#man for generations that constantly complain that schools never taught for the way they learn

[thingswhatareawesome]

¨

[thegreatestofheck]

Jump〘 JJ Maybank〙

Request made by @bitterbethany! Hope you enjoy!

Word Count - 2564 Warnings - Light swearing, manipulative relationship Synopsis - You are John B’s sister and you’ve been following him around your whole life. After deciding to make your own path, you find yourself caught up with a boy who is no good and JJ is the only one who can get you out of it. A/N - I hope this is what you were hoping for! I’m sorry if I went a little off-script, I just really ran with what you gave me because I loved it so much! It was supposed to be fluffy, but I made it a little bit angsty, I apologize. Stay safe, stay healthy, stay groovy! 

***

You had been following John B around your entire life. 

After your mother left and your father dove into his obsession with the Royal Merchant, John B was all you had. You looked up to him for everything. You followed him through middle school, through high school, through classes. Everything he did, you wanted to do too. 

His friends were your friends and that especially included JJ Maybank. For most of your life, he was like another brother to you. He protected you from bullies, made you laugh when you felt like crying, taught you how to play hackey sack. But then you grew up and he became something else. 

He taught you how to dance like a Pogue, to fight, and to fish. He gave you your first beer. Still, he made you laugh when you wanted to cry over a failed test and protected you from bullies. And you couldn’t help your feelings that grew for him. What else were you supposed to do? The kid sister always falls in love with her brother’s best friend. Why would you be any different?

But after your father went missing, you felt your brother and his friends start to pull away. He was 16 and young and wanted to live his life. You were 15 and annoying and just wanted to do everything he was doing. You saw him and JJ and Pope and Kie less and less and less until you barely saw them at all. 

You had to learn to live your own life, to be your own person. Eventually, you or John B were going to go away and you had to learn to live with that. 

Nearly three years after your father’s disappearance, you were working with a moving company, which generally meant helping new kooks into their gorgeous houses. Ever since you parted ways with John B and the Pogues, you had yet to find a new group of people to hang out with. It didn’t bother you...much. 

That is until you met the Tilly’s and their 19-year-old son, Benedict. 

You were struggling to carry a rather large table up to the Tilly’s new house. You could never ask for any help because once you did, you knew the other boys you worked with would never let you carry anything over 10 pounds ever again. But you couldn’t see your feet as you started up the stairs. Your toes got caught on the lip of the stair and you stumbled upward.

“Woah there!” 

A pair of steady hands caught you before you fell completely and broke the table.

“I’ve got you,” a voice whispered right behind you. “Just keep walking.” 

The boy was Benedict Tilly, the eldest son of the Tilly household. He was smart, funny, and due to inherit the entire business, and all the money along with it. He smiled at you, despite the sweat and the grease that covered your face. He was responsible and he was two years older than you and damn attractive.

And all of his attention was on you. 

He listened to you rant about work, how the men are constantly trying to tear you down for being a girl, how it took you almost three years for them to help you do more than bring things inside. He listened to you complain about family, how John B had once been your everything, how he had ditched you for his friends. You never mentioned JJ. 

Soon, all the time you didn’t spend at work, you spent with Ben and his friends. You drank and smoked and partied hard when his parents weren’t around. You went cliff diving, water skiing. You drove around in his fancy boat, watching other fish for you instead of fishing yourself.

You taught him to surf, to play hackey sack, to shotgun a beer. 

All the things you used to do that annoyed your brother and JJ, Ben found amazing. He would hook his arm around your waist and laugh, kiss you on the forehead and smile. You meant something to him and it felt like he actually cared. 

But then he started to ask for things that you weren’t sure you wanted to do. 

“Come on, Baby.” His words were drawled. “It’s just one line.” 

You would shove him away with a forced laugh. In the beginning, he would let it go, let you walk away and hide in his sister’s room for a while. That didn’t fly for long. He got more forceful, wanting more, demanding more. 

Until you were vomiting in the bathroom of the Chateau as quietly as you could, as not to wake John B and JJ, who slept on the futon. Unfortunately for you, vomiting wasn’t a quiet activity and JJ was a light sleeper. 

“So, you’ve decided to finally come home,” he said, standing in the doorway of the bathroom. You were so exhausted from the day that he didn’t even startle you. You pressed your cheek against your hand as your elbow rested against the toilet.

“So, you’ve decided that I’m worth your time.” 

“You’ve always been worth my time.” 

You looked up at him, eyebrows raised. 

Even though you wanted to hate him, you couldn’t. Not with his fluffy blond hair and his blue eyes. Not with the concerned look on his face. Not with the way his veins tightened as his arms were crossed over his chest. 

Body trembling, you pushed yourself to your feet. You tried to take a step forward, but your legs disagreed. JJ stepped forward and caught you before your knees hit the ground. 

“I don’t need your help,” you seethed. 

“You’re burning up,” he said, pressing the back of his hand to your forehead. 

“I don’t need your help,” you said again, voice weakening. You tried to push him away, but he held you tight. “Get off of me.” 

“God, what did he do to you?” JJ asked, his voice soft, gentle. 

“Nothing.” You shook your head, feeling the urge to vomit again. “Nothing I didn’t want to do.” 

“Yeah. You really look like it was something you wanted to do.” 

You hated the way he sounded like he cared. 

JJ helped you to the futon and you were helpless to do anything about it. He laid you down on the bed, pulling the blankets up to your shoulders. They were still warm. 

“It’s too hot,” you whined, trying to pull the blankets off. 

“Stop it.” JJ smacked your hand away, making you pout. “Keep those blankets on.” 

You huffed, your eyes starting to shut. 

“If that boy hurt you-” 

“He’s not a boy,” you said with a sigh, a smile on your lips as you curled up in the warm blankets. “He’s a man.” 

JJ scoffed. 

“If you ever need any help,” JJ said. “I’m always here for you.” 

You pulled your arm out of the blanket and flung it in his direction, your brain starting to fade into sleep.

“I know,” you sighed contentedly. JJ tucked your arm back underneath the blankets. 

“Sleep tight.” 

You mumbled, trying to say it back, but your mouth was no longer listening to your brain. JJ sat there beside you as you fell asleep, watching your breathing start to steady, until he was sure that you were no longer conscious. 

***

“Ben, I don’t like this,” you said, clinging to the older boy's arm. The two of you were teetering at the edge of a cliff. You had never passed down the opportunity for cliff diving, but this one was too tall and the possibility of hitting the rocks below was too high. 

“C’mon, babe,” he said, pressing his lips against your forehead. “Be my brave little girl.” 

“Ben!” One of his friends called from behind. “This is dangerous.” 

“I know!” Ben replied, shouting over the wind. “That’s why she’s doing it!” 

You looked over at him, eyebrows pinched together. 

“Ben-” 

“You want to feel alive, right?” He asked you, eyes wide and horrifying. “You want to prove to me that you’re more than those filthy pogues, more than the box your brother’s lifestyle cornered you into? You want to prove yourself to me?” 

You nodded your head vehemently. You wanted that. You wanted the life he could give you, wanted everything he had, everything he touched. 

“Then jump, baby.” 

You sucked in a deep breath, peering down at the ocean below. It was too tall. You had no idea how deep it was here. There was no way you could jump confidently, knowing that you would survive. But that was the fun of it, right? Not knowing whether you were going to swim out alive until you hit the surface?

You turned toward Ben, placing your hands on the side of his face, pulling him toward you. He kissed you hungrily, hands grabbing at your waist, pulling at your shirt and the top of your pants. You pulled yourself back suddenly, making him stumble forward. Stepping forward, you could feel your toes hanging over the cliff. Wind whipped through your hair, dragging across your skin like daggers. 

You didn’t feel alive. You felt like you had just stepped up to your funeral pyre. 

Still, you raised your arms, ready for the jump.

“Hell yeah,” you heard Ben breathe, excitement in his voice.

“No!” You heard someone cry behind you, but the wind drowned out the voice. As if it too wanted you to jump. “Y/N, stop!” 

“Jump, baby!” Ben yelled behind you. “Feel alive.”

Jump. 

You could barely hear the sound of shouting behind you.

Jump. 

It almost sounded like fighting.

Jump!

You lifted your foot, ready to let yourself fall, when someone wrapped their arms around you and pulled you backward. Your eyes snapped open as you hit the grass, the arms still around you. 

The wind died down and you could suddenly hear what was going on. And see it too. 

John B was kneeling over Ben, pounding his face into the dirt. Pope and Kie were doing their absolute best to distract the others and keep them from aiding their friend. 

“Don’t...ever...fucking...touch...my...sister!” You heard John B shout, each word accompanied by a punch to Ben’s face. You wanted to run to him, to pull John B off, but someone was still holding you.

“Get her out of here, JJ!” Kie cried, clinging to the back of one of Ben’s goons. 

“Go!” Pope echoed. 

JJ? 

The someone hoisted you off the ground, pulling you away from Ben.

“No!” You shouted, fighting whoever was holding you. “Get off me!” 

“Stop it, Y/N!” That was JJ’s voice. Tears rolled down your cheeks as you tried to fight to get back to Ben. “Leave him!” 

JJ dragged you back to the van, trying his hardest to get you into the passenger seat while all of your limbs flailed. He started yelling as soon as he was behind the wheel and the two of you were rattling down the road.

“What the hell were you thinking?” He shouted, knuckles white from gripping the wheel. 

“I was cliff diving!” You shouted back, tears still running from your eyes. 

“That wasn’t cliff diving. That was suicide!” 

You scoffed, crossing your arms.

“Stop pretending that you care now, JJ. It’s too little too late.” 

“Why do you keep saying that I don’t care?” 

“Because ever since my dad went missing, you and John B and the Pogues became an exclusive club that I wasn’t invited too. Because you said I was annoying and clingy. Because when I needed you most, you walked out on me!” 

JJ clenched his jaw, shifting his hands on the wheel. 

“I didn’t mean any of that.” 

“You never took it back.”

“Well, I’m taking it back now.” 

“Like I said, too little too late.” 

The rest of the car ride was silent until you made it back to the Chateau. You shoved the car door open and stormed toward the house, hands clenched at your side. 

“Y/N, wait!” JJ stormed after you and grabbed your wrist. You swung around, glaring daggers. 

“What do you want?” You seethed, voice breaking. “I wouldn’t be surprised if Ben never wants to hang out with me again thanks to you.”

“Thanks to me you’re not dead at the bottom of the ocean!” 

“I hate you, JJ Maybank,” you sobbed, stepping away from him. “You broke my heart. You and John B left me alone and now you think you can just come back into my life and tell me what to do.”

JJ let out a deep sigh, the anger in his eyes turning to something else, something you couldn’t read. 

“I’m sorry,” he said. “Y/N, I’m really sorry.”

You stared at him, trying to keep your sobbing to a minimum. 

“I can’t give you a reason why John B and I pushed you away. You were my best friend’s kid sister. And you were starting to be more than that and I couldn’t....” JJ let out another deep breath. “I couldn’t risk John B hating me because I wanted to be around you all the time. I was thinking about myself. It was selfish.”

You breathed heavier, turning your face away from him. 

“Why do you care all of the sudden?” You asked, looking at a leaf on the ground. You had never been able to resist his eyes when he asked you something. 

“Ben was no good. You weren’t his girlfriend. You were his guinea pig.” You felt your heart squeeze, eyes narrowing as you felt a fresh wave of tears pricked your eyes. “I couldn’t live with myself if I let him hurt you.” 

You finally looked up at him. He was pleading with his eyes, asking you to forgive him. You looked away again. 

When he stepped closer to you, you didn’t back away. You let him get closer to you, closer and closer until he was standing right in front of you. You watched, as he lifted his hand slowly, tentatively, until his fingers were brushing against your elbow. 

Electricity sparked through you, eyes fluttering shut. His touch was gentle and he didn’t leave bruises. 

“Y/N.” He was standing so close, you could feel his breath against your forehead. “Forgive me.”

You lifted your face to meet his. You missed seeing the ocean in his eyes with all the intensity of the sea. It made your breath stop in your throat. 

“Of course,” you whispered, afraid of breaking whatever bubble that was surrounding the two of you. You watched in startling alarm as he started to close what little distance between you. “JJ.” 

With his lips to yours, you felt the world spinning around you. Everything was spinning and spinning and spinning, but you stood on solid ground. A storm crackled around you, lightning dancing across your skin where he touched you; your arms, your neck, your cheek. But it didn’t hurt. Thunder crackled in your ears, thrummed in your heart. Wind swirled around you, threatening to consume you, but JJ kept you steady. 

Jump! The wind howled. Jump! 

But you weren’t leaning over the edge of a cliff. You had already taken the risk, you had already jumped. And you were falling hard. 

You somehow knew that JJ was going to be there to catch you when you hit the ground. 

[jadekitty777]

On Your Six, Chapter 5

Day 5: Mission Go- Cooking for @taiqrowweek

Wait what do you mean I switched the prompt days around? Dunno what you’re talking about ;)

(Don’t worry it’ll make more sense in the long run)

Rating: T for this chapter, M for overall

Words: 2.5k

Summary: Qrow was what most of society would call a small-town criminal. But to those oppressed, he hoped only to be a healer. In an effort to make a change in the world, he moves from kingdom to kingdom, searching for branded omegas in need. His goal? To turn the derogatory words the reformatories forced them to bear on their skin into works of art.

Then one day, his past catches up to him in the form of Taiyang, his former best friend, with a brand of his own stained onto his skin and a plea for help in his eyes. Qrow has no choice but to answer, even if it means he’d have to face his mistakes once and for all.

[An ABO-style universe in a modern-day style Remnant. No Grimm, because people are the real monsters in this one]

Ao3 Link: On Your Sleeve

~

Tai had started feeding him.

At first, it had begun with little things, shortly following that fateful day he gave him the picture. Prepackaged snacks or fresh fruits or vegetables as a healthy addition to the cheap, instant lunch meals he could easily afford. Then it quickly dissolved into tubberware covered leftovers of various pastas or stews, things that kept well and were well adept at making in large servings.

By late May, with the advent of Qrow’s twenty-sixth birthday, Tai arrived at his place loaded with grocery bags, a proper skillet and a determined purpose to make his favorite dish of chicken curry. It was, hands down, one of the best meals he’d had in years.

Yet, even after the occasion passed, the trend continued until it seemed Sunday became the day his stomach most looked forward too. Normally, Qrow would put up a fight about being doted after – Tai wouldn’t be the first omega to develop the habit. The most prominent of whom had been Maria, whose sessions had to be shorter than most both due to her age and the difficulty working with thinner, more wrinkled skin.

But she had also been a grandmother. A feisty one, who smacked him on the head a lot with her cane, but was also kind and worried and constantly remarking on his too-thin frame until he just gave up and let her do whatever she wanted.

But with Tai, he couldn’t even manage to feign annoyance. In part because Tai’s cooking was damn good and he’d be a fool not to gobble it up at every opportunity. But also, because it gave an excuse for their sessions to run long.

He didn’t even think it was a one-sided endeavor. Beyond the innate omega instinct to care for and Tai’s naturally generous personality, there was a loneliness in those blue eyes that told the truth behind all the fumbled attempts to waste time or make breaks run longer. By July, Tai wasn’t leaving his place until at least ten at night.

Neither of them complained about the arrangement.

Then August rolled around, and Qrow had an absolutely foolish idea.

The first Sunday of the month was on the 5th and it passed with little incident or notice. They were back at the first of the designs, arguably the most complex with the amount of color layers needed, so their dinner was nothing fancy. Just simple sandwiches and side salads, so most of their time could be spent under the needle instead.

He’d banked on that happening so that what would happen next wouldn’t have a chance of paling in comparison.

You busy tonight? He messaged early Wednesday.

Tai responded a few hours later, probably when his first break popped up. No. Why?

Come over after work. I have something to give you. He replied after he’d finished with his client for the day, sometime early afternoon.

The final response was cheeky and towards the end of the school day. You’re about as subtle as a brick.

Almost at 6 P.M. on the dot, there was a knock on his door.

“Coming!” Qrow called, dancing between the kitchen and the table to make sure everything was perfectly in place. He gave it all a satisfactory nod, then hurried over, sliding the door open only enough so he could wedge between it and the threshold, blocking Tai’s view.

The omega looked different, fresh out of work. His blond hair had been lightly gelled, just enough to give it a bit of bounce. The casual wear he was normally in was swapped out for a more professional look; pants and a collared shirt ironed of any wrinkles and shoes shined enough they gleamed.

So of course his eyes fell onto the one thing that completely ruined the look with a teasing snort. “Nice tie, Tai.”

“You like it?” He grinned, pulling at the absolutely hideous yellow abomination that was covered in yapping cartoon corgis. “The kids love ‘em. They call me the Funny Tie Guy.”

Oh Gods. “Bet you get a kick out of it every time.”

“I literally can knot get enough of it.” Tai had the nerve to wink as he said it too.

Qrow groaned. “You are so lucky it’s your day. Speaking of-” He swung the door open, revealing the room with a flourish.

Admittedly, it wasn’t much. Still, it was satisfying to see the way Tai’s face lit up with joy as he spotted the modest little table set for two, dinner already set in their bowls and the most expensive white wine he could reasonably afford already poured. The omega looked from it to him, grin growing, “You did all this?”

“Yeaaah.” Qrow flushed, trying to hide his anxiety. He’d never been great with giving gifts. “Happy birthday ya big lug.”

Tai laughed, throwing an arm over his shoulders and pulling him into a hug. “Thank you. This is just what I wanted.”

He could have stayed there forever – but he didn’t work himself to death to let dinner go cold. He pat his back, mindful of the healing wounds, and said, “Let’s eat.”

Qrow’s relationship with cooking was disjointed and the spread seemed to reflect that. The fried rice was perfect; it was one of the first things his mother taught him how to make on the stove. The garlic broccoli, more of a staple in the Xiao Long family, had a bit of crunch where some of the pieces hadn’t fully cooked through because he hadn’t had Tai beside him to remind him to stir. Just like the many other easy things he helped him learn how to make when he found out he and Raven had been living off nothing but white rice and peanut butter sandwiches for months.

