#its a joke here that i forgot i got married because one of the principals congratulated me afterwards

[terrorbirb]

:( our bosses decided to send a card AND a gift to our coworkers who's daughter is getting married but I didn't get anything when I got married :( apparently the decision to add a gift was the idea of the two principles who HATE me so while I don't think it was targeted I do think they don't really consider my marriage important (my marriage was gay).

[storiesbyshelly]

TW: violence, parental violence, coming out/sexuality

[october 12, 2007]

The house smelled like burnt toast and I was angry.

I was angry because I gave Adam one job: stand by the counter and watch it. He didn’t want to wait until I finished my homework and I could make it for him, since I knew what to do, so I told him if he makes it himself, he needs to stand by the toaster and watch it. Our toaster was old and wanky, sometimes you had to press the lever down three times just to get it to warm up, and other times it popped up after a minute completely black. You had to standby and pay attention. But he never paid attention.

The burnt smell was so bad it was stuck in between my nose and my mouth, making my face involuntarily scrunch up. It was so bad it snuck under the cracks of my closed bedroom door, which was all the way down the hallway from the kitchen. It was so bad that it somehow leaked into me and filled my body with unencumbered rage that he couldn’t follow even the simplest of directions. I swung my door open with such force that it bounced back after me, slamming shut as soon as I stepped out of it. The force of the door back into its frame shook a little reason back into me. I was still angry, but also aware enough to be embarrassed by my actions.

Adam sat on the couch playing his Nintendo, exactly as how I envisioned he’d be. Careless. My favorite teacher used to tell me to find my anger sometimes. When I was little I had a pretty bad temper, and when they’d call my dad to tell him whatever I’d done to some poor kid on the playground that day, he’d tell the vice principal he was going to take me out to ice cream later. The school didn’t know what to do with a parent so uncooperative, so I almost got kicked out of public school. My third-grade teacher, Mrs. Taylor, used to tell me to find my anger. “Where is it today?” she’d ask. “Is it in your stomach? Your legs? Is it so stuck all the way up in your fingers that they have to curl up like this?” she’d ask while holding up her own clenched fist. Most days I think I just made up an answer because I found it funny. I liked it. Then she’d say “okay, Lulu, we found it. Now we sit with it until it passes through us. Tell me when you can feel it pass through. We’ll take deep breaths until then.” She always called me Lulu. I think she forgot my name at first, but then it became sort of comforting. Being Liv to everyone else, but Lulu to her.

Most people didn’t understand that, except Mrs. Taylor. When I got to middle school, Mrs. Taylor made some calls and set me up with the guidance counselor every week. The guidance counselor was named Jim and he let me call him that. He asked about my home life mostly. About my dad, and Pauline, and Adam sometimes. Adam was still at the elementary school but he was a bad kid, so everyone in the district knew about him. Actually, I guess they knew about us, the Clarke siblings, because we were both bad kids. I was getting better though. It was like Adam didn’t even care to try. Jim asked about my real mom once, and I didn’t have much to say because I never really knew her, but I told him the sadness was in my shoulders. He looked really confused and asked me to explain it more. I told him that when I thought about her, it felt like something was really heavy on me that I was trying to hold. We never talked about her again.

“Get up,” I yelled at Adam when I was still approaching the couch from behind, even though I knew he was going to ignore me. I kept going until I stood in front of the TV screen and I put my hands on my hip. “What did I tell you to do?!”

He grumbled at me to move. I felt furious that he wasn’t repenting and begging for forgiveness after he clearly made the mistake in this situation.

“MOVE,” he yelled. I shut the TV off instead, pushing his boundaries. I didn’t even register what was happening when he came at me with both hands and shoved me to the side. I was thirteen and he was twelve, but he was about fifty pounds bigger than me already. When I fell down, my shirt curled up enough to bare my stomach. It was my hip that froze Adam into place, the blues and purples bruising up the side of my torso. He stared at it for a long time. “What’s that?” he asked.

From last night, I wanted to say, because I was angry. When you were sleeping just fine. When Dad angrily sent us to bed, and we knew it was going to be a bad night, and I woke up to Pauline’s shrieking. She was crawling backward on the kitchen counter but she was up against the wall, out of space. Dad had a baseball bat in his hand. A baseball bat signed by some Yankees player he was obsessed with, one of his most prized possessions.

These are the moments that define us, maybe. What are you supposed to do when you see your dad coming at your stepmom with a baseball bat and they both scream at you to go back to bed?

I ran to the silverware drawer to get a knife. I wouldn’t use it, I don’t think, but I needed more power to stop him, and knife trumps bat. All I had to do was hold it up and scream at him to get back. Dad saw what I was doing too quick though, saw my fingers grip the black handle of the cutlery drawer, and he swung his most prized possession at me before I could move. He hit me right in the gut, right where it hurt, and I crumpled like an accordion, completely useless. I woke up on the kitchen floor early this morning, in the same position, untouched from last night. I wondered where Pauline went only briefly. Every man for himself.

“Nothing,” I start to answer Adam, then change my mind. “It’s all my anger,” I explain instead. “It’s all the anger in my body, stuck in this one spot.”

[january 15, 2012]

Things in the house were suspiciously quiet.

Two things had happened in the past couple of months. One: I received my early acceptance letters from Harvard, Cornell, and Dartmouth. Yale waitlisted me, but I wasn’t taking it to heart. The undeniable proof that I was leaving here and going to school was all I was ever really looking for. It never really mattered to me where. My guidance counselor suggested the Ivy Leagues and even helped me waive the admission fees because she knew I was too stubborn to ask my dad for help. Two: my dad walked in on Melanie and me making out in my room with just our bras on.

