportunity to be a genius like manga light because he’s busy taking care of his family--he’s more occupied with seeking stability than getting ahead and playing a genius, even if he’s smart enough that he could have, in another life.

Kamoda: You’ve always beaten me on grades. You could aim a bit higher if you worked at it. Light: No thanks. No thanks.

-- Episode 1

to be clear, all of these are huge red flags for drama light suffering from parentification--specifically, instrumental parentification. i’m sure you all read the introductory quote, but here is some information on the phenomenon:

Parentification is the process of role reversal whereby a child is obliged to act as parent to their own parent or sibling. Instrumental parentification involves the child completing physical tasks for the family, such as looking after a sick relative, paying bills, or providing assistance to younger siblings that would normally be provided by a parent.

The almost inevitable byproduct of parentification is losing one's own childhood. In destructive parentification, the child in question takes on excessive responsibility in the family, without their caretaking being acknowledged and supported by others: by adopting the role of parental care-giver, the child loses their real place in the family unit and is left lonely and unsure. In extreme instances, there may be what has been called a kind of disembodiment, a narcissistic wound that threatens one's basic self-identity.

All results of parentification are negative. There are no positive byproducts; the 'maturity' and 'emotional resilience' are directly linked to their underlying anxiety and displacement in the family dynamic.

we see light acting as a parent to sayu--cooking, cleaning, working, practically raising sayu on his own while soichiro is practically out of the picture. he receives no praise for this from either his sister or his father, who take it for granted or complain to him when he doesn’t. and as many children who are forced to do so, light is left depressed, devoid of aspirations, and displaced.

the name of this meta and the graphic used to represent it is maslow’s hierarchy of needs. if you’re unfamiliar, there’s a good explanation of it at verywellmind (which i cannot link), and i bring it up because drama light and manga light fall into very different categories. manga light has made it all the way through esteem, and is currently working on his self-actualization throughout the story of Death Note:

"It may be loosely described as the full use and exploitation of talents, capabilities, potentialities, etc. Such people seem to be fulfilling themselves and to be doing the best that they are capable of doing... They are people who have developed or are developing to the full stature of which they capable."

Self-actualizing people are self-aware, concerned with personal growth, less concerned with the opinions of others, and interested in fulfilling their potential.

drama light, on the other hand, has barely even broached his social needs. his place on the pyramid is “love and belonging”--he has love, from his friend kamoda, and from sayu, even if she doesn’t appreciate him--but his relationship with his father is strained and his mother is gone, and his parentification has left him feeling out of place.

it’s these relationships, though, that are the core of why he begins using the death note to begin with. 

immediately before light gets the note, he’s working and talking with his wealthier friend kamoda, who was targeted throughout their lives by a delinquent named sakota who extorted money from kamoda through physical violence. we’re shown a younger light in high school watching this violence, incapable of helping his friend. sakota is released from prison in the first episode and immediately finds light and kamoda again, extorting money from kamoda at knifepoint.

kamoda responds like this:

[photo 1: light, as an adult, standing outside. it's night, the lighting is dim. he is scowling at sakota, who is out of view. light's internal thoughts are split between these two images. the first reads "I wish guys like him--" and the second reads, "--would just go away forever."

photo 2: light's close friend kamoda, curling in on himself in fear. his fingers are laced together and he's holding his arms to his chest, cowering. he looks afraid. he is wearing a long sleeve blue shirt and an orange backpack.]

-- Episode 1

it’s moments after this, when light is walking home, that he finds the note. he writes sakota’s name not because he’s bored, like his manga counterpart; he does it because he internalizes kamoda’s words and because both he and his best friend were threatened at knifepoint by him. even then, drama light has second thoughts, attempting to erase and then scratch out the name.

when it works, light is utterly horrified, overhearing about sakota’s heart attack while eavesdropping on his wake. he nearly has a panic attack until, once again, he hears how people respond:

[ photo 1: a public setting, in front of a funeral home. sakota's funeral has just finished. it is still daylight out. two young men in black suits have come out from the funeral home and are walking down the sidewalk. one of them asks, "Sakota did nothing but make trouble for people when he was alive, right?" light is hiding behind shrubs and a tree on the other side of the sidewalk, crouching and covering his mouth. photo 2: a close up screenshot of a hand holding a smart phone. it appears to be viewing a group chat of some kind, and multiple people are messaging it and talking about sakota's death in japanese. there are several messages that contain "WWWW" which is the japanese equivalent for "lol". one of the young men from the previous picture is saying, "Deep down, they're all relieved he's dead."]

-- Episode 1

at this point, though, light is still horrified. he wants to believe it’s fake, so he throws the note in the trash and attempts to dump it. unlike manga light, who feels the need to test it and dismiss any lingering doubts that he may have unintentionally murdered a man, drama light would rather put it out of his mind entirely.

obviously, sakota is very different from manga light’s first murder, and that’s because in the tv drama the first two murders are switched. sakota, who has a heart attack on his motorcycle, is intended to be the man manga light killed at the convenience store for sexually harassing a woman. the second murder in the tv drama is otoharada kuro, the man holding an elementary school hostage, and in this adaptation he also has a personal connection to the family: the case that soichiro was on when sachiko died was otoharada’s original arrest.

in the tv drama, otoharada takes an elementary schooler and her mother hostage in order to exchange her for soichiro himself, who he blames for his original arrest. light hears about this from matsuda, and for the third time, his sister responds like this:

[photo: a large room with several wide windows streaming light into it through white blinds. there are three rows of long desks, two chairs at each, similar to a classroom. police officers and detectives are buzzing around; some are going through files and paperwork frantically. sayu and light are in the far back on a bench against the wall. light is sitting, hands folded in his lap, as he watches his sister. sayu is standing, wearing her school uniform of a blouse, tie, and plaid skirt. she is shouting, "Just kill that scum and save my dad already!"]

-- Episode 1

light returns home and uses the note for the second time in order to save his father, who light still respects and craves the approval and emotional support of even despite their distance.

at the point of his second murder, manga light has a breakdown before almost immediately compartmentalizes his guilt and doubling down on the idea that he can do no wrong because he's been told he can't his entire life. for the first week until ryuk arrives he begins killing people in earnest, whereas drama light is deeply and profoundly horrified.

[ photo 1: a mid-chest and upwards shot of light. he is in his bedroom, looking down at the floor. he is wearing an open plaid shirt over a tee shirt. the subtitles for his internal thoughts say, "I would have been happy...just letting the days pass by uneventfully..." photo 2: a close up shot of light's face. he is wide-eyed, dragging his left hand down his cheek and staring at his right. in horror, he is saying, "I killed them."]

-- Episode 1

he ultimately ends up fleeing to a rooftop in the city and attempting to throw himself off of it before being talked out of it by ryuk. ryuk tells him that he can take the note back and erase light’s memories of it--which light nearly accepts--before mentioning that if light didn't want it, he'd give it to someone else, potentially a criminal who could do terrible things with it.

Ryuk: What if a real bastard like those guys you killed, Otoharada or Sakota, picked up that notebook? Light: No! Ryuk: The person who picks up the Death Note gets to decide how they use it.

-- Episode 1

so light takes the note.

what happens after this has been summed up by tumblr user whoresband in their post about drama light (which i can’t link due to tumblr not letting this post appear in the search but i’ll link the relevant portions and you can look it up):

when he gets the death note, he gains a power that was unavailable to him as a child. it was initially his sense of responsibility to his family and his caring nature that drove him to use it, but it was that promise of power that made him keep using it. as the series progresses, light begins to change. he tells sayu to cook for herself, to wash her own clothes. he demands a seat with his father, and sayu pours him a beer just like she did for their father. he stops being kind to misa and begins to use her as a tool for his plans. he manipulates women in his path, consistently viewing them as tools and neglecting their humanity. the death note has given him access to manhood and the freedom that it provides that he was denied by taking on the role of his mother. the death note teaches him that masculinity holds power, and he gladly takes hold of it. 

i’m not going to reinvent the wheel and just restate what this person has said, because it’s spot on, but i will provide examples--

he tells sayu to cook for herself...

[photo: light is in the yagami household, but it's difficult to say which room. the lighting is dim and it's difficult to see much of his outfit or eyes. he is saying to sayu, "Cook for yourself for once. I'm tired."]

-- Episode 1

[photo: light, sayu, and soichiro are all in their dining room. it is very busy-looking; it's full of furniture which is lined with knick knacks and thriving green potted plants. soichiro is wearing his work clothes, including a white dress shirt, and he's sitting at the table watching his children. sayu is standing between soichiro and light, with her hands on the chair next to the table. we cannot see her face, as it is turned to light, who is in the doorway. he is wearing a sort sleeved button up, unbuttoned, with a tee shirt and jeans. we can see the strap of a shoulder bag across his chest. light is saying to sayu, "Cook for yourself, for once."]

  -- Episode 2

..to wash her own clothes.

[photo 1: light and ryuk in light's bedroom, both facing sayu, who is offscreen. light is sitting at his desk, looking anxious. the shinigami ryuk is looking over him, wearing a sinister grin and wearing all black. light is saying to sayu, "Then... wash it yourself."]

-- Episode 1

...he demands a seat with his father...

[ photo: a blurry screenshot of light from the shoulders up. he is saying, "Maybe I'll have a drink."]

-- Episode 2

...and sayu pours him a beer just like she did for their father.

[photo 1: a shot of soichiro from the mid-chest up. he is wearing his white work shirt and rectangular, black glasses. he looks surprised, mouth slightly agape. he is looking at light and sayu, offscreen. light is saying, "Sayu, can I have a cup?" photo 2: the yagami family in their dining room. soichiro is sitting at the table on the viewer's right in his work shirt. one of his hands is reaching for a beer, and his other arm is resting on the chair beside him. light sits across from him on the viewer's left. sayu stands between them. she is saying, "That's unusual. Here."]

-- Episode 2

he stops being kind to misa and begins to use her as a tool for his plans 

[photo: a closeup of light's face. he looks very serious, speaking to misa. we can only see the back of her head. light is telling her, "If I think you might tell them about me, I'm writing your name in my Death Note."]

