#Terrified of since i was young. Once again i thought it was normal to mistrust and be scared of men until i was in my teens | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

rwbyremnants · 3 years

Link

Sorry for that sort of ominous down-note. It's where the story went!

And thanks to everybody who's hung in there and kept reading. I wish I still had other active members but basically it's just me still in this fandom. Pretty soon I'll have some brand new fics for you - if I get them finished and polished up sooner rather than later. Hope you're all staying safe and having a good 2021 so far!

=Chapter 31

Sleep did not come easily to Weiss that night. Already, she had been having trouble with that lately, but the impromptu inter-gang meeting robbed her of a few precious hours. Tossing and turning did even less good than usual, so many things were swirling around in her mind.

Her father was evil. So evil that he didn’t care if he burned down a building with dozens of women in it, didn’t care if he made a hapless girl commit a crime without any control of her actions. A man was dead. Didn’t he have any remorse whatsoever? The answer was “no” - and she knew why. His religious superiority complex wouldn’t let him see gangsters and thieves as human; they were beasts, demons that he had to cast out and they would deserve it when he did. The more time went on, the more sure she was that trying to reason with him was an exercise in futility.

Then there was Neo. Maybe Salem saw things as simple and black-and-white, but she somehow couldn’t bring herself to look down on either her or Emerald; they weren’t truly to blame. The man on the slab and her father, and whoever was their go-between, were the true culprits. How could anyone be so careless with human life?

Even harder to think about were people like her mother, and Pyrrha, and Ruby… innocent bystanders affected by these ugly turf wars. It was as if there were three gangs now, and one of them was completely made up of Jacques Schnee and anyone on his secret payroll. Maybe she should spend a little more time focusing on helping her non-Dragon friends; after all, they were precious to her and deserved happiness.

The next morning came far too early. The only silver lining was her mother’s smiling face, encouraging her to wake up. Maybe she was worrying too much; even though she had nightmares every night about being stabbed, everything was getting better now. And how much worse could it get than a near-death experience?

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

“So I was wondering about something,” Penny said out of nowhere at lunch that day.

“Yeah?” Ruby piped up before shoving half of her sandwich in her mouth. Weiss goggled at the sheer ability she had to devour everything in sight. Where did she put it all?

“Would you like to go to the dance with me?”

The entire table went silent. By now, that table was the Dragons table; it was looking a bit empty without Cinder or Emerald there, so Ruby, Penny, and Pyrrha were welcomed as temporary fill-ins — given that Cinder was probably the only one of them who would bother to protest. Blake and Coco were still very slightly skeptical, but also too unconcerned to bother trying to run them off.

“U-uhhm… the dance? What dance?”

“Nice try, sis,” Yang muttered out of the corner of her mouth.

“You know! Homecoming! We can paint our nails, and do our hair up, and have a great time! Doesn't that sound swell?”

Ruby looked highly uncomfortable, glancing at Weiss and Pyrrha, the girls besides her sister she felt closest to. Other than Penny, who was the source of her discomfort at that exact second.

“Go on,” Coco laughed. “Unless you have some secret fella you're hoping will ask you?”

“Nope! No fellas, I promise! But I… isn't it going to be against school rules? Two girls showing up together? People will talk! So while that, um, that really does sound swell, I don't know if it's such a good…”

Penny looked positively dejected. Her eyes swivelled down to her tray as she moved the food around with her fork. “Oh. Well, that's all right. It was just an idea.”

“Wait! Umm…” The poor girl looked around at her friends, seeking some sort of solution to this problem, but most of them were content to smirk in slight bemusement. “We could try it? Like, there's enough of us, I g-guess…”

Weiss decided to bail her out. “I, for one, will most certainly be attending with Yang. And I am pretty sure Coco and Velvet will also be going. Isn't that right?”

“Well… normally we would skip it, but sure,” Coco said easily as she cracked open her milk carton. “That way, I can show off my best girl.”

“How many other girls do you have?” When she only tilted her sunglasses down to waggle her eyebrows at the cheerleader, Weiss sighed, “I withdraw the question.”

The others were still laughing at that when their table was approached by one of the teachers. She certainly didn't seem pleased that she had to, but had a duty to perform.

“Miss Schnee.”

“Yes, Miss Goodwitch?”

“Your presence is requested in Mr. Ozpin’s office.” She scarcely shot a disapproving look toward the other girls before returning her gaze to Weiss.