Melanie and I met our first year of high school. It was a mutually beneficial relationship at first and nothing more. I taught her academics, and she taught me how to dance. She was the captain of the dance team and failing chemistry, algebra, and English. I told her to pick a struggle, she laughed, and we made a deal.

I don’t think I ever really cared about dancing that much, but I liked learning when she was the one teaching me. I liked anything she did. But I really liked the way she put her hands on my hips, and rested her chin on my shoulder, and guided my body. Her hair was all the way down her back long, and naturally blonde but she dyed it auburn red, and it always smelled like lavender. Somehow when her grades picked up and we agreed I was never going to make it on the dance team, we kept hanging out anyway. None of our other friends understood, but they seemed to matter less and less anyway.

We’d joke about how we’re going to marry each other if we don’t find boys by the time we’re 25. We talked about our life together. Our wedding. Our kids. We talked and talked and planned it all as if it was just a backup plan. Even the kissing started as practice.

It just seemed that we never got good enough to justify stopping. We never had an honest discussion with ourselves about what we were to each other because somehow we knew we’d never be anything. We knew that she’d never be ready to love a girl and me, well, I’d never be ready to love anybody.

When my dad walked in on Melanie and me, I expected him to yell, but instead, he was a ghost, a shadow, watching us until we startled seeing him in the doorway, my bed a Petri dish. She picked up her shirt and left before putting it on. I was abandoned, I knew it, and I was right.

“I hate that you did this, Liv,” he said, with true exasperation, and then he looked down, and my eyes followed him to his boner. I curled my toes to prevent my body from recoiling with disgust. “I really hate this.”

I couldn’t help myself. I said, “it doesn’t look like you hated it.”

Anger flashed across his face and it was like seeing the only person I’ve ever truly known. I wasn’t afraid. Not when he charged at me on the bed. Not when he rolled his fist back and slammed it into my face and shouted, “you think I’m proud of this? I should fuck you right now. Maybe that’s what you need, huh? Faggot!”

“I will kill you,” I promised with dead eyes. “As soon as you fall asleep tonight.”

It’s on my tongue, I’d have told Mrs. Taylor. It’s in between my teeth.

[april 16, 2015]

All I can think about as they lower that coffin is how much I wish it was him inside.

I wish it had been a heart attack. I wish he had an aneurysm. I wish a drunk driver hit him head-on and ejected him from his seat, making his body splatter on the road like a cracked egg.

My body is so full of hatred for my own father that it vibrates when he speaks. He wipes tears away from his eyes and talks about the mother Pauline was, how she raised his daughter like her own and never thought twice or asked for a thank you. It’s true, I guess. She raised me just the same as Adam. She didn’t care for either of us because my dad made her whole life about her own survival. I don’t hate her. I hate him.

I stand about ten feet in the back, away from everyone else, even Adam and Maddie, because Adam told me he never wanted to see me again this morning. He’ll die defending our father, even if it means defending his mother’s murderer. He murdered her. Her life will never matter as much as his approval does.

I don’t know why I’m here except pity. It’s not out of love. I feel sorry for Pauline. I feel sorry in a deep way, in a way that’s in the middle of my bones, dead center, that her life never got better. She never escaped. I imagine going back to twenty years ago and telling her “this is it, until the day you die. You never get out.” She probably would have fed me some bullshit even if I could have said that to her. Some bullshit like “What makes you think I want to leave? I love your father very much Alivia.” She always called me Alivia. She loved that my mother was so original, and that’s why she picked out Adam. It went with my beautiful name, according to her. She never shortened it to Liv. She said that was a waste.

When I look to my right, there’s a woman about three feet away with long, straight, dark hair and blue eyes. She looks like she’s in her 40s. She’s got a freckle at the top of her lip and sunglasses on top of her head, even though it’s been cloudy and overcast for the past three days with no sign of clearing up. She’s beautiful. I’ve never met her before, but I know instantly. I feel it all over. I’ve only seen one picture of her, when she was in the hospital right after giving birth. She’s holding me and she looks like a ghost. She didn’t have that loopy new mom smile at all. It was like the whites of her eyes were see-through. Like the camera capturing her was a fluke, and she wasn’t really there. I don’t wonder why she’s here. I can feel that too. I’m sure she saw the funeral posted about somewhere and my dad’s name and recognized herself.

Recognized her death date if she had stayed.

I don’t go over to her. I don’t say hi.

When I think about that day actually, I don’t think I said a word to anybody.

[july 5, 2017]

The curtains broke last night. Somehow the rod broke in half and the curtains slid off right down the middle. If the window was a face, it would be sad.

I woke up at dawn to the sun beaming directly onto my eyelids, through my now curtainless window. I don’t have the money or time to deal with whatever made my curtain rod snap in half, which looks a lot like a leak from the ceiling dripping onto it and making the metal rust to the point of crumbling. I’ve consistently been a week late with rent since I moved in, which my landlord has ignored while somehow giving me the distinct feeling that the minute I cause any trouble for him, he won’t be so understanding.

I wish I could just get my shit together. If I could have just been able to pay my rent on time, I wouldn’t feel indebted to him, and I could call him and tell him about his shitty apartment and the outlets that always stop working, and the flickering bathroom lights, and the leaky ceiling breaking my curtain rods because I am certain the conditions I’m living in must be illegal. At least some of them.

It’s hard not to think about the curtains when I walk out of the hospital. It’s a coping mechanism, I figure, my brain’s way of protecting itself against something worse. If I think about this job too long, and how badly I want it, and how good I feel after this interview, I might start thinking that the job is already mine. And if I start thinking that, then it’s going to be a pretty big low when and if I don’t get it.