-- Episode 4

he manipulates women in his path, consistently viewing them as tools and neglecting their humanity. 

photo 1: a very close screenshot of Light's handwriting in the death note. in english, he's written, "Halle Lidner". below her name is some japanese handwriting. Light reads, “After coming to an underground parking lot in Yaehashi and giving the Death Note to a man waiting there,”]

-- Episode 10

but this isn’t the only option light yagami is offered. you may have noticed i went this entire post without mentioning the other major player in the tv drama: L. 

a large part of what drives light to ambition isn’t just receiving the note and gaining power, especially when his memories are gone and he lacks that foundation; it’s his rivalry--and then, briefly, friendship--with L. L drives him to do better, both when he’s on the opposite team and when they’re on the same one.

unfortunately, this post is getting long and in order to do the next part justice, i need to flesh out drama L and his motivations a bit more, so i’ll be posting him as a standalone post in the coming days. it’ll cover his character development in the tv drama and how he affects light in turn up until the end.

if you liked this analysis i highly recommend checking it out HERE! thanks for reading!

[sybilius]

Three things I thought needed to change about Newsies (1992)

and why I was actually wrong about that!

Hi! Thanks for tuning in on this inevitably preachy post about why I adore Newsies (1992)! I grew up knowing every song with my sister. I can’t tell you how excited we were when in my late teens, the both of us got to see it live on stage. 

Unfortunately, I also can’t tell you how disappointed we were about the changes the musical made to the film. Ultimately I did some self-reflection on some criticism a younger version of myself had on the film, and the way the musical answered those. I came out of the musical realizing those critiques were actually rooted in my own (privileged) upbringing; and that the movie had it right all along. 

So you know, click that readmore button if you want to read about why 92sies is very excellent pro-union information, and the way the musical waters that down. I’ll add that though I’m critiquing the musical in this post, I’m not actually trying to say one needs to be enjoyed more over the other -- just that I feel the pro-union politics of 92sies are much stronger than that of stage Newsies :)

*

1. Jack ended the film with no prospects for a ‘real job’. 

I have to admit, coming from a relatively neoliberal family in Canada with solid upper-middle class upbringing, this was the first thing me and my sister chatted about. He’s really going to be selling newspapers his entire life? What’s that about?

The musical ‘fixed’ this by giving Jack talent as an artist! AND an in with the newspaper. By the end of the Newsies musical, you can be confident that Jack Kelley will eventually drop the job of newsboy to the more cushy job doing illustrations. Will he still be a newsboy? Maybe, but he’s got upward mobility. 

When we left the musical, my thought was ‘well. I guess that’s better’. But then I thought about the implications there. The idea of certain union work, everyday industry work being ‘worth less’ than a white collar artist’s job. I thought “wait a minute...maybe, the problem...is me, here?”

That’s not to say that newsboy is currently much of a lifetime career (and maybe the film asks-- perhaps it should be!), but the point the film was trying to make was that there is nothing wrong with coming back to your community and advocating for you to receive fair compensation for the important work you do. Jack doesn’t need to ‘move up’. What is important is that he protects his fellow workers so they all get a fair shake. And what’s also important is that he stays close to the workers, so that he can properly advocate for them.

2. Jack needs a woman who is more ‘up to his standards’

From a modern standpoint; Sarah does look passive. She doesn’t play a huge role in the film, and at the time felt like another tacked-on love interest. On some level, I still resonate with the idea that she feels a little ‘tacked-on’; especially given the focus on the Newsies story. And there’s no doubt that because the film has decided to present only male newsboys, it remains a pretty male-focused story, which I can see as a reason someone wouldn’t want to watch it.

But although Katherine, who is a fun, sassy, intelligent woman, has a lot of great traits to her, hers and Jack’s relationship kind of left me cold in the film. The vast majority of that is that though her agency and role in the film is much better than Sarah’s (nice!), the film has still positioned her as adding to Jack’s life in a very particular way.

And what way is that?

Katherine Pulitzer offers Jack Kelly a way to ‘marry up’ in the world. 

Contrast this to Sarah, who basically offers Jack a way to ‘marry in’ to his found family. And I have to say, in terms of my personal values, found family is going to trump riches any day. 

And what of intellectual equals? Well, Jack and Katherine do have a bit of sniping that could be seen as them connecting on an intellectual level, sure -- but when I recently watched Newsies I noticed how lovely Sarah was about listening to Jack’s concerns. The film should have given her more desires beyond ‘pleasing her family’, absolutely, but in their relationship I just see a different, but still healthy relationship. 

3. The newsies never ‘worked with’ Pulitzer to solve the problem.

This one is a stretch because I’ll be honest-- I never really thought of it in exactly these terms. But boy, this is the one part of the stage musical that grinds my gears the most -- the replacement of a plucky intelligent strategist (Davy, whose role is diminished in the stage musical to make room for Katherine) and a principled journalist (Denton! Who was just straight up cut), with an ‘inside woman’-- the daughter of the very man who is antagonizing the newsies for his own personal vendettas.

I cannot begin to describe how much swapping out Denton with Katherine weakens the pro-union politics of the film. A good union has to rely on a principled press for the attention and public support their movement needs -- as was very neatly demonstrated in 92sies. And what was so fantastic about Denton is that even though he takes a fatherly attitude towards the newsies (paying for their lunch, etc), he always emphasizes that the responsibility lies with them, and them alone. 

Denton knows that the people in power will not save the newsies, because they don’t give a shit. The newsies union job is to make them give a shit, with the power of the presses, and with people power.

If you throw in someone of power into their movement, especially someone who exerts familial rather than systematic power over the Pulitzers of the world? Good god, what are you saying? That a union needs to wait for a benevolent billionaire to come and decide “oh yes, what you’re saying is Right and Good actually”. That all it takes is ‘finding one of the good ones’? 

The framing of Katherine is careful. She has to struggle to get her voice heard, yes, and at first glance it seems to say ‘ah yes, working with an inside woman is more permanent. and look, women in power? they’re so good at conscience related things hahah just want nasty old Pulitzer needed’.

...Man, I just look at that and thing ‘how many years will it be until people are asking do you think Katherine Pulitzer effective utilized grrl power when she refused to let newsie wages keep up with inflation? -- honestly, this is the kind of cronyism that these kind of implications lead to! It does not matter if there’s a woman in power or a man, if she doesn’t understand the specific struggles of the worker and gives them a voice!

This isn’t actually about Katherine at all -- she was a fun character and very dynamic. It’s about the modern take from Disney on their film being markedly less pro-union than its prior. It’s about Disney, with those changes, saying ‘look, you need us, actually, and you should be abandoning your fellow workers to move up in the world, and oh, hey, we can help you do that!’. They wrap it in a progressive bow, but the messaging is there loud and clear. 

I wish Katherine had not been Katherine Pulitzer. That would have made the stage musical infinitely better. If she had been just like Denton, but younger, and having nothing to do with the Pulitzer dynasty. How easy a change would that have been? 

Anyways, this has been Quite The Rant. I have no idea what I hope to accomplish with this, I just wanted to put out into the world some things that I have been thinking about with respect to Newsies and unions. Watch 92sies ya’ll. And question your own thinking about what a good job/life looks like, especially if you come from a background like mine. Thanks for reading <3

[adirabennett]

What Was I Doing About Racism BEFORE George Floyd Was Murdered?

I’m white. And as racism goes, I always kinda figured I was at the lower end of the spectrum. I’m from New York City and grew up in a diverse neighborhood, attending public schools with classmates from many different cultures. Like... I’m aware that racism is very real and bad, and I’m aware that I’ve benefited from white privilege for my whole life. I sometimes notice stereotypes sneaking into my head, but I label and correct them. I’ve taken Africana studies classes. I have Black friends. Blah blah blah. The things we subconsciously tell ourselves to feel comfortable.

But before George Floyd’s murder, what was I DOING to actually COMBAT racism in our society? Before George Floyd’s murder, how often did I post about Black Lives Matter? How often did I donate to anti-racism organizations run by Black leaders? How often did I search for Black-owned businesses to purchase from instead of just ordering from Amazon? The answer is... occasionally. A little bit. The answer is, I only examined and dismantled racism in the moments when I felt emotionally strong enough to do so.

It’s not that I didn’t care — thinking about what Black people have been forced to endure in this country for centuries makes my blood burn. It makes me sick to my stomach. It hurts. But that’s only the relatively minuscule hurt I carry as a mere witness. My ancestors were not kidnapped, enslaved, beaten, tortured, raped, devalued and dehumanized and assaulted in every possible way by the very same people who are still memorialized in this country as holidays; statues; the twisted narratives of the textbooks in our schools. I don’t feel terrified when a police officer passes by; my skin color isn’t erased from movies, TV shows, novels, magazines, plays.

And so I have the choice. I have the choice to not think about racism every single day. I have the choice to work on it only when I feel like it. Thinking about racism was painful and shameful, and trying to find ways to fight it often felt hopeless and overwhelmingly immense, so maybe 8 days out of 10, I tucked racism into my Not Right Now folder. I posted about Black Lives Matter, signed petitions, and attended protests when I chose to engage — usually after a violent racist event that made news headlines — and the rest of the time, I wandered through my life on a cloud of white privilege. 

It fills me to the brim with shame that I have been living this way while my Black peers — my fellow human beings; my fellow citizens — have been living in a state of perpetual trauma, forced to confront racism in countless ways both big and small every single day. My Black siblings in the family of humanity have been suffering. They have been carrying burdens of pain, fear, grief, and rage that no person should ever be expected to carry, and instead of holding their hands, instead of listening, supporting, and strengthening them however I can, I have too often simply been looking away.

For this, I want to say very plainly and sincerely: I am so, so sorry. Tears are running down my face as I type. For a long time, I have been quietly letting down every Black person I have ever known, ever loved, and the Black community as a whole. You should never have been left to fight the monster of racism alone. It is my responsibility and the responsibility of every other white person to show up for the Black citizens of this country (and of the world) — not just once. Not just when we feel like it. Not just when another instance of police brutality makes headlines. Not just for some Black people; just cisgender, heterosexual Black people, just able-bodied, neurotypical Black people, just thin, light-skinned Black people, just middle and upper-class Black people, just Black people with immigration documents, just Black people we know personally. No. It is our responsibility to show up consistently, for all Black people, with our eyes and ears and hearts open.