The moo shu pork was the trickiest and most complicated dish by far and nothing he’d ever even attempted before. His amateur hand left it looking a bit of a mess as they poured it onto the tortillas. Unpretty as it was in presentation and lacking a few of the pricier ingredients like oyster sauce and sesame oil, the marinade had the pork still bursting with flavor.  

The wine was there to act as a garnish to make the food seem better than it was. Which was probably why Qrow kept pouring it until he and Tai had split two and a half glasses between each other. Either that, or because Tai was adorably chatty when he was tipsy.

“So, there we are, watching about thirty of these Fayblades spinning around, knocking into each other and some of the cheaper ones are falling apart. Everything is going too fast for any of us to do the math problems on them. And Missy and I just look at each other like we both just realized what a horrible mistake we made. It was only the first week back and I was pretty sure we were about to lose an eye or something.” As he told the story, Tai animatedly gestured around with his glass, liquid sloshing almost past the rim. “We get the kids to back up until they all stop. Then Missy starts gathering a few up, saying how this time we would try less so we can actually keep count – when Velvet speaks up from the back and says ‘Blue wins 124 to 90’.”

Qrow polished off his own glass, setting it on the table. “That’s the quiet one with the rabbit in her bag, right?”

“Mmhmm. She kind of tries to hide when everyone starts looking at her, so I don’t say anything right then. Just take it as fact and move on. But when recess comes around, I pull her aside and ask her how she knew the answer. And she tells me, completely serious mind you, that she’s a camera. So it was easy to do all the math when she basically had the pictures saved in her head. And I’m like, holy shit!” He taps his temple for emphasis. “She has a photographic memory.”

“Ain’t that just a myth?” He asked, starting to gather the empty dishes.

Tai waved him off. “Pfft. Qrow, you gotta stop thinking like the world’s just a big science textbook. It’s more like a-a fairytale! Where magic can happen at any moment.”

“Tai, you’re drunk.”

“I am not!” This time, when he gestured, some of the wine hit the table. He blinked down at it. “Ah, shit!”

He laughed. “Man, you still can’t hold your liquor.”

“You dishonor me.” The omega accused, pointing to his right hand as if it were an exhibit. “I’m holding it just fine.”

That only made him laugh harder, until he had to wipe tears from the corners of his eyes.

~

Somehow, they found themselves laying side by side on the bed, shoulders pressed together. Tai’s scroll was balanced between the head of the bed and the wall, the display playing the finale of their favorite show growing up, Silver Eyes.  It was the height of the final battle. Rosette was locked in battle with Bastinda while the rest of her friends lay, unconscious or ensnared in traps, around them.

“Do you not yet see how pointless this all is? How my power eclipses you all?” Bastinda snarled as she swung her wand down. “You’re all just insignificant riffraff!”

Rosette seemed to find some strength, blocking the attack with her broadsword. “You’re wrong! No one is insignificant! Even the smallest of us has something good to contribute.”

“Foolish child!” A powerful gravity spell threw Rosette to the ground, knocking her sword out of her hand.

“Gods,” Qrow griped. “This is cheesier than I remember.”

Tai shushed him. “Hush, the best part’s coming up!”

He rolled his eyes, but his traitorous mouth smiled all the same. Alright, so maybe this part was pretty hype. Watching it play out again on the screen, he felt ten again, practically glued to screen as his excitement built.

A large shadow stretched across the valley, delaying the witch from striking the final blow as she turned to the source. Up on the hill, sun behind him, was Zwei. Rosette’s little corgi that had been with her from the start of the show. He came racing down the hill, stubby little legs barely able to pick up speed.

Bastinda sneered, pointed her wand at the dog. “Pathetic.”

“Zwei, no!!” Rosette cried, tears filling her eyes just as the blast fired.

It seemed like the end for the lovable pup as smoke filled the air.

And then, with a blast of light, something came flying out of the dust and landing before the witch. The world rumbled under powerful paws as the giant white wolf stood before her, letting out a powerful growl that brought her to her knees.

“I don’t believe it!” Blanca cried from her mirror prison. “Zwei’s a Guardian!”

The rest of the finale played out just as he remembered, Zwei turning the tide of the fight and giving Rosette a chance to free her friends, all of them coming together for one final attack that rid the world of the cruel witch once and for all. After that, the wolf turned back into the lovable and more marketable corgi pup, and everyone headed home to enjoy true peace for the first time in a millennium.

Tai sat up as the credits began to roll, stretching his arms above his head. “I still think it holds up pretty well.”

“Sure, if you ignore the fact they completely sidelined Silver Eyes. It’s only the title of the show.” He snarked.

“Come on now. It’s not about the power ups. It’s about the journey and the-”

“Friends they made alone the way.” He mimed gagging. It was only the motto shoved down his throat at the end of almost every episode.

Tai merely laughed at his antics, picking up his scroll and slipping off the bed. “It’s late. I better head home.”

Maybe it was the vestiges of the alcohol or maybe it was the other’s scent, sweeter and more inviting than usual, that loosened his tongue enough to offer, “You could crash here, if you want.”

“In your bed? We hardly fit.”

Acquiescently, he rolled onto his side, practically shoving himself against the wall as he pat the wide, empty space. “It’ll be fine. And your drunk.”

“Hardly. And I’ll have to get up early to get back home and get ready.”

“It’s fine.” The noise left him involuntarily. It wasn’t a growl, really; it was barely more than a rumble. Regardless, the regret hit him instantly as he bit down on his tongue and turned his face up apologetically.

The omega just arched a brow, entirely unaffected and unimpressed by his pitiful display. Then he chuckled, any meteor-sized tension there could have been burning up long before impact could be made. “Gods, you’re such a punk, you know that?”

“I…uh…”

“Alright, you win.” Tai set the alarm on his scroll with his right hand, while he crossed the room and got the lights with his left. He used the glow coming off of the device to find his way back, dropping it onto the nightstand. In the bits of moonlight coming from the window, Tai became an erotic beauty as he undid his tie and buttons, shrugging out of his shirt. His belt hit the ground next – though mercifully he kept his pants on.

Qrow watched him, utterly transfixed, as he lowed himself to the bed, mattress dipping anew with the readded weight as the omega stretched out onto his stomach. Beyond all comprehension, he had to fight every muscle in his body from reaching for him. The need to bring him close and curl around him was overwhelming. So, he shoved his hands underneath the crook of his neck and locked his elbows.

Why had he thought this was a good idea again?

Tai heaved out a long sigh, mumbling, “Goodnight Qrow.”

He swallowed, voice barely above a whisper as he responded, “G’night.”

Without a clock in the room, there was no telling how long he lay there, coiled up tight like a spring waiting for the pressure to come loose, listening to the sounds of Tai’s breathing slowly evening out. It wasn’t until Qrow was absolutely certain the other wouldn’t wake that he risked it.

Though it felt a bit reprehensible, it was with that same uncontrolled desire in which he found himself scooting his upper half forward, inch by agonizing inch, until the bridge of his nose was pressed up against the curve of Tai’s shoulder.

His eyes slipped shut, breathing in deeply. The omega’s scent swirled around him, sunflowers and soil and bright summer days; a smell that was unmistakably, irrevocably Tai.

Here. With him.

Slowly, the rigidity to his muscles relaxed and he finally drifted off, the scent embracing him as securely as its owner could.

[mommymooze]

Big Girls Have More Fun

You were always a very big girl. Your mother had complained when giving birth to your brothers that their shoulders were so wide it was a miracle that they ever made it out. When the midwife had problems getting you to leave the warm comfy space known as your mother’s womb, Mommah cried because it was going to be another boy. She and Father were so happily surprised that after all these years they finally had a girl. Weighing in at almost 10 pounds, you were also the biggest of her children. Everyone who saw you when you were little thought you were a big boy. It didn’t help that you had plenty of hand-me-downs from your brothers so your clothes were always masculine. You were bald headed until you were two, until your (h/c) hair finally started to grow in. Mother always styled your hair so cutely with lots of ribbons and bows. Being the girl and the baby of the family, you did have a few beautiful dresses that you wore on special occasions, but you preferred the tough pants that were from your older brothers. Girls clothes never fit very well in the shoulders, so your dresses were custom made. Having 6 children’s feet under the table did not call for a lot of extra money for clothing, and you preferred your older brothers castoffs anyway.

Always chasing after your brothers and their friends, you were as much of a boy as they were. Instead of dolls and dress up, you preferred wrestling and play fighting. If someone said you couldn’t do something because you were a girl, you had to push yourself until you could climb higher, run faster or swim farther than any of those silly boys. Mother tried to get you to wear makeup when you turned 13, hoping that some feminine influence would stick. They found out all to quickly that most of the powders and eyeshadows made your face break out until you looked like a chipmunk. Since you would not wear dresses, when you were older your mother convinced you to wear loose-fitting long-sleeved blouses that had a bit of frill around the neck or cuffs. This was to make you look more feminine because…well because you had muscles. No tea parties for you. It was much more fun to hang out with one of your brothers. Your oldest brother was a carpenter so helping lift stacks of wood, hammering nails and learning to build things was fascinating. Your next brother was a bricklayer. Helping him move pallets of bricks, stir the bonding material to go between the stones and hand him bricks as quickly as he could lay them was always fascinating. It was so satisfying seeing a line of bricks suddenly become an entire wall by the end of the day. The middle brother was apprenticed to the blacksmith. This was your favorite brother to work with. He would let you pump the bellows and work on basic metal pieces and he would finish them. Your fingers were a bit smaller and more nimble than his, so he had you assembling pieces together he would hammer in the rivets to join them into the finished work. He taught you how to make shoes for horses, some in different lengths and widths. You really loved hammering on a piece of metal, molding it into something new and useful.

Shortly before you turned 18 your parents were killed in a tragic fire. Having nothing left to keep you home you had heard of the Academy at Garreg Mach. With the blessings of your brothers you headed out to become enrolled and most importantly, to see what you could make of yourself. The atmosphere at the school was exciting. You had been homeschooled by your parents. Taught the basics reading and writing, a bit of etiquette (though your brothers still attacked every dinner like a pack of ravenous wolverines.) You were invited to join the Golden Deer, a mostly wild and boisterous bunch except for Marianne and Ignatz. It was a perfect fit for you. Raphael was just like one of your big brothers and loved to spar and wrestle with you. You found Leonie to be a great friend, easy to hang out with because neither of you were extremely ‘girly’.  That word was more for Hilda and Marianne, who would dress up and fix their hair for hours, complain about getting dirty. Still, they were still sweet and became good friends. Even Lorenz could behave himself and tolerated in small doses.

Claude was the ‘leader-man’ for the deer. He certainly was mischievous, playing pranks or generally annoying at times. Much of the time he follows their Professor, Byleth, always asking questions and trying to get more information than Byleth probably wants to supply. You arm wrestled him once. He’s an archer, great upper body strength, you thought he would be a challenge. But he lost pretty quickly, telling you that you should stick to someone more of Raphael’s or Caspar’s build.  It was really strange when one day Claude and Byleth are called away on a special mission. A few of the other students, the heads of the other two houses and Hilda are not seen for a couple weeks. Some of the knights filled in for teaching when they are available. Otherwise the Deer are thrown in with Professors Manuela and Hanneman for most of the classes.

You are thrilled to get extra training on brawling from Catherine and Alois. Alois is okay, great at brawling, but his jokes are something hard to stomach. Being a brawler meant you were always well armed. Ugh. Catherine is a ton of fun, she is built a lot like you. Broad shouldered and incredible upper body strength. She is a plethora of knowledge. She’s constantly giving tips on the best holds, the best way to take someone down. Knowing that you would come across a lot of male opponents as there were few female brawlers such as you two, she gives tips on distractions, specific grabs and holds that were very effective against men. Some of it feels like cheating, especially the sudden fake flirts and the like, but any weapon in a battle for your life. The other students may not have enjoyed the few weeks without Professor Byleth, Claude, and Hilda, however you are having a blast.

Byleth and all of the missing students return without a word as to what happened while they are gone. You decide to trail Claude today because he’s acting extra suspicious. He stops at an area close to the sauna, not far from where Byleth’s room is located. He is talking to that shifty merchant guy that hangs out over there at times. Your curiosity gets the best of you and you approach greeting Claude loudly.

“Hey (y/n) talk about timing! I can use a strong pair of arms if you have a few minutes.”

Instinctively you point to yourself. “Me? Sure, I’ve got a few.”

Claude grabs your arm and pulls you behind the merchant showing that there is a hidden entrance to somewhere underground. The air is cooler down here, but a bit stuffy. After a couple turns down the corridors you are met by a tall guy with a deep voice and purple hair. The two are speaking in low voices, you can’t make out what they are talking about. The new guy looks as you so you give a little wave of your fingers. The two men lead you down several more corridors, you feel like you are going in circles now. Finally, they stop and the new guy pulls out a key and opens the door, ushering everyone inside.

“Glad you brought Muscles here, Balty is a bit busy at the moment.” Says new guy.

“I want a look see before I hand over the payment. I’m sure you understand.” Claude says with a grin.

Yuri grabs a dagger and works on a board, loosening it to reveal the contents of the box is a large cache of lances.

Claude pulls one out and invites you to take one in hand.

“Dagdan construction.” You spin it, twirl it and look it over carefully. “Decently made.”

“Who made you the judge, friend?” Purple hair snips.

“Apologies. Worked as a blacksmith for a time. Repaired lots of stuff from lots of places.” You place the weapon back in the box. “I’m (y/n)” you give a bit of a smile introducing yourself. You really get a good look at purple hair. Is he…wearing makeup? It looks good on him. Your face grows into a bigger smile.

“Yuri.” He says. At least he grips your hand firmly.

Claude puts the weapon back in the box, so you grab the board that was pulled off, put it back on and hammer it into place with the butt of your dagger from your belt. You pick up the box (use your legs not your back) and hoist it onto your shoulder. Yuri silently escorts you and Claude back to where you first met him.

“Glad to do business, friend.” Claude gives Yuri a tap on the shoulder.

“Always.” Yuri turns to you, “Come visit sometime. I’ve got a friend who would probably be interested in a spar or two.”

“No prob!” You wave with your free hand and follow Claude back to the surface.

-----------------

A few weeks later, after the Golden Deer have returned from a successful mission, Claude pulls you aside.

“Can you spare some time, friend? I have a special sparring match you might be interested in.” Claude’s eyebrows waggle a bit, a half smile on his face.

“Spar? I’m always up for a challenge. So what’s up?” You answer, it’s been a while since you’ve been in a good match, and the Professor has been teaching you some cool moves and holds that you want to try out.

“Remember Yuri? He’s got a friend that just loves to fight and grapple. Thought you two should be introduced. Maybe teach each other a thing or two?” Claude informs you as he leads you down into Abyss. He leads you to their tavern and you see Yuri seated there with a big dark haired guy wearing chains across his chest. His chest is very muscular and well developed, certainly a brawler like yourself. Claude introduces you to Balthus. The both of you reach out for a handshake, you grasp each others hands and it immediately turns into an arm wrestling type of match to see who can squeeze the others hand the hardest. After a minute you both stop and laugh at each other.

“Way to go, Pal!” Balthus laughs, slamming his large hand down on the table making everything on it rock and wobble.

“Good to meet you too.” You say back to the big guy, a shy smile coming across your face.

Yuri is the next to speak. “So friend, we thought it was time to introduce the two of you. Are you interested in a friendly competition to perhaps determine who is the better brawler?” The half smile on his face lets you know there is some sort of mischief behind this invitation, making it all more enticing to accept the invitation.

You agree to the match. Yuri slaps you on the back. “You won’t regret this, come on.” He says as he leads you off to who knows where in Abyss. You’ve turned left and right and gone through enough doors you do your best to simply keep up and stay with him until he’s led you to a small room. Hanging on a hook is a soft gold tunic and short pants.

“You weren’t exactly dressed for this, hope you don’t mind we’ve provided clothing for you. I’ll leave you to get yourself ready. Be back in a minute.” He says as he closes the door behind him.

Just what kind of a setup have you gotten yourself into?  You wonder as you put on the clothes. You do a few squats, throw a few punches and hooks. They are easy enough to move around in you suppose.  Just before your mind starts to spiral wondering what the heck is going on, Yuri appears again, grabbing you by the hand. He’s leading you to a door that he pulls you through then slams the door shut behind you.

You find yourself in a well lit but small auditorium. There are rows of benches filled with people of the Abyss. On the opposite side of the dirt floor area you are in is Balthus, wearing pants like yours, but in a shimmery gray color. He looks like someone spread oil all over him, his muscles are shining in the light. He’s waving and blowing kisses to the audience.

A voice booms loudly into the room and the crowd quiets, “And now for the main event, our own Balthus vs. (y/n)!”

WTF? This was going to just be a wrestling match. What is this horse and pony show?

“Brawlers, meet in the center and shake hands. Start at the ring of the bell.“ the voice booms in the room, bouncing off the walls with a slight echo. Balthus wiggles his fingers in a “come here” sort of gesture.

As soon as your hands touch, the bells go off and he’s grabbing you trying to throw you to the ground. You grab his wrist, twisting it behind him, kicking at his knee to get him off balance. He tries to use his free elbow to jab you in the side as you pull him back towards you shoving your knee in his ribs. The crowd surrounding you is yelling and jeering, throwing garbage at you for trying to hurt their champion. For good measure you grab the back of his head with both hands, smashing his face to your knee.

The grappling goes back and forth for a while. You’re able to grab him and throw him against the ground, then he grabs your foot, pulling you off balance and you land face first in the dirt.  Next he’s got an arm pinned behind you, so you pull him quickly over your back to flip him down into the dirt. Most of it is arms flailing, smashing into the other to get a good grip and really pull the other into a good position for a finishing move. You’re still confused as to how all of this is happening. Claude and Yuri have some explaining to do.

Balthus is smiling. Smiling! As he grabs you around your waist and flips you upside down dropping to a seated position forcing you into receiving one hell of a piledriver to your skull. You were able to brace a bit on his thighs, so your neck wasn’t broken, but you were going to have a hell of a headache after this match.