So I think about my curtains. I don’t think about the position as a researcher that would give me an amazing opportunity to fund my passion project. I don’t think about how I feel like I aced the interview, but there’s no one to call. I don’t think about the arm’s length I’ve forced everyone to stay at because I’ve been so afraid for so long I was born with bones that don’t bend.

If I lower my defenses now, they might break.

It’s better to not think about anything, I decide, as I’m already getting into an Uber with a bar plugged in as my destination. It does feel like a celebratory drink tonight. Why else would he keep me there for four hours, talking until the sun went down? I could tell he liked what I had to say when I pitched my research to him. The interest swam in his eyes, right up front, right where I could see them.

Once I get to the bar and start drinking I think about calling my ex. I think about calling Melanie too, and I even search for her on Facebook. Married now. Two young kids. Her son looks just like her, so much so that it feels like a squeeze around my heart seeing it. For a minute I know what our kids would have looked like. I wish I hadn’t drunk anything, because I was already feeling lonely and the alcohol only exacerbated it. I should have just gone straight home.

I call an Uber, then go out and look for it.

It feels hot first. Before it hurts or I can even register any kind of pain, it feels hot, like the temperature, all around my forehead. For half of a second, my drunk brain thinks it’s lava until my real brain figures out it’s my blood. I’m on the ground. Did I fall? My question is answered with feet. A deep, grainy voice yells at me to hand him my wallet. A shakier, higher-pitched one assures me they don’t want to hurt me.

“That’s funny,” I say, and both of them are too stunned to do anything but stare at me. It’s too bad they can’t appreciate how funny it is.

The deeper voice one kicks my side. I feel my body crumple like an accordion. He yells to give him my wallet, and I stare blankly. Deep Voice rolls me around by kicking me, and my body moves like a rag doll. He feels me up until he gets to my back pocket. I didn’t want to bring a purse into the interview so I slid my license and my debit card into my back pocket before I left. Deep Voice takes both and swears under his breath.

“Get her,” he commands Shaky Voice. Shaky Voice grabs my arms and twists them around my back, then pulls me up. He knocks into my back as he pushes me forward.

“My head hurts,” I state calmly, the blood from my forehead dripping into my mouth. Deep Voice tells me to shut up. It tastes hot if hot was a flavor. Ashy, like swallowing fire.

Deep Voice pulls out a gun when we get to the ATM. When I put my pin number in, my first tear escapes. Instantly I know it’s where all my anger is. It’s not real until my balance comes up in front of me, 907 dollars, and I realize it’s all I have. My rent of 1,000 dollars was due yesterday. So close. I had 920 before the bar. I was so stressed about those 80 dollars. 80 measly dollars. It seems so small potatoes now.

He cleans me out, then they leave. I should probably go to the hospital, I think, to get my head checked out.

But how would I pay to get there?

Who would I call to drive me?

I press my sweater sleeve up against the gash on my forehead.

I shiver and think about my damn curtains.

[february 14, 2019]

The thing that no one ever told Mrs. Taylor is that anger doesn’t pass completely through you. Every time it touches you, a little bit stays behind.

Anger has already touched every part of my body. It lives inside me, solid as a rock, all over, and this time, none of it is going anywhere. There comes a time when so much anger has passed through your system, it starts to rewire your DNA. It’s the makeup of who I am now, and it returns like an old friend every time I think we’ve both moved on from each other. I’ve been living inside of it for weeks, since the day in the cafeteria, when she told me she couldn’t do it anymore, that she didn’t want to hold me back, that she has to let me go, that I could never love her the way she needs me to love her.

Anger lives inside my research room now too, my happy place, because I took it back here. Work, which used to mean everything, seems to mean nothing anymore. I don’t even want to go back there.

When I finally do, there’s a note on my desk to come to the pharmacy. It’s in her handwriting. I don’t want to go. I have no idea what she wants and I don’t want to find out, because if she wants me to come to her so she can ask for some shirt back that’s stuffed at the bottom of my drawer and I forgot about, my anger might not stay so buried inside my bones. What could she possibly say to me? What could she say to make any of this go away?

What do I want to say to her?

How dare you, I would say first.

How dare you make the world finally feel like I place I want to be.

I’d tell her that she messed up and can’t take this back.

But please try.

I’d tell her that I love her with more love than I ever believed could live inside such a broken and battered body, and that I think about her every moment of every day, and mostly, that she makes the world finally feel cold and quiet.

The other thing Mrs. Taylor always used to tell me, my brain never held onto, because it felt too cliche and clucky, even in all my childhood naivety. After a few minutes of deep breathing, I’d tell her when it was all done passing through, and she’d say, “I know you don’t understand this yet, but all that anger inside of you right now is protecting you, and for good reason. Right now, you need it. But one day you won’t. I pray you’ll have the wisdom and the strength to recognize the day when it comes.”

I hadn’t thought about her saying that to me in years. I had accepted anger into my body like my genetic makeup, its unrelenting permanence. Not until I was standing at the pharmacy desk and Jack’s voice was like spreading warm butter on soft bread, telling me about the worst mistake she’s ever made.

And it felt like sugar in water, the way it all dissolved inside me. Like I never had any say in the matter.

And I cried. And cried. And cried. She put her arms around me, worried she had done something wrong, and all I could say to her was, “I hated that stupid fucking toaster.” 

And confused, and still worried, she told me she’d buy me a new one, whichever one I wanted.

[yoshimickster]

RWBY Volume 5 Ep 1 Recap(plus shorts)-HERE WE GO(spoilers)!

Shorts will be recapped in a few sentences cos...well they short.

Weiss flashes back to her sister Winter foreshadowing that the’s next to die while sitting on a train. SORRY WINTER QROW SHIPPERS-her time is nigh.