I am still figuring out how to do this. I think I will always be figuring out how to do this. As a white person, it is my job to identify and dismantle racism from its roots: within myself and my community. Racism didn’t start with Black people; it started with white people. And it can end with us, too.

[rosepetals-flyingbirds]

Litet-vis-maðr.

With: Biker!Ivar Ragnarson x Reader.

Warning: Language… only that?

Word Count: 2,662.

An unbearable loud noise woke you from your sweet nap. It was midday and since you weren’t feeling good your boss gave you a couple of extra hours on lunch break so you went home to try some rest.

The sound was one you grew accustomed too well. Your neighbor was Siggurd Ragnarson, but he wasn’t the problem. No.

It was his family, his brothers and their terrible motorcycles. But one of them always itched you the most: Ivar.

He was flirt in person if flirt was a person. He couldn’t see you without gazing and give you his signed smirk.

You wouldn’t spend your deserved break awake because of them. Feeling brave enough you got to your feet and walked to the small fence. 

The Ragnarson’s were on their bikes and just one of them was on, the one making the annoying noise, Ivar’s.

“Y/N what an honor to see.”

“Well, some people work! Can you please stop with that? I’m not really good today and I need some sleep.” Ivar looked at Hvitserk and shook his head.

“No can do, princess. We are trying some new breakers.”

“Can’t you try at your house? You don’t live here.”

“So you know where I live now?” He teased.

“Siggurd!” You yelled and Siggurd appeared in the place holding a few beers.

“I’m trying Y/N/N, but Ivar likes the attention.”

You tried one more time more calmly, even though your head was bumping. “Ivar, please.”

Ivar turned it down and you got worried for a moment, he actually listened to you?

You walked back to your house and laid down, only to hear the stupid sound again. “Ivar.” You yelled and ran to your door. “For fuck sakes, I swear!”

Then you saw all of them leaving on their bikes.

Thanks to Ivar you lost all your will to sleep. 

                               …

Back at your work you ended your shift around 8 P.M and walked home holding your bag near your chest. Since your job was close to your house you hadn’t brought your car and decided to walk instead.

In the middle of the path you heard the noise and squeezed your eyes praying to not be the Ragnarson you were expecting. 

But it was.

“Feeling better, princess?” Ivar asked and stood on his bike howling it on the smaller speed.

There it was, the annoying nickname. “Can you quit calling me princess?”

“But is that what you are.”

You stopped your steps and glared at him. “Ivar I’m not in the best mood today. So please, back off.”

He turned the bike off and ran to your reach. “Right I’m sorry.” He reached you but you kept walking. “Listen I’m trying to apologize. Siggurd said he saw you awake late yesterday and how tired you walked back to work. I don’t want to be the reason your tiredness get worse.” He moved to your front and blocked your movements. Scoffing you stopped and gave him your full attention. “Thank you. Now how about I take you to eat something? On me of course.”

“Ivar stop trying to get me, listen you’re all pretty and everything but I’m not another name on your list! Go look for that Margaret bitch your brothers used to share.”

“First is Margret and second,” You rolled your eyes at his attempt to correct her name and pushed him regaining your steps. “Okay okay. Look I’m trying to be nice.” He defended.

“No! You’re trying to get on my pants.” He rolled his eyes. “I don’t blame you, you are a guy, your male necessity to feel on top of the food chain and all that shit-”

He grunted. “Why is so hard to believe I like you?”

You laughed. “Ivar, you are a guy, trust me I’m already tired of all the illusion.”

“Go eat with me, a pizza. Then I’ll back off.” You looked deep into his blue eyes.

After a few seconds, you nodded. “Fine! But you are paying!”

You hopped on the bike and Ivar drove you to the best Pizzeria in the town.

In there you sat in the further secluded booth trying to avoid any possible lousy girl that has eyes for the Ragnarson’s.

You two sat facing each other. “So,” He started shyly and you just watched his moves, normally he was annoying the life out of you and then he was nervous?

“So what? Come on Ivar you annoy me all the time.”

“Maybe I don’t want it to be the first and last time we hang out.” You rolled your eyes and started to get on your feet but he laughed and grabbed your wrist. “Please stay. I just can’t believe you here.” He said and his beautiful smile was melting your heart. “Tell me how was your day.” He waved to the waitress and she brought sodas and gave the menu, she spent way too much time watching Ivar’s charming persona before looking you up and down and walking away.

You let it pass and shrugged. “Nothing much, I was feeling bad so I went home earlier, but you know my neighbor’s younger brother is a pain in the ass and didn’t let me sleep.”

“Younger brother, uh? Sounds hot.”

“He likes to think so, but out of his four older brothers he doesn’t look that appealing.”

“Hey!” He shouted smiling. “I’m by far the prettiest,” He said way too surely and you just titled your head smiling at his reactions. He grabbed the drinkings straws and placed inside his mouth under his upper lip making him look like a mammoth. “And the more charming.” His voice became less raspy because of the situation and you couldn’t stop laughing at the vision.

He took it off and looked at every trace of your face. “I made Y/N Y/L/N laugh. I need an award.” He said truly happy.

You nodded your head and enjoyed the sweet atmosphere. He called the waitress back and asked the pizza after arguing with you saying that pineapple pizza wasn’t a real pizza.

The pizza came and you two ate it in silence, you were glancing at his tattoo and wondered about it, by the name Ragnarson you knew where his origins were from, and all of his brothers had the same tattoo in the same spot. “What is the tattoo about?”

He cleaned his mouth with a napkin and turned his palm to be able to see the written. “It was a runic inscription found in the Oseberg ship grave litet-vis-maðr. The owner of the ship was my great-grandfather and all my relatives have that tattoo.”

“That is nice, having something so meaningful and sharing with family, I wonder how would that be.” You smiled at the thought. “What it means?” You drank your soda and Ivar chewed the last piece of pizza for explaining.

“The meaning is debated but generally translated as “man knows little”. It shows us how we are basic down here, that it doesn’t matter how much money or power you think you have, we are just ignorant humans.“

It was really touchy. “Wow, I didn’t know you guys were that philosophical.”

“Yeah.” He shrugged and finished his slices.

The conversation ceased but oddly you didn’t want to. “So how Siggurd know I was awake until the late hours yesterday and how I looked after you left? Did you ask him to spy me?”

He snorted. “Please. If I wanted to spy on you I would do it myself.”

“Good to know, because that doesn’t sound creepy at all.”

He laughed again. “I don’t know I guess he was working on his new music with his stupid band and maybe saw your bedroom’s light on.” It made sense, Siggurd had a band and he was actually really talented, but he didn’t look like the nosy type.

“So you ask about me uh?”

He could defend himself but he always flirted with you so it wasn’t something new. “Maybe.”

You looked around the place and didn’t remember ht last time you went there, you spotted the waitress again and she was literally biting her lip looking at Ivar. “You know, I’m liking all of this.” You moved your hand mentioning the two of you. “But I guess Mrs.RedLips over there are really into you.” He darted his eyes to the young lady and smiled at her. “I can leave if you want me to.” You said pissed.

Ivar chuckled. “Jealous now?”

“Dear Ivar, do whatever you want to do. Just please don’t appear on your brother’s house tomorrow because is my day off and I want to sleep!” You pointed. “Actually if you make me the biggest favor asking your brothers to not go there whether I would love you.”

“You wouldn’t handle loving me.”

“Me? Ivar I can handle anything.” You teased and he asked for the bill.

“How about a ride?” He offered. “We jump on the bike and drive around.”

“If you try anything, just know that I can protect myself and I won’t hesitate to kick your balls.”

Ivar titled his head. “Baby keep talking dirty to me.”

You laughed heartily. “No, please don’t say that!” He laughed too and the waitress literally throws the bill on the table. Ivar shook his head and grabbed the money to pay, you let him. You could split it but Ivar said he wanted to pay and it was his idea after all.

In his motorbike he handed you his helmet. “I won’t use it knowing you can open your head.”

He rolled his eyes. “Y/N why do you make everything more difficult?”

“Look Ivar, thank you but it would be better for me to go home.” You crossed your arms and gave him a small smile.

He cut. “No, listen we can to your house and then you let your purse there and put something warmer and I grab another helmet with Siggurd, sounds good?”

“Why you want that so much? Is a bet or something?”

He took a deep breath. “Woman, you are the most unrealistically complicated person I had ever met. And you know Sigurd is my brother.”

“If it’s I won’t blame you, just tell me already because of I’m tired and way too older to this teenager stuff.” You said with no emotion.

“Is not, I swear.” He answered sincerely.

You thought about his proposal and nodded. “Then okay.” He smiled feeling happy he accomplished another small victory.

                              …

In your house, you took a quick shower and chose some jeans, long sleeve shirt and a jacket.

When you walked into the front yard Ivar was already sat holding the helmets. You grabbed one of them and hugged his midsection while he drove fast. You loved the feeling but he surely didn’t fear to die.

He stopped in front of a garage and you reminded him of your defense classes. 

He just laughed and opened the big door. It had a few motorcycles both fixed and pieces waiting to be put together. A few old car’s seats making a different armchair style. 

A couple of cars, probably something they had been working on and of course some motorcyckes. The place was cozier and bigger than you would expect. “What is that?”

“Our garage, you didn’t believe we would fix the motorcycles on Siggurd’s front yard right?” He pointed and took a few things out of one of the chairs.

“Sometimes I do.” You pointed. “That is so cool.” You couldn’t stop looking at the place, it was mainly vintage, you could easily spot all the Ragnarsons sitting around the place covered in grease working on their loved motorcycles. “So tell me, here is where all of you bring your victims?”

Ivar laughed, fully knowing you meant girls. “Nah, girls don’t like those sort of things. Our uncle has a club and well chicks dig there better.”