The crowd is now screaming “Bal-tie! Bal-tie!” and stomping their feet so hard the ground feels like it is shaking.

He flings your legs to the ground and leaps up to give you a hard elbow drop, but your instincts kick in and you’ve rolled out of range. Once he hits the ground you’re behind him, knees in his back, your right arm grabbing him under the chin pulling it straight back. Balthus’ neck is straining against the pull. He’s stuck in your powerful chinlock.

“Tap out or I break it!” You scream.

You feel the slaps on your calf as you let him go and fall back on the ground. The crowd is booing and screaming and throwing rotten food at you. You struggle to your feet, raising your fists in the air. Your head is screaming at you, bruises in places you haven’t had in a while as you limp back to the door that let you into this goddessforsaken place. You bang on the door once, “Let me in before I bash it down.”

The door opens a little as you smash it open into the wall behind it.

“Great going there kid! I knew you could do it!” Claude is beaming at you until you grab his shirt and pull it tight around his throat and shove him against the wall and as far off the ground as you can get him. “Gah!” he screams as he’s holding on to your hand, trying to take some of the pressure off of his throat.

“What. The. Hell. Was. THAT!” You are seething with rage. Your teeth are grinding so hard he can hear the crunching as your eyes are fixed on his, burning with hellfire.

“Calm. Calm d-down (y/n).” He stutters, patting your fist still holding him up on the wall. “Let’s talk. C’mon. You had a great fight, just like I promised.”

You let go and he drops to the ground sitting against the wall. You move to a nearby bench, taking a seat you close your eyes and shake your head. The Claudster had manipulated you into this. You should have known.

Claude gathers himself back together. Standing he brushes himself off, straightening his collar as best he can considering most of it around his throat is now shredded material.

Yuri pokes his head in the door. He looks at Claude. “You’re still alive? I’m surprised.” The violet haired man takes a small step into the room. “Catch, Tiny!” he laughs as he throws a bag at you, coins jingle inside as you catch it. Before you can look back he’s closed the door.

“Tiny?” you ask.

“That’s what everyone said when you walked into the arena. She’s so tiny compared to Balthus. Your head doesn’t even come close to his shoulder. Now they’re calling you the Tiny Terror.

[love-bucky-3000]

Every time We Touch (Ben Descendants 3 x Reader) pt 1

Prompt: Can I please get a Ben x reader where she’s mal’s sister and she thinks he likes mal and she has a flirty relationship with Jay so Ben thinks she likes jay. Thank u  Okay so the Reader and Mal were separated at birth so the reader has a heavy Hades vibe, people don’t know that Mal and the Reader are sisters because this is set in the first movie. Guess who isn’t really following the prompt again  @ithasntbeenprovin

WC- 1.2kish

AN- I’m sorry for the lack of posts but hopefully a new series will help. Thank you. I’m having fun writing a Soulmate fic

Auradon. Boradon. Same thing. You were finishing up your shift at Dr. Facilier’s Voodoo Arcade. It was busy for a Thursday but then again, does anyone actually go to school? Your hair was pulled up into a ponytail to keep it from sticking to your face with sweat. Air conditing was apparently nonessential to Dr. Facilier no matter how many times Ceilia complained. 

You clocked out and said goodbye to Ceilia, who had just handed your dad’s clothes over. Why he insisted that she do all his hard work was beyond you, but you had a suspicion that he wanted to mature her, the way her own dad never would. 

The walk back to the lair was boring. Bonded couples were everywhere. “At least others can find their soulmate,” you bitterly thought as you pasted a couple in the market. You made your mission to touch every person on the Isle, hoping that one will bring the joy of colors to your eyes. You didn’t even know what color your hair or eyes were. Dad told you they were both blue, but what exactly is blue? Thoughts would creep into your head at night. 

“What if your soulmate is already dead?” “What if” you almost gagged, “in Auradon?” You shuddered at the thought of some Boradon prince or pretty pink princess being bonded to your soul. Oh, but how you wanted to see the hues of the Sun or the pearly white of the King’s castle from across the lake. You’re taught colors in school, usually just different shades of black and white. Unless you were lucky enough to meet your soulmate young.

Take Harry Hook for example. His dad had just pushed him into the water, trying to teach him to swim as a bird would throw the chick off the tree branch and hope it flies. “If you’re going to be aboard the Jolly Roger, then you have to learn the waters beneath it.” Harry thought the last thing he’d see was the sun trying to break the surface of the water, until a slippery rope wrapped around his waist and suddenly the water wasn’t black, it was blue.

“Dad! Are you home?” you were answered by your own echo. Dad must still be out. You were putting the food that needs to be kept slightly cold in the broken fridge when a taped-up paper caught your eye. 

Dear Daughter of Hades, God of the Underworld,

You have been formally invited by future King Benjamin to attend 

Auradon Prep in the great city of Auradon. We would be very pleased to

have you attend our school. You are officially a part of the new Villian Kid 

Exchange Program honored by the King and Queen. Please fill out the following application form and bring it with you to meet your Auradon driver on the

Day of meeting. The meeting will be held at the entrance to the bridge at eight A.M. sharp tomorrow. We will be pleased to see you there.

The Auradon Court

You scoffed and threw the paper on the table. Did dad want you to go? You finished cleaning up the kitchen, your mind constantly finding its way back to the letter. It was signed, so it wasn’t faked, but you still had your doubts. A little voice in your head quietly said something about soulmate fate but you quickly pushed it away. 

Hades made it back soon after. You were lounging in the living room when he made his presence known. You watched with a raised eyebrow as he rummaged around the kitchen, making it very obvious that he was reading the Auradon paper like he wasn’t the one who taped it up. You rolled your eyes when he acted surprised. “Dad, I’ve seen it.” He glanced at you and shrugged. “This is great, isn’t it honey?” No. “I guess, dad.” He smiled and kissed your cheek. You wiped it away with a groan. Why was he so weird?

“I hope you know that you’re going,” “What!? No, I’m not! I’m fine here!” “I need connections in Auradon! You know the power that the ember holds over there,” you huffed, and here you were, thinking he wanted you to go for your own good. Always about power with him. “I’m just trying to find out a way to get off this horrible piece of trash that they call an island.” You knew that. You really did, but it’s hard to think that he was doing this for you and not to gain the rule of Auradon. 

“Fine, I’ll go, but I’m doing it on my own terms,” Hades smiled gleefully, “that’s all I could ever ask of you, honey. Oh! I almost forgot! Here,” he handed you a strip of rope with what looked like a blue rock… is that, “a part of the ember?” you asked. Hades nodded, “It won’t do everything that it does for me, but it’ll help.” You were shocked. Hades never let go of his ember, much less break it into pieces.

 “Does this hurt the ember?” Hades shook his head, “but it does make it vulnerable. Having two pieces makes it harder to protect. Just remember, the Daughter of Malenifant holds power over this ember, not as much as you, but it can still be used.” You seethed at the mention of Mal, “She won’t even be in Auradon.”  Hades half smiled, “I know you despise her. You need to know that she was also chosen,” “I’m not going now!” Hades rolled his eyes, “no take-backs, (Y/N).” Of course, your dad picks this time to be a child. “Pack your bags! I see you when you break the spell.”

After a very sleepless night, you were awoken by the big, bad three-headed dog at seven sharp. You reluctantly pulled yourself out of your cot. You would have stayed, but the last time you laid around in bed when you had to be up, you got a face full of lukewarm water and a swat to the shoulder. You didn’t want to go through that again. 

You looked at yourself in your broken mirror. You didn’t need a soulmate to see that the circles were dark underneath your eyes. You pulled your hair up, not bothering with makeup. Not that you had much on the lines of makeup. You threw on your clothes and grabbed your leather jacket. You safely wrapped the ember around your neck and put it inside your shirt. You picked up your duffle and walked across the hall to the kitchen. Hades was stationed at the rickety table, acting like he wasn’t waiting for you to come in.

“Look, (Y/N), I’ll be proud of you no matter what you do. If you get down there and absolutely love it,” you grunted and he shot you a look, “hey now. Anyway, just don’t forget about your old man.” You could tell this was his way of saying he’ll miss you and he expects you to up and leave him. “Dad, if I stay-and that’s a big if- I promise to visit every chance they give me.” He smiled, “that’s all I could ask for. Now we need to get you to the entrance.”

Tag list- @doveycam @idjit-angel-radio @the-marvelatic @captainmaniseffinghot @starrdustdoodles  @fisted-waffle @ldrmas @harvestleaves @nightrainn2 @thegirlwholikestomanythings (my normal tag list. I’m sorry, I can’t remember who just wanted Hades and not Descendants in general.)  @bluediamondsevie 

[viinylspins]

◊ ♫ ◊—look what the cat dragged in! that’s ZOE LEVIN and SHE is an around 24-year-old REGULAR to the store, but they’ve been in the neighborhood for 3 YEARS. I think they are a BASSIST for A PUNK BAND and I overheard them listening to STOVE LIGHTER by CAMP COPE and, I dunno man, it seemed pretty fitting. Like, call me shallow but I look at them and think of MADELAINE PETSCH and A HUGE GRIN, RIPPED FISHNET TIGHTS, STRUMMING AN INSTRUMENT UNTIL YOUR FINGERS BLEED, and CHASING A HIGH YOU’RE NEVER GONNA GET AGAIN. (ooc info: garnet, she/her, est, 22)

name: zinoviya “zoe” ivanovna levin birthday: december 8th, sagittarius (virgo moon, gemini rising) distinguishing features: long red hair sexuality: bisexual positive traits: affectionate, enthusiastic, bold negative traits: vindictive, combative, imperious jung type: ENFP enneagram: 7w8 temperament: choleric

Zoe is a second-generation Russian kid who grew up in San Francisco. Her parents made ends meet, but the Levins occasionally worried about putting food on the table or whether their utilities would be shut off. Her father was a construction worker while her mother worked from home, running a little boutique that actually functioned as a gossip circle for other women in the neighborhood.

From as early as Zoe can remember, her relationship with her mother was incredibly strained. Her mother did not hide that she wished Zoe wasn’t born. Zoe was seven years old when, in the heat of rage at something stupid Zoe had done, her mother said that the car driving them home from the hospital should have crashed into a sixteen-wheeler. Even though she didn’t fully grasp what her mother meant, Zoe hugged her anyway. To this day, that is the only time she had seen her mother cry.

As an only child, Zoe developed a flair for the dramatic — or rather, a way of being provocative that triggered an intense reaction from those around her. No one could find a weak point of even the stoniest people as well as Zoe could. This made her not quite a problem child, but someone who couldn’t be ignored. School was a nightmare because Zoe always provoked other children, earning trips to the principal’s office and calls home, even if she didn’t intend to.

It was her father’s bright idea to keep Zoe busy by putting her in different extracurriculars. Soccer? Sucked. Basketball? She wasn’t tall enough. Painting? Boring! But when her mother, who used to be able to play herself, bought Zoe a violin for birthday on her tenth birthday, she didn’t fall in love with the instrument as much as she fell in love with creating sounds.

Zoe channeled all of her energy into making noise. Yeah, she had the violin that her parents paid for her to master, but she taught herself how to play guitar, bass, and piano. 

Behavioral issues aside, Zoe managed to make her father proud by getting good marks in school and eventually winning a scholarship to go to a private high school in the better part of town. It’s the Russian in her, her father always joked. Never backed down from a challenge. She always thought the most Russian thing about her was the fact that Zoe’s been sneaking vodka out of convenience stores without paying since she was thirteen, but, hey, she won one parent over. Couldn’t complain.

It was at this high school that Zoe met Theo Baptiste. The two butted heads constantly, fighting for the coveted solo during Winter and Spring recitals, but their passion for music was what eventually brought them closer. Zoe had a growing disinterest in the violin and wanted to explore the opposite of classical music: punk rock, which, she’d begrudgingly admit, Theo embodied.

After tragedy struck, Theo was the first to buck up, put aside their differences, and ask Zoe if she’d run away with them. If she wanted to do it, she’d have to turn down an acceptance as a violinist to a prestigious music conservatory in Los Angeles. The next time Theo saw her, her bags were packed and she proclaimed that New York was cold that time of year.

The two didn’t intend to go to Crown Heights. They just kind of ended up there, and they met Alexa Cox and Leo Corruci. The four of them formed the punk band Eraserhead. Now that they have a little success, slowly infiltrating the airwaves and Spotify playlists, Zoe’s trying to enjoy her growing success so her motto at this time of her life is, Viva Punk!

MISCELLANEOUS:

Zoe is currently dating Sio Pereira, but, I hate to say it, she’s cheating on him. Zoe has cheated on almost all of her partners ( including bandmate Leo Corruci ) and it hasn’t really crossed her mind that the correct answer may just be not cheating.

Able to play four instruments in total. She might pick up a fifth just to beat Theo. She can also talk at length about classical music because she spent so much of her adolescence studying it.

Can’t read Cyrillic, but she is controversial in Russian.

Her favorite flavor of anything is mint.

Dyed her hair black once and cried for a week.

Dated Niamh Black before the popstar made it on the radio. Not that she’d tell anyone that.

HATES Coldplay. Will throw a fit if the song Yellow plays whenever she’s around.

Doesn’t like needles, so she isn’t as inked as her fellow bandmates. She has a matching kangaroo rat tattoo with Leo Corruci on the back of her elbow, though.

Occasionally contacted by her dad to make sure that she’s still alive, but she doesn’t talk to her mother. Doesn’t talk about her, either.

Regularly busks in front of Rose Diner, because it’s quick cash and it’s fun to be the center of attention. New York isn’t the best place to busk but she’s talented and charismatic enough to make it work for her.

Used to take anxiety medication before performances, but hasn’t used them since moving to New York.

WANTED CONNECTIONS:

FRIENDS! Even though Zoe is a terrible partner, she’s a good person to have as a friend. She has a few people that she’d be willing to protect with her life and go to bat for no matter what. Eraserhead is family, but she’d benefit from having people outside of that circle to befriend.

SAN FRANCISCO CONNECTIONS/FAMILY! Zoe herself is an only child, but I imagine she has a large family, found or otherwise! So I think it’d be cool if she had people who have known her longer and may know her/have a different image of her underneath it all.

OTHER MUSICIANS! Zoe is well-versed in music, so, she has people that she wants to learn from! music’s such a strong thing for her, I think she develops a strong respect for other musicians out of personal enjoyment. 

HOOKUPS! No strings because she does, in fact, HAVE A BOYFRIEND.

ENEMIES! Oh. So, as aforementioned, Zoe tends to pick up people’s weaknesses, but it either comes out unintentionally or when she’s upset with you. That’s not the way to act though so she’d probably have a lot of people who hate her and she’s fine with that. I blame it on her being a fire sign.

[hillnerd]

Hi, I was reading an ask you answered on shipping and you mentioned that people don’t like the weasleys due to classism, which I’ve never thought of but definitely makes sense. Have you made any posts that expand on this? I’d be interested to read more

You know, I believe I haven’t made any long posts regarding this issue. Time to remedy that, eh?

I suppose it’s important to define what classism is and how it instructs our views on things in the first place.

It’s defined as: “prejudice against or in favor of people belonging to a particular social class.”

Classism is very much built into our social fabric, and almost always has. The social classes of Western society (which are the ones I’m dealing with as this is an HP post) have been highly structured for thousands of years. The names and qualifications may have altered over time, but in general there are always about 4-5 social classes.  Elite, Middle, Working, Poor being the general layout, with overlaps and extra subsets within each class.

On some level we are taught that ‘money doesn’t mean everything’- but that is constantly undermined by the continuance of the classist messages put forth in media and advertisements. We are bombarded by images of success meaning accumulated wealth. Every time there’s another holiday businesses can exploit for profit, they will trot out advertisements for cars, jewelry, toys, homes etc. And we’re supposed to buy into that mindset- to find objects to display our very worth, and convey worth to others. It’s ‘sexy’ to be ‘successful’ in these ways.

In fandoms there are certain tropes people gravitate to- and the rich man with nothing but time on his hands to shower his lover in riches? That is a highly beloved trope. Mournful giant mansions are ever so much more ‘interesting’ than a working class farmhouse.

Which brings us round to the Weasleys. They are very coded as working class/lower middle class, as well as ‘normal’ when it comes to looks, and red haired (which between their great numbers and red hair read as Irish Catholic to many audiences.) The father is tall, skinny and balding, the bother is short overweight and overworked. This is not the vision of ‘sexy and succesful’ we are told are the height of accomplishment. They aren’t glamourous, wealthy, or traditionally good looking. We know the Weasley kids all must deal with the reality of coming from a poor family. The twins bemoan the price of books in CoS, and we see Percy angry about his father’s lack of reputation- but the only child we see consistently dealing with the consequences of this poverty is Ron.

The consequences of being poor, and from a large family, are evident in many ways- and from the get go Ron is the only one we get to see them with.

The ‘look’ of wealth:

He’s in scruffy hand me downs, doesn’t have extra money to spend on things like sweets, has a fat old rat as a pet, and a wand that’s not even his own. This is all well and good when you’re eleven- but as he grows up, in some ways he’s expected to ‘be cooler’ ‘be sexier’ ‘be more together’- so when he’s still gangly, freckled, in crap clothes with a silly owl- well it’s not the sexy picture of wealth and success.

The confidence of wealth that comes with curating your life:

The confidence of wealth is something people expect others to exude as well. If you can’t be wealthy, then you’re supposed to at least be incredibly confident and self assured. The luxury of choice is denied Ron. He’s unable to have choices about anything, because it’s either except what you’re given, or go without (jumpers, sandwiches, pets, broken wands, dress robes, brooms etc). Ron is unable to curate his life at all. He can’t pick and choose much- and this comes across as ‘childish’ or ‘lazy’ to some. He is unable to be self actualized due to his wealth status (And the fact that he’s a teenage boy), and this is further compounded by the fact that he’s from a large family where all paths of selfactualization he could take, have already been taken- thus undermining anything he hopes to accomplish for himself until he’s out of school, minimum.