Blake flashes back to her friend explaining why she fights for civil rights when she passes for whit-I MEAN-human! Yup, human, ALL while failing at an attempt to stop Adam “I love teenagers” Taurus’ plans.

And Yang flashes back to the time her and her sister were almost killed by a bear because Ruby couldn’t do dick without a weapon at the time-RIGHT BEFORE-ironically saying she’ll always be by her side...ALL while riding a motorcycle aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaall byyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy heeeeeeeeeeeeeeeerseeeeeeeeeeeeeeeelf!

Basically three sad flashbacks-THERE YA GO!

The episode starts out SWINGING with team RNJR criticizing the show’s logic of having them walk all the way to Mistral, and joking about how Qrow almost died. HAHA death.

1:04 We are then treated to what only looks like rejected character and background designs to Legend of Korra and/or Avatar the last Airbender! Don’t get me wrong, nice drawings, but don’t they have the budget to freaking animate crowds anymore?

1:33 Qrow gives brief Mistral backstory right before-SURPRISE AIRPLANE MOTHER FUCKERS! You are shocked, do not lie.

1:44 Weiss has WITTY banter with the airship pilot of cargo ship three-THE FIGHTIN’ TRES-where Weiss hears a cry for peril which the pilot ignores...kinda...kinda dark.

3:07 We are then treated to the city, where...no-one is anywhere...throughout the whole town...you know you can only use Grimm attacks to not animate crowds in large spaces for SO long Rooster Teeth.

3:56

Nora: Maybe try...LOUDER?!

Damn Nora, when you get sassy?

Thankfully Qrow points out how it makes no sense that there are no CGI models running around-AND SPRING INTO ACTION!  

4:31 They close in on a door and find-SOME OLD MAN THEY MAKE FAINT...FAKE OUT! Next thing you’ll tell me is that his name is Spencer Pokensensen and that he’s a servant of the courts.

4:50 As for what HORRIFYING event caused him to not greet them at the gate it turns out...HE FORGOT...are all headmasters incompetent? Ozpin didn’t see team MEAN until they struck, and this guy is forgetting meetings, what the hell?

5:05 Team RNJR introduces themselves all saying there names as if fans forgot-OR-for those weirdos who start a show in its fifth season. Yeah I know you exist-AND YOU’RE SCUM!

5:12 The new Headmaster’s name is....Leonardo Lionheart...I don’t have a joke for that, that just sounds AWESOME!

5:36 Qrow reveals he told the team about the ancient mystical glow orbs of destiny, and Nora does her perfect impression of every fandom ever:

“...SO-is this not going how anyone thought it would?”

But enough about that-

5:53

Ghira: UNBELIEVABLE!

Sun: TOTAL GARBAGE!

...my god...THEY AGREE ON SOMETHING! FUTURE FATHER-IN LAW AND SON IN LAW BONDING! Er...POTENTIAL future father in law, heh heh(Bumblebee fans don’t hate me please).

5:59

Kali: Well at least you two can finally agree on something.

This is why I love you Kali, you are absolute purity in this magical Harry Potter meets X-men meets M.A.S.K. world.

6:10

Blake: Guys, everything’s gonna be okay.

...Blake...being positive...I am scared.

6:20 Blake is revealed to have an unnamed body-gaurd whom the fandom will attach a personality to WHILE ILIA DROPS IN...okay they HAVE technology in this world, she should’ve tripped off some damn motion sensors-SPEND SOME MONEY GHIRA!

Ilia then reveals that she took the fall for those creepy fox...brothers? Or are they married? I’m cool with either, I just want some background on who were originally supposed to be the main villains of volume 1(seriously, look it up).

8:00 SILENT PRINCIPAL’S ROOM-get ready for dramatic exposition babies!

Leo reveals the reason for a lack of teachers and students is OF COURSE-because of the Grimm...ironically from the Vale attack, DAMN this show is good at long lasting consequences.

9:13 OH WOW-Atlas is being a problem? Know what else, WATER IS WET!

9:42 OBLIGATORY RENORA SITTING TOGETHER MOMENT-there ya go you ship-hounds!

We are THEN told that each Maiden can open a specific door with their own abilities...I keep making Avatar parables, but that sounds RATHER Avatar, you know like in Volume 1 with the fire temple?

“She was determined at first, but the weight of responsibility proved too much for the child”.

AND THEN THERE’S THAT-that is AANG mother fucker!

11:30 Typical Avatar, runs away from home, gets picked up by bird bandits-WON’T SOMEBODY PLEASE THINK OF THE CHILDREN?!

12:17

Qrow: WE NEED TO GET THE SPRING MAIDEN NOW!

Leo: DAMMIT QROW, you don’t have a search warrant!

Qrow: SCREW YOUR WARRANT-lives are at stake!

Leo: YOU’RE A LOOSE CANNON BRANWEN! YOU’RE OFF THE CASE!

14:06 OOOH-poor Johnny boy, he REALLY wants him some revenge on Cinder.

15:06 But thankfully they make a logical compromise and-HOLY SHIT-he was lying because of Watts! I thought he was tricking him or some shit, this is WAY more interesting!

15:30 HEY-its that end scene from volume four! HOORAY FOR CYCLICITY! 

16:31 WELCOME TO JUST RITE-for all your Seven Elleven gas station allegorical needs!

...wait that place has a BAR?! Its a gas station...where people go to feul their vehicles...and serves alcohol...thaaaaaaaaaaaaaat is a messy combination.

17:30 Yang gets hit on by a drunk guy, then hits him SO HARD he bounces like four time! What is his semblance having a body made of rubber?

18:01 AH-Yang does the Archer drink finger-AWESOME!