You laughed but your eyes were still wondering about the place. “Well, it makes sense.” You saw something craved on the door and saw it was the same runic phrase they had. “Okay, this is like the coolest place ever.”

“Seriously? I thought you didn’t like those things.”

“You’re kidding? Of course I do. I just hate how you and your brothers adore driving around while I’m trying to sleep.” You defended.

“I give you that.”

You looked at the uncountable tools it has over there. “Do you know how to use all of this?”

“I guess my father would disclose me if I didn’t.” He answered and you smirked at the absurdity. 

Ivar asked why and you answered that your car has an annoying sound and you can never fix it.

Then Ivar opened a car’s hood of the one that embellished the place and said he would help you. 

You tried to follow his instruction and all that he explained, when you realized your hand was all dirty just as your t-shirt. “This is easily the dumbest thing you could have put me to do.”

“No come on, look we do this and this.” He mentioned and you saved the information for later. 

You looked at your hand and at him. “Ivar what is the point of teaching me if my car isn’t here?”

“Not everything is practice Y/N.” You giggled and he looked at you wondered if you had lost your mind. “What?”

“Sorry, is just. Not everything is practice could easily be your sextape name.” You kept laughing and tried to place your hand on your lips to control your loud laughs but then your hand was all dirty with grease. 

Ivar laughed and said that karma came to bit you in the ass.

He gave you the cloth and you cleaned the most you could. 

You two talked a few more and he told his childhood stories and you told yours, he offered a beer but you avoided and didn’t let him drink either, he was driving you home after all.

The hours passed rather quickly and you asked him to take you home, you really liked the time but you couldn’t let yourself fall for one Ragnarson, especially Ivar.

He didn’t try anything and it was comforting somehow.

                                …

In your front yard you thanked for the pizza and for the teaching, he agreed and asked you to give the helmet back to his brother. 

The place became silent so you just said goodbye again and started to walk back. “Y/N.” He called. “What about I come back tomorrow or any other day and we can fix your car. I mean really fix it.”

“Goodnight, Ivar.” You answered and grabbed your keys unlocking the door.

“Come on, I need to change the name of my sex tape.” He yelled and you started out laugh, the old lady that lived in front of your house shook her head at Ivar’s words and it made you laugh even more. “Please.”

“I will text you.” You answered entering your house and held the knob in your hand.

He smiled but frowned. “Wait, you don’t have my number.”

“Your brother is my neighbor I will find a way.” You winked and his smiling face was the last thing you saw before you closed the door.

Ivar turned the ignition of his motorcycle on and you heard him leaving the street. 

You bit your lower lip and shook your head thinking about the night.

The annoying Ragnarson wasn’t so bad after all.

                        …

[thecoleopterawithana]

Knowing That Love Is To Share

It’s common knowledge within the Beatles fandom that those four Liverpool lads were an acquisitive bunch. And who could blame them, having grown amidst the financial insecurity of a war-torn Liverpool? Even John Lennon, who had inarguably the most comfortable upbringing of them all (middle rather than working-class) didn’t hide his thirst for wealth. In 1963, he was singing this out in their cover of ‘Money (That’s What I Want)’.

John coveted so much the freedom and power afforded by money that he even had dreams about it.

[I once had] one really big one about thousands of half-crowns all around me, and finding lots of money in old houses and just as much of the stuff as you could carry. I could never carry enough. I used to put it in my pockets and in my hands and in sacks, only I could still never carry as much as I wanted.

— John Lennon, interviewed by Alan Smith for New Musical Express: Beatle dreams (22 July 1966).

Curiously, in an early example of John and Paul “sharing in each other’s minds”, John had this dream of finding riches around the time he met Paul, who himself had an incredibly similar one.  

The teenage Paul McCartney would love the idea of fame. That’s what he was trying to do, that was the dream. But it’s funny – life gives you minor premonitions. You don’t think of them as premonitions until the dream comes true and then you think, ‘Hey, I wonder if that was a sign.’ I remember when John and I were first hanging out together, I had a dream about digging in the garden with my hands. I’d dreamt that before but I’d never found anything other than an old tin can. But in this dream, I found a gold coin. I kept digging and I found another. And another. The next day I told John about this amazing dream I’d had and he said, ‘That’s funny, I had the same dream.’ So both of us had this dream of finding this treasure. And I suppose you could say it came true.

— Paul McCartney, The Big Issue: Letter to my younger self (16 February 2012).  

Of course, the love for the craft itself was there, but they never hid the thrill they got from being able to finally write their wealth into existence.

Somebody said to me, ‘But the Beatles were anti-materialistic.’ That’s a huge myth. John and I literally used to sit down and say, ‘Now let’s write a swimming pool.’ We said it out of innocence. Out of normal, fucking working-class glee that we were able to write a ‘swimming pool.’ For the first time in our lives, we could actually do something and earn money.

— Paul McCartney, interviewed by David Fricke for Rolling Stone (8 February 1990).

I introduce this – their love of money – because it might have made them avaricious when they finally got it. That’s not what happened.

I'll give you all I've got to give If you say you love me, too I may not have a lot to give But what I've got I'll give to you I don't care too much for money Money can't buy me love

— ‘Can’t Buy Me Love’ (1964)

Paul – used to making ends meet from early on – grew up to be fairly money-conscious. This kind of preoccupations had always been on his mind, especially since his mother (who was the main provider for the family) had died.

Being able to get by is a big deal for him.

That’s why I am always overwhelmed by the sweetness of his wonderment at John’s generosity. It is one of my most treasured facets of their relationship.

One day we walked into a sweet shop, and John bought some chocolate. He said, ‘would you like half?’ I said, ‘Wow, you’re willing to share your chocolate with me?’ What a dude! [laughs] The things that stay most in my memory are the smallest things, the ordinary things.

— Paul McCartney, interviewed for Readers Digest (November 2005).

And as good as this quote is, it omits the true significance of this episode. Paul reveals just how much it meant to him in private company.

[Bono’s] like, a student of the Beatles. He’s read every book on the Beatles. He’s seen every bit of film. There’s nothing he doesn’t know. So when Paul stops and says ‘That’s where it happened,’ Bono’s like, ‘That’s where what happened?’ because he thinks he knows everything. And Paul says, ‘That’s where the Beatles started. That’s where John gave me half his chocolate bar.’ And now Bono’s like, ‘What chocolate bar? I’ve never heard of any chocolate bar.’ And Paul says, ‘John had a chocolate bar, and he shared it with me. And he didn’t give me some of his chocolate bar. He didn’t give me a square of his chocolate bar. He didn’t give me a quarter of his chocolate bar. He gave me half of his chocolate bar. And that’s why the Beatles started right there.’

— Matt Damon, interviewed by Tom Junod for Esquire (8 July 2013).

“That’s why the Beatles started.”

I’ve seen it emphasised how Paul was drawn to John because he was impressed by his powerful charisma, his biting wit, his rough teddy looks. But Paul himself has stated over and over that what attracted him to John – what won him over in the end – was the underlying softness. It was the humour and intelligence, yes. But it was also that John’s favourite songs were “Close Your Eyes” (1933) and “Little White Lies” (1930). It was the fact that John gave him not a bit, not a square, not a quarter, but half of his chocolate bar.

I may not have a lot to give but what I've got I'll give to you

These giving gestures would continue on other treasured episodes, like the ‘61 Paris Trip.

And Paul and I also did the same thing, once. We just cancelled. We’d made it, in Liverpool. We were making good money, for those days. I can’t remember what it was – maybe a couple of hundred dollars a week – but enough that you’d have a little extra. You’d have it in your back pocket. And Paul and I just— A relative of mine gave me a hundred pounds, for my birthday, which I’d never seen that much money in me life. Paul and I just cancelled all the engagements, and left for Paris… And George was furious because he needed the money – to work, you know. But that was another time when the group was in debate as whether it would exist or not.

— John Lennon, interviewed by Elliot Mintz (1 January 1976).

John and I went on a trip for his twenty-first birthday. John was from a very middle-class family, which really impressed me because everyone else was from working-class families. To us, John was upper class. His relatives were teachers, dentists, even someone up in Edinburgh in the BBC. It's ironic, he was always very 'fuck you!' and he wrote the song Working Class Hero – in fact, he wasn't at all working class. Anyway, one of John's relatives gave him £100 I would be impressed. And I was his mate, enough said? 'Let's go on holiday.' 'You mean me too? With the hundred quid? Great! I'm part of this windfall.'

[...]

We’d never been there before. We were a bit tired so we checked into a little hotel for the night, intending to go off hitchhiking the next morning. Of course, it was too nice a bed after having hitched so we said, ‘We’ll stay a little longer,’ then we thought, ‘God, Spain is a long way, and we’d have to work to get down there.’ We ended up staying the week in Paris – John was funding it all with his hundred quid.

— Paul McCartney, in The Beatles Anthology (1995).

One night, they went to a concert by France’s only rock'n'roll star, Johnny Hallyday, paying an astronomical seven shillings and sixpence (35p) each for seats at L'Olympia theatre, little dreaming they themselves would soon top the bill there.

— On John and Paul’s trip to Paris. In Philip Norman’s Paul McCartney: The Biography.

Of course, Paul also gave what he could, and that rendered the gift extra special.

JOHN: Paul got me a wimpy [a hamburger] and a coke for my 21st.

PAUL: Mind you, that was back in ‘39!

JOHN: I know! (laughter)

PAUL: (jokingly) They were more expensive.

— Sydney press conference (11 June 1964).  

And even later in 1966, despite being extremely hurt by Paul’s extramarital forays into film score composition, John still offered his financial support.

I copped money for ‘Family Way’, the film music that Paul wrote while I was out of the country making How I Won The War. I said to Paul, ‘You’d better keep that,’ and he said ‘Don’t be soft.’ It’s the concept - we inspire each other. We write how we write because of each other. Paul was there for five or ten years and I wouldn’t write like I write now if it weren’t for Paul, and he wouldn’t write like he does if it weren’t for me.

— John Lennon, interviewed by BP Fallon for the Melody Maker (1969).

