#in my defense! i do not buy myself things very often. especially clothes except for stuff i get in charity shops. so i think it is okay

[steelycunt]

sorry for succumbing to the thrill of litl pakaj. it will happen again

[impracticaldemon]

The Shopping Expedition (or, A Gift for Theo) by impracticaldemon

Fandom: Ikemen Vampire Characters:  Theodorus (Theo) van Gogh, MC; also Arthur, Comte Canon Setting; Canon Characters Words: ~ 4500  [Also available on AO3 and FFnet]

A/Note:  Written for Theo’s (Cybird) birthday on May 1st. Happy Birthday Theo!  This wasn’t intended to be so long, but I had too much fun writing the Theo x MC interactions. The story assumes that MC has been there for a while already, but there isn’t yet an established romantic relationship.

~Imp

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The Shopping Expedition

Cuff links? Nice, but boring. Gold tie pin? He did wear a cravat when necessary, but I wanted something distinctive. Watch chain? …I couldn’t remember what he used to tell time, although he probably did carry a pocket watch; after all, he was always in a hurry to get somewhere.  Heh—the thought put me in mind of the White Rabbit from Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, and the image of Theodorus van Gogh wearing bunny ears and a fluffy white tail made me snicker.

It was the day before Theo’s birthday, and I was getting a little—make that a lot—stressed out over what to get him.  I mean, he had everything he needed, between what Monsieur le Comte provided and his own income.  But I’d recently realized that he had very little in the way of personal keepsakes—things he treasured for more than being useful or necessary.  I wanted to find him something special, maybe even something that would make him smile.

Theo had been rude to me from the moment we’d been introduced.  So why was I trying so hard to find him a memorable birthday present? I suppose it was the little things he did in between mocking my (alleged) naiveté and impugning my intelligence. He noticed how hard I worked, for instance, and respected me for it—even checked up on me a few times when he realized I was putting in late night prep work for the next day.  He paid attention to what I was doing, and acknowledged legitimate improvements.  Mind you, his compliments were often buried among his criticisms, but they were sincere and on-point.  And maybe it was my imagination, but there had been a lot fewer insults lately.

I left the jeweller’s—the fourth such shop I’d been in—and frowned down at the paving stones.  The sun was already low in the sky, and I’d promised not to stay out past dusk.  Paris wasn’t a safe place after dark, and a lot of areas weren’t safe at any time. Or so I’d been told, over and over again, by various residents of Chez Comte, including Master Theodorus.

“Planning to take root and grow leaves?”  Snarky comment, snarky tone, big presence.

“Good afternoon to you too, Theo, and how are you today?”

[READ MORE BELOW CUT]

I looked up—quite a ways—and saw the expected sky blue eyes and irritating smirk.  His hands were shoved deep into his pockets, as usual, which made it feel like he was looming over me.  Other shoppers detoured around him without more than a quick glance of annoyance, with the exception of one belligerent young man who called him a rude name that he automatically returned in kind.  They glowered briefly at each other, but there was nothing in it—just an ordinary exchange of ‘civilities’ in Paris of the nineteenth century.  Or any century, come to think of it.

“Seriously, though, you going in or out?”  Theo indicated the shop behind me with his chin.

“I’m fine, thanks.  It’s a nice day, and I don’t often get out to see the city.  Haven’t needed the umbrella so far.”

Eyeroll.  Sigh.  “Give it up already, would you?  Are you here with Sebas?  Little pups like you need a handler—and maybe a leash.  You might get into trouble, otherwise.”

Right.  Why was I trying to find him a birthday present again? Oh yeah, because there was a heart of at least tarnished silver in there somewhere, and… well, I preferred to not think too hard about the rest.  I gave him my best ‘the customer is always right especially when they’re not’ smile. As a travel planner and occasional tour guide for status-conscious co-patriots, I’d had a lot of practice.

“I’m out on my own today, I’m afraid.  Napoleon and Isaac gave me a lift into town, but otherwise I’m completely unsupervised. How about you?  No big brother around to remind you to play nicely with the other children?”

Sadly, I wasn’t able to get a rise out of Theo, although his smirk faded into something closer to genuine amusement.

“What happened to the polite little girl who first arrived at the mansion?  I seem to remember somebody who stuck to ‘please’, ‘thank you’, and ‘I’m sorry’ most of the time.”

“Well, I didn’t get the best first impression of the tenants, and where I’m from, civility is often the best defense.”  I was going to add more—about lecherous writers and their syrup-swilling friends—but time was getting short, and not only did I still not have a present, but I was starting to wonder what was going on with Theo.  It was unlike him not to be twitching with impatience by this point in the conversation.  “Hey, Theo?”

“Hm?”

“Not that I don’t appreciate your company, but what’s up?”

“What do you mean?  I happened to be in town and saw you blocking traffic—thought I’d better wake you up before somebody knocked you down and stole your lunch money.”

I ignored the usual challenge to my maturity and life skills. “But now we’re both blocking traffic, and you’re always in a hurry when you’re on business.”  The image of the White Rabbit with his giant pocket watch came to mind again, and I added:  “You know—‘I’m late! I’m late!’ and all that.”

Theo frowned, apparently not catching the reference.  It occurred to me that I might be quoting the movie, rather than the book—and would Master Theodorus have bothered to read something as whimsical as Alice in Wonderland?  

“I’m never late for business appointments, hondje–what’s with you?”  Before I could reply, he went on.  “Believe it or not, you have a really terrible sense of self-preservation.  I was just trying to look out for one of God’s dumb creatures, you know?”

“Sure.”  Amazingly, the insult rolled right off me.  Maybe I was finally getting used to him, or maybe it was the dawning awareness that he was genuinely concerned and couldn’t bring himself to admit it.  “So, are you staying in town for dinner, or heading back?”

“Haven’t decided.” Theo shrugged.  “The real question is, how are you getting home?”

“A carriage?  I mean, that’s normal, isn’t it?”

“Napoleon or Isaac meeting you?”

“No, why?”  Great.  Now I had no birthday present and I was starting to feel nervous.  “I can always fend off the cabbie with my umbrella if there’s a problem, okay?  Anyway, I know this is usually your line, but I have to get going.  I still have something to pick up, and—for safety reasons—I’m not supposed to stay out after sunset.”

“…I guess I’ll go with you,” Theo grumbled.  At my look of surprise, he shoved his hands further into his pockets.  “You’re almost useful now, that’s all.  Be a waste for something to happen to you when Sebas finally has you halfway trained.”  More quietly, he added, “Still don’t know what they were thinking, letting you out on your own...”

I stared at him, torn between irritation and confusion.  After a moment, his eyes flicked away from mine.  I thought there was a hint of red in his fair cheeks, but the late afternoon sun made it hard to tell.

“Look, Theo, all joking aside, I’m not a child, and I think I can manage to take a carriage home on my own.”

“Who says I’m joking? What part of ‘Paris isn’t safe’ isn’t getting through your abnormally thick skull?  Look, you’re wearing nice clothes, and you’re obviously carrying money. Sure, you’re probably okay shopping on your own during the day, but taking a carriage out into the middle of nowhere just as it’s getting dark?  I couldn’t believe it when Arthur mentioned—” He broke off abruptly.

“What does our literary Lothario have to do with anything?” I demanded.

“Just—it doesn’t matter, okay?”  Theo was scowling, now; it was a familiar, if not especially charming expression.  “The point is, travelling home alone is asking for trouble, and you’re already trouble-prone.”

“Trouble-prone?”  

“Well, you managed to get stuck in le Comte’s door—that’s a first.  And just—ugh.  If you have something left to buy, we should get moving.  Besides, you’re still blocking traffic.”

Before I could find the words to properly express my aggravation, there was a polite cough at my elbow.  A neatly-dressed, middle-aged man had opened the door behind me, and was looking inquiringly between Theo and I.

“Madame, Monsieur… I do not wish to intrude upon a lovers’ quarrel, but perhaps you would be so kind as to find a more appropriate location?”  He bowed politely.  “You see, Monsieur is rather, ah, formidable, and it is not good for business.  I’m sure that you understand.”

Theo shot me an exasperated look, put a hand under my elbow, and dragged me away.  Since I couldn’t do anything about it without causing a scene, I went with him, calling an apology over my shoulder to the shopkeeper.

After we’d gone a short distance, I tried to yank my arm free.  I wasn’t successful, but at least it got my cranky companion to slow down. Once we’d reached a quieter spot, Theo finally let go.  We were both a little red, and this time it definitely wasn’t just the light.

“You—”

“What the—”

Theo shoved his hands back into his pockets.  I would have crossed my arms in response, but I had a bag in one hand and an umbrella in the other.

“Theo—”

“Hondje—”

I decided to let him go first.  It had occurred to me—as annoying as it was—that he might have a point about the wisdom of taking a hired carriage back to the mansion on my own.  There was no way to call ahead, and the stretch of road between the outskirts of the city and le Comte’s residence was uninhabited and surrounded by forest.  While I was confident that the residents of the mansion would hunt down anyone who harmed me, it made no sense to put myself in harm’s way unnecessarily.  

“Why didn’t Napoleon make arrangements for you to get home?” Theo asked at last, breaking the uncomfortable silence.  “He usually fusses over things like that.”

“I don’t know.”  I thought about the trip into town, and added, “I got the impression that he thought it was already taken care of.  He reminded me to stick to the one shopping district, but that was it.”

Theo suddenly went still, as though something had occurred to him.  Then he scowled again, but it didn’t seem to be at me, for a change.

“Who gave you the money to take a carriage back to the mansion?”

“Le Comte—well, technically I suppose it was Arthur…”  I paused, thinking it over.  “Arthur came up to me shortly before I left to tell me that le Comte had asked him to pass along the money for the trip back.  I was a bit surprised, but it didn’t occur to me to be worried about it.”

Theo muttered something in Dutch that I didn’t quite catch.  It sounded rude, but when I raised my eyebrows at him he just hunched a shoulder and growled, “Arthur, not you.”

“You think Arthur set me up?”  That made no sense.  “But why? I mean, he’s the one who told me—”

I bit off the rest of the sentence, since I’d been about to tell Theo that I’d been looking for a birthday present for him.  Arthur was the one who had recommended the particular shopping district and given me directions.  I’d reluctantly consulted him about possible gifts for Theo, since they appeared to be friends.  I would have preferred to ask our resident angel—Theo’s brother Vincent—but he’d been working non-stop on a painting for the past several days.