18:18 WELP-we got our answer, she went after Raven-COMMENCE ALT-U FAN STORIES NOW!

18:56 Hey girly, I heard your looking for someone!

Damn, literally the ONLY TIME in history when getting hit on by a drunk creepy guy pays off!

19:00 OH DAMN-spooky music, WHO COULD IT B-oh its just Oz...didn’t we know that all ready in the trailer? And did we need a second pointless fake-out? A TAD superfluous.

I would also like to point out this is the ONLY time a man getting drunk and taking an underage boy home with him is okay, the ONLY time!

We then close out the ep with Oscar introducing his Bishie ass to the group as Oscar Pine(mother-fucker’s name was a play on the Prof’s name, twas DESTINY), reveals he’s mother-fucking OZPIN, all while the drunken old man on the couch REJOICES! HOORAY FOR ACCIDENTAL SUCCESS!

We’re also treated to the NEW theme song, lots of action, lots of fighgint, bitter sweet messages yadda yadda, you know how it goes. 

WELCOME TO VOLUME FIVE BABIES-this has been MicksteRecap with Yoshimickster, hope we can be pals this season!

[earl-of-221b]

noblesse icebreaker

Thank you for tagging me @spectralmelon !

Name/nickname: earl, short for my fav drink earl grey tea

How did you find out about Noblesse?: When I was in the height of my Mangareader phase, I kind of just clicked on Noblesse when the title art was getting featured as one of those ‘recently updated’ manga. (That one old pic of Rai in the white uniform and then a close up of him.) Just because. And then I, someone who had only ever read japanese manga in black and white, was blinded by the full colour art. My brain could not compute. Full colour art? Every page? Every chapter? This manhua artist was a visionary. And there’s like three hundred chapters already.  Story-wise, I got whiplash when the supposed principal of this high school bowed to the Vampire Man™ (who clearly did not look like a high schooler imo but somehow was blending in anyway). But this interaction really interested me - immediately alluding to a history between these characters that I wanted to know. And then Rai started high school and M-21 and M-24 go kekeke~ and Rai couldn’t open doors and them pure jokes about Rai being a fish out of water were delightful. Also, in the early chapters Franken’s power was bright pink! And I gobbled that up I loved his pink killing powers how gorgeous. Yes, murder Mary and Jake with pink neon lightning while grumbling about getting vampire drool on your neat clothes. 

Favorite character(s)? Frankenstein and Raizel of course!

Previous Lord is also fantastique and M-21 will always be there in my heart. (And Tao. And takeo. And Seira and Regis. Sigh.) 

Favorite scene(s)? 

HOnestly, the first time Rai had ramen and thought it was an assassination attempt - this was like so masterfully animated in Awakening it was glorious. 

Rai trying to get out of the house via the window because he felt the need to make sure Franken was ok with Mary and Jake. Mary and Jake. 

SHIT THE FIRST TIME FRANKEN SUMMONED DARK SPEAR??? I WAS SO SHOOK? LIKE YEA FRANKEN TEACH THAT PUNK WHAT HAPPENS WHEN HE DISRESPECTS YOUR EMPLOYEES IN YOUR SCHOOL

OH MY GOSH Remember that early part where M-21 and M-24 were answering their phone thinking that those noblesses were calling them so early? And they were like shit, M-21, quick, answer it! Be serious! Be vigilant! Can’t let down guard! And it turned out it was just a telemarketer? 

Freaking heck remember when I was totally convinced that Takeo was a lady for his entire entry arc? But anyway Takeo sniping some bad guys. Takeo getting fake-mugged and then getting saved and making friends with the Yeran High group! Shinwoo Yuna Ikhan you guys are so sweet. (Has Suyi arrived yet?) Like. Tao and Takeo hanging with the yeran crew warms my heart, looking back. 

Any time Frankenstein has time alone with Rai. 

Any time the kids are over and trashing Franken’s place and having fun with Rai like you do and Franken twitching slightly in the corner 

The early days where translation was shaky and sometimes Franken called Rai ‘My Lord.’ Loved that shit

Franken walking home with sping onions in his supermarket bag before being captured by yuri. He was just trying to do the shopping. He has a family to feed.

When tao started being himself after been freed from the Union 

When Rai is using his powers in the beginning when it wasn’t all that painful and draining to watch, where we could all cheer guiltlessly as he crushed his enemies with finesse and ease without breaking a sweat

Rai’s blood fields and how beautiful they are when drawn nicely, the different shades of red that seem to glide but we know it’s all destructive force 

Any time Raizel pats Frankenstein’s shoulder in reassurance 

RAI BLUSHING

‘I would be able to experiment and stabilise your bodies. But that depends on Master. You see, I cannot disobey his orders.’ 

‘Really Frankenstein?” or something to that effect, “I recall otherwise”

Cue Franken trying to backtrack^

Any time Rai calls Franken out like that because Franken is Franken and its great

Raskreia pulling RAgnorok

‘Frankenstien caused many incidents. The Clan Leaders used to come to me to complain.’ d e c e a s e d

Frankenstein giving Rai earrings and a ring - and then Rai going ‘it’s not my colour.’ Which was great. But also, in retrospect, Rai probably said those things to try and take Franken’s mind off of bad thoughts like ‘oh no, is the power going to be compatible??????’

Raizel fighting Raskreia. UmPH. 

Frankenstein busting into the temple disheveled and half unclothed, trying to stop Rai from fighting even though he knows he can’t and then Rai reassuring him with a smile. 

Like wow

‘Are you alright, Master?’ 

‘I’m fine, Frankenstein.’ he says with a soft smile

‘There’s no way you can be fine after that.’ Frankenstein oh my gosh. You’ve never said it stark to his face that before Franken. It hurt my soul and I loved it. 