While they were bound by name (and even before any official contracts were signed) Lennon/McCartney did live by “what’s mine is yours”, everything they created shared 50/50.

As Paul would put it in their beloved “Here There and Everywhere” – Paul’s favourite out of all his songs and the one John favoured most of all out of all the songs he’d heard since he’d been in the scene, as of 1966 – they knew that love is to share.

And even when the sharing stopped, the love continued.

[ablanariwho]

Anatomy Of Male Rage In Patriarchy

Has patriarchy really empowered men by legitimizing anger as a trait of manhood? Or has it weakened their emotional maturity? A weakened emotional intelligence is damaging both for them and other members of their families and society at large.

Both men and women are victims of the system. Knowingly or unknowingly either they play the role of a perpetrator or a facilitator of this victimhood.

Let me start with a story

I heard about male rage quite early in my life. I also got to know how women got conditioned to put up with their male partners’ unmanaged anger as a regular part of their lives. My grandmother would tell me this story about a woman named Lakshmi, the wife of one of my grandfather’s residential staff. Lakshmi used to come home and chat with her. Sometimes my grandmother would found her little unmindful or low. She would ask her why. Laxmi would sigh and say in a sad tone that she doubted her husband was not in love with her anymore. She would express her concern that he might be getting into an affair. On a little probing about what made her think so, she would confide to my grandmother that her husband had not been beating her as frequently as he used to. She believed that beating was an extended-expression of marital love and a husband’s right to his wife. It fostered intimacy and trust between them. It maintained the marital equation as it was ideally supposed to be. Often, on the same or later nights, the husband would ‘make love’. Soon another bundle of joy would make its way into the family. Strangely, a grieving woman often arouses lust, and not compassion in some men. They find a sadistic pleasure in forcing sex on their wives even before the hapless women could recover from the pain of physical and emotional abuse. Despite feeling uncomfortable and unwilling, women often get carried away. They mistake it for ‘love’. Even so, sex in such scenarios in the pretence of making up for the violence is often nothing but another way of asserting male dominance over women. This way, they do not want to give women the time and space to heal or ponder over what happened.  On some occasions, the encounter amounts to marital rape if the woman shows reluctance or resistance. According to Lakshmi, it was a wife’s duty to put up with the torture and abuse. She believed it would help the man release his stress and pain due to the day-long toil he needed to do for his family. She perceived her husband as a guardian, sort of father figure, a master. According to her, he was entitled to his right to ‘fix’ her by scolding and beating her if she committed any mistake. The mistake could be as trivial as putting less salt in a dish or forgetting to stitch a broken button on his shirt. She also believed having sex with her husband right after the violence was necessary to retain the marriage. Because it is a woman’s only power to keep the man hooked on her and not drift away. Years later I heard the same stories during my fieldwork while doing a course in counselling. The NGOs working for women empowerment in slum areas of the economic capital city of Mumbai shared similar experience. That is how the marital cycle of love lost and found again have been maintained forever in many households. 

This is just one example. It shows how the ego-centric power play manifests through the male partner’s rage and what it does to a marital relationship. 

Image courtesy

Tamed elephants, tame others

Lakshmi grew up watching the same cycle of conflict and pacification happening between her parents and other couples. She heard elderly women consoling the anguished younger ones. Those very pieces of advice and worldly wisdom had taken a firm root in her beliefs. She heard them saying that God intended women to maintain balance in their homes and families. If at times it required sacrificing or compromising with their dignity, it was okay. Essentially, women were born to bear the pain to make everyone happy. That is why God entrusted women with a special, sacred capacity to endure sorrow, misfortune and agony. Thus, women were expected to silently put up with their husband’s rage, manipulation, verbal and physical abuse. It helped to retain the marriage and maintain the family’s integrity. The same is expected of women in modern society, even today. Often, women themselves criticize other women revolting against male aggression. They discourage deviating their paths away from this toxic subservience.

Image courtesy

It’s a universally prevalent mindset 

My grandmother would casually narrate this tale as a funny story. Later, I realized it was not one Lakshmi’s personal story or an anecdote to laugh at. I observed that this was the cultural conditioning and social status of women from all walks of life. It exposed the flawed and malicious tradition of power-play generally exercised by men in marriage. It is present even in non-marital relationships, patronized by patriarchy.

  Almost every time I catch up with my friends, I hear a few of them perpetually complaining about their husbands. These men humiliate and abuse them for no reason or for trivial things. They often speak to their wives using foul language and shout at them at the top of their voices. On some occasions, I saw the derogatory way these men talk to their wives. I heard them nonchalantly making sweeping comments about women in their presence.

At some point in their marital lives, many women endure some or other kind of physical abuse. I and many of my friends and relatives are no exception to this. In some cases, it was spanking and beating, forced sex or forced abortion. I know of cases where in-laws forced a woman to go for the removal of perfectly healthy high canine teeth. Her husband found it ugly. But he was smart enough not to go with the wife to the dentist. Instead, he sent his parents. One of my friends suffered forced non-medical removal of an IUD.  Another did not receive any treatment, proper diet and prenatal medical care during her first pregnancy. Some I know were forced to do menial household labour during pregnancy. They had a history of miscarriages. Still, their in-laws and husbands forced them to do excessive household labour. One was subjected to coerced consumption of alcohol. Her husband did this to her to have sex with her against her will. Many of them have been putting up with the humiliating behaviour of their husbands almost throughout their 30 plus years of marital life. They hopelessly hope for change. What amazes me about us women is that even after suffering so much, we temporarily sulk and eventually get back to our tamed status. Women end up accepting and submitting to it as their unchangeable and inevitable fate. The incidences I shared just now are from a so-called upper middle class, urban and educated families. But they almost resemble what happens with countless Lakshmis in less privileged sections of society.

Cultural conditioning

Strangely, these women despite regularly being abused and having been severely ill-treated by their husbands in the past, diligently abide by the marital vows. It starts with revering the ornamental signs of marriage they wear on their person. They unfailingly keep special fasts or perform rituals for their abuser husbands’ well-being and long life. They serve them and sometimes their complicit in-laws in all obeisance and dedication. They feel grateful to them for their evolution from a naïve girl to a woman of the marital household. They keep referring to the ‘good training’ their worldly-wise abusing husbands imparted to them. They feel obliged for the good ‘care’ their abusive, controlling yet ‘responsible’ husbands otherwise provide. The food, shelter, medical care, occasional entertainment and gifts, as if they did not do anything to deserve all that. What amazes me the most is the way these women vouch for their ‘love’ for their husbands though being treated like doormats for decades! I try to gauge how deep the conditioning has been within them. It obliterated the sense of self-care and self-worth in them.  It blunted their discretionary power to differentiate between what is a healthy marital relationship based on mutual love, respect and understanding, and what is an ‘arrangement of convenience’. This gives rise to the question are women expected to ‘love’ their husbands by default? Especially in arranged marriages, no matter whether their husbands love them or not?  I have seen women being superstitious or defensive if they were asked to question themselves about their unconditional love for their abuser husbands. There could be various reasons for that. One of the main reasons is economic dependence. Staying in an abusive marriage is a far better bargain than being a widow or a divorcee for many women. Hence, women are trained by society, or they train themselves as adults to pay the price by compromising with their self-worth and dignity and stay put. I am no exception. Been there and done that. Although eventually, I did free myself from a long, unsuccessful and abusive marriage, I have experienced my fair share of male rage in the family.

Normalization of male rage under social pressure

I have observed how I rationalized the angry outbursts of the male relatives in my family as the manifestation of their inner unresolved issues. Even after being severely verbally abused, I proceeded with a ‘nothing happened’ façade. Partially, the façade helps in protecting myself emotionally. As they say, no one should have the remote control to manipulate your state of mind. But the other reason for doing so is to avoid or prevent further deterioration of the situation in the family. Hence, to keep the façade of normalcy and balance in relationships and family, we women go on with our daily lives with these abusing men around.  We interact with them normally, burying all bruised emotions in the recesses of our hearts. Thus, in so many ways we contribute to the normalization of anger and aggression as an integral part of masculinity. We do not let them realize how damaging it is.

Women do not enjoy the entitlement to get angry, yet not misunderstood

Why am I calling it ‘male rage’?

Let us analyse the ‘genderization’ of rage by patriarchy. It is a common phenomenon that when women lose their composure and get into angry outbursts in certain vulnerable moments, it is not tolerated as in the cases of men. People, including both men and women in the family, criticize and condemn it. They judge and label the angry women. There is no attempt to know and understand the underlying reasons behind it. No one sees it in the totality of the matter, as they do for men. They start characterization of the woman for getting into angry fits. People even start doubting women's mental health, unempathetically though, if they occasionally get angry. In some outlandish cases, they believe it to be the influence of certain supernatural or paranormal elements. Not only that. Later, those angry episodes of women are referred to out of context. The men in the family would do that to justify their own irrational and often deliberated rage. It becomes a counterattack or whataboutery technique.

In the case of men, episodes of anger are often considered as freak incidents under stress and duress caused by certain external factors. The faith in their core goodness is retained by parents and others. Not so for women. This is strange. It shows how convoluted is the belief that anger or aggression is a sign of masculinity. It is perceived as synonymous with power and strength. Simultaneously, blaming men’s anger on some external factors indicates their inherent weakness, incapacity, immaturity or failure to handle difficult emotions, people or situations. This paradox nullifies the concept of power or superiority expressed through their anger. 