“Oh. Now? I haven't finished my-”

“I'm afraid it can't wait. You may as well collect your things; you likely won't be back for the remainder of the school day.”

The feeling of dread that had begun to rise in her enjoyed a drastic increase. She glanced around at her other friends, hoping they could offer some help, but all of them except for Yang and Pyrrha were suddenly quite interested in their lunch trays.

“I'll… see you later, then,” she began in a meek voice as she stood, gathering her books.

Once they were in the hallway, Miss Goodwitch spoke up again. “Thought I recommended against you continuing to associate yourself with those… ruffians.”

“They really aren't as bad as you believe, ma’am. Honestly! And… well, I think Pyrrha and I are a good influence. As you can see, we're all getting along just f-”

“This isn't about them,” she cut her off in a clipped voice. That was simply her normal manner of speaking; Weiss didn't take it personally. “The principal will explain everything.”

Weiss had been expecting to have to wait outside his office for some time, since that seemed to be the standard procedure. Not that she knew from personal experience. However, Miss Goodwitch escorted her directly past the other students waiting on the benches and into the office itself.

“Ahhh, Miss Schnee,” the gray-haired man said immediately, a genial smile on his face. He looked a bit too young to have so much gray, but still carried himself with the poise and dignity expected from an older gentleman who was in charge of an entire school. “We've been anxious for you to arrive.”

Who the ‘we’ was turned out to be something of a surprise to the girl. “Mother?”

Willow definitely looked like she had had better days. Though her overall health had improved quite a bit over the past weeks, she was currently shaking like a leaf, clutching the straps of her taupe purse as if it were the edges of a life raft in shark-infested waters.

“Hello, Weiss. We… have an appointment this afternoon.”

“Allow me to express my profound apologies,” the principal told her, smile fading to a serious yet friendly expression. “Had we been aware of your situation at home… well, perhaps we would have encouraged you to pare down your extracurriculars. Or intervened in some way.”

Weiss held up a hand to forestall any more talk before she understood what the subject was. “Wait, wait… what's going on? Mother, you told the principal about Father?”

“I had to. You see… I'm afraid you and I will have to go and visit the courthouse today.”

“What?!”

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

The judge was a crotchety old man with a receding hairline and a permanent scowl etched into his wrinkled features. The way he looked at Weiss and her mother the minute they entered his courtroom smacked of mistrust and derision. He had clearly already made up his mind how he was going to rule before striking the gavel a single time upon his bench.

“Insufficient evidence” was the official reason handed down for the dismissal of the charges leveled against Jacques Schnee. No matter how much time they wasted bantering back and forth, pointing to Weiss's scar on her cheek or corroborating stories, the judge sat with his head propped up by one arm, bored as if by a particularly dull radio program. He expressed similar disinterest in the counterarguments of their ties to the Dragons - which had terrified Weiss at first, but didn't seem to matter to anyone other than her and her father. The proceedings droned on and on into the late afternoon, until a completely arbitrary point at which the judge announced that he would retreat into his chambers to deliberate.

“I don't know,” Willow whispered in a quiet voice as they waited. Their state-appointed lawyer, a young man with mousy brown hair who looked like he ought to still be apprenticing rather than representing clients yet, had been largely no use and had no reassurances for them now. “Maybe… we'll still win after all.”

“Do you really think so, Mother? Father seems to have that judge completely wrapped around his little finger! It's as if nothing we said made its way past his ears and into his brain! Why even bother having a trial at all if it was going to go like this?”

“To keep up appearances.”

They both whirled to see Kali approaching, clothed in a dress much more conservative than typically graced her figure. Willow rushed forward and clasped hands with her, grateful to see a friendly face. “Kali, dear!”

“I came as soon as I heard. Blake phoned when you never came back from lunch, and I did some asking around.” Then she turned to rest a hand on Weiss's shoulder. “How are you holding up? Both of you.”

Weary to her core, Weiss told her, “Been better. I don't think we stand much of a chance… but I guess we'll know soon, won't we?”

Very soon. Not more than a handful of breaths after that, the bailiff came back out and waved for the waiting parties to return for the verdict. Kali bade them luck and let them wing off toward the courtroom.

Jacques looked slightly more haggard than when last Weiss saw him, but still not quite so wrung-out as one might expect him to after a stint in the local jail. His grey hair and mustache were much the same, cheeks and chin impeccably shaved. But there was a cold emptiness in his eyes that stretched far beyond what it had been when last they talked. She found herself recoiling from the sight, unsettled by the intensity. Her mother had looked at him so rarely during the civil trial that one might almost wonder if she failed to notice his presence. The complete lack of passion with which he spoke to both the judge and his family sounded like a completely different man than she remembered helping to raise her and her two siblings.