‘Master...that’s the wrong way...’

Ramen experiments. 

Any time Franken mouths off at enemies condescendingly 

Any time Rai makes a bad guy k n e e l

Oh my gosh I just remmbered his killer line ‘This is where your eye meets mine.’

 w r e ck t, j a k e 

That scene where Franken and Rai are having tea. It’s not a happy scene but it was huge. Rai drops his teacup for the first time (graphic) and remind us all that Cadis Etrama di Raizel is not ok and has never been since we’ve seen him awake. Then, worried out of his head, Franken can’t wait for Rai to talk himself and straightforwardly asks what caused his 820y sleep. There were two big things that kept me going with a burning passion while reading Noblesse, and that was

1) Franken and Rai’s history. 

2) With all this talk of traitors and conspiracy, what was this big coup and how were able to put the Noblesse to sleep. How did Rai end up in the box? Why were Franken and Rai parted for so long??? This kept me up at night. ( I expected something much more elaborate than what’s been revealed now but still.)

When the man-bat tried to make his hostage quiet, unassuming, high school uniformed Rai. 

Rai v Urokai and Zarga - AKA the first time Rai pulled out approximately seven blood fields that looked like seven raging red tornadoes when Urokai question his ability. 

Seira and Regis. 

Shinwoo actually beating bad guys up. Shinwoo is a good kid and kind friend 

Everybody’s fav scenes: Whenever Frankenstein goes ‘Allow me,’ and Rai pauses for a moment, ponders upon it, and then agrees. 

Then Franken gets out The Violence and has tangible killing intent spilling from him in throngs that make people question his sanity. This is up there in terms of fav.

Every single time Rai feels the overwhelming need to sigh. 

Rai sighing

Rai stuttering ‘hm....um....hn....’ 

NOnsu and Sangeen making disgusted faces at all this mystical crap going on. Remember when one of the union groups tried to sass them like ‘hahah you like him??’ because nonsu and Sangeen are happily married undercover strike agents

Tao getting Takeo some sweet new pistols and getting M-21 his sweet new optimised nail filer 

Any time someone is Recruited against their knowledge into Raizel’s Knights

Raizel’s Knights doing cool shit. 

Raizel finding out about Raizel’s Knights.

Regis running through the woods trying to fend off central knights encroaching on Rai’s mansion in Lukedonia 

OH. The trio stowing away in the cargo hold of their bosses plane, said plane falling, them wake up in hospital beds and 

M-21 - what’s happening?

Tao - huh?

Takeo - F-freeze! *gun fingers.

Any time ~mind control~ fails to work in the series. LIke Regis failing at F and R. the central knights failing on the trio

Seira calling upon Death Scythe. Seira wielding Death Scythe. Seira silhouetted by a giant spirit god of death. Any time Seira fights with her giant giant scythe 

Frankenstein v Rajak fight!!!!!!! Franken v Rajak fight never saw an end but what a fight!!!

Franken murdering Gradeus. Yes. But most importantly, that one shot of Franken turning his back on his kill, a empty ring of purple where Gradeus had been devoured alive by the souls of the undead in necromantic weapon Dark Spear

Dark Spear. Any time Franken goes ‘Answer my call’ 

Ok ok ok ok the f l a s h b ac k s. All of every major flashback. Gejutel and Ragar running through the woods in pursuit of renegade Frankenstein in laced cuffs and victorian suit in medieval days. 

I loved the scene where we actually see Gejutel fight. The giant sky tearing, body vaporising lance. Regasus was huge. 

Any interaction between Franken and Ragar, good friends

‘I just started working here, hahah’ *scratches head

Everything about Rai is stoic and monumental, Franken asks this great man why he didn’t make him see the Lord and ‘...I forgot.’ 

PREV LORD AND RAI MAKE IT TO THE FRANKEN V UROKAI BATTLE

THIS IS ALSO THE FIRST TIME WE SEE FRANKEN GET POSSSSESSSED BY DS. OH MY 

The brief Franken v Rai fight literally sucked my breath out of my lungs like n o they’re actually going to FIGHT even if it’s not really Franken there but the thought of Franken and Rai fighting is just RIVETING and IMPOSSIBLE and TERRIBLE 

fav fav scene: chapter 295

you guys all know what this is 295 when they made the b o n d 

Franken destroying ninth elder with just words and wit. How dare you speak to him, you traitor of humanity 

tesamu

 A couple of weeks ago when Muzaka stopped what’s known as 废话, useless monologuing/ chatter, and straight up diced second-in-strength werewolf whom I cannot name. Blood went everywhere. Parts rained down like a chunky storm. It was glorious, Muzaka. 

Edian mildly threatening Franken and Franken sticking his head in Rai’s door to tattle on her. 

Forgive me for this list.

Why are you still following it? The characters. Franken and Rai are very important to me. 

How do you like to spend time in the fandom? (“I liveblog the chapters”/ “i roleplay”/ “I draw fanart” / “I like to read fics” etc.)

I write fanfic when I have time! 

Sometimes I sketch some fanart but I’m also prone to the one angle, one face, pencil-only thing. 

Do you have any ships and/or crackships that you’d like to share? When I started writing Who is the Monster, I didn’t ship Franken and Rai. In fact, I’d followed noblesse for a couple of years before finding that, yes, I do like them together. In a world where love feels very...cheap? in media, I don’t really like shipping and platonic relationships just appeal to me more. Unless there’s something that really draws me in I’m not that interested. I mean, there’s doumeki and yashiro, and victor and yuri and other ships that are great! But in the beginning of last year I got into Franken and Rai. Writing Who is the Monster really made me realise that Franken and Rai are romantic to me. Really getting to flesh out what’s up between them and making up in-character interaction changed the direction of the fic. It’s like that saying where - I wrote the characters the way they wanted to go. And where they wanted to go was be in deep love with each other to the point of self destruction. Hm. 

that, and I read other writer’s fics about them and found it so nice

(looking at you, Nerdanel/daylight-star - your rosa de sal - and Laryna6)

(also qdeanna later, your art is <3)

So that’s how I tricked myself into writing a 130k+ slow burn fic. 