The hard questions men and women need to ask themselves

Why do women not want the men in their lives and in society to be accountable and responsible for their behaviour? Why should men enjoy the liberty and privilege to let loose their toxic states of mind, anytime, anywhere? Why would they use their lousy anger to hide their messed up emotions, stress, internal pain, confusion or trauma? Why would they choose to unleash their anger on the women closest to them such as their mother, sister, daughter or wife? Is it because these women provide themselves as the safest punching bags with the least propensity to hit back? Is it because women are expected to save the semblance of family honour and peace, at least on the surface, by quietly tolerating and hiding it within the four walls of their homes? Why do we allow men to cross our boundaries and howl at us and utter all sorts of nonsense? Why will the onus be on women to provide men with emotional crutches or a hardened back or both at the cost of their own emotional and physical well-being? Why do women let the men in their families unleash their internal demons upon them? Anyway, the relief men get by doing so remains temporary as the root cause is somewhere else and something else. Things come back to square again. What then is the point of women taking the brunt of male rage upon themselves? Does it help in keeping the peace, love and family bond, unscathed and not sabotaged? When will men, especially the so-called educated breed who manifest so much anger, realize and accept that they need help to fix this problem? When will men take responsibility for their malaise and seek professional help or do anything but spare their wives, mothers, sisters, female relatives or subordinates from it?

Is putting up with male rage an arrangement of convenience?

Let women not fool themselves and hide behind the self-glorification of saving family peace and integrity by putting up with male rage. They need to wake up and acknowledge how deeply they have been conditioned to devalue their role in the family and society. They need to question themselves why do they accept such rage? Is it the pound of flesh they barter against the monetary support provided by their husbands or other male relatives? They need to look into the mirror and see. Do they silently put up with male rage in the marriage to hang on to the marital surname, its perks and privileges and a perceived sense of security that comes with it? There is a saying that nothing comes free. So, is the monetary support received from husbands or any other immediate male family members also not free? Rather, are these considered as ‘favours’? Women’s contribution, their legal rights or men’s socially defined duties towards them, nothing matters? A woman’s role and contribution in the family and society as a mother, wife, daughter or sister has been deemed economically void. There is no statutory system of monetary reimbursement for their services in the family. Whatever economic support they receive from the males in the family is thus projected as a favour and not a return they deserve. On top of that are women supposed to reimburse these ‘favours’ by conforming to patriarchal expectations? Upon failing in that area too, are they supposed to compromise with their self-care and accept such abuses in the form of men’s angry outbursts? Are they also expected to own up to the guilt of causing it? Then, should women play any victim card? As in that case, wouldn’t it be women who choose this predicament for themselves?  In the process, directly or indirectly, aren't they facilitating patriarchy to spoil the human capacity of compassion, empathy and better emotional maturity in men? Isn’t it high time that society and women themselves unlearn to devalue their roles? Or else, shouldn’t they make economic independence a priority over and above everything else? At the end of the day, isn't money a big and powerful differentiating component in human life? Surprisingly, I have seen even economically independent women putting up with male aggression and abuse. Why? Some of them told me that they did so to retain the ‘image’ society wanted women to have. Some of them are crippled by the fear of what people would say if they take any step to free themselves out of this trap? They are wary of how that would impact their children’s lives? But is it worth it? Isn’t life too big and too precious for this delusional ‘image’ women are fooled into conforming to by society and culture? Isn’t this ‘image’ a sort of blackmailing tactic by patriarchy? Because if a woman loses it or defies it, society makes her life miserable at every step.

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Faulty attribution of human traits by patriarchy

Endurance, composure, gentleness, and forgiveness are considered integral qualities of being feminine.  But anger, temper tantrums, violence, and rage have been defined as signs of masculinity or power. Both are constructs of patriarchy and both women and men are victims of it.  

As a woman, I have heard innumerable times that I should not get angry, raise my voice, say harsh things or use cuss words. Not because these are not the right way to deal with my emotions triggered by someone or something. But because it is unbecoming of women to behave like that. They must always be soft-spoken, shy, understanding and tolerant. Whenever I slipped from this paradigm, I was criticized and called names. My grandfather, a great patriarch himself, enjoyed and endorsed my adolescent brother shouting over me in his cracked teenage voice. He said, “He is a man. He is supposed to roar like a lion. You cannot equal him as you are a woman, you do not even have a strong voice like him.” In reality, none of these traits is gender-specific. Though it is believed from an evolutionary perspective that men are genetically more prone to aggression, violence and combative tendencies, social psychological theories do corroborate the genderization of this supposedly genetic tendency which is misused as a power tool in patriarchy.

Be it aggression or compassion, both are behavioural characteristics of human emotions. It is found both in men and women. In some cases, a role reversal also happens. In such cases, the women resort to anger, temper tantrums, undue domination, manipulation and rage as a defense, offence or simply a power-exerting tool. Thus they camouflage their vulnerabilities, while the husbands or the other men in their family put up with it for the sake of peace. Men submit to such anger management issues of their female partners or family members due to vulnerabilities of their own. However, the cases of male rage over women are always much more. It reflects a general, widespread social trend with innumerable types of manifestations within various layers of social life. It is being increasingly evident.

Image courtesy

What needs to be done to de-genderize anger and rage?

First, let us deal with ‘anger’ as it is and without attaching gender identity to it as perceived and propagated by patriarchy.

 Let us all evolve, understand and deal with ‘anger’ as an aspect of the human psyche. It is a creation of ego and deep, turbulent emotion of negative nature. It has to be seen in the context of the civilized modern society we live in. Let us not surrender it to the alibi of primate trails still running in our blood. We need to acknowledge that shouting, cursing, beating or any type of verbal or physical abuse are the behavioral manifestations of anger – an internal state of mind indicating unresolved issues. It is never a sign of machismo, strength, maturity, or power. Rather, it exposes one’s vulnerability due to suppressed emotions such as despair, lack, fear, jealousy, false pride, insecurity, a sense of being less or inferior, an urge for superiority, dominance and control. It is a desperate call for attention and help, depression, and above all complete unawareness about one’s true self. Angry outbursts give one a false sense of power, camouflaging the fragility inside.

Be it an individual’s inner thoughts, emotions, belief systems or society’s collective accumulation of the same, anger must be freed from patriarchal genderization. Anger is extremely debilitating and damaging for both men and women. Every individual needs to be aware of the fact that anger is a phenomenon generating out of their internal mental state and their inability to deal with it. Nobody or nothing outside is responsible for their anger. Externalities function as triggers, often inadvertently or unintentionally. Every person must be held accountable for choosing how they would like to deal with such triggers that activate their own raw emotions, ego, psychological wounds and internal issues. They cannot use others as punching bags to hit out in frustration or as garbage bins to dispose of all the rubbish in their minds. Intensive self-awareness and emotional capacity building (EQ) training right from childhood through to adulthood would facilitate mindfulness in identifying anger in its core form and dealing with it without genderisation.

Secondly, women need 360-degree awareness to break free of male rage Besides both men and women being trained in identifying anger as an emotion, what causes it, how it influences and shapes our behavior and actions, women also need to be made aware of what role they play in normalizing and legitimizing anger as a male trait. They have to recognize the situations, the psychology and cultural conditioning that make them subjugate their dignity, body autonomy, physical and mental well-being to male rage as a weapon of patriarchy. Once they are enlightened with this 360-degree awareness around the issue of male rage in patriarchy, they will have to stop endorsing it and become mentally and financially empowered to break free of this trap.

[meditationsfromthethirdrail]

Credentials and Credibility

I’ve written about polarization and about empathy, rights and responsibilities in the last couple of blog posts.  I have a long list of interrelated topics to cover before the November elections and I plan to keep plowing through them.  But I’m well aware that my voice is a candle in the wind, to borrow the phrase used by T.H. White in the title of his tale about King Arthur’s dream of a more egalitarian and peaceful society.  The number of readers of my blog thus far may barely run into double digits and that may never change.  We are all drowning in information (and misinformation) unless we are either so socioeconomically disadvantaged as to be denied access or are actively disengaged from media.  People in either category aren’t reading this.

With all the competition for the attention of readers and listeners, if someone wants to be heard above the din, he or she either has to have a forceful personality and a good platform, or actually have something important to say.  I may not have either of those.  Readers will judge for themselves.  But it occurred to me that I ought to at least provide a little background about myself, which may or may not compel you to hear me.  So here it is.

My story is not one of hard knocks and resentment - it’s a success story.  There are a lot of ways to define success but I feel like I’ve grabbed a nice assortment of brass rings during my almost-seven decades on the planet.  I’ve had a long and happy marriage to an incredible woman; I’ve traveled extensively (six continents and all fifty states) and lived for substantial periods in many states; I have three degrees from a major college; I attained a modestly high position in a large, global professional services firm and was financially well rewarded for my efforts; and I have many hobbies and interests that make it easy for me to stay fully occupied in retirement.  Most importantly, I’m happy and at peace with myself and others.  One could argue that these successes may have caused me to be out of touch with those who’ve enjoyed fewer of them, but I don’t think that’s entirely true, and I’ll try to suggest why.

My parents were the son and daughter of a sharecropper and a truck farmer/itinerant salesman, respectively, in rural Mississippi.  They grew up during the Great Depression. They were married and gave life to my older brother when they were still in their teens.  My dad dropped out of high school to sign up for the Army and served in the European theater in WWII.  After the war he got a G.E.D. and served as a tractor mechanic for a while.  Around the time I was born he was hired by a prominent agricultural implement manufacturing company, which led to him being transferred from Mississippi to Maryland to Ohio to Idaho to Oregon and to Iowa in order to earn promotions, and with family in tow.  Later he also transferred to Texas, Missouri and Georgia, after I was left behind to attend college in Iowa.  In those days it was possible to rise pretty high in the ranks of a business like my dad’s, without a glittery collegiate resume, if you worked hard and were willing to uproot yourself and your family whenever it was called for.  So my dad eventually did rise fairly high in the ranks, and in the meantime my mom scrambled her way to a B.A., then taught high school English for a short time.

All’s well that ends well, as Shakespeare once said.  My parents came a long way from the dusty fields where they picked cotton for 50 cents a day.  My own road to success was much easier than theirs.  During most of my childhood our family was financially situated about in the dead center of what was then considered middle class.  My parents were not rich, although they accumulated modest wealth later in life, and they were always frugal, so I grew up with very few toys and a mostly empty closet.  My parents were not the type to devote much time attending to my personal pursuits, other than to quietly demand that I get good grades in school.  So I wouldn’t say I was born with a silver spoon in my mouth, but I understand that’s a relative thing.  I certainly wasn't lavished with material things as a child, but I never went hungry or worried about having a roof over my head.