“Alright,” the judge sighed with a boredom that somehow outstripped the levels from before. “This court has reached its verdict.”

Both Schnee women held their breath. Things didn't look good, but sometimes people could surprise you. Maybe the judge always looked like that. Maybe he was just tired. Maybe…

“On the count of spousal assault, we find the defendant, Jacques Schnee… not guilty.” Even as an exasperated noise sounded from the rear of the courtroom, where Weiss was sure Kali had seated herself, the man went on, “On the count of child abuse, the court also finds him not guilty. As to the countersuit of assault leveled at Willow Schnee, the court rules that groundless. All charges against all parties are hereby dismissed.”

An instant later, Weiss shot to her feet and screeched, “You can't do this! He was going to kill us! And now he's going to do it, anyway!”

Her father chuckled as the bailiff approached to unlock his handcuffs, and the sound was sickening and awful. “Dear daughter, will have to have a talk about that mouth of yours once we get home. Perhaps I'll send you to bed without supper.”

Even while both Weiss and her mother opened their mouths to protest, the judge banged his gavel on the bench. “Order, order! Enough! You women can’t ever accept your place, can you?” Even while Weiss was feeling her eyebrows hiking upward into her hairline, he went on, “All families fight. Every time you get a little testy, that’s no call to haul us all in here for nothing. Go home and get used to each other again. This court is adjourned.”

Disbelief flooded through her veins. He actually won. In the face of irrefutable police evidence, he won the court case and was freed…

Except there hadn’t been any evidence. The officers testified as to the state they found the man, but somehow, any and all records of Weiss and her mother’s injuries had vanished. The entire thing had been a mockery, a circus meant to appease the legal procedures but still manipulate things to her father’s advantage.

“Hello, family,” Jacques said with a wide smile as he approached the both of them. A chill ran down Weiss’s spine but she held her ground; she knew that with so many policemen around - and some of them likely in his pocket - it would be suicide to do anything else. “I’ve missed you.”

“Husband,” Willow whispered. Weiss could hear the terror in every syllable.

“You made a little mistake, didn’t you? Ah, well. We all make mistakes. Now… let’s go home, shall we?”

As they turned toward the door, Kali moved to block their exit. The fear already in Weiss’s throat increased by a thousandfold - this could only go horribly.

“Excuse me,” her father bade her in a smooth tone.

“I don’t believe we’ve met,” Kali said with a curtsy. “Kali Belladonna.”

“Charmed. And why should I care?”

“That isn’t my place to say. But you should.” She stared at him evenly. Weiss glanced at her mother to see if she would introduce them further, or to remark on the situation… but she didn’t. And Kali didn’t glance at the other women at all.

“Mmm.” He gestured toward the doors, and after a moment, she bowed her head slightly with a polite smile and let him pass. “Thank you.”

“Oh… you shouldn’t do that at all.”

By the time her father turned to look at Kali again, she was making her way into a neighboring hallway. Weiss had the strongest feeling that she had engineered that entire exchange purely to unsettle the man, but without her around to ask, she had no way of knowing.

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

The ride home was extremely tense. A few times, Jacques attempted to engage in small talk, and his wife would give one-word answers that never lent themselves to further discourse. Weiss stubbornly refused to say even that much. As far as she was concerned, this was even worse than having to pack into a hot, sweaty bus with the other cheerleaders to attend the away games.

“Now then,” he finally sighed as they pulled into the drive. “Things are going to be a bit different around here.”

“In what way?” his wife asked calmly.

“For starters, I insist I be treated with a little respect. The both of you seem to have forgotten who is the patriarch of this family - who is the breadwinner. As such, I believe that entitles me to a certain amount of deference. I expect my orders to be carried out, not argued with or refused.”

“Hmm.” That was it: just “hmm”. Weiss knew that her mother was disagreeing without openly stating as much.

Her father knew it, too. “Willow, this is not the time to be stubborn. Unless you need me to remind you of the judge’s words to us of less than an hour ago?”

“No, Jacques. I don’t.”

“Good. Glad that’s settled. Furthermore… Weiss, you will stop associating yourself with those nasty women immediately.” No response. “They are a criminal element, whether or not you wish to acknowledge that. It won’t do to have a Schnee connected to such matters.”