Classism as a means of bullying:

Ron is the only Weasley to be consistently mocked and belittled for his wealth status throughout the series. When we first meet Ron, Immediately his class is thrown in his face by Malfoy- and this is continued- coming to a head with the ‘Weasley is our King’ song, where he is sung at about how poor he is.

The emotional consequences of poverty are written off:

The poor are allowed to be poor as long as they never complain. But the moment they do, there tends to be a view of this as not only weak, but ‘ungrateful.’ How dare they not be happy to have what they have? How dare they not dociley and silently improve their status so we don’t have to hear them complain anymore?

Workingclass stereotypes at play:

Working class stereotypes are very much at play, especially when it comes to how people perceive Ron. Uncultured, stupid, lazy, violent, wife beaters etc. You see fandom littered with this view of him. And then it also likes to paint the Weasley women as the shrewish, provoking nag.

In some ways the Weasleys do fit into these stereotypes- the Weasleys are ready for a physical fight many times in the books, Mrs Weasley can be the nagging wife/mother stereotype, none of the youngest Weasleys are seen as erudite library lovers and instead are more sporty, and many of the Weasleys aren’t particularly motivated about school.

Rough and tumble is quickly painted as problematic and dangerous. Jovial and sporty is quickly painted as uncultured and lacking in intellectual pursuits. Lovingly protective is quickly painted as controlling and harmful. Being laid back about certain goals suddenly makes them lazy.

The thing is, when these same features come from other characters, they are not generally seen in that way.

Draco and his family are a prime example of that. The framing of these two families by fandom is tied to closely with class distinctions:

They are constantly threatening violence, both with fists (even if they are hired thugs) and wands- yet they aren’t painted as particularly prone towards violence.

Draco is never shown as particularly intelligent or learned- yet is portrayed that way by fandom despite his lack of accomplishments. His barbs aren’t even very intelligent- they’re just mean and sarcastic.

The Malfoys actually are controlling and harmful- they’ve abused house elves, threaten people left and right, and are highly influential- but that’s seemingly not as big a crime as Molly Weasley worrying over her children?

Draco is so supremely lazy he goes out of his way to have servants do things for him- including Ron in PoA- he does not earn his way onto te quidditch team- it’s given to him, along with new brooms for everyone. Yet Ron is seen as lazy because he’s not a school nerd, and Draco an erudite because he sarcastically comes up with barbs on the sidelines.

Meanwhile the Weasleys are fighting for justice, all of them are proving their intelligence and grit every book, the Weasleys are so loving and helpful that they take in other people (Harry and Hermione), are the ones making the parties at Gryffindor tower awesome, and are the main caretakers for the whole Order. They earn everything they ever have (with the exception being when Percy is handed a position in ootp  so they can manipulate him) and work hard to achieve everything they do. Ron puts in the time with his sweat and body- but it’s rarely recognized.

Classist tropes heavily enforced in the films

Steve Kloves heavily changed the Weasleys in the movies. He simplified them, made them pretty stupid, lazy, unloyal, and fearful. They are the bravest family in the books, but in the films it’s not really touched on. He loves making them look a joke, though. The films played heavily into classist tropes of dumb/funny poor people basically being kept around to amuse the middle and upper class.

It’s rare the actual merit of the Weasleys was shown, and so it re-enforced the stereoptypes people already had. Basically look up any ‘irish stereotype’ and it is heavily applied to the working class- and it seems this continues with the Weasleys.

Technically, with Arthur’s job, they are considered low middle class in many ways. He has a job that touches on the political, he knows people and has some modicum of influence. They own property. They are the ‘noble poor’ (which is very much set apart from the truly impoverished like Lupin,  problematic poor who are criminals and snatchers, or the slave-class poor of the elves.)

They struggle, though, to balance it all out- and in the films we see little of their merits. They are played for jokes throughout most of the series, and are rather cartoonish.

The actors are all very good- but they were given a script and followed it- and in the script it very much dictates buffoonery and silliness is the rule of the day for the Weasleys the majority of the time. When they are not cartoons, they are to stand idly and cry as they are victimized/put in danger (literally every single film with Ron) much of the fire is taken out of Mr Weasley in is Arthur v Lucius scenes, They just stand around as their home is burnt down. We don’t see any of them fight successfully except Molly Weasley, and few throwaway spells by Ginny and Ron towards the end of the series. Like… They are not shown as intelligent, fearsome, or important to the narrative/Harry much at all, despite their significance in the series. They’re window dressing, but not actual people.

The Malfoys are given more gravitas and reality, by contrast- and they added in moments of humanity and heroism even (such as the deleted scene of Draco tossing Harry his wand.)

Same for Curse Child. Draco’s journey as a father is important to the play- his son is one of the protagonists- meanwhile Ron is basically pure comedy, Ginny is quiet, and Rose is snotty and barely present.

CONCLUSION

Overall the treatment we’ve seen of the Weasleys both in the films, the play, and fandom shows a disdain/ambivalence towards them that seems steeped in the traditions of classism towards the working class. They’ve become a bunch of Punch and Judys, or bystanders, while the rest of the main cast is afforded a bit more dignity and gravitas. Their importance and power are minimized, and their internal struggles are minimized so that when they DO come up they are seen as out of nowhere (sometimes even mean), their cartoonishness is emphasized- and their overall character arcs/journeys are treated as jokes, because that is how the working class is treated in society.  I find it interesting that as JKR became more and more removed from the world of poverty she knew, the more cartoonish moments were added to the Weasleys. :P Just sayin’. She obviously still cares about them, but there is a difference in their treatment from the earlier books to the later in many ways- especially Ron- not even touching on how she let him be portrayed in the films and play.

[inversenova]

Tales from the Cyrpt (2)

It is unsurprising that, when recalling memories of my past, the memories filled with the most unease, the most fear, and the most helplessness are the ones I remember most vividly. Although I am only just beginning my foray into the study of traumatic memories, I know enough from my very recent time in school that this is a relatively normal experience for those who experienced trauma, whether as a child or as an adult. Perhaps the hardest part of all of this, even just the idea of cataloguing and sharing my experiences seems...silly? Pointless? Was my childhood really that bad? There are others, people even that I know, who have been through events similar to my own, and even more who have gone through worse things, harder things, and yet they appear to have processed their traumas more effectively, more wholly, than I have. It is something that I continue to struggle with, these feelings that “It wasn’t THAT bad” or “There are people who are living in war zones and who don’t have any food to eat and here you are complaining because of bullshit!”

Despite these feelings, at the very least I know that I need to get these things OUT, even if they turn out to be “not that bad.”

It has been years since I’ve needed to recall anything and, as such, I find it difficult to remember if my parents fought often amongst themselves. Eventually, perhaps when I’ve worked on processing these things a little more, I’ll be able to speak to my mom about some of it, if only to try and clear up a little bit of the fog, although even she may struggle with remembering some of it. I say that because last year she commented on how, when I was in high school, she was worried I might have an eating disorder. I asked her why she had thought that, and she recalled that I used to worry about every bite of food, every sip of soda, that I would ingest to the point where she worried I might be anorexic. This came as a shock to me and resulted in confusion; I have no recollection of acting in this manner and, when I asked Leigh, a friend I was close with in high school if this sounded familiar to her, my friend Leigh was equally confused, as she did not remember this at all. I wonder, now, if my mother confused my fear of existing in the kitchen or around the rest of the family as me being “peckish” about my food? I used to have a large Ziploc bag with dry ramen and other canned foods that I would take from the pantry at night or when my parents weren’t around (at least, when we moved to Texas I did). What I do remember, however, was how much my mother HATED Bob.

Bob had always been possessive and over bearing towards my mother; I see it more now, as an adult, than I did when we were kids. My hatred of Bob came from the things he did to Aaron and me and the vitriolic, often infuriated, words from my mother who would often confide in me as one would a friend, despite me being her child and often too young to fully understand what was happening. I loved my mother fiercely and tried to be as protective of her as I could, even when all I could do was listen to her tell me what Bob was like and try to make her feel better. As an adult and interacting with a Bob who fought in Vietnam and who has been to, and continues to go to, therapy on a weekly basis I am able to gather more about what he was like when I was younger. My mother has always been, and probably always will be, the most important person in his life. He tries, now, to engage with me and be more open and welcoming when I am around, but even now I find it difficult to get alone time with my mother or to interact with him without her there as a “buffer.”

When we lived in California, Bob worried constantly about my mother cheating on him. He would stalk her, dragging me and my friend or my brother to sit in the van parked outside of where she worked (once she found a job outside of their joint business), where we would sit for hours upon hours so that he could watch the entrance and see if she went straight to her car or not. My mother, a strong woman who, much like myself, did not like to be blamed for things she was not doing, and who had not been cheating on him when she started her new job, eventually did, although I’m unsure of where she met the man she had an affair with. She told me, once she was in the thick of it, that she hadn’t even truly felt anything for the man, but that she’d been so tired of being accused of cheating that she decided that if she was going to be accused of it she may as well do it. I can recall, with a twisting sensation in my stomach, how she described her final meeting with him when he “asked to make love with her one more time” and how he cried or teared up and how...derisive my mom seemed about it all. Her words were contemptuous and she seemed to be making fun of him, but this was likely sometime in junior high and I was the opposite of knowledgeable about sex and love and so her words just confused me.

I’m not entirely sure how long her affair lasted, or when it really began, but I remember the man. I remember how kind he was, how generous and giving towards me and (I think?) my brother. I remember that he found out I was obsessed with Legolas from The Lord of the Rings films and promptly bought and framed a photo of him as a gift to me. I spent at least one weekend or one evening having a sleepover with this two daughters, both of whom were sweet and took to me quickly, playing with me even though we had never met before. This was significant to me, as I’d already begun having trouble with bullies, something that would get worse until my trouble with them peaked in junior high. I also remember strange things about the man and her affair, like that he once drove up to my grandparents house when my mother and I were visiting them so that he could see her, and I think he may have come to the hotel room on the night Bob found out about him; I remember all three of us curled up on a bed while he whispered encouraging and thoughtful things to my mother while we cried. Of course, this may have just been my imagination because my mother had supposedly ended things with him shortly before Bob found out.

The night that Bob found out has haunted me for a long time. My timeline is still off but I feel that this happened at some point during my time in junior high but I’m unsure of what year. I am also aware that all of this happened in the same day, but the order in which it happened is fuzzy at best. The screaming began before sundown, perhaps a couple hours of sunlight were left at most. Doors were slammed and I could tell that, while my parents had had blowouts before, this was something...new, something different. Mostly I knew this because, hours and hours before, sometime in the early afternoon, my father found out. I’m not entirely sure how, whether he’d done his own detective work or if someone else had told him

When he found out, Bob stumbled through the house, wailing and sobbing, louder and more emotional than I had ever seen him before in my life. Crying was not something men did, as far I had learned and been taught and told, and so to see my father in that state set me and my brother off quickly. To this day, I struggle with seeing men be openly emotional, not because “only GIRLS cry!” or anything so pedantic, but because the only time I ever saw a man cry was in my childhood and it was...bad. I only remember feeling fear, although I’m sure I cried, but I can remember my brother, Aaron, two and a half years younger than me, quickly caught up in Bob’s breakdown and sobbing along with him although he didn’t quite understand what was happening. At some point during this, Bob curled up in his closet in the master bedroom, holding a gun and cradling Aaron to him, inconsolable and unreachable no matter how much I screamed or cried for him to stop. Eventually, I found the phone number for some of the other employees that he had working in their store who I knew my dad felt close to and called them. I know that they must have come, and maybe even they took us all away so we  could all collectively try and calm down, but I have no memory of anything else in that day until my mother came home that evening. This was when the screaming, as mentioned above, really started.

Knowing that whatever was going to happen was going to be bad, and I mean BAD, I quickly gathered my brother and our dog (a beautiful German Shepard mix), threw some snacks and water into a small backpack, and set out, leaving behind the fight that was only just beginning. This, of course, was before cell phones were common place and I certainly didn’t have one until high school, after we had moved to Texas. While it may have made more sense for me to have called for help as I’d done before, I don’t remember if that thought ever crossed my mind. At the time, I only remember knowing with absolute certainty that I didn’t want to be there, and that I didn’t want my brother or our dog to be there either. I don’t remember having a destination in mind, but eventually we found our way to a parking lot a couple blocks from my school where some construction company had started to dig a large pit for some reason. I set my brother and the dog free at the pit and watched them, chewing on my lip and pulling out my eyebrows and eyelashes, until the sun had gone down and what meager food and water supplies I had grabbed were gone. Nobody had come looking for us, or at least nobody had found us yet, but knowing that there was nothing else I could do, no one else I could turn to in that moment (stranger danger was always a worry and none of my friends lived within walking distance of my house or where we were at the time), I knew we had to go home.

We returned to our house amidst a few departing police cars and it did not take long for my mother to scoop me up and drive us to a motel. She left Aaron, I think because Bob would not let her take him (although at the time I was upset and did not want to leave him or the dog behind), and I still feel anger over that decision. How could she leave him there? Surely she’d known of the frightening display earlier that very day where Bob had held a gun so close to Aaron’s face? Didn’t she love Aaron?

She explained in the car that we couldn’t take Aaron for the aforementioned Bob reasons but that continues to not sit right with me, even years later. She went on to say that, yes, Bob had found out about the other man. When he had, and when she’d come home, he’d screamed and screamed and screamed and demanded that she tell him who the man was. Before that, however, Bob had tossed our rooms, both Aaron’s and mine, where he found a small cream my mother had given me that was supposed to encourage breast growth (I’d been super small, skinny, slim and without any curves or breasts which had caused a wide variety of bullying which I’ll talk about later), and he’d freaked out, thinking she’d given me some kind of “sex thing.” I’m not sure if he ever found out who the other man was, or that I had been as involved with him as I had been, but at some point my mother had locked herself in the guest bedroom and Bob had taken an electric drill to the door, destroying the lock to get inside. At the time I’d never really been worried that he would hurt her, which I think was why I’d mostly been concerned with getting us out. I’d never seen him hit my mother but I’d seen him hit my brother enough to be more scared for Aaron than for my mom. Eventually, at some point during their fight, Bob had called the police and tried to “turn her in” for the small amount of weed that she’d had stored. One way or another the cops had come out and left without arresting or citing anyone for anything, although my mother was furious that the dogs had been set loose in their bedroom where both the dogs and officers went through her clothing and tossed the room, leaving everything disheveled and some things broken in the mess. I remember going to the motel, and then little else beyond the other man maybe coming over to comfort my mother.

Unlike other things I’ll write about, I did not feel that this was my fault, or that I could have stopped it. Yes, I’d known that what my mother was doing was inherently wrong but... I had felt that this other man might grow to love me and, if he had, maybe he could be my father instead. Among the array of gifts he’d given me, the other man also found out that I loved to write and he’d purchased a small, faux-leather bound journal... Not once, even now, has Bob ever expressed such an interest in my hobbies or what I love. My mother tries, and usually she’s pretty aware, but the subtle encouragement that came with the gift of a notebook was something else entirely, something new and sweet and something I hadn’t even realized I’d been missing until I’d experienced it.

I still sometimes remember the sound of Bob’s wailing, his heart-wrenching cries of despair in our beautiful California home, and I shudder and clench my teeth and wait for the sound and all that it is connected to, to pass.

[beatrice-otter]

Fic: Here We Are Together (My Fair Lady, Eliza/Henry)

I wrote three stories this year for Yuletide! I was assigned to write for alestar, and what I ended up writing (My Fair Lady) wasn't what I wanted to write. They had some excellent prompts in other fandoms, and I'm not a Henry/Eliza fan in general. Their prompt for Dr. Facilier in The Princess and the Frog was really interesting, but I couldn't get good enough reference material on Voodoo practices to feel comfortable writing it. (Everything in the library system was written by outsiders.) They also had interesting prompts for the movie Hancock, which I remember fondly but only ever saw once years ago, and I couldn't find a copy to watch, and I wasn't about to write a fic based on a decade-old memory and clips on youtube. So My Fair Lady it was, and I'm pleased with what I ended up with. Title: Here We Are Together Author: beatrice_otter  Fandom: My Fair Lady Rating: G Warnings: none Written For: alestar  in yuletide  2019 Betaed by: kalypsobean  Summary: Eliza and Freddy are working together. Henry isn't happy, and makes sure everyone knows it. At AO3. Dreamwidth. Pillowfort.

"If we could but get the funding, Mrs. Doolittle, so much more might be accomplished," Freddy said earnestly. "Your contributions, both financial and practical, do so much good, and of course your greatest contribution is the time you and your husband give to veterans who cannot pay for your services, but unfortunately the scale of the situation—"

"Yes, yes, the number of men who returned with severe wounds is alarming, and their needs are many and great," Eliza said. "You would think that the thanks of a grateful nation would extend to paying for treatment for the injuries taken in the service of that nation."

"I sometimes think they would prefer if we had died, so that they could take out our pictures once a year on Armistice Day, and not have to deal with the inconvenient reality of our survival." It was a touch of the old, romantic, dramatic Freddy she had first met over a decade ago, although of course far bitterer than anything that young fop could have imagined.

"Perhaps I should mention the subject to my father," Eliza mused. "Much as he hates it, he needs respectable causes to mix in with his disreputable ones, if he wants to get anyone else in Parliament to actually work with him. And one can hardly get more respectable than poor veterans in need of medical care and other aid."

"It cannot hurt," Freddy said, "although far too many politicians are willing to give flowery speeches in public, and then tighten the purse strings in private. I begin to understand your preference for actions over words."

"Mm," Eliza said, making a note to write to her father. "Now, about—"

"ELIZA!"

Freddy twitched at the sound of her husband's stentorian bellow, and he turned pale so quickly she was afraid he might faint. Repeated calls did not help, but roaring back at her husband to be quiet would hardly be any better. Freddy, like so many veterans of the Great War, did not handle startlement well.