My best contribution into the online literary world. 

when all songs on the radio you relate back to Franken and Rai you know things have c h a n g e d

I really want to talk to someone about ____________!

Writing more noblesse fic so I can read it. I want to read more noblesse material. Please write me more fic. I know I’ve been blocked for ages but maybe if you guys write some I can get back into it. I really love Franken and Rai. More Franken and Rai, please. 

I’d like to tag @qdeanna @laryna6 @daylight-star @alexvolkovvlad

[fashiontrendin-blog]

What 8 People Want You to Know About Immigration in America

http://fashion-trendin.com/what-8-people-want-you-to-know-about-immigration-in-america/

What 8 People Want You to Know About Immigration in America

On the week of the government shutdown, after Donald Trump rejected the sole bipartisan compromise presented to protect DACA, we asked our readers, “If you’re a child of immigrants, or an immigrant yourself, what’s the one thing you wish someone knew about your personal experience with immigration?” Below are eight of their responses.

Pretty much all the people I knew growing up in Northern Virginia were white, wealthy and didn’t have canned speeches prepared in their heads to explain what ethnicity they were, what country their fathers were from again and — as bullies joked — why their houses smelled so funky. It wasn’t annoying to me as much as it was a drag to watch my peers’ faces morph from incredulous to thoughtful to eventual understanding.

Born in Eritrea, my father fled government persecution and lived in a refugee camp before being relocated to Atlanta, where he worked in an umbrella factory and lived on beans, rice and cigarettes. He then moved to Los Angeles, scraped through college, began a career and married my white mom, a social worker from San Diego.

Rather than find a job that was stable or high-paying, he decided to go into the nonprofit world assisting other refugees, eventually becoming a political appointee in the Obama administration and running the entire federal immigration office himself.

While his reputation has preceded him in many ways, it often fell on deaf ears while I was growing up — his story was just too complicated and didn’t resonate with my very whitewashed high school and university friends. That’s not to say that many of my friends did not profoundly respect him and welcome me in as their token nonwhite friend, but being the constant outlier meant those tapes in my head were ready to go whenever I needed to play them.

I was brought to the U.S. at seven years old by my immigrant parents. I’ve now lived in America for 17 years. Being an illegal immigrant means living in fear of deportation; there is no promise of security. My 19-year-old brother was deported when I was 17, and my family has never been the same since. It’s been seven years now that I haven’t seen him and don’t know if I ever will.

In 2012, I was given the opportunity to come out of the shadows as an illegal immigrant and become a “Dreamer” (under Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals, a.k.a. DACA). Despite the displacement of my brother, I gained the peace of mind knowing that, for four years, I would be protected from deportation. DACA has given me the opportunity to work and go to school. I paid for my bachelor’s degree out of my own pocket (no student loans, no government assistance). I can’t tell you how disheartening it is to feel like the President doesn’t support the Dreamers.

My family and I have made so many sacrifices to be here in the U.S.; I deserve an opportunity to demonstrate that I can be an American citizen. I am a first-generation college graduate, currently excelling in my corporate position. I am not a criminal — I’ve never even had a traffic violation. I go through background checks, I pay my taxes and all other fees required as a DACA recipient.

Despite all my efforts to my community and to this country, the President doesn’t believe that I am up to par to be a law-abiding citizen. The U.S. is the only home I have ever known, and no DACA means losing everything I have ever worked toward.

I am proud of who I am. It’s ironic that it took me emigrating from the United States, the place where I had sown so many confused seeds as a kid, to see that.

My parents are both from El Salvador and met in New York, where I was born in 1985. Growing up was tough. I felt like a tree that got planted in someone’s backyard 10 years after the original trees had been planted. The grass around me was freshly sowed; the distinction was pointed out to me sometimes, in case I forgot.

Considering I grew up in New York, the veritable melting pot, I could have had it worse, but I grew up in Long Island, whose inhabitants engender varying levels of tolerance toward immigrants. In the midst of my teen angst, I generally accepted the conflicting duality of both feeling American and being made to feel un-American just because I couldn’t trace my roots to the Mayflower. And then I met someone who changed my life. He was a foreign student who was studying at the same college as me, and I fell in love.

Ten years later, I followed him to his country and immigrated myself. Thus, my tree was transplanted to yet another backyard, but this time with flora that had been there for hundreds and hundreds of years before me. In the middle of this new place, I reconciled with the anxious little immigrant girl I once was. Sticking out like a sore thumb again inadvertently made me realize it was my childhood struggle to fit in — and my constant self-analysis and adaptation to my environment — that made me who I am today.

I’m a child of two Haitian immigrant parents who risked everything to give me the American dream. Without their bravery in escaping a violent regime, I might not have had the opportunity to attend the schools, meet the people and work for the companies that prepared me for my journey as a designer.

I find this administration’s attack on DACA concerning to say the least. America’s most valuable asset is its diversity; this nuance allows all Americans to benefit from a unique perspective, which only serves to better American society in every way, from art to finance. To only allow certain countries to immigrate here and not others is to weaken America’s culture and reduce our advantages in consequence.

As a member of both the American and Haitian community, I am increasingly dismayed at how close in proximity the most oppressed country in the western hemisphere is to the richest and yet how far apart my two homes are socially and economically. Is it not time for America to bravely make right its past wrongs? Slamming the door on its closest neighbors is not an effective way to help that cause.