Aside from a base level of financial and emotional support and protection, the best thing my parents gave me was a solid education in a robust public school system.  This was a pre Betty Devos era.  Fortunately I had just enough innate ambition (or willingness to succumb to my parents’ expectations) and intelligence to perform in the upper tier, academically.  I could have done better but I often didn’t “apply myself,” as they say.  In retrospect I realize I had ADHD but few people understood or cared about that back then.

My college record was spotty at first, but ultimately pretty good.  I had almost no grasp of what I wanted to do with my life.   As a result, I had an abnormally extended adolescence, to roughly age 27.  Maybe I was a trendsetter; I see a lot more of that happening with young people today.  In any case I considered, at various times and among other things, becoming a Baptist minister (I was licensed and briefly attended seminary), an English professor (I have an M.A. in English and instructed freshman writing courses for three years), a novelist and poet (insufficient talent and discipline derailed that plan), and a hotel manager (nah).   A happy accident of my wandering and indecision was that I acquired a lot of knowledge that later paid off in surprising ways I’ll come back to later.  I was financially very poor the entire time, which gave me considerable perspective on what it means to be concerned about affording basics such as food and transportation.

I vividly remember the catalysts for my decision to enter the social mainstream. One was the fallout from a poker game I got into with some friends.  One of my “friends” was a notoriously unethical character who, one late evening when I was especially unlucky and perhaps too full of beer, lured me into some bad bets that resulted in a $700 debt to him.  At that time, when I was working several crummy part-time jobs to afford food and my $50 share of the rent on a slum-quality house we shared with two other guys, $700 dollars seemed like a million dollars.  I didn't realize and no one told me that on the very next evening the same group of friends gathered for another poker game as I was licking my wounds and trying to form a plan.  I was not present to witness the scene in which the guy whom I was newly indebted to suffered an equally humiliating loss - a loss that was forgiven by the victor on the condition that the loser would also forgive my loss.  My friends assumed that Bart (not his real name, or is it?) would inform me that I was off the hook.  He did not.

For the first time in my life, I devised a budget in order to determine how I could repay Bart the debt that didn’t actually exist, because that’s the kind of guy I am.  I believed, and I still do, that a person is morally and ethically responsible for meeting whatever commitments he or she enters into.  So  I scrambled for more hours working as a church janitor, a tutor and a library assistant; I ate Kraft macaroni and cheese almost every day (30 cents a box, if I recall); I stayed in my room as if I had contracted the then-undreamt-of coronavirus; and I turned over every penny that didn’t go for rent and minimal food to Bart in three monthly installments until I was finally clear.  I was six feet tall but my weight fell to about 140 pounds.  On the day I forked over the last $200, Bart skipped town, just as the news finally arrived that I wasn’t supposed to have owed that debt.

That sordid chapter concluded with me taking a job, out of sheer desperation, in a factory where I was paid a below-minimum wage to operate a machine which applied mailing labels to printed advertisements.  It was mind-numbing.  There were perhaps another 100 workers in that factory doing the same thing I was doing.  The output of each worker was measured daily by the factory management.  By the end of the first week I was the most productive mailing label attacher in the factory.  To keep myself from going insane, I approached my task as if it were a game and challenged myself each shift to beat my previous day’s output, which I always did.  During my brief lunch breaks I used to surreptitiously glance around at the other workers and I understood exactly what Thoreau meant when he opined that the mass of men live lives of quiet desperation.  I don’t know if he was right about “the mass of men,” but he certainly could have been describing that crew at the factory.

In my second week at the factory I met another newly-hired college guy whose wife and he were trying to save enough money to move to Los Angeles so he could take a shot at professional acting - this was his second job.  Chatting with him during lunch breaks, i was inspired by his desire to fulfill a dream and the difficult steps he was taking to do it.  I listened to him, I looked around at the hollow-eyed, middle-aged folks who had worked for years operating labeling machines, and I squirmed as I considered what a sap I was for racking up a poker debt and falling victim to a con man.  i abruptly abandoned the factory but I felt so discombobulated that I enlisted my good buddy John to drive out to Idaho with me so I could visit my brother and try to get my shit together.  By the end of that brief sojourn out west, the best job offer I could manage was from Roto-Rooter . . . to work in the field, as it were.  Wake up call!

If you’ve read this far you must be wondering how any of this supports the notion that I’m qualified to write about sociopolitical matters.  It doesn’t, except to demonstrate that I have at least a small measure of “street cred.”  But the best is yet to come.  When I returned to Iowa I found a better job in a hotel.   Initially I was a night auditor, which is a position that involves being a desk clerk part of the time and an accountant the rest of the time.  Only a small step forward, financially, but it gave me a taste for something I had never previously thought about doing for even one minute.  Accounting, I quickly learned, was something I had a natural aptitude for, and in some quirky way I found it interesting.  Once again I viewed my duties as a sort of game, but this was a game that lit up my brain much more brightly than did operating a machine to perform an exceptionally repetitive task.  

My whole life is a series of lucky breaks at critical junctures.  In this instance the break was that I met a co-worker - a guy who shared the hotel night auditor position with me - who had previously worked for a large CPA firm.  He had taken the part-time hotel job because he was trying to become a full-time stock trader and that’s what he was doing during the day.  From him I learned what it is that CPAs in a big firm actually do.  Let me assure you I’m not going to get into that subject, in case you were already feeling the dread.  (Thank God for actuaries - the only people who make accountants seem slightly interesting.)  Suffice it to say that I figured out how I could minimize the additional schooling I would need to become qualified to be a CPA and I decided to take a stab at it.

I kept the hotel job but started carrying a heavy load of college classes - accounting, math, economics, law, etc.  It so happened that I met my future wife, who was just finishing her Interior Design degree at the same college, about the same time I took the first tentative steps down my new career path.  That was even more fortuitous - I give her lots of credit for helping me stay the course.  The two years in which I went to college in the day, worked at the hotel at night, and struggled to get our new romance off the ground, was “character-building,” to say the least.  I can barely remember anything about that period, it was such a blur.  To give you an idea of how much of a blur it was, the major highlight I remember was driving with my new spouse to Des Moines to dine at Spaghetti Works.  $5 for beer-and-cheese spaghetti, all-you-can-eat salad bar and a glass of swill.  Heaven!

When the two hellish years finally ended and I received my B.S. in Accounting, I had already lined up a job in Des Moines as an auditor with one of the Big 8 (at that time) accounting firms.  Not long afterward, I passed the CPA exam and my wife landed a spot with a local design firm, and we were on our way.

Ok, at last I’m where I possibly should have started. In the ensuring three decades I continued to work as a CPA, becoming a partner along the way (meaning that I became one of the owners), and developing a specialization working with clients in the financial services industry - investment management companies and banking and finance companies, primarily.  This is the good part, folks.  My career soon took me from Iowa to New York City, where my background in English earned me the privilege of being a key designer and the principal author of new practice guidance for our international firm, which was just merging with another large international firm.  That put me in the spotlight for a time and gave me a leg up for promotion.  After the merger we relocated to Los Angeles, where I worked with some of the most prominent investment management companies in the world, and numerous banks, mortgage banks and other financial institutions.  Finally we moved to southeast Pennsylvania and I split time engaged with clients there and in California, and with our national financial services practice in New York.

Late, late nights on Wall Street helping to prepare financial offerings with hundreds of millions of dollars on the line.  Late, late nights at client offices in L.A., San Francisco, Portland, Seattle, New York and Philadelphia, managing teams of young accountants to deal with complex accounting problems under tremendous pressure.  Board meetings, fee negotiations, staff meltdowns, discoveries of fraud and malfeasance, financial crises in which I was an inside observer.  A 60-hour work week felt almost like a vacation compared to many weeks with even longer hours.  It was enough to give me PTSD.  I don’t want to overstate it - it wasn’t like actual life or death combat PTSD - but I still have nightmares ten years and more after the fact.

That’s a very quick summary of the 30+ years in which I obtained hard-won knowledge about global finance and economics - a period in which I also had a lot of experiences with politics, charitable organizations and other components of society I didn’t have time to get into today.  I still spend a lot of time staying informed about subjects ranging from psychology and mythology to current events and hard science.  There’s a ton I still don’t know.  But as my all-time favorite singer Joni Mitchell famously said, I’ve looked at clouds from both sides now.

[jae-canikeepyou]

| marked | j.jh | ch. three

genre: superpower!au

a/n: i posted a bit late today but hope you’ll like this chapter! send me an ask for discussions, or if you’re confused :D 

the morning sun woke you up and you haven’t gotten used to the warmth you hadn’t experienced in years. the sounds of birds chirping even at winter still left you amazed. the pink curtains swayed in sync as the wind entered the room, making you stand to close it. though instead of doing that, you took notice of the other kids who played out in the snow. it had been a while since you felt joy and peace in you. right now you had a place to stay in, food to eat and people to share with. everything was provided and it came to the point where you chose to stay.

the alarm went off on the side table between your bed and mina’s. she quickly snoozed it before getting off of the bed. “good morning.” you prepared coffee at a small counter of the room.

“i gotta get dressed.” she yawned, her slurred words asked for more sleep, but you knew she couldn’t go back to sleep anyway.

your back faced her and tingled when you took a sip of coffee. you slightly danced to the music the headphone gave off. “they’re by the door.” you told mina.

“seriously y/n you can see them?” she asked as she opened it, four figures came into view— seokmin, mingyu, eunha and eunwoo.

“we thought y/n would leave the next morning so we came to check if she really did.” eunwoo waved at the both of you. “and she’s here. $20 you too!” he gestured the boys you assumed they had a bet.

“y/n! this is eunha! she’s part of our group too.” mina brought you to the rest.

“it’s finally nice to meet you.” eunha grabbed your hands and shook them, making you flinch at the sudden greeting. “we’re going to the hall. we have our morning exercises there.”