“Let me guess.”  Theo had stopped scowling, although he didn’t look happy, either.  “Somebody—probably Arthur, since Vincent’s been painting—told you about my birthday, right?  And you got it in your head that you should get me something, because you would.  Then Arthur suggested where to shop—he knows I like a lot of the artisans in this district.  Sound about right?”

“…Maybe.  But you still haven’t explained what you are doing here.”

“I told you—I had to be in town anyway, and somebody had to look out for the ignorant puppy.”

“I really wish you’d stop it with the pet references.  How did you know I’d gone into town and was coming back on my own?”

“Arthur.”  Theo grimaced. “We were chatting in the front hall, and he mentioned that he was concerned, because he overheard that the coachman wasn’t returning to town for you.  When I said you were probably coming back with Napoleon or Isaac, he made a big show of remembering that Napoleon and Isaac were staying in town late tonight. Bastard.”

I continued to stare at Theo, as the bits and pieces started to click.  It was beginning to sound as though Theo had rushed into town entirely for my sake—so that I wouldn’t have to travel home alone.  Even stranger, Arthur had been able to wind him up with a pretty suspicious story—maybe because my safety was at stake? Normally, Theo was as sceptical as they came.  …Not that I was feeling warm and fuzzy just because Theo had panicked over me or anything.

“What are you grinning about, hondje?”  The glower was back, probably because Theo hated looking like he actually cared about anyone other than Vincent.

“Nothing.”  For some reason, I couldn’t get the smile off my face.

“Just remember that if you had half a brain, and weren’t so reckless, you’d cause a lot less trouble.”

“Right—because it’s my fault that Arthur set me up just so he could mess with you.”

Theo didn’t respond; he seemed to be deep in thought.  Then he hastily pulled out a pocket watch and muttered, “Damn, I really am late, now.”

I stifled a giggle, as the image of Theo the White Rabbit came to mind once more.  “Hey, Theo?”

“What?”

“I’m sorry if you ended up missing something because you were looking out for me.”

He looked startled, then replaced the watch in his pocket and turned away, running a hand through his bright copper-brown hair.  “It wasn’t a big deal.  Otherwise you’d be on your own.”

“I still appreciate it—thank you.”

“Well… just remember that you owe me one.”  He still wouldn’t meet my eyes.  “You still had somewhere you needed to go?”

“Yeah.  Do you mind if I go into that bookstore?”  I pointed across the street.  I was pretty sure I’d been there once before with Sebastian, who was picking up an order for Leonardo.

“Whatever you want is probably in the library at the mansion, you realize.”  Despite his words, Theo immediately set out towards the store.  I hurried after him, unable to repress the thought that it was a lot more comfortable being in nineteenth century Paris with somebody—especially if he happened to be moderately intelligent and good-looking.  Having a glare that parted crowds like Moses parting the Red Sea was a bonus.

I was fortunate enough to find what I wanted, and quick enough that even Theo couldn’t find fault with me for wasting his time.  When I rejoined him outside the store, he was idly flipping through an art book, criticizing the publisher’s choice of paintings.  I could tell that his heart wasn’t really in it, though.

“So, I guess we should get home then?” I asked.

“Yeah, let’s go.  I’d suggest eating out, but Sebas is probably waiting for you, right?”

To my surprise, he held out an imperative hand for my bag, which now contained a neatly-wrapped two-volume set along with the bits and pieces I’d picked up earlier.  For some reason, I didn’t try to refuse, even though the bag wasn’t especially heavy.

“Thanks…”

“Sure.”  He offered his elbow, and rolled his eyes when I stared at it blankly.  “Take my arm, would you?  Last thing I need is for you to trip and twist an ankle now that the light’s going. And stop looking so surprised—makes you look even more out of it than usual.”

“Uh-huh.  Have you ever considered not adding the insults? I hear it can do wonders for people’s opinion of you.”

He looked down at me, smirking.  “Why would I care what people think?”

“You care what Vincent thinks.”

“He’s my older brother, and an artistic genius.  He’s allowed to have opinions.”

“Right…”

We were walking steadily toward the nearest area that was likely to have coaches for hire that would travel beyond the city limits.  I hated to admit it, even to myself, but it was nice to have an arm to lean on, especially since my feet had been sore for a quite while thanks to the uneven cobbles and hard paving stones.  I’d done more walking than I’d anticipated, and late Victorian fashions in ladies’ footwear were elegant, but not especially comfortable.

“Oi, hondje! Don’t fall asleep until we’re actually in the coach, okay?  Or are you hoping I’ll carry you?”

I stifled a yawn, and realized that Theo had a point—about falling asleep on my feet, not about wanting to be carried.  Because I didn’t.  Why would I?

“Oh jeez…  Come on, we’re here now—up you go.”

I let him help me into the carriage, and settled myself decorously on the forward-facing seat. Theo joined me a moment later, having spoken to the driver.  He sat down beside me, and stretched his long legs out in front of him as much as space allowed.  

“Go ahead and nap if you want,” he told me, pulling out a notebook and pencil.  “Maybe I can get some work done if you’re not babbling at me.”

“I don’t babble.”  At least, that’s what I tried to say.  A yawn got in the way, and Theo snorted.  I narrowly resisted the urge to stick out my tongue at him.  Too bad I really was feeling sleepy, though.

We reached the mansion very shortly after that, from my perspective.  I didn’t remember much from the trip itself, which was just as well—or so I told myself.  For one thing, when I woke up, I was leaning on Theo’s chest, and his arm was around me. Moreover, he’d obviously taken off my hat for me, which was just as well, since otherwise I’d have been skewered by the ten-centimeter-long hatpins.  I felt stupidly pleased about that, as well as comfortable tucked up against him, which was embarrassing.  Best not to remember how it had come about.

Theo’s face was scrupulously neutral when I sat up just as we were reaching the mansion.  He just… totally ignored whatever had happened. Not that anything had happened, but still.  I jammed my hat back onto my head, and tried not to yelp when I poked myself with a hatpin. Theo snickered.

“It’s on backward.  Might as well leave it off—you’ll look a little less untidy that way.  Though I guess at least it covers up your hair…”

I wanted to try for icy disdain, but instead I found myself missing his warmth beside me.  Apparently, he noticed something in my expression. His finger lightly brushed my cheek, which suddenly felt very warm indeed.

“You shouldn’t look at me like that, hondje,” he muttered, only partly to me.

“Wh-why not?”  This time, I tried for aloof.  What came out was anything but.

“Well… you look like you wouldn’t mind being kissed, and it is almost my birthday.”

“You’ve been spending way too much time with Arthur!”  Why was I leaning toward him, instead of grabbing my things and hurrying out of the carriage?

“That must be it.”

The touch of his lips on mine was electric.  Okay, what was going on?  I mean—really?

There was a respectful knock on the carriage door, and Theo’s fingers dropped from my cheek.  He grinned at me, but I couldn’t read the emotion behind it.

“Look on the bright side. The driver was bound to think we’d been up to something, since your hair’s such a mess.  At least this way you’ve gotten some benefit out of the embarrassment.”

“What?!  Theo!”

Of course he opened the door at that moment, and it was plain that the driver thought exactly what Theo had predicted he would think.  Ugh!  It was mortifying, but at least the man was a stranger, and hopefully I’d never see him again.

The same couldn’t be said for Arthur, Sebastian, and le Comte, who met us as we came into the house. I’d tried to tidy my hair and replace my hat while Theo paid off the driver, but the expressions on the three men’s faces when they took in my appearance suggested I hadn’t done a very good job.  I came to the conclusion that I’d have to kill Arthur, just to avoid ever seeing the smug, self-satisfied look ever again.  At least le Comte was back to his normal, pleasant self after a bare instant; Sebastian raised his eyebrows at me suggestively—naturally, I ignored him.

Unlike me, Theo was completely self-possessed.  He handed me my bag with a casual, “Try not to drop it, after all that.”  Then he nodded to le Comte and Sebastian, and dropped a hand on Arthur’s shoulder.  I thought I saw Arthur wince, but if so, any pain wasn’t enough to offset his amusement. He winked at me as Theo marched him out of the front hall towards the games room.

“Are you alright, chérie?” Le Comte appeared to be genuinely concerned, so I reassured him that I was fine.

“You’re late getting back,” murmured Sebastian.  “You’ll have to tell me all about it while we work on dinner.”

“Or not,” I murmured right back at him.  I bowed to le Comte.  “Monsieur le Comte—here is the money that Arthur gave me, from you, to pay for the journey back from town.  As it turned out, I didn’t need it.”

“From me?  No… it’s not mine.  But why don’t you keep it, since it appears that Arthur’s been up to mischief again?  The least he can do is help to pay for your parcels.”

When I tried to protest, le Comte smiled gently at me.  I accepted my defeat graciously—after all, there was some merit to his argument.  After a few more pleasantries—which helped to soothe my ruffled feathers, I admit—I went upstairs to change and put away my things. Le Comte accompanied me to the second floor, and detained me briefly outside my door.

“Did you find what you were looking for?  I gather you were trying to find a gift for Theodorus.”

“Oh…”  I hesitated, then nodded.  “Yes, I did eventually choose something, thank you Comte.  It came to me when I was looking at watch guards—I thought maybe a sturdy but elegant gold chain would suit Theo, you see.”

“That makes sense. But I take it that you didn’t get the chain?”

“No…  I wanted something more unusual.”  I decided to confide in le Comte—he struck me as good at keeping secrets, and once I told somebody, I was less likely to chicken out. I reached into my bag, and pulled out the wrapped parcel.  “Open it, and tell me what you think—if you don’t mind.  I’m sure it’s completely the opposite of what Theo would ordinarily read, but that’s why I got it.”

“I’m intrigued, ma petite. But if you mean that you chose something other than a technical work, or an art book, then I congratulate you.  It’s perceptive of you to realize that he could use something to shake him out of his tendency toward ‘all work and no play’—other than drinking with Arthur, that is.”

“Well, to be honest, that was only part of it.”  I made sure that le Comte followed me into my room, since with my luck, Theo would come up at exactly the wrong moment if we stayed in the upper hallway.

“Now I’m even more curious.” Le Comte deftly untied the string that secured the parcel, and folded back the brown wrapping paper to reveal two illustrated books.  “’Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland’… and ‘Through the Looking Glass’.”  He looked up at me, and I let out a sigh of relief when I saw the approval in his warm golden eyes.  “I wonder what our ever-practical Theo will make of these?  An excellent choice, chérie.  And no doubt you feel a certain kinship with Mademoiselle Alice? Although I think you chose a more dangerous world to fall into, as it were.”