These hands have held Three children as they breathed their last, Before bringing her family to America, Leaving comfort in the past.

These hands have worked steadily Since their arrival, For a country that now turns a blind eye To those depending on it for survival.

These hands are my grandmother’s, Who not too long ago was a refugee, A person displaced by war and decisions She didn’t make willingly.

These hands mean more to me than bans Or detainment or laws. They mean enough for me to stand And fight for a greater cause.

Where is our humanity? Have we lost it all? Have we forgotten upon whose backs We built this country that now Divides with walls?

We cannot lose our benevolence, Our will to understand, for It is our commission as human beings To lend a helping hand.

No one tells you how your experience as an immigrant will begin with acknowledging yourself as less. You are a brown woman waiting in line at JFK, fumbling to make sure your papers are in order, wondering whether your name is too jagged, too Muslim, that it won’t roll off their tongue. You watch as people with fairer skin pass you by. Global Entry, they will say, for the “pre-approved, low-risk.” Remember: They said global, not equal.

You will hear about how hard it can be to integrate; you will get advice on what news to watch, which to forget. You will attempt seeming familiar, attempt the humor, laugh along when you can’t. But no one will warn you of the loneliness. No one will tell you that you will want to reach into a city’s guts to find food that smells like your own, to find places that feel like your own. No one tells you that you will find comfort in shared language because sometimes you will feel your mother tongue crumbling in your memory. When you speak English, it will feel like reaching across invisible walls, your body strained from the effort. You will have crossed oceans, but these barriers will feel insurmountable.

What they won’t tell you, but you must know, is that after some time has passed, you will find people who will make you feel less foreign. You will know love, friendship and joy. And in that space between living and belonging, perhaps you will even look back at your country with its chewed-up streets, its battered landscapes, its beloved sky and want to hold it to your chest. You will realize just what it takes to build a home.

In my seat, I visualized myself getting smaller until I disappeared. I was in a room with my dad and the middle-school principal. I was sent to detention because I didn’t have my parents sign the test I failed. This would be my first and only time being picked up from detention. My dad made sure of that. He thought this would ruin my chance of going to a good college, which he believed was my only chance of a good life. He told the principal the story of how our family left the Philippines when I was five so I could benefit from growing up in America. We were here so I could get a good education and a better life, he said. The principal was moved by my dad’s explanation. He told us this would still go on my record but assured us it would not follow me into high school.

My dad often tells our story of immigrating as a rationale behind the sacrifices we make and the expectations he and my mom hold me to. I was left with the impression that my accomplishments only served to validate our place in this country. I spent so much time resisting that idea. My parents saw all of my actions as a reflection of themselves: If I was good, they were good. If I was bad, they were bad. Living under this ethos made me feel like less of my own person. I resented it. I didn’t want to be a model for “immigrant excellence.” I wanted to be given the space and understanding to be fallible.

I was bent on exerting my autonomy and stressing that my life was mine. As an adult, I know that I do not owe perfection to anyone, but whenever I enter new spaces and positions in life, I can’t help but feel like I need to prove that I have as much of a right to be here as anybody else. I am more of my own person today, but now I hope my contribution to the world will reflect my parents’ contribution to my future.

I’ve been thinking a lot about an exchange from The Good Shepherd, when Matt Damon’s character, a man of white Anglo-Saxon privilege, says to an Italian mafioso: “[My people have] the United States of America. The rest of you are just visiting.”

The rest of you are just visiting. How frighteningly prescient these words are: just visiting.

I think about my childhood. Of my siblings and I riding our bikes to the club to swim all day, racing back through the golf course to beat the sunset home. Or riding to theater camp on a big yellow bus. Or running across the street to play with the Irish family. It felt like a great American childhood to me. Were we visitors then?

We had barbecues in the backyard and rode our bikes for hours, we played Prince of Persia on our Apple IIGS and wore matching track suits when we traveled, like a mini Olympic team. Were we visitors?

I think about telling my class that my family was from Syria and them berating me in response: “Cereal?! Where is that?!” They were just small-town kids, I told myself. Teach them there is a world out there, then invite them to play double-dutch at recess. They’ll come around. We were a symbol of evolution and change. Were we just visitors?

I think about my parents driving us kids to the train station on mornings so dark and cold it felt impossible to get out of bed, just so we could attend the best school in the region and make something terrific of our intellects and this wonderful life. Were we visitors then?

I think of the gifts my father gets from his patients every year that my mother displays proudly at the holidays. Macaroons from the rabbi, paintings from the artist, poems from one patient that are so beautiful they make me cry. It is a remarkable thing to realize how widely admired your parents are as individuals apart from parenting you. Are they visitors too?

I think of the five children they raised — two doctors, a partner at a global law firm, a student at Stanford, and myself. Can we stay? If a visitor leaves a place better than they found it, can they?

I think of my life at this moment. Married to an American with feather-soft hair and blue eyes who grew up in an original 1810 house and accepts me for precisely the person I am. Am I a visitor still? How many roots must we set down for this to be home? How many taxes are left on our balance, how much in tuition to institutions of higher learning, how many donations to domestic causes will deem us acceptable? Should my mother remove her veil, or do her blue eyes cancel out the offense? My employer avowedly supports people of all genders, races and creeds; will they protect me if it should come to pass?

My father called me the other day and said, “I wanted you to know you shouldn’t feel badly if you want to take your husband’s name. I don’t want any of my kids to suffer for being Muslim.”

“I’m prouder of my name than I’ve ever been,” I replied.

We are not visiting.

Feature collage by Emily Zirimis.