"Eliza, where are you, that great clod Bloxham was unbearable, he's the son of a grocer, he's no call to treat me like the help!" Henry strode through the door of the drawing room like a motorbus through Picadilly, coming to a crashing halt when he saw she was not alone. "Freddy," he said, wrinkling his nose. "I didn't know you were visiting."

"You are setting a poor example for the children," Eliza said firmly.

"I most certainly am not," Henry scoffed, flopping into one of the armchairs by the fireplace. He swung his legs up over the arm of the chair, twisting his body in a position that might have been leonine in a more graceful man, and he pouted. He would not call it that, but in that moment he might have been any one of their four offspring.

Eliza stared at him for a few seconds. Long experience had taught her that while immediately answering such a flat denial would only bring a round of squabbling to rival the worst the children were capable of, pinning his attention and then speaking firmly had a high rate of success. "You were shouting down the house. This is not a fishmarket, and you are not a fishmonger, though you may bellow like one. And then you were rude to a guest."

"Freddy?" Henry said incredulously. "I'm to be polite to Freddy Eynsford-Hill in my own home?" He shifted his shoulders slightly and sagged further down in the chair, a sure sign that he knew he was in the wrong but determined to be so. It was a legacy of his mother constantly demanding that he sit up straight. In Henry's mind, Eliza knew, sullen defiance and slouching were inextricable.

"Yes," Eliza said. "To his face and behind his back, both. Certainly whenever the children are present."

"Are the children present?" Henry frowned; he'd probably lost track of time and hadn't realized they were home from school. He peered around the room and found Aurelia in the windowseat with a book, Emily playing with her stuffed dog on the floor by Eliza's feet, and Edward and Andrew playing chess in the corner. All had stopped what they were doing to watch their father's dramatic entrance. "Shouldn't you be in school?" he asked.

"It's over for the day, father," Andrew pointed out.

"I should be going," Freddy said, as if he hadn't noticed the awkwardness. "We've covered the main points, and in any case Anne will fuss if I'm not home for dinner."

Normally, Eliza would say that he shouldn't let Henry drive him off, but they were mostly finished, and she could see how his hands were trembling on the head of his cane. "I shall definitely contact my father about funding, and if there's anything else I can do for your organization, please let me know."

"Your expertise is more than enough," Freddy said. "Good day, Mrs. Higgins. Professor." With gracious nods to both of them he left, leaning on his walking stick more than he usually did.

"Freddy," Henry said with distaste as soon as the front door had closed on him. "What does he want now, more charity cases to fob off on us?"

"You like working with veterans who have developed speech impediments or vocal wounds," Eliza pointed out. "It's a much more interesting challenge than teaching parvenus like Bloxham how to pretend they've always been upper-class."

"Yes, but it doesn't pay well," Henry pointed out.

"And the parvenus pay more than enough to cover the time we spend on charity cases," Eliza said. "What is it really? You've been like a bear with a sore head about Freddy for months, and frankly I'm sick of it."

"I'm volunteering my valuable time, and I don't like how he keeps asking for more."

"Not from you," Eliza pointed out. "And mostly he's asking for organizational help. I'd send him to your mother, if her health were better."

"Mother would have had him settled weeks ago," Henry grumbled.

"Possibly, but she has many more decades of experience organizing charities than I do, and a great many more contacts."

"Then Freddy should go find someone else to bother for help, someone like Mother who's spent the last fifty years organizing everyone else's lives," Henry shot back.

Eliza sat bolt upright as enlightenment dawned. "You're jealous!" she said in astonishment.

"No I'm not!" Henry said, voice climbing querulously.

"You," Eliza said, enunciating very clearly, "are jealous of Freddy Eynsford-Hill."

"Why would Papa be jealous of Mr. Eynsford-Hill?" Emily asked.

"Because Mr. Eynsford-Hill is more handsome than he is," Edward answered her.

"He is not!" Henry declaimed. "His profile is insipid."

Aurelia snickered at Henry's words.

"Aurelia, you shouldn't snicker, it's not polite," Eliza said. "And Henry, you shouldn't lie to your children. Or to yourself. Freddy is far more handsome than you are, but if that were important to me, I'd have married him instead of you."

"Was that an option, mother?" Emily asked, closing her book with a finger to hold her place.

"It certainly was," Eliza said. "He asked me before your father did. And I certainly considered it; besides his looks, he would have been far easier to live with than your father is."

"Then why did you marry me, if I am such a trial?" Henry said, with a mixture of curiosity and sarcasm.

"Because I don't have to hold back with you," Eliza said simply.

"Hah!" Henry said, sitting up straighter. "And yet you complain about my manners!"

"One can be assertive without being rude; your mother is the most forceful person I know, and her manners are impeccable," Eliza said. She turned to Emily, who at fourteen was beginning to notice men, and explained further. "You see, it is very unpleasant to live with someone who steamrolls over you, who dominates you, who controls you, even if they are not trying to hurt you. And when two people are not equals in that way—when one is always the leader and the other is always the follower, or when one is stronger and more forceful than the other—it is not healthy for either. At the time, Freddy was pleasant, but … easily led, shall we say. If he had any great depth of thought or character, he never showed them to me. I could have always had my way with very little effort, which would have been pleasant for me, but perhaps not good for me. And certainly not good for him."

"Whereas with me," Henry said, "you knew I would never let you have your way without a fight."

"With you the question was, could I get you to stop being a bully and a tyrant," Eliza said, turning back to him. "Fortunately, your bark is worse than your bite, and once you knew that I would simply leave if your conduct became intolerable, you amended your ways. I can keep you from running me over like a motor-bus, and I certainly don't have to worry about dominating you. If you'd kept treating me as you did when we first met, I'd have married Freddy and learned to be gentler."

"Mr. Eynsford-Hill doesn't seem shallow to me," Andrew said.

That was probably the source of Henry's jealousy, Eliza realized. Henry had been amused at Freddy's puppy love when they were first married. "He's changed quite considerably since he asked me to marry him," Eliza said. "He is much quieter and more thoughtful since he came home from the war."

"The Army was the making of him," Henry proclaimed, an opinion he had picked up from Colonel Pickering.

Eliza considered the way Freddy's hands sometimes shook, and how he flinched at loud noises that came unexpectedly, and the haunted look she sometimes caught in his eyes if he thought no one was looking at him. "No," she said soberly, "I think it was the breaking of him."

After dinner that evening, Eliza worked on her plans for the next day's clients, while Henry helped the children with their schoolwork, their education being far more like his had been than Eliza's.

"I still think we should send the boys to school, at least, even if we keep the girls here," Henry said as he got ready for bed that evening.

"What can they learn there that they can't learn from the perfectly good school they go to now?" Eliza asked, laying her gown neatly on the dressing room chair for Susan the maid to take care of in the morning. "Or from you?"

Henry grumbled, because he knew better than she did that the school the boys attended was as strong academically as any of the more prestigious schools they could have sent the boys to, and it was almost as distinguished. The difference was, in their current school the boys could live at home instead of boarding. "They could make good connections," he said at last, grasping at straws.

"Hah!" Eliza said as she climbed into bed. "That's rich, that is. How many connections did you make at school that were of any lasting value?"

Henry grumbled some more and climbed into bed beside her.

"Besides," Eliza said, "you'd miss them as much as I would, and you'd hate being outnumbered by women."

"True," Henry said at last. "Bloxham's going to send his boys to Eton and his girls to Cheltenham. He was bragging all about it. The blasted fool had never even heard of Tonbridge." Henry sniffed at this slight to his old school.

"You're one to talk about foolishness, wanting to send our boys away to school just because a fatuous idiot who made a fortune during the war is a snob," Eliza said. "Not to mention being jealous of Freddy, of all people."

"Oh, Eliza, must we go into that again?" Henry said, running a hand down his face. "I know I'm an old fool, you needn't rub it in."

Eliza paused and looked at him, really looked. He was so familiar to her, she knew his face better than anything in the world, and yet it suddenly struck her how old he was. When they'd married, he'd seemed ageless, powerful, in the prime of his life. And that was how she'd always thought of him; his force of personality had certainly not diminished. But he was in his seventies, now, and his face was deeply creased with age. Though his hair was receding, it was almost as dark as ever.

"I knew you were almost thirty years older than I am when I married you," she said at last. "If I'd wanted a younger man, I could have had one then. Freddy, or some other chap your mother could have found for me. I chose you, and you know how stubborn I am. You're mine, now, and I'm not about to give you up."

Henry sighed. After a few seconds he turned off the lamp on his side of the bed and slid down under the covers. Eliza followed suit, and waited to see if he'd say anything. In bed, in the dark, he was sometimes willing to be more honest than during the daylight hours.

"I feel old, Eliza," he said at last, staring up at the ceiling. "Old, and useless. I look at the men we treat, the veterans, and I'm glad Edward and Andrew are the age they are. If they'd been born a decade earlier ... All those young men chewed up at the front and spat out with their lives destroyed, and for what? So idiots like Bloxham could make their fortune in the munitions factories? So all of Europe could be laid waste? And then I read the papers and look at the fashions and the books and plays and art that are being made these days, and I don't understand it. It's all so different. All the rules of how things work that I've known all my life, they just don't seem to apply any longer." He fell silent.

Eliza waited to see if he would say any more. When it was clear he wasn't going to, she spoke. "You never liked the rules anyway."

"But I knew what they were, and how to break them," Henry said. "Now … you understand things much better than I do. You fit better than I do. You could bob your hair and go find a man who fits better than this old Victorian relic lying next to you."

"I'm not that much younger than you are, dear," Eliza pointed out dryly. "I doubt there are very many forty-year-old mothers of four with bobbed hair and short skirts in the dance halls even these days. And while I could throw you over and find a younger man, why would I want to? I've got you trained just the way I want, and I'd have to start all over again. You're mine, and you may not fit the world very well but then you never did—and you fit me quite nicely."

Henry reached over and took her hand. Eliza snuggled closer to him, and they fell asleep like that.

[catalinaroleplay]

Gender & Pronouns: Female, she/her

Date of Birth: April 20th, 1989 (30)

Place of Birth: Los Angeles, California.

Neighborhood: Avalon

Length of Residency: All her life.

Occupation: Podcast Co-Host / Bartender 

Face Claim: Shay Mitchell

BIOGRAPHY

TRIGGERS: Teen Pregnancy, Drowning, Child Loss.

The Santos family never lived extravagantly. In fact most of the time Carlo and Analyn Bautista lived paycheck to paycheck. Praying to god that they could pay their rent and bills each month and still have enough left over to buy their newborn daughter Mahalia the things she needed. Things such as food, diapers, and clothes. Money was always tight and the self-sacrificing first generation immigrants from the Philippines often skipped out on buying things they needed or wanted in order to provide for Mahalia. Analyn worked three full time jobs while her husband Carlo juggled being a full-time law student with a demanding job at an industrial factory. With finances constantly tight around home Mahalia was made aware at a very young age to never ask for frivolous things. While most kids begged for candy at the grocery store or threw temper tantrums when a certain toy wasn’t underneath the tree at Christmastime Mahalia learned to be grateful for what she did have rather than focus on what she did not. Her formative years were spent finding entertainment in the little things. She didn’t have many toys but created her own fun by helping her mother cut coupons or making a game out of helping her father study with his flashcards. What Mahalia enjoyed the most however was using his old forgotten notebooks laying around their apartment to create her own worlds with misspelled words and vividly colored drawings. A hobby her mother encouraged by buying books for her daughter whenever she could. Together, whenever Analyn had a free moment, they would read until the world around them disappeared. If Mahalia inherited her intelligence from her father then she had gotten her mother’s love of literature. 

She used to daydream about one day becoming a writer but that all changed one fateful day. She was ten when she returned home to find her mother a weeping mess on the floor. The family’s corded phone clutched between white knuckled fingers. Two weeks before he was due to graduate from law school and begin a job at an up and coming law firm Carlo Bautista had been shot at a convenience store near his campus in a robbery gone wrong. Thus changing the entire course of Mahalia’s life. From that moment on she abandoned her dreams of writing for law instead. Wanting to accomplish what her father never got the chance to. It was that path that ultimately led her to Elijah Lyon’s Intro to Law class at the University of Southern California. Nineteen, wide-eyed, and passionate about what was being taught, she quickly became one of Elijah’s favorite students. Even after leaving his class she would often show up at his office hours to catch up, ask for advice, or pick his brain on various other topics. So two semesters later when she showed up at his office after summer break visibly pregnant and clearly distraught he hadn’t thought twice about helping her. Mahalia refused to disclose to him who the father was but she had made it clear that she didn’t plan on keeping the children. Twins, both girls according to her OBGYN. When Elijah suggested they start looking into adoption companies to help her find the perfect home she insisted that she already knew of a perfect home for her children, his. Unbeknownst to him Mahalia had heard through the grapevine that Elijah and his husband were put on a waiting list for adoption and had been on said list for a while. 

Having witnessed their kindness for herself she couldn’t think of anyone else she would have rather raised the children she herself could not. Seven months later she gave birth in a hospital holding the hands of the two men who would cherish her twin daughters as their own. Her only request was that they waited until she wasn’t around to name the children. As sure of her decision as she felt it had still been hard for her to leave behind the two bundles of joy and she didn’t want to make it any harder by growing attached. Even upon the two men’s insistence that she could still be a part of her children’s lives she refused. So much so that without even telling Elijah in advance Mahalia left USC and California all together, leaving neither of them any way to contact her even if they wanted to. In honor of the brave strong young woman who had gifted them the existence of their daughters they named them Dahlia and Magnolia. Giving them each a piece of their mother’s name. The two girls grew up in a home full of unconditional love and support. While they may not have had as much as their more financially privileged friends they had each other and two fathers who would move heaven and earth for them and at the end of the day that fact alone with enough.

As an infant Magnolia had been a worrying amount of difficult. Crying just as her parents managed to get her sister Dahlia asleep. Crawling out of view the second an adult took their eyes off her. Biting guests and pulling the hair of literally anyone her chubby little fingers could grab hold of. It had gotten to the point where Elijah and William Lyon had no choice but to bring their worries to the family pediatrician. After hearing them out, the kind man assured the new parents that she’d grow out of her aggressive personality as she got older. Only that couldn’t have been farther from the truth. Her playful antics only grew up with her except now instead of being a handful of a baby, she was a nightmare of a toddler with partial understanding of the English language and full access to functioning feet. Compared to her, Dahlia was looked upon as an angel who’d been sent from up above. Despite her knack for finding trouble no one could deny that her loud laughter and even louder personality became a staple of the Lyon household. Like her sister, she inherited her mother’s angelic features but what laid beneath was nothing but the wild heart of the two men who adopted her. With both assets she became the co-mascot of the Lyon home. Charming guests and family alike with her wild tales and even wilder antics. Constantly convincing her sister to join in on whatever random schemes came to mind with little regard of what kind of trouble it’d cost them later on.

Elijah and William always knew that twins would be a handful but with Magnolia’s relentless energy and mischief making it felt more like having four children instead of two. Eventually, as she got older they found a way to channel her energy by signing her up for gymnastics at the age of four. Unlike her sister who fell in love with soccer the moment she attended her first practice, Magnolia hated everything about gymnastics. There were too many rules, too many mean girls, but mostly her hate stemmed from the fact that she was horrible at it. Grace and balance hadn’t exactly been something she was naturally inclined with. Nevertheless, her parents refused to let Magnolia throw in the towel. Unwilling to raise a quitter and in the end her hate had been helpful. Tired of being made fun of and seen as the underdog Magnolia Lyon poured her all into the ‘dumb’ sport her parents forced her into and she got good. In as little as three years she’d gone from the worst on her team to one of the best. And just like that hate became love and no one could tear her away from the gym. Doing splits, cartwheels, and front flips were no longer chores to her but things she did around the house and at school simply to show off that she could. Not to mention the mean girls that used to make fun of her suddenly wanted to be her friends. As far as Magnolia was concerned all was right in the world. Or well it was until seventh grade came around and Magnolia found herself falling more and more out of love with the sport of her youth.

Suddenly mastering difficult routines and tricks had come second to the way the girls looked and the awards they could bring in. They were weighed in front of each other almost every other practice. given strict diets. and told to focus on the sport first and everything else second. Even at twelve Magnolia knew something simply wasn’t right. No one was having fun anymore and the girls who used to be some of her closest friends were now being told to see each other as rivals instead. Slowly but surely Magnolia’s love reverted back to hate and by the time high school came around she found herself trading the toxic world of gymnastics for the more team orientated world of cheer-leading. It ended up benefiting her in more ways than one. While on the cheer team Magnolia quickly fell in with the popular crowd. Earning her the attention of multiple suitors who wanted nothing more than to court the pretty cheerleader with a fiery personality. Many of them barely even came close to catching her eye and if they did, it wasn’t for long. Her naturally fickle personality ensured that even if she returned someone’s affections it usually didn’t last longer than a few weeks. By the time sophomore year came around Magnolia Lyon was known for the trail of broken hearts she tended to leave behind. All of that came to screeching halt when she was forced to take part in peer tutoring. Unlike her sister who excelled in science classes they were always Magnolia’s worst subject and if she wanted to continue to be on the cheer squad (and more importantly still be in the running to become captain senior year) it was expected of her to remain a C average in all of her classes. 

Paired with Mason Park the two immediately butt heads during their study sessions. Lia constantly came in late, never paid attention, and then complained when she got a bad grade on a quiz or test. Something about Mason’s golden boy status around school annoyed her to no end. He wasn’t just insanely smart but an all-star athlete, class president, and genuinely well liked by everyone at their high school. Even by the loners who tended to hate everyone. They were fundamentally different in almost every way yet love found a way to blossom between them. By the time winter break came along they were already an official couple. All was well for a while. Like a typical young couple their relationship was filled with highs and lows but they were going strong and most importantly they were in love. So when Magnolia found out that she was pregnant a couple months into their junior year their was no doubt in their minds that they would be able to handle it. Naive and headstrong they bravely announced the news to their parents but not before dropping another bombshell, that they planned to get married as well. Magnolia’s fathers hadn’t taken the news well but were prepared to follow whatever course of action their daughter thought was best for herself and her future child. Mason’s parents on the other hand had gone nuclear. They blew up at Lia, accusing her of ruining their son’s life and trying to drag him down to her pathetic level. They had never liked her but seemingly tolerated her presence in their son’s life under the assumption that their relationship would never last past high school. 