I returned his smile and shrugged.  “Maybe. I’ve had a number of frightening experiences here, I’ll admit, but I’m not sure that Wonderland sounds all that pleasant.  At least nobody here has threatened to cut off my head for refusing to play croquet using live flamingos.”  When le Comte laughed softly, I added, “But you’re right that I do feel a bit like Alice at times.”

Le Comte flipped idly through the first book, admiring the illustrations.  Naturally, I’d made sure the artwork wouldn’t attract outright derision from the birthday boy.

“Tell me, chérie, what was your other reason for purchasing these books?  I thought it was because of Alice, and your situation here, but I gather that’s not it.”

“Oh—yes, you’re right.” I took the book from le Comte and flipped back several pages to one of the first illustrations, which showed a well-dressed rabbit with a large pocket watch and an air of panic about him.  Underneath, the caption read: ‘Oh dear, oh dear.  I shall be too late.’

Le Comte stared at the White Rabbit for several seconds without comment, and I began to feel anxious again.  Any resemblance to a certain hyper-busy art dealer was apparently all in my head…  Then the polished, ever-courteous, impeccably-dressed man beside me snickered audibly.

“Comte?”

He closed the book, leaving it between my hands, and bowed politely.  “I wish you all the best, ‘Alice’.  If you can get Theo to slow down and enjoy himself, even a little, you will have done him a true service.”

I nodded, but didn’t know what to say.  Who was I to tell Theo to slow down, if he was doing what he wanted to do?  We had a tenuous connection at best, although the afternoon’s events had suggested something more.  Was there more?  Did I want there to be?  What could I—or should I—read into that barely-there kiss?

When Sebastian arrived at my room twenty minutes later, sounding half-concerned and half-annoyed, I still hadn’t moved, and I still didn’t know the answers to any of my questions. The only thing I knew for sure was that I clearly had Theo on the brain.  I apologized to Sebastian, put ‘Alice’ into a drawer to wrap later, and finally got changed. It was time to concentrate on the job at hand, and not Theo’s unusually protective behaviour, or a stray kiss.

[END]

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A/Note:  Were you amused? Entertained? Please let me know what you thought!  Feedback is an author’s bread and butter when it comes to fanfiction. ♥ There may or may not be a sequel, depending on my time, other writing commitments, and reader interest.  For now, this story is published under my one-shot collection “Teatime Tales from the Mansion”

[brokenmusicboxwolfe]

I wrote this a while ago (4 months?) . Sorry it’s so long, but that’s the drawback of insomnia and no one to gush about a movie to...

Short verson? Unexpectedly I really liked an obscure old western called To the Last Man, basically because the romance at it’s center really connected with me. 

It’s interesting when a movie takes you by surprise.

I’ve been watching a a DVD set Pop fished out of a $5 bin a very long time ago. It’s one of those “20 movies crammed onto two discs, and how watchable the image and sound are doesn’t matter” kind of things. And geez, some of these look horrible. In the case of one movie there were times I couldn’t even tell which character was on screen. These are the sort of churned out discs where the just throw whatever they can get a hold of onto it, quality be damned.

 Not being a huge western fan, and having recently endured a similar set of early John Wayne films Pop had * I wasn’t looking forward to it at all. Still, it was the last of the unwatched movie DVDs so I figured I might as well play them.

Turns out they have been a facinating variety of westerns, covering at least 40 years. For instance one film was a a spaghetti western that actually involved a circus ** and a film next to it was a pilot to a 1970s tv show set in 1914 with the heroes traveling the west in a car. 

Which leads me to the biggest surprise so far, a barely movie length film from 1933 called To the Last Man. 

Now I went into it expecting very little. It was one of those movies so short it wouldn’t be considered feature length now, a western staring Randolph Scott who always seems to fade from my memory as soon as I finish a film. *** Even after it started it seemed to be a Hatfield and McCoy style family fued migrating west, with an already old fashioned silent era quirk of putting the names of the character and actor on screen when they first appeared. And then they added a Romeo and Juliet to the story…

Again I had low expectations, When they introduced the girl, daughter of the baddie family, I thought I knew exactly where it was going. Once out west the girl is a bronco busting, sometimes trouser wearing despite being the 19th century, kind of gal. I liked her, which made me dread the romance ahead.

See stories have traditionally had problems with romances involving  non-traditional women. 

In some stories the woman will be there for the fella, saving his life or something like that, but whatever affections he may have for her the love will be unrequited. Sometimes she dies, sometimes she gets a supporting character love interest, but always the hero goes off with the traditional princess type girl.

 In the stories where there is dainty, aloof beauty for the hero to moon over instead, they go a different route. Those are the stories where women are tamed. The hero often mocks and teases the woman for her non-traditional ways, even outright bullying her and accusing her of not being a “real” woman. She goes through an awkward phase of attempting to be properly feminine, to humorous effect, before eventually transforming into what a woman is “supposed’ to be for the love of her man.

I hate those, both of them. With the first,  I find myself grumbling the gal is to good for him if he cares more about a proper bit of styling and pretty face than courage or kindness. With the second, it’s even worse. Love does NOT demand that the person you love deny their nature and remake themselves to satisfy your tastes. If they have to change into something else to earn your love then you don’t love them at all. 

Anyway, I was sure how this was gonna go, especially with references in the conversation between the father and his thug pal about her wildness. This was gonna be a taming. I liked her as she was, and they were going to break her…

But I was wrong! 

The initial “meet cute” involved her swimming (naked…it was1933) and being harrassed by the thug until the hero rides up and intervened. When afterwards they chatted I was surprised. Sure it was flirty and established their attraction, but in more authentic way than I expected. When he refered to her as a lady and she assumed he was mocking her, in most movies there would be truth in her belief. But not here. To be honest I was as thrown as she was by his sincerity.

Later she talked to one of her father’s men, trying to figure out how a lady would dress because she wanted to dress that way before heading out to find the hero. I thought, “oh no, here it comes”, but again I was wrong. The conversation was sweet as the guy used his mother as an example and offered to help the girl go shopping, only to have her say she couldn’t wait that long. The hero would be camping for the night nearby, so she would have to go find him wearing her usual ratty clothes. She did NOT do the comedy attempt to fancy up!

And then we get to the campfire scene.

They may have met while she was swimming, but he has a body too. She surprises him as he shirtlessly shaves, so there is a bit of admiring the male form, complete with her saying she would think he was “soft” (for shaving so often in her rough world) if it weren’t for the fact she could see his strong arms. Even now too many movies don’t do something as simple as this: Let the man be physically admired by the woman.

During their conversation after he dresses, for all her attraction she is also self conscious of her rough around the edges appearance. When he notes her bare feet must find the mountains painful, she is defensive, expecting it to be a slight. But he quickly reassures her that no insult was meant, and it’s true. He didn’t. Not once in that scene, or in any scene, did he ever belittle her or tell her that she is somehow wrong for being herself.

When he was ready to say goodnight she announces she is staying. While she does tell him he must treat her “like a man” for the night, it’s still a woman boldly telling a man she’s spending the night with him whatever ended up happening after the fade out.

Now next morning she fixes him breakfast. In most movies this would either be the comical “non-traditional woman inept at proper womanly skills” or it would be the “non-traditional woman embraces properly womanly role because of love”. It was neither. She fixed him breakfast, an affectionate gesture to be sure,  but no fuss was made of it. She cooked it skillfuly and he didn’t seem astonished. It was just….breakfast.

Naturally as they are now head over heels for each other, this is when they find out each other’s family names, with the expected emotional turmoil. Now you would expect a few hostile scenes between them before they get over the whole feud thing, but they actually get over it quickly. By the time he buys gifts for his reunion with his family, he buys one more gift for her. And sure, when he leaves it where she can find it she at first angrily tosses it in the fire…before fishing it out. The fact is they are still in love, family war or not.  

About that gift..yes, it is a dress, but it doesn’t feel like a judgement or a nudge but a gift given with love of something she desires. He doesn’t know that when her father got out of prison he commented on her shabby dress,which she explained was her only dress after the hard life she’d had to live. He does know she was self conscious about the dress she wore when they met. It feels like a thoughtful gesture.  

The next time they are together, her family has stollen his family’s horses and she is joyfully riding the horse his brother had recently given to him. This would be a  moment for a lot of shouting and protesting that their own families were in the right. Instead we see little of the encounter except from the viewpoint of the distant thug. Considering the couple kiss and he smilingly sees her off on what had been his horse, I really don’t think there was much shouting.

Naturally the thug, who has designs on her,  tells her father abouther romance. The dress she’d hidden away is dug out as proof. She defiantly says she intends to wear the dress at her wedding to the hero, and her father lashes her. It’s off camera but we see him swinging the whip, so whoa, horrible daddy there! 

Stuff happens with the feud, which I’ve almost totally ignored**** despite it being the main plot, which culminates in the thug engineering a rock slide. The only survivor of the men folk from both clans is, of course, our hero. As he staggers to the girl’s home he seems horribly injured and dazed almost to senselessness. There is no sudden miraculous recovery for the sake of love scenes, fights or plot.  This is convincing the way 99% of all action movies ever aren’t when it comes to traumatic injuries. He needs care..

So here comes the thug. The girl quickly hides the hero in the loft and goes to work to deal with the villian. She has to feign normalicy, then react as he would expect her to react, while he makes clear she is to be considered his property and she has to figure out how to play that considering she is trying to hide her beloved. The dazed hero can hear what’s going on, tries to aim his gun, and drops it. The villian know the hero is there, so it’s time for a fight scene..l.

And the fight is between the villian and the girl!! And this is no dainty girly crap like so many movies have thrown at us. 

Mom and I used to have this thing of yelling at the screen “Hit him!!!!!” whenever heroes and villians would fight and the love interest would stand by looking helpless. I mean, I dunno about you but if someone is trying to kill someone I love they are gonna find themselves fuckin’ fughting TWO people!

And here the girl was doing some serious full body, roll on the floor punching and biting fighting. This wasn’t damsel in distress “You brute!” thumps at the chest or gingerly smashed vases on the head. She fought like she was trying to save the life of someone she loved. Which should be expected, but isn’t when watching an old western.

Alright, so the hero does finally do in the baddie by dropping down with a knife…but now that I think about it maybe SHE was the hero of the movie anyway.

Well, maybe to me she was because she was my identification character. Most of these westerns haven’t had women I could relate to at all, and here was one I related to on some very deep level. I got her. 

Now my family was nothing like hers, not only in the lack of violence (with the ones exception of a relative you can guess) but that they were hardly uneducated (say hello to the ONLY relative I even know of that didn’t graduate college…that would be me BTW) Heck, Pop was a total sweetheart.