“Really?” Weiss piped up. “Doesn’t seem to stop you.”

“Excuse me?”

“Father, let’s not play games,” she went on in a falsely sweet voice that even turned her own stomach - not that it wasn’t turning all on its own. “You paid to have a man, pay a woman, to drug another woman, to stab me. Whom exactly is associating themselves with the criminal element?”

His already-chilled gaze dropped a few more degrees as they locked eyes in the rearview mirror. “Careful, young lady. Remember what sort of punishment you’re earning yourself.”

“Oh, you won’t be punishing me like that ever again. Ever. I may be your daughter, but I am no longer a child. And neither is your wife. Keep your meathooks to yourself!”

“I am the head of this family. If you girls can’t fall in line with the way things ought to be, the way things must be to ensure we all enjoy a respectable and prosperous future, then certain… corrections are in order, regrettable as they are.”

The both of them were still glaring at each other half a minute later when Weiss’s mother spoke up, “I’m not a girl.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’m not.” Blotchy red patches were flaring up in the cheek Weiss could see from her position in the back seat when she turned to glare daggers at the man. “I am not a child, Jacques.”

“I never said you were. But if you insist on behaving like one, you will be treated like one.”

“No, I will not. I won’t be… bent over your knee like a baby! That is beneath a w-woman of my age, and I am sorry if you find that frustrating, but… but I just can’t. Not anymore.”

He bared his teeth. “That tears it. You will be punished the moment we get inside the house. Both of you. And let’s not entertain any more ideas of you breaking vases over my head; I’ve had a word with the police department. Any further incidents such as those will be handled very differently. You would be the one behind bars, not I. So you will prostrate yourself before me and take your punishment for such insolence!”

“Ah,” she said as calmly as she could. “Then in that case, I won’t be going inside the house.”

Again, he was forced to ask, “Excuse me?”

“Weiss, we’re leaving. Come along.”

“Of course, Mother,” she said sweetly. She was tempted to repeat a rude gesture she had once seen in her father’s general direction, but decided that a poisonous smile worked just as well.

They both could easily guess that he wouldn’t let it go so easily. The women had scarcely reached the end of the drive when he boiled out of the car and stomped toward them, incensed. “You get back here this instant! I will not be ignored, and you will not destroy this family over some… some petty squabble!”

“Jacques… you’ve already destroyed this family.”

“Get back in that house now, Willow, and all will be forgiven,” he attempted, changing tactics. His anger still pulsed inside every word, but he was attempting to mask it with ice. “Your last chance for amnesty. The judge instructed us to start fresh, and we’d best attempt it now.”

“I don’t believe you. And,” she added when he opened his mouth to speak once more, “I have a promise to uphold. A promise I made myself.”

“Oh? And what promise might that be?”

Her arm draped over Weiss’s shoulder, drawing her close to her side. “That I would never fail to protect my daughter from you again. You do not see women as people. Whitley may choose for himself if he wishes to stay with you, or come with us; we’ll ring him at the school. But for now, I refuse to step foot inside the same house as you. I… may have been blind and deaf and dumb before, but that was cowardice, and my parenting was… I was inadequate. You took advantage of that, and kept me under your thumb. No more.”

“What?” He laughed, arms spread wide as he tried to work his way through his wife’s words one at a time. “I’m baffled. You’re talking utter nonsense. What advantage have I taken? Oh, perhaps what you mean is that I did my best not to allow your weakness to ruin my attempts at grooming our daughter to be a responsible citizen! That I have tried my best, against your combined efforts and inaction, to keep her from turning into a delinquent!”

“Think what you will. But any man who arranges to burn down a building, whether or not his own daughter is there… no. We won’t be living under the same roof for a moment - a second longer. Goodbye, Jacques.”

As they walked away, he shouted at their backs, “HAH! Where will you go, then? Nowhere! Imagine, my pampered little princesses living on the streets, hand-to-mouth! Absurd! You’ll be back, and then you’ll suffer the consequences of your… your betrayal! This house belongs to be, it's in my name, and you are at my mercy! Whether you like it or not!”

“Don’t look back,” her mother whispered in a trembling voice, trying to stay steady in her high-heeled pumps. “Keep walking.”

“Where are we going?” Weiss asked softly.

“To see if your friend is home. If she is, she can take us somewhere safe.”

A little flutter of fear welled up in her stomach. “What if Pyrrha’s still at practice?”

“Then… we’ll keep walking," she answered in a voice so close to tears that Weiss clutched her hand even tighter. "I don’t care where we end up, but it won’t be in his house. Never again.”