But now that the two were planning to marry each other so they could raise a child together they didn’t feel the need to continue the facade of pretending to be alright with the relationship. They gave their son an ultimatum: leave Magnolia and disown the child she was carrying or leave their home. He left their home and promptly moved in the Lyon household due to the graciousness of Lia’s fathers who felt for the boy. They weren't thrilled by the aspect of their daughter being thrown into the world of adulthood so early either but knew her well enough to know that once Magnolia made up her mind there was little to no way of changing it. Eight months later while the rest of her friends were celebrating the end of the school year Magnolia and Mason were celebrating the birth of their son Milo Park. Fortunately they had a couple months to bond with their son and get used to being parents before the school year started back up again. Forcing both of them to struggling with course work, gossiping classmates, judgmental parents and faculty, and the jobs they were given by Lia’s fathers to be able to support themselves and their son. They still lived within the Lyon household but were expected to be able to provide for Milo themselves with only occasional financial assistance from Elijah and William for bigger things like medical bills. The two men didn’t do this to be cruel to the young parents but to teach them responsibility and to ensure that they would be able to take care of themselves and their son when they eventually moved out of the home. 

They wanted to assure that they were guides for them and not clutches. When Magnolia graduated high school she opted to not pursue farther education. Academia had never been her strong suit in the first place and the pair certainly didn’t have enough money for both of them to be attending college, especially with a little one at home. So instead Magnolia decided to focus her attention on earning money and taking care of their son. Mason worked as well as attended school and despite all the odds they made it work. For four years they worked in harmony like that. They didn’t have much but they had each other, their son, and the rest of the Lyon family to lean on for support to help them raise Milo. Things were far from easy and there were a lot of times where it felt like they were burning the candle at both ends but everything felt worth it because it was for their son and the little family they had fought so hard for to exist. Eventually they saved up enough money to move out of Lia’s childhood home in Lafayette Square where they still lived with her fathers into a small but cozy two bedroom apartment in Avalon. It was there that things started going off the rails for the young family. It started with their different parenting styles which had gone pretty much unnoticed before since they had always had Elijah or William to let them know what they thought would be the best thing to do in any given situation. But away from their calming influence they couldn’t seem to agree upon what course of action to take. 

Ranging from simple things like the bed time schedule to more complicated stuff like what to do when Milo acted up or whether they wanted their son to be entered into experimental medical trials. Then Mason’s family suddenly reached out wanting to be apart of their son and grandson’s lives again much to Magnolia’s discomfort. It wasn’t that she didn’t want her son or even her husband to have a relationship with the other side of their family. It was simply that she couldn’t bring herself to trust them again. It didn’t help that they seemed to show no interest in mending any bridges when it came to her or her family. They only cared about Mason and Milo and it put yet another rift between the young couple. When it rains, it pours, and less than a year later Mason and Magnolia ended up losing Milo. In the midst of being away at a school trip to a water park Milo Park drowned. It was completely accidental and no ones fault in particular but the loss affected both of them deeply. Mason threw himself into his work and Magnolia drowned herself in alcohol and anger. Eventually, and to no one’s surprise, they filed for divorce unable to piece themselves or their relationship back together after such a loss. Immediately upon filing the divorce Magnolia hopped on to a plane to Italy where her grandmother owned a quaint home in the countryside. She spent a year and a half there attempting to heal herself surrounded by the love of her twin sister and grandmother who both fiercely kept her embers burning during a time in her life where she no longer held the strength to keep her spark lit. 

It was there in Italy that Lia befriended a gentlemen who lived next door to her grandmother. He was an retired detective and would spend afternoons spinning Lia tales of the cases he had solved throughout his life. As the daughter of a lawyer criminals had always fascinated her and listening to his stories about having caught many she decided to start a podcast retelling those same stories and all types of others upon her arrival back to Catalina. It started off as a hobby, something to pull her focus away from the grief and towards doing productive. Eventually she started to bring her interests of the supernatural into her podcast as well as homage to the son she had lost who had always believed in the magical wonders of vampires, aliens, and werewolves just like his mother. Her podcast has grown in the years since. She’s no longer a one woman team. She had a co-host, a producer, and at least two million worldwide listeners. Her hobby now has a real chance at becoming an actual career and instead of being excited about it Lia remains frightful. Everything is going well in her life right now but due to the traumas of her past she can’t help but wait for the other shoe to drop. She is so terrified that it’ll happen when she least expects it to happen so she's constantly on guard. With her career and her heart. Ever since losing Milo and finalizing her divorce she keeps most things at an arms length away. Not wanting to get attached or her hopes up in an odd way of ensuring that she wont ever get hurt again.

TRAITS

Positive: Enigmatic | Inquisitive | Resourceful

Negative: Cantankerous | Fickle | Unyielding

Magnolia Lyon is portrayed by Hayley.

[leavingkindfootprints]

An open letter to the man that loved me first - My Dad.

Dear Dad, I write to you because out of every helping hand I have received in this world, you receive the least amount of credit and praise for everything you have done and for all the things you still do. You’ve always stood back and let me shine, only stepping in when I call for you knowing you can’t be more than a short distance away. It’s time I use these words and pull you into the light you so deserve to be seen in. It's time that light radiates on the genuine and extraordinary love only you could have shown me. A father teaches his daughter many lessons about what it means to truly love and experience this life. One of the most critical understandings he can portray to the young eyes beaming up at him is the notion of how she should be treated. Dad, I remember everything. I remember being tucked in at night and kissed good-bye before you left for work. I remember every walk you took me on. I remember every time you let me share your bed because I just wasn’t ready to leave yours. I remember every chocolate bar you would buy me knowing mum would crack the shits, but you didn’t care you just wanted to see me happy. Every dance lesson you paid for and sat through. The long talks shared on drives home from dance. Every time you were exhausted from working but still managed to take me to the swimming pool. I remember you taking me to RE classes so I could have something to believe in. I remember you putting me in a private high school just so I could have a better education, even if you didn’t have the money. I remember letting you down for choices I made when I was a teenager, but you never stopped loving me. I remember every weed you pulled out of my garden and every time you mowed my lawn. I remember you showing me how important it is to be outdoors. I remember you teaching me to be an active parent, to be in every moment with your child. I remember the few swims we’ve had together at Aspendale and it making you happy to see me in the ocean. I remember the talks we’ve had even if they haven’t been the easiest to talk about. We have a bond that is pretty incredible, with our personalities being so similar there are some things that we are the only ones who truly do get each other. The basis of personality I know comes from you, just in the tiny quirks that I know I truly could have to have only gotten from you. The father and daughter bond is a real thing and it goes beyond our general personalities. It comes in other things, like fitness and activity. You were always such a support in whatever I took part in sport or school wise. If it wasn’t for seeing your motivation and drive to stay active I probably wouldn’t be as focused on keeping a solid workout regime. As a man who’s done so much in life and continues to do so, you’ve endured things that I don’t speak of because it doesn’t define you. That might just be my favourite thing about you. You don’t let anything negative define you, you somehow manage to get through anything and everything, coming out even better than you were before. How impressive is that. You impress me everyday, whether you know it or not. Thank you for sharing parts of your childhood with me. Thank you for showing me that even if you’ve had horrible things happen to you, you don’t let them define your way of living. Thank you for showing me a marriage; the good and the bad. Thank you for never giving up on mum. Thank you for always telling me the story of how you met mum and you knew she was the one for you (because I was lucky enough to experience the same thing) Thank you for showing me how to work on a marriage, and even if it’s broken, you don’t give up on it. Thank you for teaching me loyalty. Thank you for having my back when I’ve felt like the world is against me. Thank you for loving and treating the person I’ve chosen to spend my life with like your own son. Thank you for teaching him life lessons he will carry forever. Thank you for showing him how to be a good father and husband. Thank you for showing him he’s not always right. Thank you for accepting him. Thank you for every camping trip to Lee Roy and showing me not to be afraid of nature. Thank you for teaching me to get my hands dirty once in a while. Thank you for the memories we have together building the veranda (I’ll never forget how many weeks it took in the rain and how you sacrificed your time to make my home secure) Thank you for reminding me about my never ending washing pile and to get rid of shit you don’t need anymore. Thank you for teaching me to value a friendship. Thank you for not only being my father but my best mate. Thank you for helping me to rebuild myself after you were burnt. Thank you for the times you cried in front of me and for showing me that men can cry too. Thank you for teaching me that no matter how many times you fall, not matter how many obstacles you may be facing, you get back up. Thank you for teaching me to have mental toughness. Thank you for surviving even when you were faced with a traumatic event. Thank you for guiding me on how to face trauma, head on! Thank you for the time you put into my children. Thank you for falling asleep with them in a single bed and not complaining about it. Thank you for teaching me to be brave. Thank you for showing me how to build a solid foundation for my family. Thank you for the appointments you came to when I was pregnant with my first born daughter because mum was in liver failure. For every meal you taught me to cook, and every meal we cooked together. Thank you for talking me through my contractions when I was in labour (I bet you forgot about that!) Thank you for accepting my decisions I’ve made as a woman. You are in every decision I make. Thank you for accepting the man I love. Thank you for giving not only me, but my family a home. Thank you for teaching me how to drive and not getting frustrated at me for having no confidence behind the wheel whatsoever. Thank you for buying me my first car. Not only did you give me a incredible first car, you gave me a safe and reliable one that myself and my children would be protected in. Thank you for letting me be in the shed with you. I remember being cradled between your legs because the noise from your tools were too loud for my tiny ears. I’ll never forget that dad. Thank you for teaching me the world can be a dangerous place and to be cautious. Thank you for protecting me. Thank you for the times you would have me brush your hair, or pluck your eyebrows. Thank you for preparing me for the world. Thank you for constantly reminding me about every sprinkler you installed in any building we went into. Thank you for every coin that has come out of your pocket so I wouldn’t have to go without things. Thank you for helping Corey’s dream of owning a business turn into reality. Thank you for giving him what no one gave you. Thank you for seeing the drive and passion in him that I do. I’m with a good man because of you. Even when I haven’t asked for your view on things, I can always hear your voice in the back of my head, usually encouraging me to make each decision with integrity. I sometimes feel like every action you take while in my presence is carefully thought out so that I learn something from it. Thank you for teaching me it’s ok to make mistakes. Thank you for teaching me not to be scared of the world. Thank you for showing what hard work is. Thank you for showing me that you can be a present parent even if you do work too many hours each day. Thank you for being dedicated to my education. Thank you for showing me the world. Thank you for arguing with me every day to prepare me to back up every opinion I possess. Thank you for teaching me integrity. Thank you for teaching me to give back. Thank you even more for showing me you look after the ones you love when they’re sick or in need. Thank you for giving me the best advice when it comes to raising children, especially daughters. Thank you for loving them the same way you love me. Thank you for teaching me how men should treat women so that I can never be taken advantage of professionally or personally. Thank you for making sure I know my worth. Thank you for teaching me I don’t ever have to settle for any less than I deserve. Thank you for never letting me believe that I couldn’t shatter a glass ceiling. Thank you for never giving up on me and reassuring me I still have time to pursue my dreams. Dad, I’ve mentioned it a few times in the past but my biggest fear is losing you. I never want there to be a last time I hear your voice. I never want to forget your scent. If I’m honest, I cannot even begin to comprehend it. Your footprint is completely ingrained in me that I feel like, well I know I will never be the same person again. I say this because I almost lost you once. I almost lost you in such a terrible way that I feel the need to say this. Do you remember the first time you woke up after being in a coma? I do. The first person you saw was me. I think sometimes you forget (understandably) but it was a moment that changed me. It made me appreciate every memory I had with you. I made an oath to myself that day I would never let another day go by without appreciating your existence. I ran so quickly from the car park into the hospital. The elevators took too long as my shaky hands pushed the button a million times. My heart was racing, I had so much adrenaline running through me. I took the stairs and ran up them as fast as I could. I raced through corridors and past nurses and doctors to get to you. I made it to you. You were confused, in shock and in a tremendous amount of pain. I held your hand just as I’d done everyday prior. I tried to tell you in the calmest way possible that I was there and I wasn’t leaving. I was the first person that made contact with you when you woke and that will stay with me forever. Dad there’s been times when you’ve cried on me and with me. These moments were sad but in these hard times you felt closer to me than anyone in your life. I think that’s so special. Some of those times only you and I will ever know about. I can’t keep count on the amount of times you’ve wiped away my tears. The amount of times you’ve wiped those same tears from the eyes of my daughters. Which brings me to my next paragraph. Your influence on my daughters has been so powerful. Your presence is so much greater than you will ever know. I see the enjoyment you get when your around them. The way you are with them is how you were with me. How lucky are they to experience a love like that. If you catch me taking photos of the moments you spend together, don’t be afraid to smile. Don’t be afraid to kiss them or grab them that little bit closer. Because those pictures will tell so many stories. Dad, the way you accepted the man I’ve fallen so deeply in love with. For putting your pride aside and trusting my judgement. Dad for years I was afraid I would never find a husband as great as you. While I believe no man will ever be you, both of you share the exact same qualities, morals and values. You share the same interests, beliefs and opinions. You both come from difficult childhoods. You both have a past, a history and a story. Sometimes the similarities shock me. Never in a bad way but it makes me question what I did in this life to be gifted someone who is exactly like you. Never forget the significant footprints you’ve left in him. Know he’ll love me unconditionally as you have. Know he’ll work to build a life for me and our children that was better than his own, just like you. Know he’ll never give up on me, just like you never have. I know we might fight but he’ll never stop fighting for me. I know he’ll do his best and just like you supported me and I’ll show him back that same support. When I walk down that aisle and when he says ‘I do’, what he really is promising is to live by the example you’ve set and the lessons you’ve taught. And to desperately try to fill the shoes of someone who has been in my heart far longer than he has. The man I loved first. Dad, I will forever defend and protect you. There is nothing you or anyone could do in this world that would ever change the way I see you. Nothing. I think you need to know that. Dad I will forever worship the ground you walk on. I know I’m never alone in this world. I never had to grow up and not know what it was like to not have you around. Dad, I need you to know you have deeply and significantly impacted my life. Forever in awe of the man, husband and father you are. I love you Dad. - g.t

[splintersfeelings]

Carefully step over the gap of my open heart and show me where I came from / 擔心，小心，開心

Family trees are defined by absences.

--

My father and I were talking as he drove. He wondered aloud if he was like his own father, my Ye Ye. My paternal grandfather passed away when my dad was still a teenager.

"I'm surprised you notice and remember all the stories I tell you," he says to me, when I write about them. I always remember. How could I forget? I'm haunted by the stories. I burn them into my memory in the only way that I can to light up the dark spaces in my consciousness that are haunted by ghosts.

--

My dad doesn't speak much to his family anymore.

His mom, my Maa Maa, tried to control my father's life and groom him to become an eldest son who could serve as the head of the household, where he was needed to fill the vacancy left behind by my grandfather’s death when my father was a teenager. It was a burden that no one that young should have to bear.

My father's younger brother, my Suk Suk, told me about the Wong progenitor 7 generations before me (my father's grandfather's grandfather's grandfather).

This Wong left his Guangdong hometown to come to the United States and make his fortune. He returned home with the fruits of his labor only to be warned of an assassination plot waiting for him. So instead of returning to his home village, he took a detour to Macau to retire with his Gold Mountain windfall. He eventually accumulated 4 wives (including an American wife) and left behind many descendants in the Macau/Hong Kong area. This story was authored by at least 4 or 5 people, stories relayed across generations, until my Suk Suk was able to compile them all and then convey it to me.

Does this make the story less true? Or does it make it more true, the accumulated sweat and tears of generations distilled into a single, elegant fairy tale, an origin story of a man heading east on his Journey to the West?

This was it's own kind of pilgrimage.

--

There's a difference in how Eastern and Western cultures view justice, and it's a complicated question that I'm bound to oversimplify here, but I think the idea is visible in the difference between Buddhism and the Abrahamic (Judeo-Christian and Islamic) traditions.

In the Abrahamic, justice is something that happens in the afterlife. Justice is the promise of reward and punishment for mortal sins. Life is allowed to be just, because God will ensure that sinners pay the price and that the good are granted the salvation they deserve.

In Buddhism, there's no punishment and reward in the afterlife. Life itself is the system of punishment and reward for past lives. It has a retroactive temporal orientation towards justice instead of the future orientation of the Abrahamic. In Buddhism, heaven and hell would be confusing, because the goal of religious practice is to escape from life and reincarnation, not to live a post-mortem afterlife.  For the Buddhist, everyone always deserves what they get, what goes around comes around. Somewhere out there is a cosmic Karmic ledger that balances the accounts. Justice is built into the present instead of constantly deferred.

The Abrahamic fears oblivion, fears the unknown, fears the cessation of the senses. Buddhism, by forgoing the afterlife, embracing oblivion and does something different.

I'm neither a Buddhist or a Christian. I don’t self-identify as an atheist or an agnostic. In my own words, I would prefer to say that I think metaphysical statements have no truth values. But this is all neither here nor there.

In Hong Kong there was only one real god.

Its name was money.

--

Getting up at night to use the restroom, I trip over a pile of books I had forgotten. "Pukgaai…" I mutter to myself as I nearly fall, stumbling for my phone. Groping through the darkness with my cold hands, searching for familiar shapes and sensations to remind me who I am.

--

In Cantonese (and in Mandarin), "he," "she," and "it" all correspond to the same spoken word. Gender is only marked in the written form. My sister and I used to make fun of our parents for always slipping up on pronouns, calling he's she's and she's he's. I realize now how special it is to not have gender linguistically and ontologically bound into our consciousness, instantly and immediately assigned to bodies. Of course, Chinese culture still contains uncomfortable Confucian attitudes toward gender, sex, reproduction. But there's something remarkably progressive and profound about not needing to assign gendered pronouns to people. Romance and Germanic languages are so strongly gendered. Who felt like they needed to assign gender to chairs, stars, doors, cups, hats, and boats, anyways? Why should a feminine verb, a neuter verb, and a masculine verb be linguistically differentiated?