And yet I got her. 

An unconventional woman type myself, I never learned the girly stuff. Partly that was accidental and partly it was impractical for the life we lived. I did have to be willing to be rough and tumble, with no line between guy stuff and girl stuff. When I was a kid I was also the only girl in a neighborhood of boys where being a sissy was the worst insult and you had to be ready to fight. I was the girl that swam in the river and played in the woods. And for various reasons ( would take a while to explain) I’ve spent most of my life in worn out work clothes. 

Actually that’s an aspect that makes her resonate even more: clothes. 

I don’t dress like her, but I have my own version shabby woods girl going on. As I write this I’m wearing one of my father’s old t-shirts with holes in it, jeans worn at the knees, a broken hair barrette in my hair, and steel toed men’s work boots on my feet. 

Now there are reasons for all of these. The practicalities of farm amd woods life, being poor enough I’d have to choose between new clothes or things like books, a childhood trauma that gave me a lifelong desire to dress for fight or flight, not having a social life so 99% of the time no human sees me, living in a rural area with no credit card for onlinr ordering and, in the case of the boots, just the fact they are all I can find locally that work with the ankle braces my flat feet force me to wear.

But notice what is missing from all these reasons: fashion. I almost never get to wear clothes I actually like. I’d flip through catalogs or wander stores and imagine wearing this or that. I have strong feelings about clothes I like or don’t, but no real chance to express it. I actually fantasize about that, living the sort of lifestyle where even if you are adventuring you get to pick clothes you want to wear.

Somewhere along the line people started assuming I what I wear reflects my taste, or rather lack there of. I used to ask my cousin at Christmas to please give me something pretty. She couldn’t understand it as a request, but folks just never thought of me as wanting pretty things. What would it have been like, just once, to try to be pretty. 

Actually I’d probably have been laughed at, a comedy buffoon, the hideous lady trying to look cute, the ugly step sister. Just as well life never gave me a chance to try. 

So being self conscious about my appearance is normal for me. I know how I look to people. I also know from experience that people can be cruel, and have taken my share of insults and mocking. In her position I would have thought he was making fun of me too and reacted almost exactly like her. In fact, I have. 

Here is a heroine I can relate to, and she gets the fantasy too. The fella falls in love with her, and loves her as is, not as a fix it upper. He loves her and doesn’t tease her about things where she is sensitive. He gives her a gift of something pretty just because he thinks she will like it. She gets to admire him (and his strong arms). She even gets to fight the bad guy to save him! 

Geez, of course I ended up loving the movie!

Never saw that coming, a Randolph Scott film I will actually remember! But the question is, will I finally remember his face or just his arms?

*NOT  a John Wayne fan, and these were some sort of 1930s filler less than an hour formula stuff.

**I REALLY enjoyed this one, but of course I have a thing for circuses. Woody Strode as a trapeze artist gunfighter and Victor Buono as the big bad were nice bonuses.

***That’s always puzzled me. I usually have an excellent memory for faces from movies, but I forget his instantly.

****Also forgotten, Buster Crabbe, Shirley Temple and the rest of the costars. 

[theinternetismylyfe-blog]

Why can't Black girls be innocent? Even in elementary school, I was never seen as a child

Why can't Black girls be innocent? Even in elementary school, I was never seen as a child

For 20 years of my life, I avoided contact with my private parts unless absolutely necessary. In college, graphic sex jokes flew around me, as they often do on those campuses. Each time, I'd look down in embarrassment, hoping the subject would change. I refused to wear tight or revealing clothing because I feared someone would notice my body and-even worse-comment on it. I accepted this as a personality quirk, maybe even a flaw. What I didn't accept this as was trauma.

Precocious puberty is a medical phenomenon that affects Black girls more often than their non-Black counterparts. It's a condition wherein young girls develop breasts and hips at an early age. For many of us, this results in us being hypersexualized as early as 8 years old. Black girls are usually taught to “deal with it,” so we grow into women whose traumas are never spoken, but carried in the memory of our bodies for years.

I can admit that, growing up, I wasn't the most confident child. My knees occasionally buckled together when I walked, and my brother's faded hand-me downs were a staple in my wardrobe. I was the definition of awkward, but I was able to live my life without judgement. No one bothered to say anything to a skinny child with oversized, pleated pants on, and I liked it that way.

Life continued peacefully until, one day, my mother said the words that seemed to hurtle me into the gaze of everyone within a seven-mile radius: “Kelly, baby. You need a bra.”

mustafagull/Getty Images

In an instant, I went from a child to a young woman-but my age had nothing to do with it. I suddenly found myself lost in the lingerie section of JCPenney's, trying to figure out why the slim, mature models for “juniors” clothes looked so incredibly different from me. After all, I was only 10 years old, barely even five feet tall, and still had baby fat nestled on my face and belly. I felt silly toting a pile of bras in my arms-especially when it seemed like every nearby woman had something to say.

I desperately wanted to stop hearing phrases like “she might be getting a chest on her,” and “ooh, look at those hips.” I'd attempt disappearing acts behind my mother, but to no avail. Internally, I was begging for things to slow down, to somehow remind everyone I was still very much a child.

But time stands still for no man, or woman, or precociously pubescent little girl.

Soon, my situation went from extremely uncomfortable to mildly insidious. Still imagining love as the wholesome kiss that wakes a princess up from sleep, I found myself becoming the object of desire for men much older than me-and nothing about it felt wholesome. There was a hardness in the way strange men looked at me when I went outside. To this day, the fear and unease I felt during those times have been imprinted on my heart. I began to feel unsafe in the presence of men and even of boys my own age.

At school, my male classmates would openly fawn over my body, turning me into a spectacle. Friends told me I should be flattered and not get defensive, but there was nothing to feel grateful for: lists were written on campus bathroom stalls, ranking who had the “best body;” pictures were drawn of me with cartoonish, inflated breasts; I couldn't even be in gym class without getting ogled at every time I did jumping jacks. My self-esteem shrank with every stare and comment. Girls became jealous of the attention I received, and vicious rumors spread about me wearing two bras to appear curvier.

Eventually, I started to feel disgusted by my body for all the excess attention and negativity it seemed to bring me

Strauss/Curtis/Getty Images

Many young Black girls have been caught in the confidence-shattering space between racialized objectification and misplaced resentment from their peers, simply because they have a body. Much like Sarah Baartman, I felt that I was constantly on display for others consumption. People saw my body first, and my soul second.

Years after these incidents, I still felt anxious and uncomfortable in my body, as though I was still my 10-year-old self. I mentally detached from my physical form as much as I could-never changing in front of a mirror, never coming in contact with the more private parts of my body except to clean them. There was a complete shutdown of a very human part of me, because it had been obsessed over by others when I was so young. Other girls who have experienced this kind of early objectification may go the opposite route-becoming hypersexual and more reckless with decisions involving their bodies in order to feel “in control.”

But it all stems from the same desire to escape the feeling that our bodies are not truly ours.

I have vowed to myself that if I ever have a daughter, I will never let anyone freely discuss her body as though she isn't in the room. I couldn't have controlled what I experienced in my childhood, but I can make a conscious effort to protect and defend the Black girls of today. No one should have to feel like their body is abnormal simply because it's growing the way nature intended it to. Luckily, I've learned that lesson as an adult and feel extremely loving towards my body now. But, just to be on the safe side, I still buy most of my bras online.

The post Why can't Black girls be innocent? Even in elementary school, I was never seen as a child appeared first on HelloGiggles.

[witchyinthekitchen]

This is a Vent Post about my Mother, Please do not reblog

This post is probably gunna be all over the place/time with things that I can remember/recall so bear with me here.

-Being told to make my own food bc mom was too busy with brand new baby (I was between 5-6 so poptarts were about all i could manage. I'd asked for a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.) (my brother was a VERY finniky baby. If you weren't holding him he'd scream till his face went purple.))

-Tried to share interests in Anime/manga with her, when I asked her what she felt about it she said she couldn’t get into it and that it felt like a chore. (13-15 ish)

-Told her I needed therapy bc I was having suicidal thoughts. She took me, but then took me out once I started getting upset about the things i’d been talking about in therapy with my therapist because I'd come home in a bad mood.(15-16 ish)

-Went to Mother Daughter Group Therapy with her (there were other mother daughter combos) and she stormed out in the middle of it saying that we were only attacking her and not my dad too. (was 15-16 ish)

-Got into an argument about who i was voting for in the 2016 election while on vacation at Disney World (Hint it wasn't Trump like she wanted)(24 ish)

-Tried to gaslight me about trying to get everyone together to talk wedding stuff saying how she tried but that it all fell apart. (I have texts of her canceling it the day before we were all supposed to get together.)(26)

-Gets super defensive/upset any time I talk about “other mothers” in my life (MIL, BM)

-Has been super hot and cold with me during wedding planning and making passive aggressive comments about everything: Tell him to buy new pants for the engagement shoot 'bc I dont want him wearing baggy clothes -SO's Lost over 20lbs+ for the wedding and i'm so fuckin proud of him- “I don’t want to pay for hard alcohol for SO and his friends to drink at the wedding.” As if ½ the people invited weren’t all just her friends? ((All our friends live out of state/country so half the wedding is family and HER friends/neighbors.)) "I’m sure H*(SIL) and K*(MIL) have good counsel for you on _____," (Why would you say this when i'm asking for YOUR opinion? If i wanted their opinion i'd ask them.)

-4 months before the wedding she’s trying to talk me out of my venue saying we need to go look at the ones SO and MIL had suggested.

-Wants me to keep (BM)'s relation to me a secret even though i’m pretty sure 85% of the people who know me and are coming to my wedding know i'm adopted.

-Angry that I was moving out of the house at 21 with my SO she told his mother she hoped we’d fail. (In her defense she'd just been diagnosed with breast cancer and I'd done poorly in my last semester of college so parents thought it would be a good idea to take me out of college for a semester so i could live at home and basically be at my moms beck and call while also being expected to work 2 jobs (they'd told me the instant that the semester was over that i was expected to work 2 jobs) -That's at least how I was viewing that whole situation before I moved out- )

-As a kid I remember wanting to run away a lot. (Never away to a friends house but always to a park to live under a bridge like the goblin I am (lol)) (is it obvious I use self depreciating humor to get through things that I'm uncomfortable with? haha)

-I'd always hide things from her, even small things like a puzzle book i'd bought myself from the elementary school book fairs. i even began writing my diaries in code so she couldn't read them. Not that i ever caught her reading my diaries or what not but thats how afraid i was.