#princess and the dragons #1950s au #freezerburn fanfic #rwby fanfiction #rwbyremnants

1 note · View note

sockparade · 4 years

Text

tips for surviving the pandemic: things i learned from my immigrant parents

It’s hard to believe that it’s only been a little over a week since the WHO announced that the coronavirus (COVID-19) was officially a pandemic. This has been a long, challenging week for a lot of people and it is nothing short of terrifying to read reports of what is happening in Asia and Europe as many predict that we’ll likely endure a similar fate here in the United States. In the midst of all of this chaos and uncertainty, I’ve been reminded of so many lessons that my Taiwanese immigrant parents taught me. I’m sharing them here so that others might also benefit. Thanks Ma. Thanks Daddy.

你昨天已經出去了.

“You already went out yesterday.“

1. Learn how to stay home. Our family is eight days into self-isolating at home and Tony asked me this morning if I had cabin fever. And strangely, the answer is no. I’m not. Not to downplay the difficulty of this moment but my experience with this “shelter-in-place” ordinance reminds of pretty much all my summers between kindergarten and 8th grade. Both of my parents worked full-time so summer was just three blissful months of nothing. No structure, no plans, no camps, no playdates, and no responsibilities. My parents never made me feel like I was missing a thing by staying home and I don’t remember ever feeling bored. There were always library books to read, stories to write, and thoughts to journal. Hours were spent playing school with my big sister (now a first grade teacher!), making up random games like who can avoid touching the carpet longest, learning Kim Zmeskal’s latest gymnastics floor routine, writing lyrics to Kenny G saxophone solos, and rehearsing for our variety show that we would perform to our tired parents at the end of the day. And that’s not even including the hours we spent watching The Price is Right, CHIPS, Knight Rider, and Airwolf (yep, no cable).

As a teenager I carefully plotted all my hangouts with friends so that I didn’t have too many consecutive days when I was out of the house. Whenever I asked my parents if I could hang out with friends, they would always say, “But you already went out yesterday. What’s wrong with staying home? Why do you always have to go out?” It was as if having too much fun two days in a row was off limits. If there was a big party on Friday, I would purposely make sure I stayed home Wednesday and Thursday just to increase the chances of being able to go out on Friday. I know a lot of people talk about how awful their high school years were but I was one of those lucky kids who had a really great group of friends that made me feel seen, loved, and cared for. The downside was that I couldn’t get enough of it. I was always thinking about the next hangout, the next event, the next thing. It took me all the way until my late twenties to fully appreciate the fine art of staying home and to finish my unexpected transformation into the expert homebody that I am today.

I’m reminded of that old quote by Blaise Pascal, “All of humanity's problems stem from man's inability to sit quietly in a room alone."

It’s great to be out and about, but it’s also really important to learn how to stay home.

______________________________________________

晚上要吃什麼��清冰箱.

“What are we eating for dinner?” “Cleaning the fridge.”

2. Be creative with what you have. I love food. Not in a foodie sense, but I get a lot of pleasure out of eating. I’m not a food snob by any stretch of the imagination. I thoroughly enjoy a Stouffer’s frozen lasagna or a peanut butter and jelly sandwich as much as I enjoy a fancy, inventive, Michelin-starred meal at Commis. What’s hard for me is when food is eaten as sustenance rather than with delight. But my parents taught me that you can always take pride in preparing a meal. No matter your ingredients.

My mom is an excellent cook. I know a lot of people think their mom is a good cook but my mom is legitimately skilled in the kitchen. There were some nights when I’d ask what was for dinner and my mom would just reply, “Cleaning the fridge.”

Now for some, this might sound terrifying. But my mom could honestly make something out of nothing. I still crave my dad’s simple egg and garlic fried rice. My parents raised me to be able to make an tasty meal just from rummaging in the pantry and fridge for random leftover things. There were plenty of summers where lunches and snacks were an individual culinary adventure for each of us kids. I still remember the day I witnessed my baby sister add a Kraft single on top of her onion ramen noodles. She saw my confusion, shrugged and said, “You should try it, it’s good.”

With all the hoarding folks have been doing during this pandemic, I’ve found myself feeling quite anxious. Trying to calculate if we have enough food. Estimating how many more meals we can eat at home before we need to make another grocery run. As someone who struggles with a scarcity mentality it has been hard not to panic. But then I keep reminding myself that I know how to make good food using just whatever’s available.