--

Trauma is a form of omission.

--

My maternal grandfather, Gung Gung, was a gambling addict. But I wouldn't say he was addicted to chance. He was a surprisingly risk-averse man in other aspects of his life. He turned down a job offer from his family because he didn't want to move away from the racetrack in Happy Valley, where he'd calculate the optimal horse to bet on, studying and researching all the details that might distinguish him from the crowd. He was a man who found comfort in games, the consistency and dependability, the clear and precise conditions of defeat and victory that are absent from the tedium of everyday life. In games there is nothing left but expression of skill. The chess pieces don't care who you are, where you were born, or how much money you make. There is only the elegant simplicity of victory or defeat and whether or not you’re willing to pick yourself up afterwards from the burning wreckage to try your hand again.

Gung Gung was a chain smoker, such an addict that long flights from Hong Kong to the United States were troublesome for him. He passed away watching a game of chess under a bridge on Hong Kong island. But just months before he passed away he visited Seattle to see my sister and I. My sister was less than a year old and I was only a toddler.

I wonder if Gung Gung would have appreciated my childhood chess tournament trophies and my passion for real-time strategy games. I wonder if he would have taught me to flank using chariots, pin down with cannons, connect my elephants.

I was too young to remember him, so I can't say that I really met him. But I'm glad that he got to meet me before he died.

--

The single greatest gift that Cantonese has given me is a slur for white people. If I didn't have it, I would only ever think of myself as a failed national subject. Because of just one word, a word that now comes easily and quickly to my mind, I know otherwise. I was robbed of something, long ago, before I was even born, and every time I say "gweilo" I reclaim just a little bit of that history back.

Peace by piece. Plowshares for swords. An eye for a tongue.

--

Complicity is the price of silence.

--

To this day, the sound of Cantonese music puts me at ease. I barely understand the language. But hearing the rising and falling tones of the prestige Yue dialect, the language of Guangdong, always brings close a warm part of my childhood.

When I young, not yet in grade school, I had a hard time falling asleep by myself. My parents recognized I was a creature of ritual. My dad would sit close and would play Cantopop as I fell asleep.

One day, he turned on some music to listen to during the day, just for himself, and I complained to him that I wasn't ready to sleep yet.

--

Assimilation is death.

--

"Transgenerational trauma," my professor said during our seminar. We were discussing Lacanian psychoanalysis, and the displacement of trauma through unspoken linguistic signs. The idea is that trauma is displaced along generations by overdetermining the language that the parent uses to talk to the child, and the child to grandchild, and so on. And thus, a life time of scars is tucked into the limits of our speech. A child can choose to become like their parents or become unlike their parents. But the shadow of the parent is still there either way.

What an abyss then it must be for a grandparent and a grandchild to not even share a common language. What kind of trauma is belied by the fact that everything goes unspoken?

I grew up reading through my Ye Ye's comic books. Wong Si Ma was a famous cartoonist in Hong Kong when he was alive, and his characters are still remembered fondly. The first time I read them, they gripped my imagination. Over time, I realized that my love for those cartoons was bound into the fact that my father had taught me the same sense of humor as these comics, the same love for puns and physical comedy and light-hearted pranks.

Wong Si Ma had time for everyone in his life, but not enough time for his family before he passed away.

--

Even though I'm not religious, Hong Kong for me is a site of pilgrimage. And that saddens me, because I know that the Hong Kong that I want and need will never exist ever again. Hong Kong’s place in the world changed. Hong Kong has been transferred back to China, and Cantonese language and politics and culture will have to be fought for to be preserved.

I feel regret, as if I have failed in a duty, by not properly learning the language. But now is as good a time as any to start.

--

Whenever I commute around Seattle or Irvine, I think back to riding the MTR in Hong Kong and the sonorous British-inflected English voice warning me: "Careful, please mind the gap." In Cantonese, to be careful is "siusum," literally translated as "small heart." To step with caution. I try my best to step with caution, remembering all the sacrifices people have made to put me here walking these grounds and living this life. I don't think I can be grateful for receiving something I never asked for.

But I keep trying to dream for the two grandfathers I never really met, who persisted as a memory of a memory, ghosts who guide my heavy heart, as I sleep and slowly learn how…

--

…to open my heart and be happy.

[exxar1]

Episode 3: “The Unexamined Life” Part 2

10/25/2020

This blog entry was supposed to be a direct continuation of the last one. I was going to continue the therapy session but, instead of Patrick Stewart and Chris Evans, it would be God sitting in the armchair across from the couch. He would be played by Morgan Freeman, of course, but not because he did actually play the role of God in “Bruce Almighty”. I’ve always thought of Morgan Freeman as that wise, curmudgeonly old grandfather who’s always nearby when you need a peppermint or some necessary advice. He seems genuinely loving, patient and kind, but he won’t put up with any of your bullshit either. He’ll gladly listen to all your complaining and ranting, nodding every once in awhile and giving an affirmative “uh-huh”, then tell you exactly what he thinks, whether you like it or not, and then send you on your way with a fresh cup of coffee and a maple bar.

But, after some consideration, I decided to nix the whole therapy scene, and just get to the point. There is such a thing in the writer’s room as running a metaphor – or an idea – into the ground, and this seemed like a perfect example of that. In the last couple weeks since I wrote Part 1, I’ve been thinking about what I wrote, and I realized I needed to start this episode by clarifying a couple things.

1. My relationship with my parents and my brothers is very good. In fact, we as a family are very close, and that’s something I have treasured for many years. Yes, we have our issues and our share of dysfunction, just like any other family. But I also feel that our family is a bit different from most other adult families in that we all genuinely love one another and we sincerely look forward to those times when we are all together in person. I have never understood why so many of my friends, colleagues, coworkers and/or acquaintances over the years have dreaded the holidays. They have complained to me on various occasions that they really aren’t looking forward to Thanksgiving or Christmas because they have to spend time with their parents or siblings whom they don’t get along with.

I have never experienced this. Thanksgiving and Christmas are my favorite times of the year. I look forward to going home to spend time with my parents, my brothers, their wives, and all my nieces and nephews. We have a wonderful time, and yes, there have been one or two years where some of us had some arguments and/or minor disagreements over this or that. But we never allowed those conflicts to interfere with our time together, and we always came back from those times stronger as a family and celebrating our love for God and for one another.

My parents, in particular, have always set an example for us boys of what God’s love should be towards not only one another but the world as well. They taught us what it meant to be a good citizen in the world, and how to properly love and respect those that we meet in our travels through this life. They taught us right from wrong, and I know that I wouldn’t be the person I am today without having grown up in a loving, Christian home. Yes, my childhood was filled with a lot of conflict – mainly between me and my brothers. I also fought with my parents as a teenager over the typical adolescent stuff – music, TV, church, rules, curfews, etc. etc. All of this is normal for any family and also a standard part of growing up. What made it unique for me was struggling with my homosexuality as a teenager and not being able to talk about that with anyone in my family, my friends or my church. In retrospect, I think that if I’d had someone I could have gone to and opened up with about my struggle, I wouldn’t have had such a difficult adolescence.

The main reason I feel a need to clarify this right now is because I don’t want you, the reader, to think that I still resent my parents – or my father in particular – for what was said or done regarding this issue when I was a kid. That line from my father about homosexuals was used to illustrate a point, but I don’t think he feels that strongly about it today. I will admit that he and I have never directly discussed this, but I know that both my parents have always loved and accepted me, no matter what. They still do. In fact, the two of them could teach a thing or two to many other parents of gays and lesbians of my generation about what it means to truly accept your child even though you believe that their sexual preference and/or lifestyle choice is not in line with God’s will.

The same goes for my brothers. I love them more than life itself, and I would gladly give my own life for theirs without a second thought, if necessary. One of my very few, genuine regrets in my life thus far is how terribly and cruelly I treated my brothers when I was a teenager. I should have been a friend and a mentor to them, especially Chad and Caleb, but I wasn’t. I constantly told them how I wished I had been an only child, and I was always mocking and making fun of all three of them every chance I got. My teen years, especially, were rather harsh for all four of us, as I lashed out at my brothers with all my own hurt and pain at not fitting in at school and not being able to share with anyone my struggle over my own sexuality.

But, thank God, in the years following high school, as all of us became adults and made our own ways in the world, the loving home that our parents had created for us seeped into our hearts and our souls, taking root there in ways none of us ever realized. The four of us eventually reconnected as adults, little bits here and there over time, until we came back together as close as any brothers could ever be. I can’t even tell you exactly how or where this transformation took place. It was just many little things over time – text messages, emails, phone calls, spending time together during the holidays, etc. There was also other major life events such as weddings, having kids, getting divorced and remarried, graduating college, and just life in general. All of these things have a way of reminding one how important a family is and, especially, not to take it for granted. I have met many different people in my time in this world – my short time in the Army, from college, and from my many different jobs – and it never ceases to amaze or humble me when I have learned that many of those people did not have it as good as I did when I was a kid. Many of them hate their parents and haven’t spoken to them in years. Same for their siblings. Some have been through divorce and never see their own kids, while others grew up as the only child and they’ve told me how lonely that is.

So, to sum up this point, I treasure my family as the greatest gift God has given me, and I don’t want them – or you – to come away from this blog thinking otherwise. :-)

2. In that same vein, I also became close friends with most of those classmates who did tease and make fun of me when were in elementary school. And while they weren’t so cruel and mean in junior high and high school, I didn’t make it easy for them to like me when I was a teenager. I did cause a lot of my own troubles because of my social awkwardness and my painful attempts to fit in with the “cool kids”. As I stated in the last episode, I did eventually realize that I needed to stop trying so hard and just do my own thing. Once that happened, somewhere in my sophomore year, if I recall correctly, everything else kind of just fell into place, and those other nine people in my graduating class are still friends with me today. (We just had our 20 year reunion, in fact, three years ago.)

And now, to the main point of this week’s episode: I’ve been thinking about why I’ve been feeling so lonely now, at this point in my adult life, and how that relates to what I experienced in my adolescence. One of the realizations I came to three weeks ago was that because of all the teasing, the bullying, and the social anxiety that I experienced as a young kid and, later, as an adolescent, I built a wall about myself to protect me from the pain and anger at not fitting in. And again, that conclusion seems rather obvious now, but it hadn’t been obvious to me all these years. Or maybe I had been aware of it on a subconscious level all this time, but only now did I decide to finally address it directly.

Whatever the case, that realization also led to another one: I have had no interest in a romantic relationship with anyone because it means I would have to let someone inside the wall. There’s probably other reasons for why I’ve never been interested in getting a boyfriend, but that’s probably the main one. And when I was young, I was fine with this. As I said before, that decision in high school to stop trying so hard to fit in and just do my own thing has served me quite well all these years. And I believe that I have been truly happy being on my own. I have never felt like I needed another person to complete me. I have always felt whole and complete in and of myself.

But here’s the funny thing about getting older, and this is a realization that I came to just in the last few days. For the last couple months or so, I have been driving myself crazy trying to figure out why not being in a relationship is suddenly bothering me so much. And then, in the last couple days, it finally hit me: I am not the same man now that I was when I made that decision 20 years ago.

Now, I know what you’re thinking: well, duh. 20 years has passed. Of course you’re not the same person you were back then.

Yes, I hear you, but now let me explain. One feature of aging that no one has ever told me about is that you start questioning and re-thinking a lot of desires, passions, beliefs and/or commitments that you had, until now, pretty much taken for granted. My desire to live life as a professionally single person is a perfect example of this. When I was in college, I had more fun just playing the field and not making a commitment to any one person. That’s typical for every young person, no matter your sexual preference. But, at some point in our mid to late twenties, most of us end up meeting that one guy or girl who causes us to rethink our position on the whole “professionally single” issue. We fall madly in love, in other words, and we then realize we don’t want to spend the rest of our lives alone.

That never happened for me. I have never, in my whole life, even up to the present, ever met that one guy who has completely turned my world upside down. The subject of almost every rock anthem and pop diva love song has never happened to me. I have no clue what falling in love actually feels like. I have heard it discussed and described many times by friends and family. I have sung along to many great  love songs and anthems by every major recording artist since Elvis Presley. I have read and discussed the love poetry and sonnets of the many greats in classical western literature in many of my English courses throughout my academic career. I have watched several of the greats of the romantic comedy category at Blockbuster over the years, and while most of them are terrible, there are a few that I still have in my own DVD library that I have occasionally pulled out to reminisce with.

But I have never, ever in my whole life ever been “twitterpated” as goes the classic line from Bambi. And that’s never been a problem for me. I never cared. In fact, I considered it a strength. I have never had to waste money on flowers, candy, jewelry, romantic weekend getaways, or any of the other crap that boyfriends and girlfriends spend on each other just for the chance at maybe getting laid. If I ever got horny enough, all I’ve needed to do is text one of the few regulars in my phone book. Sex without any of the trappings of a relationship has always been the best kind of sex in my book. Nor have I had to deal with any of the drama that comes with a relationship. All that fighting, then compromising, then forgiveness, and then repeating that process over and over has never been my cup of tea. In fact, I’ve never understood why a relationship was worth all that trouble in the first place.

But, once again, we’re back at the present, and I’m now 42 years old. And, for some reason, I’m looking around at all the people in my life – and on social media – that are happily married and/or in a relationship, and, all of sudden, that just drives me fucking crazy. And maybe, on a subconscious level, this is why I created a profile on Tinder back in June. As you’ll recall from episode 2, “Alfred” (not his real name) and I hit it off pretty well, and we had a pretty good first date, to boot. And things seemed to go pretty well up until a month ago when he suddenly ghosted me. Or, maybe, I ghosted him first. In any case, it appears to have been mutual, and now I’m even more annoyed than before at being single.

Which brings me to that big revelation I alluded to earlier about aging. I just recently realized how much we change throughout our adult lives as we get older. Those passions and desires and things that interest us and consume our time when we’re in our twenties are not necessarily the same passions, desires, and things that we care about in our forties, or our fifties, or our sixties. We as people are not just flesh and blood. We are conscious, thinking, emotional, intellectual human beings, and the parts of us that make us who we are are those passions, desires, interests, and things that we care about. It’s what makes you you.

Some of those qualities can be defined as hobbies or interests, the things that we do in our spare time or what we’re passionate about in life. The fact that I have always been a science fiction fan, for example, or my writing. Other qualities can be emotional, or intellectual, or parts of us that aren’t necessarily physical. The fact that I’m gay, for example; or that I love to read, or that I’m an introvert, or that I once used to be an Atheist.

In other words, those things that make up who we are as an individual human being, that define us to the world and to other people around us, are not always constant or unchanging. And that’s what I had never realized until now. I have always been happy living my life on my own, by my own terms, and I found peace in being alone. I have never felt the need to have that “special someone” in my life, but now, for reasons I cannot explain, I’m no longer content with that. I think this is why so many people at this point in their mid-lives have a crisis. They buy a new car or get divorced or change careers. Perhaps my loneliness is nothing more than a mid-life crisis?

Maybe. I think that’s oversimplifying it a bit, but it does make a kind of sense. I’ve been questioning everything else in my life – and the world around me – at this point, why not this?

And maybe this does have something to do with my recent religious conversion. Does God no longer want me to be single? Does he have someone in mind to be my companion? I don’t know. I’m still exploring my new relationship with God, so I can’t really say for sure at this point.

What I will say for sure is this: I am NOT going to find that special someone online. I am done with all the dating apps and websites. They’re a waste of time. For now, I have made some peace with being single. It doesn’t bother me as much as it did a few weeks ago. So I’m not in a hurry to meet that “special guy”. If it does happen, though, we’ll end up meeting in real life, face to face. Which means that my only opportunity for this is at work, because I have no social life.

That’s it for now, folks. Once again, I wrote far more than I planned, but this feels good. And if you’ve read all of this, and if it’s helped you in some way, then I’m glad.

Until next time…

[streetjitsu]

True Grit- An American Wrestler Speech 🇺🇲🤼‍♀️

Here is my daughter, Tayah Thomas wrestling banquet speech from March 6, 2020. Central Wrestling, Senior year, Varsity squad:

"Initially, I only joined wrestling to get better at Jiu-Jitsu. I wanted to become stronger and more aggressive in my grappling, and my dad told me wrestling would help me achieve these goals. But I ended up staying for an entirely different reason.

I don’t know if I ever “fell in love with wrestling” per se, but I most certainly fell in love with the people. I fell in love with their energy, their passion, their compassion, their humour. For the longest time, I held myself so separate from the people I met, not knowing which ways to hold myself and perform as to not drive them away; it was confusing and lonely treading on constant eggshells. I forgot how to be candid and sincere as when I was younger. I never knew what it was like to have peopIe in your life that you could really and truly depend upon.

Wrestling taught me I didn’t need to hold myself so tight in fear that all the parts of me I didn’t want to see the light of day would spill over. In the wrestling room, I’ve learned that authentic and bona-fide friends like you see in live action Disney shows and fairy tales do exist. That they are more than willing and beyond eager to listen to you complain and gripe and sob and laugh. Wrestling has taught me a greater form of empathy and patience, how to be open and transparent; and how when you do these things, how incredibly easy and smooth it is to make these kinds of fairy tale friends.

Wrestling allowed me to shed my anxiety for one day and invite someone to sit next to me on the bus ride to a tournament, someone who hoarded all the ugly and messy parts of themselves just as tight as I did. Today, I can confidently say she is the most stinky, beautiful, obnoxious, funniest, terrible person in the history of man. She’s my best friend and I wouldn't trade what I have with her for all the riches in the world.

Wrestling has taught me the definition of grit and what it means to never give up. How to hold a mind over matter mindest; to keep jumping rope for just one more hour, even when all you really want to do is lie down and rest your cheek against the cool tile in the foyer of your house. To go live just one more period in practice when you could be drinking your weight in water. How to drag your body out of bed up at five in the morning and drive to school when no other sane human being on earth is out on the road, every single Saturday for a tournament. Wrestling has taught me drive and dedication, even when it feels like everyone else around you is having fun and relaxing.