-The only things that stopped me from killing myself was the distressing thought that my mother would be more upset with blood on the floor than me being gone. (It was a constant worry of mine when I was having ideations.)

-When i was getting close to graduating high school the librarians told me they had a bunch of excess old books they were getting rid of and one of them happened to be the "Toxic Parents" book i've seen several other posts refer to. I took no other books besides that one. I hid that from her too. Looking back through it i remember there was a checklist in the book and i'd filled some of it out when i was younger. I most definitely am a people pleaser.

-We've never really been able to "talk" about things together like how my dad and i do and i think she's really jealous about it.

-The only way I feel comfortable talking to her is Via Email/Text because then that way i have a copy of all the things she's said. because i often forget things. (I honestly don't know how bad my memory is or if its gaslighting but i hope its just me being forgetful and not the latter...)

-I literally cannot let my SO do the dishes because my Mom would always do the dishes/clean when she was mad and bang pots around loudly and just even those sounds set me on edge.

-Her telling me that the careers i wanted to get into (IE: the Arts/Theater/Music) wouldn't make enough money and that they'd be fine as Hobbies but not as careers.

-She's continually trying to push me into a Customer Service Job because i'm so good at making other people happy. (talked to dad about this and he says i'm a very big people pleaser who doesn't like conflicts -cue nervous laughter about wedding planning-)

-Being around her for long periods of time is so physically/emotionally draining. I know that's probably a result of always being on edge with her and I always feel bad that I feel that way.

-Because she's said she hoped I'd fail (me and my So when I first moved out) I'm terrified of telling her anything personal going on in my life for fear that she'd take it out on me or use it against me (i got super anxious/scared when she came up to see me on my end of town once because we'd be stopping at the mall where i used to work and i hadn't yet told her that I'd quit that job.)

-I want to have a relationship with her. I want us to do fun Mom& Daughter things but at the same time I'm scared of letting her get too close to me again just to have it fall apart again.

-When I moved out (21) i went VLC with my whole family before i even knew what VLC was. I barely saw them (except for certain holidays/events.) I didn't talk to my dad for about 3 years because of this and am just now recovering that relationship with him (been 5 years now since I moved out)

-After I get married my plan is to move to CO. During that time i don't remember if my mom has mentioned if she'd miss me, but i do recall she has made multiple points to tell me that my dad says he would miss me.

-I had to beg for a 16th Birthday Party. She finally caved half a year later after I'd talked to my Therapist about it.

-pretty sure i'm the SG of the family (possibly Cousin 1 being the GC because she went to same University my mom did)

-Other family members on her side have stepped in to provide financial help to me on the promise that i wouldn't tell anyone. (probably to stop any gossip of favoritism)

I Don't know if she's an N or just really bad at expressing herself but her hot and cold attitude really sets off my anxiety that i've done something to piss her off and that she won't talk to me about it for a few weeks and then acts as though nothing is wrong/nothing happened. Planning my wedding is the MOST contact we've had in 5 years since i moved out and went VLC and i've been trying to use this as a way to bond with her better but anytime i think i'm getting somewhere Something happens and she's upset again. A phrase i've found myself come into saying recently is "I can't fix something that I don't know is wrong." So i've tried to take that approach when it comes to her. I know she's an adult and can choose for herself if she wants to talk about whats on her mind. I can't force her to talk if she doesn't want to but the anxiety it causes when she gets into these moods is really debilitating. I'm terrible at letting things go (especially if i think its my fault)

I'm Not Her Therapist, but if she has an issue with me I wish she'd just tell me instead of the Silent treatment for a week.

Trigger Topics that I've learned to Avoid at All Costs:

Anything about "Other Mothers" in my life.

Politics & Racism

Anything in the Past that happened.

My moving out

Anything that paints her as a "Bad Mother"(aka this whole post probably)

This post is a mess and I'm rambling. Thanks for sticking through this Brain Dump while I process. 

-Edit 2:

More things i'm recalling: For Christmas one year in front of my whole family (I was between 8-10 ish) she got me a set of underwear with the days of the week labeled on them and told me in front of everyone that "Maybe this would help me remember [to change my underwear daily]..."

One of my final years in high school I somehow managed to get a Cold Sore. My First Cold Sore ever and my lip where it broke out swelled up HUGE. I woke up the day it appeared ( a weekend thank the gods) and horrified went downstairs to tell my mom about it. I don't recall any words of sympathy other than "Cold Sores are caused by Herpes." I just remember breaking down into tears.

I mapped out a "Quiet Walking Path" that avoided all the creaky floorboards and steps in our house.

I get extremely anxious whenever I would hear my parents footsteps coming up the stairs. It got to the point that I could distinguish their steps on Carpet.

I jump/flinch (visibly) at loud noises, even if I know they are coming (movies songs ect.)

Routinely friended/unfriended me on Facebook before deleting it entirely (due to 2018 spying/hacking allegations)

I don't know if she means for these things to be hurtful but as someone who doesn't enjoy confrontation and is extremely sensitive to others feelings it just hurts y'know?

-edit 3: Attempted to talk to mom about her saying she hoped we'd fail via email. went about as well as expected. =Well, that clears a lot of things up. We only wanted you to be independent and happy, and it appears you are. End of story!

And for what it’s worth, I’ve said a LOT of things over the past 6 years that you didn’t hear about. And I’m not really sure where you heard “I hope they fail.” But I’m sure your source is 100%, and certainly not something you’d want to clarify with me.

I hope you got your apartment all squared away in Colorado. You should be under the 60-day notice by now! Woo hoo!

Let me know when you all are coming to get your stuff out of the house.

I’ll have it packed and ready for you.

-Mom

Am i reading into this too much? because it sounds like she's being hella passive aggressive about this.

-Edit 4: 7-19-18 Been venting about wedding planning being stressful on fb away from my mom since she doesn't have one anymore. I didn't realize she had fms reporting to her about my posts as she just randomly mentions via text that she wants to help me have fun while planning and that she wishes she could make it a happy time for me.

Edit 5: 9-26-18 Wedding is over finally. had our honeymoon and got moved out of our apartment back into my MIL's house. During the move we had to put all of our stuff into storage which includes Wedding gifts and thankyou notes. So Mom has been hounding me about getting them done and i've informed her several times that all of that is in storage and i havent been able to yet. She said not an excuse go buy more thankyou notes and write them all. I asked if Emailing a thank you would work, she says no must be hand written and mailed out (also who's paying for 100+ stamps: Me) Well Tonight she informs me that she's doing all the ones from her/my side and that she doesn't care if we do them for DH's side since SIL didn't send any thank you notes either. Cue big long talk with DH about all of this and he says not to worry about her being passive aggressive like this. Go and check my Email to find she sent an Email to me only with writing saying

"Dear all,

Thank you so much for attending --- wedding. Your presence was so important to me, and I know to the kids as well. Thank you also for the lovely wedding gifts you sent or brought. I know they are appreciated and will be enjoyed by the newlyweds. It was very kind and generous of you!

Unfortunately, --- is unable to send thank you notes, but I did want you to know that your gifts, and your presence at the celebration, were very important to all of us, and very much appreciated.

Fondly,

MOM"

currently I'm choosing not to respond and I wonder how our relationship is going to be going forward from all of this... I was so happy that the wedding was over so i wouldn't have to deal with this petty drama bullshit anymore but I guess thats just too much to ask for.

-She's also unfriended me on facebook again. I'm tempted to just block her to stop this wishy washy stuff from happening again.

[fearofaherobrine]

Roleplay Server Log #280

“Dawn Repairs Sally, Pottery Lessons”

[Splender] He and Sally are about to head out of the server to gather supplies for his brother's gift-

[Sally] Is bouncing excitedly- Let's go!  Let's go!

[Gk] Is flopped across the path and twitches his goatlike ears at the childish sound- Hmm?

[Sally] Laughs as she grabs onto Splender's leg-

[Gk] Picks up his head and looks at her quizzically- Who's the kid?

[Splender] - Oh!  Gk!  Hello, this is Sally!

[Gk] Twitches his ears - is she one of the village kids?

[Splender] - No, she's a pasta!

[Gk] Aww, a little pasta? - Leans his head near her - Looks like a cute little macaroni type. -winks at her-

[Sally] Hides behind Splender a little-

[Splender] - We're going to go get some stuff for her gift to my brother for his birthday

[Gk] Which brother? I don't think you'd take a little kid to buy something for Offender!- snorts -What's the matter kid, you scared of me?

[Splender] - She's always nervous around new people, especially men...

[Sally] - No, it's for papa

[Gk] Oh. I can.. uh.. hang on- He transforms and isn't much taller then Sally in his human shape. - Who's your dad? I thought BEN was the only pasta with a kid?

[Sally] - Papa Slender!

[Splender] - Brother is strangely defensive of her and has taken on a parental role for her, especially after what happened to her

[Gk] Oh the biggest brother! Reminds me of Cp. Murderous to adults, but nice to kids...

[Sally] - You know CP?  He's one of the ones who plays with me the most!

[Splender] - Actually...

[Gk] Yep. He's my drinking buddy. Though not as often lately since I'm helping raise Endrea's kiddos.

[Sally] - Oh, it's been a lot more quiet since almost nobody is home...  And Endrea is cute when she's rteally tiny!

[Gk] You should visit more often then. She's got three little kids of her own that are near always feeling playful.

[Sally] - Okay!  But first we have to go get some shells for Papa!

[Gk] shells?

[Sally] - For his present!

[Gk] You're going to give him shells? Will they at least have edible stuff in them?

[Sally] - No!  To decorate a vase!  Splendy's going to help me!

[Gk] Cocks his head at her - Why don't you use gems? Something sparkly?

[Sally] - Because I wanna use shells!

[Gk] Okay? - Looks at Splender in confusion.

[Splender] - That's just how humans are, now we should be going before it gets dark out

[Gk] Do you want me to walk with you? The mobs usually leave me the nether alone.

[Splender] - Oh no, we're going out to the real world

[Gk] Oh. Okay. Well look out for MIBs and stuff.

[Splender] - Oh trust me, we're going someplace safe

[Gk] What would you consider safe?

[Splender] - Dawn's island!

[Gk] Oh, the witch. Yeah, I'd say that's pretty safe. I hear it's isolated as all get out and well... Basil is here already.

[Splender] - Yup!

[Sally] - Splendy!  Let's go!