You know, I was pretty disappointed with Mary H.K. Choi’s second novel, Permanent Record, given how much I enjoyed her debut novel, Emergency Contact. But I was absolutely thrilled with the shine she gave to what her protagonist calls “Hot Snacks”.

Here’s an excerpt from Permanent Record that is a beautiful ode to creative food mashups and immigrant kids everywhere:

“I edit and post a Shin Ramyun Black video set to music. My favorite instant noodles with three flavor packets and so much garlic. It’s a classic Korean HotSnack, especially when you throw in cut-up hot dogs, frozen dumplings, extra kimchi - and this is where the artistry comes in- eggs, cheese, corn from a can, and a drizzle of sesame oil on top. And furikake if you’re feeling wealthy. The next night I put up a bacon, egg, and cheese not in a bagel but in a glazed honey bun. Laced with sriracha and pan fried on the outside. Then it’s chilaquiles with Spicy Sweet Chili Doritos and chorizo. Jamaican beef patty casserole disrespected with a smothering of Japanese curry and broiled. With Crystal Hot Sauce over the top and pickled banana peppers. I’m trolling with that one but the controversy is berserk. When I run out of old videos, I make saag paneer naanchos with Trader Joe’s frozen Indian food, and it’s a hit. Especially when I add yogurt and a thick layer of crushed-up Takis on top.”

______________________________________________

看連續劇.

“Watch soap operas.”

3. Find a way to escape. I’m generally pro technology but I’ll admit I’m a little bummed at the way iPhones and iPads have made TV viewing such an individual activity. I like how Disney+ has gotten some families back to watching TV together again. Although I will say, we really coddle our kids these days. I grew up in a time when movie ratings only applied in the theaters and we watched movies with our families like Alien, The Fly, and Gremlins. We were scared out of our minds and sometimes could only watch through the cracks between our fingers covering our eyes because it was so scary. Okay, this also might be why I can’t watch horror movies as an adult.

From a young age, my parents taught me that watching other people’s drama unfold on screen is one of the best way to escape your own drama. Some people say binge watching became a thing when the TV networks started releasing shows on DVD. Others give credit to Netflix releasing their original content a whole season at a time. But truth be told, I first learned how to binge watch from my parents.

We would rent 30-40 VHS cassette tapes from that random spot in Bellaire Chinatown. Can you picture it? You needed multiple plastic bags to transport that many VHS tapes.

Do you remember the one about the dying mother who needed to find homes for each of her 7 children? I don’t think it’s normal for a 10 year old to cry so much but you better believe it’s made me learn the true value of a soap opera escape hatch.

Are you in a pandemic? Now’s the perfect time to pick up that YA novel, binge that reality show, start that kdrama, or rewatch all six seasons of The Sopranos again.

______________________________________________

下個禮拜會下雨.

“It’s going to rain next week.”

4. Be informed about what’s ahead. If you ask either of my parents about the weather at any given time they can reliably tell you the daily percent chance of precipitation and humidity for at least seven days out. They’ve always been this way. They would inform me of the weather at various points throughout the week. They planned their yard work and car washes around the weather forecast. There’s something about the way the weather forecast is available to everyone. And it feels like it’s just a matter of making the small extra effort to access it and gain a slight advantage. I feel like so much of the immigrant mentality is to be diligent in making the right choices to not screw yourself over and seizing opportunities whenever you can. And it wasn’t just weather but this is such an obvious example of it.

I remember my dad saying to me once, "Can you imagine if someone decided to read every book in their local library? If they just went shelf by shelf and systematically read all the books? You could do it, you know. It’s free, it doesn’t cost any money to check out a book from the library. But no one really does it.”

I think immigrant parents get a bad reputation for forwarding chain letters and health/science hoaxes they get on email, WeChat and Line. And in a pandemic, yes, they are definitely susceptible to misinformation, rumors and flat out untruths. But the thought behind it seems right.

The mistrust of government leadership is actually quite relevant right now in this pandemic. Many immigrants left countries with governments that were overtly corrupt, oppressive, and used propaganda to influence its citizens. And while many Americans still take pride in living in a country that verbally champions freedom and democracy, the truth is that our government has already failed us and lied to us in many ways. During this pandemic, we cannot wait on leaders to tell us what to do. We must be diligent in reading for ourselves, seeking experts, using our critical thinking skills, and making preparations accordingly.

______________________________________________

會不會冷?

“Are you cold?”