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the hall you last saw became a gymnasium. mats and equipments aligned by the walls. people began their stretches while some had already started their routine. the group brought you along the middle where it separated the boys and girls. whispers grew until they became quiet. like last night, eyes were on you. most were fascinated at your presence while others hid behind others. ‘the newbie’ they referred you.

eunha started doing stretches and as you tried to follow, you felt people crowding around you. they were curious of what else you might do. “hey y/n! take fast!” a voice in the distance behind you yelled. people squealed and ran away when an iron weight plate flew to you like a frisbee. others had their eyes closed with their hands, fearing the worst case that could happen. you took the iron plate without looking back, and when you did, bunch of ‘oohs’ escaped their lips.

while you continued to do the exercises, the hall remained silent where only sounds of equipment and sighs were heard. the door suddenly slammed open. a boy in his sleeveless hoodie came in, earning attention.

“he’s here! he’s here!”

“wow first time in the gym since forever.”

“that jerk finally showed up huh.”

after seeing him, mingyu and the other boys called your group. “y/n! there’s someone we want you to mee- hey where are you going?!”

the boy in the hoodie walked past them without a word. he didn’t stop walking. you thought he would go and do his routine but he ended in front of you. his mask was the first thing you saw before fists appeared right before your eyes.

oh boy what’s going on?

you avoided the continuous punches, hoping he would grew tired of it. he was probably one of those who wanted to challenge you like the one who threw the iron plate. this time, there were no breaks in between. “tsk.” you sighed.

though you saw his motives into at least landing attacks on you, it seemed like he knew your motives as well? he’d block or avoid your every attempt to hit him. he was strong. all kicks, punches were nothing to the both of you. neither were injured. cheers of encouragement grew until he stopped, making you do the same.

“ah just when i thought i could defeat you. my friends told me you were strong, i had to see it for myself.” he scoffed, removing his mask and hoodie. you looked at the boy who smiled before you, his dimples showed and you’d be lying if you weren’t swayed by it. he was cute. literally.

“my name’s jaehyun. i heard you’re an absolute like me.”

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“you’re crazy for doing that. she could get injured!” mina pointed fingers at jaehyun, not taking a single bite from her breakfast.

“hey i just had to double check her powers. i wasn’t convinced when the guys mentioned she’s an absolute.”

you sighed how your morning could be this noisy and energetic. window showed rays of sunlight that made the snow floor brighter, slightly blinding your eyes. you wondered what an absolute does. no one dared to tell you, even if you did read their thoughts to find an answer, it was somehow blocked. you tapped your chopsticks onto the tray, grabbing jaehyun’s attention. he immediately slid the curtains to a close. he smiled at your daydreaming state, happy to find someone like him. “i can tell you what an absolute does if you’re really curious. seems like you have no idea about your power.”

the rest of the group rolled their eyes at jaehyun’s starter for a conversation. 

“there he goes again. he knows what you’re about to say, y/n.” eunha said.

“he reads peoples’ minds like it’s a book to them. how creepy!” mina faked a clap as if to mock him.

“exactly! which is why it’s hard to keep secrets from him!” seokmin gave hi-five mina.

“correction, it’s not read. i hear your thoughts even before you say it.” jaehyun finished his waffle, turning towards you. you played with the radishes on your plate before jaehyun started to speak. “this is what an ‘absolute’ does.” he poked your hand. “they have a power that consists of skills, capabilities that’re beyond comparison than the people here.”

you raised your brow in confusion. “so you’re saying that’s the only point an absolute can have? heck, i don’t even know my own capabilities.”

“i’m aware that you know you’ve been categorized. let me name the others.” he took a sip from his milkshake. seokmin and the other had eyes on him too, like he was about to tell a nightmare story. “mina for sure told you about how we got our powers- that is near death experience.”

mina stood up and slightly banged the table. “you heard our conversation last night?? how dare-”

“shush you twerp.” mingyu pulled mina down to her seat.

“in the core, the system tells us five main power categories.” jaehyun brought out his fingers to name them. “the manipulators— those who controls or influences— that’s eunwoo with teleportation. the emitters— those who emit any matter from their palms— mina with fire/heat. the adapters— those who can quickly adapt to the environment— seokmin with resistance to cold and mingyu with aquatic. the enhanced and the supernaturals have the same qualities depending on the cases. however, the supernaturals are relatively on a higher level than the enhanced. eunha is an enhanced in synesthesia, which is why she’s on the investigation council, and was able to locate you.”

you tried to bring the new information to your head as your brain processed each and every word jaehyun said. “and those like us?” your eyes anticipated for the next, resting your chin onto your knuckles.

“the absolutes, are greater than all the categories combined. though we don’t have any emission or adaptation-related powers, we have an infinite scale of sense. strength is a bonus too. in my case, it’s hearing. and yours..” he trailed off, looking into your eyes.

“mine is vision.” you completed his sentence, a smile grew on jaehyun’s face. 

“that’s right.”

no matter the answer, this was news for you. a good type of news. yet something still bothered you; the people you unintentionally took lives from. 

the bell rang and the rest of the group decided to leave for their own training sessions and classes. they said goodbyes, leaving only you and jaehyun on the table. 

“i can’t answer that, but i know someone who does.” he blurted out, the silence between you and him ended. “since starting from now we’ll have classes together with gongchan.”

“can you ever avoid hearing my thoughts? it’s getting creepy, like others have said.” you swallowed your saliva, avoiding his gaze.

“can you ever avoid seeing my thoughts?” he retorted back, his dimples still evident. “and i know you found me cute earl-”

“agh stop!” you threw a tissue at him, he laughed as he shielded himself. “can’t blame me for seeing ten seconds into the future, can you?” 

“ah, so you found me cute even before i entered the hall.” he teased, his upper part of his ears shaded pink. “i can detect if you’re lying or not.”

“and what if i’m not?” you stuck out your tongue, later you giggled at the boy’s reaction. “your ears are really honest, aren’t they?”

jaehyun covered his ears in embarrassment. “i’ll give you an a-plus for noticing that on our first meeting. let’s go?”

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| marked — chapter three: another you |

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[soulvomit]

My issue with identity stuff is that my own identity has always existed on a weird sliding scale

Something personal about having grown up with a really weird and fluid life, where my family always moved situation to situation, space to space, and was a mix of cultures and backgrounds:

I grew up with no idea where or what I personally was. Every time I actually had a chance to adjust to a space, we uprooted again. My main stability space has *always* been online: no matter where I lived, my social world on the BBS was consistent. (Still friends with many of those people.)

The current discourse around gentrification and the collapse of the middle class makes it harder and weirder because by modern standards, I had privileges only rich Gen Z kids get to have, but in 1980s Los Angeles, plenty of middle class kids had those things. I was in performing arts lessons, Scouting, etc. A couple of times, my dad was able to do work trades so that i could go to private school. That only came to an end when my parents split up.

Was I middle class? My parents came from poverty (but they each had a mother who had been a disowned rich girl). They were heavily into education and whatever kind of culture we could access as low income Angelenos and believed in living in a lower income area so that their kids could have more of other kinds of privileges. Obviously (this took me a long time to unpack!) it involved enough privilege to assume we wouldn't end up trapped where I was being raised. That was an aspect of privilege too, knowing you can do something uncomfortable in the present because it won't really define who you are in the future. (All of this was unpacked FOR me, painfully, by my actually poverty-reared ex.)

We weren't culturally poor, and we were only consistently within poverty guidelines for the first 7 years of my life. Then it was a gradual climb into upper middle class income, though it wasn't consistent and there sometimes were big setbacks. My dad started working in computers. And while we weren't rich, I can't by any means say we were poor. After all, it costs a lot of money to live in a shitty motel. But we had money left over after the rent was paid, and my parents rented the adjoining room, moved the motel furniture out (with permission) of the room with the kitchenette, and converted the two rooms into kind of a one bedroom apartment.

We stood out in poor areas. We stood out in rich areas. We stood out among middle class because the culture of the American middle class of the 80s, was still so much the 50s suburban white motif. We stood out. I stood out. In no space, did I ever "fit in."

My only frame of reference for the middle class was some broad, amorphous thing called Normal. And the families on TV. I didn't grasp that we were actually middle class for a long time, that the problem was overcoming bad credit after years of doing badly, as well as my parents having poverty-inculcated money management habits for a long time.

My relationship with whiteness also took a lot to unpack, because I grew up 1) with my family insisting we weren't white (this is really complicated) 2) my mother mostly finding acceptance as a Jew (who wasn't well off enough for Jewish spaces) - even if it was mostly at the skin-deep level of acceptance, i.e., being able to get work, being able to not stand out - in diverse communities. My white non-Jewish friends so often dropped me when they found out my mother was Jewish, but I found friendship with non-white kids in the neighborhood. There were rarely if ever Jewish kids in our neighborhoods so I experienced whiteness vs non whiteness then this provisional weird liminal space my family lived in. I was brought up equating "whiteness" to "WASP Culture" and understanding it primarily as a cultural motif that I wasn't part of, but still having no idea what the fuck we were or where we fit.

So, that took a fuckton of time and effort to really unpack, because I understood "whiteness" as a behavioral standard expected of me by the outside and a perception of me but not something my family identifies as, and honestly it *is* relatively recent discourse that allowed me to untangle this mess in my head.

But one thing was true, I was always an outsider and always associated with other outsiders. In my childhood and teen years that so often meant kids from immigrant families, and later, it meant LGBTQ culture. Often it was nerd culture, and I didn't fit there either but... as long as I stayed with the gamer/hacker nerds and away from the goody-goody nerds, I didn't have to fit, because nobody fit, and with none of us fitting, we all fit.

Also I had a *deeply* Jewish experience in a lot of ways but only came to identify that experience as such via Jewish literature and *secular* Jewish culture.

I've been a stranger in every space I've ever lived in. And I had to be a chameleon, often to the degree of struggling with my own sense of who I am.

And in some ways the modern discourse has been helpful (the unpacking of my experience around whiteness, the fact that my dad and I *could* assimilate and it wasn't heavily questioned) but in some ways it hasn't, because there is even less discourse around the fact that identity can be COMPLICATED, than there was in the 80s.

Identity isn't just figuring out what social label best applies and hanging out with people who match that, for some of us it's a big confusing mess.