-The morning in the woods dawn's crisp and icy and Doc is pacing a little bit. -

[Doc] Xe throws the bunker door open and the light streams in fully, bringing with it a breath of cold, clean air.

[Lie] - Shut the door!

[Doc] Ignores her and leans out to see. - Wow...

[Lie] - Doc that's too cold

[Doc] Fine. - Xe closes the door except for a crack and goes outside.

-The snow has fallen and covered everything in pure white drifts nearly knee deep, and more against the sides of the building. Hir breath fogs out and hir boots crunch in the snow. The trees are just bare black branches clawing at the empty blue sky. -

[Lie] Is grumbling inside, trying to build the warmth back up again-

[Doc] Turns back to look at the door. The scratches are still there, incised deep into the metal, but some of them seem somehow fresher.

[Lie] Mentally- Why do you want to be out there is the frozen hell scape?

[Doc] It's actually kind of pretty. I'm not used to snow being more then just a white dusting on the ground.

[Lie] - How much is out there?

[Doc] It's pretty deep, about to your knees. But it's super powdery.

[Lie] - That's pretty deep, don't try to walk through it, you don't know where there might be holes

[Doc] Makes hir way carefully back to the door and steps down hard into a slushy spot. The muck leaves a black film on one boot and xe shakes it with some annoyance. - Too late...

[Lie] - Come on back and warm up by the fire

[Doc] Walks back in and leaves hir wet jackboots by the door.

-The brackish film slides slowly down the leathery surface and pools under the boot, getting into the crevices between the sole and the heelplate.

[Doc] Is wearing purple socks and skips quickly over to sit by the lava pool. - The ground is wet under all that ice.

[Lie] - Yeah that happens.  So, anything other than your brief excursion outside planned for today?

[Doc] Well I would have happily gone for a longer walk, but it's probably a bad idea. I don't want to get lost. Are we running low on anything?

[Lie] - Not that I can tell, we still have a tiny bit of Chinese food too

[Doc] Darn... I was kind of looking for an excuse to pop back for a few.

[Lie] - Why?  Do you need to get anything?

[Doc] No, I just get worried.

[Lie] - Then go, I can hold down the fort here

[Doc] Are you sure? It's not really fair to keep leaving you.

[Lie] - I'll be fine, actually, there is something you could get for me while you're over there

[Doc] Anything.

[Lie] - A small vial of the lust nectar

[Doc] Gulps - I might have one... stored someplace...

[Lie] - I would appreciate it

[Doc] Can do. - Xe pulls hir shoes back on and opens the way to the server. Xe takes a welcome breath of the warm air and walks briskly from the spawn towards hir house. The front door opens with a familiar creak and the Doctor doesn't even notice the black footprint hir boot leaves on the carpet at the bottom of the stairs. Later that night, the mark isn't there anymore anyway.

[Sally] Is giddily playing in the shallow waves on the sandy beaches of Dawn's island-

[Splender] Is watching her from the shade of the trees-

[Dawn] Slips silently through the trees and stands next to Splender. - Aww. You brought a ghost out for a nice day at the beach? She's so young. Poor child.

[Mort] Is carring Samedi in his arms, the black rooster looks comfy and drowsy. He was obviously letting Dawn see who was there first. - Oh, hey Splender. It's a lovely day isn't it?

[Splender] - Oh hello you two! Yes, we came out here to find some shells, but somebody seems to be having a bit more fun with the water at the moment [Sally] Reaches for something in the water that she picks up- Splender! I found a crab!

[Splender] - Careful! Don't let it pinch you!

[Sally] Runs back over to Splender to show him the crab but when she see's Dawn and Mort she gets shy and looks at Splender for reassurance-

[Mort] gently- That's a big old crab! Those guys are pinchy.

[Sally] Nods a little and then looks at Splender- Splendy?  Can we keep it?

[Splender] - No Sally, it lives here, but maybe it can stay with us while we're visiting

[Samedi] ruffled feathers, and opens one eye to look at the girl. Sensing something off about her

[Splender] Creates a bucket and holds it out for Sally- Here, put mister crab in here

[Sally] Drops the crab in and then looks at it- He's hungry

[Dawn] They'll eat pretty much anything, they're scavengers

[Sally] - Like cookies?

[Dawn] Maybe? You can try.

[Sally] Looks at Splender- Cookie please

[Splender] Laughs and pulls a sugar cookie out of his sleeve- Such good manners

[Sally] Drops it into the bucket with the crab- There he goes

[Mort] Is petting the chicken softly. It keeps opening and closing its beak, but there's no sound.  

[Splender] Creates another bucket- Here you go, why don't you put the shells in here.  We need to hurry so we can make the present

[Sally] - Okay!- She goes running off with both buckets on the hunt for shells

[Dawn] Oh no... is it time to glue shells to things?

[Mort] Snorts-

[Splender] - Nope!  Pressing into clay to make a vase!

[Dawn] I have nice clay and a kiln if she just wants to make a pot...

[Splender] - Oh really?  That would be wonderful since I don't know much about clay myself

[Mort] Wanders over to Sally- Do you want some help?

[Dawn] Certainly. Mort's very good at making ceramics. I mostly do the firing. But Doc gave us a bunch of really nice clay if you want to partake.

[Splender] - I just might

[Sally] - Hi!  I like your chicken!

[Mort] Thank you. His name is Samedi, you can pet him if you want.

[Samedi] Looks at her quizzically.

[Sally] Puts one of her buckets down and reaches out to pet the bird-

[Samedi] Is petted and stays perfectly quiet. His coat is glossy and black and his tail feathers arch over Mort's elbow and trail a little.

[Sally] Giggles- Will you help me find shells?

[Mort] Sure! - He transfers the rooster to his shoulder and helps her look.

[Sally] Splashes through some of the water and then runs towards a rock.  As she runs, she trips and falls, hitting her head on it.  Her entire demeanor shifts as her color dulls and her clothes become dirtier and blood begins to flow down her face-

[Mort] Rushes to her as the rooster clings to his hoodie - Splender!

[Dawn] Also rushes to help-

[Splender] Turns to look- Wait!  Don't touch her!

[Mort] Brushes her clothing and then jerks away at Splenders yell -

[Samedi] Goes crazy flapping madly at Sally and opening his beak as if to caw at her-

[Dawn] Gives a startled hiss at the childs appearance

-The brief contact was all Sally's abilities needed as Mort becomes petrified as his mind is barraged from memories of when Sally was living.  The small ghost reaches down and picks up the rock-

[Splender] Teleports to Sally and stops her from moving any farther- Shhhhh, it's okay, he's not here.  You're safe little one- He's trying to coax the rock from Sally's hand so she can't bash in Mort's skull

[Mort] Is sitting in the water crying as Dawn reaches him.

[Dawn] Is already turning to snatch the rock out of her hand as Splender appears.

[Sally] Is crying- Don't let him get me...

[Splender] - Shhh, it's okay, remember?  Papa already took care of him

[Mort] Just curls up as Dawn lifts him and the rooster from the water.

[Dawn] She carries him solemly to the shore and sets him down, protecting him with her arms and magick.

[Mort] Lets out a small sob.

[Splender] - I'm so sorry about this, if I'd been a little faster in my warning...

[Mort] Is hugging himself. - Why...?

[Dawn] -sighs-

[Splender] - She's a creepy pasta, it's the way she's found to be able to disable her prey so she can kill them

[Dawn] I think he means just why in general Splender. His mom was abusive. He has a lot of bad memories of his own already.

[Splender] - Sally's parents weren't the abusive ones, it was her uncle

[Dawn] Still... It's nothing he wants to think about.

[Splender] - I apologize...  If you want us to leave...

[Sally] Is just crying into Splender's jacket now-

[Dawn] I take it this is something she can't control?

[Splender] - No, it isn't.  The bleeding and dulling of her colors is normal for when she gets upset, it was her hitting her head that kicked her killing instinct into gear

[Mort] Could we... bless her? Would that help at all?

[Splender] - I don't know

[Dawn] It helped him, and it won't hurt someone who's already dead.

[Splender] - If you're certain,  brother would be very upset if anything happened to her

[Dawn] If there's one thing I'm good with Splender, it's the dead and undead. I've been given power over them by my patron.

[Splender] Looks down at Sally- Are you alright now?

[Sally] Peeks at Dawn and Mort- I'm sorry

[Mort] I forgive you.

[Dawn] Me as well.

[Mort] Come over here, I want to show you something. - He's still sitting on the sand with Dawn behind him-

[Sally] Nervously looks at Splender who encourages her over, she goes over, still bloody-

[Mort] Pats the ground for her to sit in front of him. The sand is warm, white and powdery.

[Sally] Sits, looking curiously at Mort-

[Mort] Dawn's father, and for all in intents and purposes, my father-in-law is Azrael, the angel of Death.

[Sally] - Who?

[Dawn] The Grim Reaper? Very tall skeleton in a black robe with silvery gray wings?

[Sally] Shrugs-

[Mort] There's a small creaking noise as he smirks his skull a little. - It's okay, the point is he gave me something special. A blessing energy to help keep me alive. - He reaches down and unzips his hoodies so the front falls open. The empty ribs inside are lit up from within by a plume of green fire dancing in the center of the space.

[Sally] - Doesn't that burn?

[Mort] No, it's actually a little bit cold. - He passes a hand over where his heart would be and some of the flames jump to his fingers, dancing between the bones.

[Sally] Watches with fascination-

[Mort] Do you mind if I touch you with it? It may help you forget your re-occuring nightmare.

[Sally] - No more Uncle Joe?

[Mort] Yes.

[Sally] - Okay

[Dawn] Give me a moment... - She stands up fully and drags her heel in a circle around them making some gestures and quiet words in the cardinal directions before coming back to put her hands on her mate's shoulders from behind again- Ready.

[Splender] - Oh do be careful

[Mort] I will, it's a good energy. Watch this. - He wipes his hand on the sand and it leaves a trail of green shoots of grass on the formerly pristine surface.

[Sally] - Plants!

[Mort] Are you ready?

[Dawn] Is gathering her energies as well and feeds them into him-

[Mort] He holds out his own bony fingers, all wreathed in fire. -Take my hands please.

[Sally] Reaches for his hands, her smaller ones fitting snuggly inside his bony ones-

[Dawn] Lifts her voice and the words flow like water around the circle-  In nomine Angelus custos est ad finem omnia, ut iubes animam tuam. Liber esto darkess esta est, et vade in odium suum et foedum habent quod putent adhuc vestram narrando revocare. Esta volo mundare et ex contagio alios afficiunt. Iustitiae omnino mercedis accepit te. In Gruva nomen liberari. Sic fiat semper. -

[Mort] The green fire wreathes the three of them briefly and then slides back inside him.