5. Check in with yourself. Check in with others. I have so many memories of my parents walking through the living room and asking me and my sisters if we were cold. It felt like they couldn’t walk past the thermostat without asking us if they needed to raise it or lower it. As if they couldn’t hear us sneeze and wonder if they needed to turn off the ceiling fan. They couldn’t see us sitting in a dim room without turning on a light for us. There are so many times I fell asleep reading on the couch and woke up with a blanket over me. Or sometimes I was fully awake doing something random, like playing Egyptian Rat Screw with my sisters (a cardgame for the uninitiated), and my mom would walk by and wordlessly drop a warm, heavy blanket over my shoulders. That’s care, y’all. Consistent, immediate action, and often without words.

The tip here is to pay attention to your discomfort during a pandemic. There’s this immigrant stereotype of stoicism and that’s true to some degree but maybe the resilience is made possible not because of unnatural toughness but largely because immigrant parents can also be so incredibly perceptive and tender in some very tangible ways.

When everything is chaotic around you and you’re busy multitasking these next few months, don’t ignore your needs. Notice how you’re feeling. Physically and emotionally. Where are you carrying your stress and tension in your body? You don’t have to tough it out. Oh and remember to check in with your people on how they’re feeling. Is there a light switch you can turn on for someone?

______________________________________________

笑死人.

“Laugh to death.”

6. Laugh to survive. Look, we didn’t have the perfect family or anything like that. We’ve definitely had our share of difficult times, financial stress, health issues, arguments, and pain. But my parents also really knew how to laugh and taught us to laugh with abandon. Like, bent over, tears running out of your eyes, can’t breathe kind of laughing. Our dinner table was kind of like a writer’s room. It was difficult to tell a mediocre story. You had better come prepared with a punchline or a point. It was a tough crowd, every night. On many occasions I stopped myself halfway through a story upon the self-realization that there was no real way to land the plane. Polite laughs were nowhere to be found, except perhaps a charitable smile from my baby sister. But it didn’t stop us from trying. I think my sisters and I are all probably better storytellers for it and we definitely have learned to try to bring humor into difficult times.

I know that this pandemic is so incredibly dark and depressing that it can sometimes feel disrespectful, inappropriate, or childish to laugh at anything. But my parents taught me that you laugh to survive. Nothing is ever so dark that you can’t find a reason to laugh. And sometimes you really need to find something to laugh about.

I’ve been taking long breaks each day from major media news outlets but I have been finding such joy and laughter from the meme creators on IG and the comedic geniuses on Twitter. In Taiwanese when something’s really funny, people will say a phrase that is imperfectly translated as laugh to death. Like you killed a person it was so funny. Now’s the time to find that content or those people who will get you to laugh to death.

______________________________________________

我要去挪車.

“I’m going to go re-park the cars.”

7. Go to bed with a plan for the next morning. I grew up in a suburb of Houston, Texas where one property developer built the entire neighborhood and used the same eight or nine floor plans for all the houses but changed up the brick and trim color to keep things interesting. Most homes have a long driveway that connects a garage set near the backdoor of a home to the street. By the time I was driving, we had four cars in total -- two in the garage and two on the driveway. At the end of the day when everyone was home for the night and my dad was getting ready to go to bed, he’d announce, “I’m going to go re-park the cars.” Then we’d all kind of stop what we were doing and rearrange the order of the cars to match our morning departure schedules. This meant figuring out who was leaving when in the morning and sometimes also prompted brief check-in conversations about any changes in our usual routine.

In a pandemic it can sometimes feel like there are a million different things to attend to and large conceptual concerns that demand your attention. But there’s something calming and centering about spending a few minutes each night thinking through specifically what needs to happen just tomorrow. Not the day after or next week. Get super tactical and specific about what tomorrow morning looks like. Check-in with your partner about any aberrations to your schedule (e.g. I have a super important conference call at 7am tomorrow) to minimize any unnecessary surprises. There’s something magical about setting up your morning that helps you rest just a little easier at night.

______________________________________________

星期三我們有禱告會.

“On Wednesdays we have prayer meeting.”

8. Make time for your spirituality. Growing up my parents both had physically demanding jobs. My mom was a seamstress for many years, providing alterations at my aunt and uncle’s dry cleaners. She later worked in an elementary school cafeteria and then eventually became a classroom aide for special needs students. My dad worked at that same dry cleaners for years until he got a job at the post office. He then became a letter carrier, delivering mail on foot. The summer months were especially grueling, carrying a heavy sack of mail in 100 degree, humid weather, and walking until sweat soaked his shirts and blisters formed on his feet. They had every excuse to skip weeknight events. But unless they were sick in bed, I can’t remember a time when they missed their weekly prayer meeting with their friends from church.