Wrestling has taught me how good it is to look back at all your achievements and feel pride for all you’ve accomplished. When I lost at State and didn’t place on the podium, it felt like everything I did was for nothing. All the cutting weight and jumping rope and not drinking water for two days when I could’ve been doing literally anything else. But my teammates and coaches taught me what I did was worth it, that it mattered that I got as far as I did, that I deserved to be at State and wrestle alongside those insanely tough girls. I never understood the saying “hindsight is 2020” before wrestling. Wrestling taught me it’s ok to take pride in the things I’ve done.

In the wrestling room, I’ve learned that if you don't believe in yourself, you’ve lost before you’ve even stepped onto the mat. That true confidence isn’t just something you decide to be one day, and all it takes is the flip of a switch. It’s something you constantly have to work on, even when you don’t feel like you’re worth it. Wrestling has taught me that even if you don’t get your hand raised or a place on the podium, what does it matter? That if you leave it all on the mat, everything you have and everything you’ve worked for and there’s nothing left to give, then all you’ve done is better yourself not just as a wrestler, but as a person. And in that, there is no such thing as “losing”.

Coach Moriel de Cedeno has taught me you can win every title in the state of Texas, in America, in the world, and all those wins mean nothing if you aren’t a good and kind and well rounded person.

Coach Wislon has taught me that the work you put in will reap results; that if you don’t work twice as hard as everyone else, you won’t get to be where the best are. The girls and boys in our wrestling room are by far the coolest, most gracious and generous people I have ever met, above any other school or sport or team.

When I was younger, I thought I would never get to highschool, the passage of time seemed slower than molasses. Then I blinked, and now I realize, soon, I won’t ever walk into the wrestling room during 5th period again, teasing Kaycie and pushing Starr and hitting Grace in the leg; just generally being a bully and gremlin. That’s what I’ll miss more than anything about Central. So thank you for making all four years in this hell hole struggling with grades, cutting weight, and pushing past couples making out on the stair well worth it. I can’t wait to see who you all will become and what you’ll achieve; I’ll be rooting for you every step of the way." -Tayah Thomas, Class of 2020

www.streetjitsu.com

[strawberryspeachy]

Also im sick of obnoxious japanese eaters

Things ive found out are myths here

1) everyones nice.

No. Everyone smiles hard to cover up whatever assholery theyre doing - if theyre supposed to be nice to you. Public people are the same as usual... except theres alot more shoving

2) everything about school

They don’t pay for school. Its free. Just like ours. Except private school. Just like ours

They are not MORE overworked in school nor do they study more. Their rules are much loser. And just like the states, teachers have no real authority- but unlike the states - the students do not fear repercussions. They can be touched though but thats more because japanese people think its fine to touch each other a lot - ya know. Just dont hug as an adult - but all other invading of some kind of private bubble is fine

3) SLURPING No thats not just a “it shows you love the food!” Bs. Just like the states, the people you hear disgustingly slurping just eat loud and are gross... imo... people here dont seem to think its gross but far more people eat like civilized humans and dont slurp everything from solids to actual liquids.

K like every time the past two days ive had to be near people slurping their fucking food and as a person who HATES hearing people eat... its why im bitching here. LETTUCE DOES NOT NEED SLURPED

4) just anything they call “culture” they used a pretty word to cover for “thats just the dumb thing we do here” its literally like if we said aggressively speed driving and cutting people off is new yorkers culture

Japan has a lot of history and traditions. But mostly they have a lot of bs that theyre just too stubborn to acknowledge and change so they lable it culture. Any changes they make are pretty much like when my great grandmother got a cell phone.

She only turned it on to charge it and make a phone call - leave a voicemail saying that she called - and then would turn it back off. It wasnt ever even on long enough for her to need to charge it.

But in her mind no one could complain that she didnt have one. And the only emergency in her mind was her needing to call you - not vice versa. She wouldnt use it for any other purpose and generally resented its existence. She hated watching anyone else use their cell phones to check the time or take pictures or play games or have lenthy conversations.

Yea. Thats basiclly japan with everything new. They have it. But they dont use it , and its possibilities scare them so the old ppl say its not allowed to be used unless the old people need to use it

Sorry man i hate everywhere i am. My aparment is next to a bar that looks permanently closed during the day. I had no clue it was there till after i moved in and the loud karaoke blared into my window every damn night

My train line is a nightmare and if you wanna see the worst japanese people can be. Ride the train during rush hours

My post office is far away and they refuse to ring my doorbell when i have a delivery and instead just leave slip - if you dont hike over in their made up time period they throw your stuff away

No one will actually help you with serious stuff. They just smile and say sorry and run away — customer service. Yea. Not customer service. They could just as easily be a manican with a smiley face - itd serve the same purpose.

Theres too much paperwork constantly all the time about everything

Nothing is online

Another thing that prompted me for this “this is japanese chocolate”

Cool. I got that its japanese. Im in japan. Everything people point out for me “its japanese____” fucking imagine if we felt the need to point out every damn item as “american” in the states. Why? What is the meaning of this?

They gave me a table to sit at at this school. A table. That they make lunch on and put all their supplies on. A dude just kicked my chair as he came over for some shit. Why am i sitting at a table? Very very few japanese people ive worked with dont make me feel like an adopted pet dog that theyre not sure if itll bite. Dog. Not new person. They literlly have the children fetch me...

And ive grown so so very tired of being asked questions with the intention of having me overhype japan while maintaining that im so stupid that i know absolutely nothing about the country

98% of japanese people assume that you think of japan like youve never even heard of their country before arriving and that you just arrived two days ago

Also. Maybe they think their test scores and clases are so much more difficult because they cant seem to fathom that most other countries schools function the same way as theirs

Yesterday a teacher said “ah theyre so overworked. They have alot to remember” i thought she was about to tell me how many units were on their exam or something... no “english, japanese, science, math, history, pe, food class, art! Too many things. Theyre very overworked”

..... are you for real? Im pretty sure every fucking school has those subjects if you switch out japanese for the countries native language.... this is NORMAL

Im sorry. I know the reason anyone talking to me like this might not like me. Cause im not gonna go WOWWW SUGEII?!?!? So much stuff!! Poor them!

No. Yeah? Thats school...

Look im not an asshole to my kids. If they can manage to tell me any information about their life in english or simple japanese i can translate - i act surprised/ or am if their english is super good.

But adults... no man. Learn some stuff about the outside world. Youre not specifical

Also dating boys here is just like back home except they wont block you and they respond less

Instead of getting “nice” “oh” “idk” and “maybe” as there fading messages - they just leave you on read. Or give you some random information that you didnt ask about that has no relevance to the ‘convo’

Also also. “Speak slow” they dont say this in a ‘my english is not good so speak slower’ way. They say this in a ‘i felt really good about my english until you spoke at a normal pace and my classes and ass-kissing white dudes have taught me that enlgish is spoken slow and percisely so if you dont speak with a japanese accent, your fast english is wrong’

Whatever but like... could you return the favor by speaking japanese slowly. Speak it the way you want me to speak english....

Telling them to speak slow results in something like

... nihon..de〜 nan mabdnshsnabsjsnjsbshssnbsjsbsjshsh ka?

Woah ok... something in Japan... couldnt catch the rest of that

Id be more understanding of this. Its hard to speak slow. Lets both acknowledge this and not - teachers compalining to principals and boys... (1) sending me a fucking video on how to speak my own damn language properly

Also. Do you know how upsetting it is to listen to a student say something perfectly but before i get to praise them - have the japanese teacher jump in and “correct” them...... no no dude please. I know youll have a fucking meltdown if i say no your ways wrong. But now this student is so confused desperately staring at me positive theyre correct and all ive come up with to do is smiling and nodding at them while repeating the way they said hoping the japanese teacher wont notice/get offended

Also togo food... if its not american fast food... generally you cant take it to go... its sad. I have no friends. I just wanna take this home to eat in front of my tv. This isnt serious. Its just a minior inconvenience

Also joking... my japanese isnt good enough to joke. And... idk how... cant explain. The other day a student asked whats my favorite food

And another went hamburger?!? Mcdonalds!!?

I wanted to comment.. but. At least elementary students understand sarcasm. Their teachers dont. And whether the middle schoolers understand and just dont care is up in the air.

Oh! And. I was right last week when i didnt trust my teachers saying that the obvious bullying was just a misunderstanding and the obvious targets fault. Another straight up teacher said some kids have left the school because of bullying and theyre really awful when left alone in the rooms... i told him thats why we cant go unsupervised in america. Japan says the students are just perfect upstanding citizens, so much more caring and mature than other students. Nope. Middle schoolers will be middle schoolers no matter what country.

[elddansurin]

so i there’s a pretty good OC meme floating around, and i took the liberties of filling out the entire thing myself because let’s be real here, i’d like to see any of you try and stop me. i filled it out for serras bc that greasy boy could use more love

Personal

1)      Age? I've never pinned down an exact age for him. Early- to mid-30s, is the vibe I'm feeling. 2)      Gender? Male 3)      Romantic/Sexual Orientation? There's a safe bet that if it's a character I've made, he's gay. It applies here. 4)      Height? I want to say at or around 6 foot even. 5)      Race? Dunmer 6)      What do they look like? Black sclera, some self-applied scars over his brows, and a lot of haphazard piercings he also did in front of a mirror. Serras is tall and sorta lanky, but moreso in an underfed way, as opposed to someone like Gavriil who is Just Like That. When he's living more stable-like, Serras can actually put on some healthy weight, but he's never been too shredded. I feel like if he ever really settled down, he might start going a bit flabby around the midsection. 7)      Any disabilities? Nothing physical. 8)      Is there a meaning to their name? In canon, no. His dad thought it sounded nice. I, on the other hand, borrowed his name from a neopet. 9)      What makes them, them? Interestingly enough, it's in how much of himself is borrowed from other people. He's never really learned how to be just Serras. Most of his opinions are other peoples' opinions, the bulk majority ofc being his father's, but a few of his old friends have also impacted him (mostly in the way he currently talks). And, naturally, he picks up some of Gavriil's mannerisms with time. If you asked him to boil down who he really was, outside influences aside, he'd probably have some kind of crisis. 10)   What do they want to be when they grow up/what do they want to do with their lives? He genuinely has no idea, and it's a source of constant background anxiety for him. He doesn't really know what his talents or ambitions are aside from petty crime and living day to day. He does his absolute best to just... not think about it.

Family

11)   Do they have parents? What are they like and how do they act with their child(ren)? His mom's been out of the picture since he was a newborn, but he has a super tight relationship with his father. And by that, I mean ridiculously codependent. They love each other and get along very well, but their relationship is not healthy, and Serras has only recently become aware of that. 12)   Do they have siblings? How do they interact with them? If not, do they wish they had siblings? He has a few half-siblings whom he has never met and is unaware of (via his mother, who is absolutely still kickin).  13)   Extended family? Do they see them often? Plenty, but the only one he has ever met is his maternal aunt. They keep in touch and are on good terms, and she was the one who gently suggested he should try and learn to live on his own. 14)   Do they like where they live? (Is it a safe place?) He doesn't really know any better. He's spent his entire life on the move and has rarely lived in a single place for more than a few years at a time. He and his father were constantly moving around western Morrowind and eastern Skyrim with no real rhyme or reason, and now for SOME reason, Serras has a hard time setting down roots. 15)   Where do they live? Are they wealthy? Poor? Middle-Class? In theory, his home is outside of Mournhold, where his dad lives in a small hovel. In practice, he lives out of a tent. But it works for him. By which I mean he's used to it. 16)   Do they have a lot of expectations/pressure on them from family to do great? His dad put absolutely no pressure on him and barely disciplined him at all. Serras will bend over backward to make his dad happy because he loves and respects the man, but he has a serious, serious issue with any other authority figure (or anyone he perceives as an authority figure). He's either very afraid or outright contemptuous of anyone with power over him. 17)   Do they have pets? He's had a ton of pets, from cats to nix puppies to pony guar. They tend to either get left behind during hasty moves, or "run away" when his dad gets tired of having them around. 18)   Who do they look up to the most/are the closest to in their family? Undoubtedly, his father.  19)   This there anything special about their family? His family has (or had) strong ties to House Indoril and the Tribunal Temple, back when that was the sort of thing that mattered. But his father was outcasted and went so far as to drop their family name entirely out of sheer spite, and Serras has only the vaguest understanding of his family history. 20)   Do they wish they lived in a different family/household? He just wishes things were more stable.

Friends

21)   Best Friend(s)? Gavriil, who also holds the title of being His Only Friend. In Serras's eyes, Gav's this hypercompetant dude with an intimidating level of education and experience, nevermind that he's also an emotionally damaged drifter. Serras has a habit of downplaying the negative attributes of the people he admires, see. 22)   Who was their first friend? A little Argonian boy from back when he and his dad were living in Windhelm for a year or two. He'd have been 10 or so. 23)   What is their friend group like? Sparse! 24)   Do they have a love/hate relationship with any of them? Learning far more toward the former than the latter 25)   Do they consider any of their friends to be like siblings? I'm going to say no, for two reasons. One is that Serras is painfully very much an only child and has no concept of what having siblings would be like, and for two, he has a very hard time keeping things platonic when he finds someone who will put up with him for more than a few hours. 26)   Have they ever hurt a friend or lost one? He never sets out to intentionally hurt the people he loves, but it happens. And he's lost quite a few friends, for a number of reasons. 27)   Do they have a crush on any of their friends? Take a good guess. 28)   Do they share classes with good friends? I'm going to be a smart ass and say he's more of a rogue while Gavriil is clearly a mage. So no. 29)   Whom do they go to the most when they need a shoulder to cry on? His immediate gut reaction is to cry to dad, but he's conscious of that and trying to reel it in. His next reaction is to bottle it up, because that never backfires horribly. Or if it's just something small and petty, he'll complain to Gav. 30)   What would this person do without their friends in their lives? Serras Does Not Do Well on his lonesome. That's the nicest way of putting it.

School

31)   What grade are they in? If they aren’t in school, how come? Dude's never spent a single day in any sort of classroom. 32)   Do/Did they like their teachers? Was there a good one? Bad one? His one and only teacher was his father, who, best efforts aside, was not very good at being a teacher. Case in point: Serras is functionally illiterate and I doubt he'd be able to read much beyond a third grade level. 33)   Do/Did they listen to their teachers or are/where they goofing off a lot? As a kid, he had no interest in learning from books and was way more interested in working with his hands (which is how he got so good at general outdoorsman skills). Now that he knows how uneducated he is, he desperately wants to learn and be taught but is too embarrassed to figure out how to start. 34)   Are/Where they a good student grade wise? I feel like he'd be a solid B-C student. 35)   Do/Did they need extra help? All things being equal, he'd have been a pretty average student. Now, well, he has a lot of catching up to do. 36)   What is/was their school like? Slapdash and improvised. 37)   Do/Did they have bullies in school? That would imply a lot more social interaction than he actually had as a kid. For a significant part of his childhood he was very sheltered in the most literal sense of the word. Even when he did start being socialized a bit more freely, his dad would have fucking immediately shut that shit down if he thought his baby was getting made fun of. 38)   Have they ever gotten into a fight at school? He fucking absolutely would have, given the opportunity. He's too scrappy for his own good. 39)   Have they ever done something stupid/embarrassing at school? Well, he was pretty socially maladjusted for the first... what, two-thirds of his life? It's inevitable. 40)   How far do they plan to go with school? If they dropped out, do they want to go back? He absolutely does want to further his education by some means. If nothing else, he wants to learn how to read gooder.

Other

41)   Are they dating anyone? Do they want to date? Are the married? Divorced? He's in a constant state of getting crushes on anyone who's nice to him. However, his track record with relationships is uhhhh not great. That said, yes he does want to date. 42)   What is their favorite hobby? Do they keep it a secret? He loves- absolutely loves- pickpocketing and other petty crime. It's just his thing. 43)   If they could have one thing in life, what would it be? Emotional stability. 44)   Do they work? If so, what is it? If not, are they looking for one or even want one? He's never been able to hold down a stable job in his life, and he certainly doesn't know what he wants to do. He's had a few laborer-type jobs, and none of them lasted for more than a few weeks. Dude just couldn’t cut it in that kind of environment. 45)   Do they use social media? He lives out of a fucking tent. 46)   Have they ever been in the hospital? Dude gets beat up a lot, so yeah. 47)   Do they believe in the supernatural, that there is more than the eye can see? For someone who lives in a world with literal gods and actual ghosts, his beliefs are unspecified and undecided. His father stopped worshipping before he was born, and so Serras doesn't know what to do with himself, spiritually speaking. At this point, it doesn't bother him and he doesn't care. 48)   What do they do when they get angry, stressed, or upset? When upset, he fidgets, talks too much, engages in a lot of self-touch gestures, etc. When that ramps up, he shuts down and starts bottling up. When that stops working, Bad Times Ahoy. 49)   Would they consider themselves as a good person, bad person, or morally grey? He views the world in pretty black and white terms, morally speaking. He's killed before, so he considers himself to be a bad person. Though the only lives he's taken were in 100% self defence, he sees that as being as bad as regular murder, so he tells himself he would be alright with unprovoked killing. He's never done it, but he tells himself this. On the flip side, anyone he's arbitrarily deemed as Morally Good will almost always stay that way, regardless of their actual motives or actions. Like I said, he's very good at excusing the negatives of the people he likes/cares about/idolizes. 50)   Does this OC have any part of you in them? (I.e, personality traits, similar background, etc). I've based a lot of younger-me in him. The maladjusted weirdo who doesn't know who he's supposed to be, who doesn't know how to be his own person. It's a weird, awkward stage to be in, and that's how I've envisioned Serras. Drifting, alone, in a transitional period of his life between a stunted beginning and potential character growth. Will he get there? That remains to be seen. Also, some other stuff, but you know. Spoilers. Ask me this again after I post chapter 13 and I’ll get more specific.