-The circle is now full of a lush carpet of grass that ends exactly at the line Dawn made in the sand.

[Dawn] Makes a starred circle with her right hand and quietly releases the corners of the temporarily sacred space.

[Sally] - I feel funny...

[Mort] Uncurls his fingers gently - Funny good?

[Dawn] Shakes herself off a bit- That was heavy stuff...

[Sally] - I think so?

[Splender] Swoops in to hug Sally- Oh thank goodness you're alright!

[Dawn] Well I don't suggest we injure her to test it, so let me know how it goes, okay?

[Splender] - Oh absolutely!   Now what do we say Sally?

[Sally] - Thank you

[Mort] Can we go make pots now?

[Dawn] Chuckles-

[Sally] - That's right!  Papa's gift!

[Dawn] Come on then- Motions up the path.

[Samedi] Goes strutting ahead-

[Sally] Is put down and she follows along behind Dawn-

-The group passes through a lot of jungle and enters into a clearing bordered on the back and sides by a sheer rock face. The rooster disturbs the chickens pecking in the yard and they scatter a bit at the newcomers approach. Mort picks his way between the lush garden and the side of the house back to a shed with an open side, pulling the tarp away to reveal what's within. There's a wheel and a long table and shelves with pots in various stages of completion. The most striking thing though is a huge clay block, nearly square but missing a chunk off one corner.

[Splender] - Ready to work Sally?

[Sally] Nods eagerly-

[Mort] Good. Here, I'll set you up. -He takes a wire with a bit of wood on either end like a garrotte and uses it to slice a hunk of clay from the block. It's already perfect and moist and he drops it on the table for her. There are already some tools laying around with weird ends and smoothing edges.

[Sally] Plunges her fingers into it-

[Mort] Watches her - are we doing pinch or coil?

[Sally] - I don't know what that means

[Mort] Well pinch is like this- He takes a ball and shoves his thumb into the center- then you just go around and around and make the walls thinner by squeezing.

[Sally] Plops the clay onto the table- It makes a funny noise!

[Mort] Yep, it's squishy!

[Splender] Just sits back to watch-

[Dawn] Is watching bemused - You want in Splender?

[Splender] - Oh no, I'm happy to watch

[Dawn] Are you sure? With those long fingers you might get a kick out of the wheel.

[Mort] Is showing Sally how to roll a snake for coiling pots.

[Sally] Is making snake noises as she does so-

[Splender] - Oh I've done it many times in the past, but I find it more entertaining to see what children come up with

[Dawn] Ah, okay. Well you're always welcome to do so here. We've got plenty of clay and it fires better if the kiln is nice and full.

[Splender] - I will keep that in mind

[Sally] - Is just having fun, her vase having several little holes in it-

[Mort] I know a better way to use the shells too!

[Sally] - Really?

[Mort] Smooths out a bit of clay with a rubber tool and takes a shell before pressing it deeply into the clay- the actual shells would break in the kiln, but the textures make all kinds of interesting stamped patterns.

[Sally] Cool!- Starts pressing them everywhere

[Mort] If you want, I can glaze it too, then it will be all glassy and smooth - gestures at some finished pieces around them.

[Sally] - Pretty

[Mort] Just pick a color.

[Sally] - Pink!

[Mort] Okay, I'll make a note. You just work on that part. Make sure the walls aren't any thicker then this -Pinches his fingers to show her a small amount of space. - and try not to fold the clay over itself. Bubbles will make it blow up.

[Sally] - Okay!- Shew sticks out her tongue in concentration

[Splender] Hums in contentment as he leans back, ready to be patient-

[typhoonprecious-blog]

Why can't Black girls be innocent? Even in elementary school, I was never seen as a child

Why can't Black girls be innocent? Even in elementary school, I was never seen as a child

For 20 years of my life, I avoided contact with my private parts unless absolutely necessary. In college, graphic sex jokes flew around me, as they often do on those campuses. Each time, I'd look down in embarrassment, hoping the subject would change. I refused to wear tight or revealing clothing because I feared someone would notice my body and-even worse-comment on it. I accepted this as a personality quirk, maybe even a flaw. What I didn't accept this as was trauma.

Precocious puberty is a medical phenomenon that affects Black girls more often than their non-Black counterparts. It's a condition wherein young girls develop breasts and hips at an early age. For many of us, this results in us being hypersexualized as early as 8 years old. Black girls are usually taught to “deal with it,” so we grow into women whose traumas are never spoken, but carried in the memory of our bodies for years.

I can admit that, growing up, I wasn't the most confident child. My knees occasionally buckled together when I walked, and my brother's faded hand-me downs were a staple in my wardrobe. I was the definition of awkward, but I was able to live my life without judgement. No one bothered to say anything to a skinny child with oversized, pleated pants on, and I liked it that way.

Life continued peacefully until, one day, my mother said the words that seemed to hurtle me into the gaze of everyone within a seven-mile radius: “Kelly, baby. You need a bra.”

mustafagull/Getty Images

In an instant, I went from a child to a young woman-but my age had nothing to do with it. I suddenly found myself lost in the lingerie section of JCPenney's, trying to figure out why the slim, mature models for “juniors” clothes looked so incredibly different from me. After all, I was only 10 years old, barely even five feet tall, and still had baby fat nestled on my face and belly. I felt silly toting a pile of bras in my arms-especially when it seemed like every nearby woman had something to say.

I desperately wanted to stop hearing phrases like “she might be getting a chest on her,” and “ooh, look at those hips.” I'd attempt disappearing acts behind my mother, but to no avail. Internally, I was begging for things to slow down, to somehow remind everyone I was still very much a child.

But time stands still for no man, or woman, or precociously pubescent little girl.

Soon, my situation went from extremely uncomfortable to mildly insidious. Still imagining love as the wholesome kiss that wakes a princess up from sleep, I found myself becoming the object of desire for men much older than me-and nothing about it felt wholesome. There was a hardness in the way strange men looked at me when I went outside. To this day, the fear and unease I felt during those times have been imprinted on my heart. I began to feel unsafe in the presence of men and even of boys my own age.

At school, my male classmates would openly fawn over my body, turning me into a spectacle. Friends told me I should be flattered and not get defensive, but there was nothing to feel grateful for: lists were written on campus bathroom stalls, ranking who had the “best body;” pictures were drawn of me with cartoonish, inflated breasts; I couldn't even be in gym class without getting ogled at every time I did jumping jacks. My self-esteem shrank with every stare and comment. Girls became jealous of the attention I received, and vicious rumors spread about me wearing two bras to appear curvier.

Eventually, I started to feel disgusted by my body for all the excess attention and negativity it seemed to bring me

Strauss/Curtis/Getty Images

Many young Black girls have been caught in the confidence-shattering space between racialized objectification and misplaced resentment from their peers, simply because they have a body. Much like Sarah Baartman, I felt that I was constantly on display for others consumption. People saw my body first, and my soul second.

Years after these incidents, I still felt anxious and uncomfortable in my body, as though I was still my 10-year-old self. I mentally detached from my physical form as much as I could-never changing in front of a mirror, never coming in contact with the more private parts of my body except to clean them. There was a complete shutdown of a very human part of me, because it had been obsessed over by others when I was so young. Other girls who have experienced this kind of early objectification may go the opposite route-becoming hypersexual and more reckless with decisions involving their bodies in order to feel “in control.”

But it all stems from the same desire to escape the feeling that our bodies are not truly ours.

I have vowed to myself that if I ever have a daughter, I will never let anyone freely discuss her body as though she isn't in the room. I couldn't have controlled what I experienced in my childhood, but I can make a conscious effort to protect and defend the Black girls of today. No one should have to feel like their body is abnormal simply because it's growing the way nature intended it to. Luckily, I've learned that lesson as an adult and feel extremely loving towards my body now. But, just to be on the safe side, I still buy most of my bras online.

The post Why can't Black girls be innocent? Even in elementary school, I was never seen as a child appeared first on HelloGiggles.

[tothe-tooth-blog]

Why can't Black girls be innocent? Even in elementary school, I was never seen as a child

Why can't Black girls be innocent? Even in elementary school, I was never seen as a child

For 20 years of my life, I avoided contact with my private parts unless absolutely necessary. In college, graphic sex jokes flew around me, as they often do on those campuses. Each time, I'd look down in embarrassment, hoping the subject would change. I refused to wear tight or revealing clothing because I feared someone would notice my body and-even worse-comment on it. I accepted this as a personality quirk, maybe even a flaw. What I didn't accept this as was trauma.

Precocious puberty is a medical phenomenon that affects Black girls more often than their non-Black counterparts. It's a condition wherein young girls develop breasts and hips at an early age. For many of us, this results in us being hypersexualized as early as 8 years old. Black girls are usually taught to “deal with it,” so we grow into women whose traumas are never spoken, but carried in the memory of our bodies for years.

I can admit that, growing up, I wasn't the most confident child. My knees occasionally buckled together when I walked, and my brother's faded hand-me downs were a staple in my wardrobe. I was the definition of awkward, but I was able to live my life without judgement. No one bothered to say anything to a skinny child with oversized, pleated pants on, and I liked it that way.

Life continued peacefully until, one day, my mother said the words that seemed to hurtle me into the gaze of everyone within a seven-mile radius: “Kelly, baby. You need a bra.”

mustafagull/Getty Images

In an instant, I went from a child to a young woman-but my age had nothing to do with it. I suddenly found myself lost in the lingerie section of JCPenney's, trying to figure out why the slim, mature models for “juniors” clothes looked so incredibly different from me. After all, I was only 10 years old, barely even five feet tall, and still had baby fat nestled on my face and belly. I felt silly toting a pile of bras in my arms-especially when it seemed like every nearby woman had something to say.

I desperately wanted to stop hearing phrases like “she might be getting a chest on her,” and “ooh, look at those hips.” I'd attempt disappearing acts behind my mother, but to no avail. Internally, I was begging for things to slow down, to somehow remind everyone I was still very much a child.

But time stands still for no man, or woman, or precociously pubescent little girl.

Soon, my situation went from extremely uncomfortable to mildly insidious. Still imagining love as the wholesome kiss that wakes a princess up from sleep, I found myself becoming the object of desire for men much older than me-and nothing about it felt wholesome. There was a hardness in the way strange men looked at me when I went outside. To this day, the fear and unease I felt during those times have been imprinted on my heart. I began to feel unsafe in the presence of men and even of boys my own age.

At school, my male classmates would openly fawn over my body, turning me into a spectacle. Friends told me I should be flattered and not get defensive, but there was nothing to feel grateful for: lists were written on campus bathroom stalls, ranking who had the “best body;” pictures were drawn of me with cartoonish, inflated breasts; I couldn't even be in gym class without getting ogled at every time I did jumping jacks. My self-esteem shrank with every stare and comment. Girls became jealous of the attention I received, and vicious rumors spread about me wearing two bras to appear curvier.

Eventually, I started to feel disgusted by my body for all the excess attention and negativity it seemed to bring me

Strauss/Curtis/Getty Images

Many young Black girls have been caught in the confidence-shattering space between racialized objectification and misplaced resentment from their peers, simply because they have a body. Much like Sarah Baartman, I felt that I was constantly on display for others consumption. People saw my body first, and my soul second.

Years after these incidents, I still felt anxious and uncomfortable in my body, as though I was still my 10-year-old self. I mentally detached from my physical form as much as I could-never changing in front of a mirror, never coming in contact with the more private parts of my body except to clean them. There was a complete shutdown of a very human part of me, because it had been obsessed over by others when I was so young. Other girls who have experienced this kind of early objectification may go the opposite route-becoming hypersexual and more reckless with decisions involving their bodies in order to feel “in control.”

But it all stems from the same desire to escape the feeling that our bodies are not truly ours.

I have vowed to myself that if I ever have a daughter, I will never let anyone freely discuss her body as though she isn't in the room. I couldn't have controlled what I experienced in my childhood, but I can make a conscious effort to protect and defend the Black girls of today. No one should have to feel like their body is abnormal simply because it's growing the way nature intended it to. Luckily, I've learned that lesson as an adult and feel extremely loving towards my body now. But, just to be on the safe side, I still buy most of my bras online.

The post Why can't Black girls be innocent? Even in elementary school, I was never seen as a child appeared first on HelloGiggles.

[inkundu1]

Why can't Black girls be innocent? Even in elementary school, I was never seen as a child

Why can't Black girls be innocent? Even in elementary school, I was never seen as a child

For 20 years of my life, I avoided contact with my private parts unless absolutely necessary. In college, graphic sex jokes flew around me, as they often do on those campuses. Each time, I'd look down in embarrassment, hoping the subject would change. I refused to wear tight or revealing clothing because I feared someone would notice my body and-even worse-comment on it. I accepted this as a personality quirk, maybe even a flaw. What I didn't accept this as was trauma.

Precocious puberty is a medical phenomenon that affects Black girls more often than their non-Black counterparts. It's a condition wherein young girls develop breasts and hips at an early age. For many of us, this results in us being hypersexualized as early as 8 years old. Black girls are usually taught to “deal with it,” so we grow into women whose traumas are never spoken, but carried in the memory of our bodies for years.

I can admit that, growing up, I wasn't the most confident child. My knees occasionally buckled together when I walked, and my brother's faded hand-me downs were a staple in my wardrobe. I was the definition of awkward, but I was able to live my life without judgement. No one bothered to say anything to a skinny child with oversized, pleated pants on, and I liked it that way.

Life continued peacefully until, one day, my mother said the words that seemed to hurtle me into the gaze of everyone within a seven-mile radius: “Kelly, baby. You need a bra.”

mustafagull/Getty Images

In an instant, I went from a child to a young woman-but my age had nothing to do with it. I suddenly found myself lost in the lingerie section of JCPenney's, trying to figure out why the slim, mature models for “juniors” clothes looked so incredibly different from me. After all, I was only 10 years old, barely even five feet tall, and still had baby fat nestled on my face and belly. I felt silly toting a pile of bras in my arms-especially when it seemed like every nearby woman had something to say.

I desperately wanted to stop hearing phrases like “she might be getting a chest on her,” and “ooh, look at those hips.” I'd attempt disappearing acts behind my mother, but to no avail. Internally, I was begging for things to slow down, to somehow remind everyone I was still very much a child.

But time stands still for no man, or woman, or precociously pubescent little girl.

Soon, my situation went from extremely uncomfortable to mildly insidious. Still imagining love as the wholesome kiss that wakes a princess up from sleep, I found myself becoming the object of desire for men much older than me-and nothing about it felt wholesome. There was a hardness in the way strange men looked at me when I went outside. To this day, the fear and unease I felt during those times have been imprinted on my heart. I began to feel unsafe in the presence of men and even of boys my own age.

At school, my male classmates would openly fawn over my body, turning me into a spectacle. Friends told me I should be flattered and not get defensive, but there was nothing to feel grateful for: lists were written on campus bathroom stalls, ranking who had the “best body;” pictures were drawn of me with cartoonish, inflated breasts; I couldn't even be in gym class without getting ogled at every time I did jumping jacks. My self-esteem shrank with every stare and comment. Girls became jealous of the attention I received, and vicious rumors spread about me wearing two bras to appear curvier.

Eventually, I started to feel disgusted by my body for all the excess attention and negativity it seemed to bring me

Strauss/Curtis/Getty Images

Many young Black girls have been caught in the confidence-shattering space between racialized objectification and misplaced resentment from their peers, simply because they have a body. Much like Sarah Baartman, I felt that I was constantly on display for others consumption. People saw my body first, and my soul second.

Years after these incidents, I still felt anxious and uncomfortable in my body, as though I was still my 10-year-old self. I mentally detached from my physical form as much as I could-never changing in front of a mirror, never coming in contact with the more private parts of my body except to clean them. There was a complete shutdown of a very human part of me, because it had been obsessed over by others when I was so young. Other girls who have experienced this kind of early objectification may go the opposite route-becoming hypersexual and more reckless with decisions involving their bodies in order to feel “in control.”

But it all stems from the same desire to escape the feeling that our bodies are not truly ours.

I have vowed to myself that if I ever have a daughter, I will never let anyone freely discuss her body as though she isn't in the room. I couldn't have controlled what I experienced in my childhood, but I can make a conscious effort to protect and defend the Black girls of today. No one should have to feel like their body is abnormal simply because it's growing the way nature intended it to. Luckily, I've learned that lesson as an adult and feel extremely loving towards my body now. But, just to be on the safe side, I still buy most of my bras online.

The post Why can't Black girls be innocent? Even in elementary school, I was never seen as a child appeared first on HelloGiggles.

[cowgirluli-blog]

Why can't Black girls be innocent? Even in elementary school, I was never seen as a child

Why can't Black girls be innocent? Even in elementary school, I was never seen as a child

For 20 years of my life, I avoided contact with my private parts unless absolutely necessary. In college, graphic sex jokes flew around me, as they often do on those campuses. Each time, I'd look down in embarrassment, hoping the subject would change. I refused to wear tight or revealing clothing because I feared someone would notice my body and-even worse-comment on it. I accepted this as a personality quirk, maybe even a flaw. What I didn't accept this as was trauma.

Precocious puberty is a medical phenomenon that affects Black girls more often than their non-Black counterparts. It's a condition wherein young girls develop breasts and hips at an early age. For many of us, this results in us being hypersexualized as early as 8 years old. Black girls are usually taught to “deal with it,” so we grow into women whose traumas are never spoken, but carried in the memory of our bodies for years.

I can admit that, growing up, I wasn't the most confident child. My knees occasionally buckled together when I walked, and my brother's faded hand-me downs were a staple in my wardrobe. I was the definition of awkward, but I was able to live my life without judgement. No one bothered to say anything to a skinny child with oversized, pleated pants on, and I liked it that way.

Life continued peacefully until, one day, my mother said the words that seemed to hurtle me into the gaze of everyone within a seven-mile radius: “Kelly, baby. You need a bra.”

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In an instant, I went from a child to a young woman-but my age had nothing to do with it. I suddenly found myself lost in the lingerie section of JCPenney's, trying to figure out why the slim, mature models for “juniors” clothes looked so incredibly different from me. After all, I was only 10 years old, barely even five feet tall, and still had baby fat nestled on my face and belly. I felt silly toting a pile of bras in my arms-especially when it seemed like every nearby woman had something to say.

I desperately wanted to stop hearing phrases like “she might be getting a chest on her,” and “ooh, look at those hips.” I'd attempt disappearing acts behind my mother, but to no avail. Internally, I was begging for things to slow down, to somehow remind everyone I was still very much a child.

But time stands still for no man, or woman, or precociously pubescent little girl.

Soon, my situation went from extremely uncomfortable to mildly insidious. Still imagining love as the wholesome kiss that wakes a princess up from sleep, I found myself becoming the object of desire for men much older than me-and nothing about it felt wholesome. There was a hardness in the way strange men looked at me when I went outside. To this day, the fear and unease I felt during those times have been imprinted on my heart. I began to feel unsafe in the presence of men and even of boys my own age.

At school, my male classmates would openly fawn over my body, turning me into a spectacle. Friends told me I should be flattered and not get defensive, but there was nothing to feel grateful for: lists were written on campus bathroom stalls, ranking who had the “best body;” pictures were drawn of me with cartoonish, inflated breasts; I couldn't even be in gym class without getting ogled at every time I did jumping jacks. My self-esteem shrank with every stare and comment. Girls became jealous of the attention I received, and vicious rumors spread about me wearing two bras to appear curvier.

Eventually, I started to feel disgusted by my body for all the excess attention and negativity it seemed to bring me

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Many young Black girls have been caught in the confidence-shattering space between racialized objectification and misplaced resentment from their peers, simply because they have a body. Much like Sarah Baartman, I felt that I was constantly on display for others consumption. People saw my body first, and my soul second.

Years after these incidents, I still felt anxious and uncomfortable in my body, as though I was still my 10-year-old self. I mentally detached from my physical form as much as I could-never changing in front of a mirror, never coming in contact with the more private parts of my body except to clean them. There was a complete shutdown of a very human part of me, because it had been obsessed over by others when I was so young. Other girls who have experienced this kind of early objectification may go the opposite route-becoming hypersexual and more reckless with decisions involving their bodies in order to feel “in control.”

But it all stems from the same desire to escape the feeling that our bodies are not truly ours.

I have vowed to myself that if I ever have a daughter, I will never let anyone freely discuss her body as though she isn't in the room. I couldn't have controlled what I experienced in my childhood, but I can make a conscious effort to protect and defend the Black girls of today. No one should have to feel like their body is abnormal simply because it's growing the way nature intended it to. Luckily, I've learned that lesson as an adult and feel extremely loving towards my body now. But, just to be on the safe side, I still buy most of my bras online.

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