Pandemics have an unsettling way of forcing us to confront our mortality and can trigger a bunch of unresolved shit that has been bubbling underneath the surface. We’ve lost some of our usual coping mechanisms and it can be super hard to quiet the anxieties, fears, and other demons that we usually try to keep under control. This isn’t a lecture about a particular faith or belief system. It’s just a reminder to prioritize your existential questions, your interior life, and your connection to things much bigger than yourself -- whether that’s a community, a yoga practice, a faith group, a tradition, or something else.

I have a fledgling meditation practice that I’ve been trying to strengthen since last year. When I say fledgling I mean that sometimes I bail before the ten minutes is up and check my phone. Even though I’m not very good at it yet, I can really tell the difference on the days that I make time for it. Our church started hosting its weekly Sunday service online and that’s challenging for me because a church service feels like it’s designed to be so much about the physical rhythm of going to a place, seeing faces of people I love, hearing their voices co-mingling with mine in song and in prayer, and tasting the bread and wine in my mouth. The online service was short, and just for viewing through a zoom conference call, but there was still something meaningful about setting aside that time Sunday morning, asking our wiggly kids to be present, and saying the liturgy out loud knowing that in homes all across the country, other people are doing the same.

If things are really going to get as bad as some are predicting, we’ll need the spiritual strength to make it to the other side. Those habits are hard to form overnight. My parents taught me that you really have to make the time for your spirituality non-negotiable, so that you won’t abandon it when it’s inconvenient or when you are too tired.

______________________________________________

沒辦法.

“What choice do we have?”

9. Rise to the occasion. Whenever my parents are telling old war stories about things they had to do to get to where they are today, inevitably one of us will say, “Man that’s crazy, how did you manage to do it?” And instead of pointing to some super personality trait of theirs or some complex self-help principle, they always say, “We had no choice.” It’s not said in a defeated way, but in a posture of accepting that life can be cruel, unfair, and capricious. And that it’s not helpful to dwell too long on the why’s and how’s. My parents taught me that you can’t stay in despair mode. You eventually have to push yourself into problem solving mode and you do whatever it takes to move forward.

This coronavirus is so unlike anything we’ve ever experienced in our lifetime. It is so unprecedented for me that my brain is having a hard time processing the reality of what’s happening right now and the rest of my lived experience. I spent the first few days of this week just being overwhelmed, anxious, angry, and irritable. At this point though, I’m in go mode. I’m doing what needs to be done for our family and taking care of business. What choice do we have? I can hear my parents saying it. One day, if we’re lucky, we’ll say it to our kids too.

#coronavirus #immigrants #immigrant parents #survival tips #advice #covid-19 #pandemic #childhood #lifelessons

15 notes · View notes

sserpente · 5 years

Text

Mischief and Ice (Chapter 8)

Synopsis: Thanos’ cruel attempt to wipe out half of the universe failed and the titan is dead; but his actions came with grave consequences. Tears and cracks in the universe, all across space and time, formed wormholes within the nine realms and beyond, giving some old enemies a vicious opportunity to strike again. When the Jötuns invade Earth and the Avengers assemble to defend the planet once again, it is the help of none other than the former war criminal Loki they are reliant upon to drive the icy warriors back into their own realm. But then the God of Mischief encounters a young woman abandoned in the cold—your body mangled and altered with Jötun blood, a lab rat to the Frost Giants. He decides to take you with him and nurse you back to health, unable to comprehend the confusing affection he begins to harbour for you.

Find all chapters on my masterlist!

“Is it… normal I am still so… tired? I feel so worn out, like I haven’t slept in days.”

“Your body is still fighting the Jötun blood, it is draining your energy. Yes. It is normal.” Loki responded matter-of-factly, gently stroking your hair in the process. You had allowed Loki to lift you up and dry you off before carrying you back to your room.

It felt strange. Not once since you had arrived at the compound had you feared Loki’s touch. Loki’s intimate touch. You pondered, concerned, if he had done this before. If he had come this close to a woman’s most intimate parts without initiating sex… if it affected him. But then again… the first time he had undressed you, you had not failed to notice the raw lust in his blue eyes. Loki was a man, after all. He was a Frost Giant and he was in charge. Despite his gentleness, you felt devoted, submissive to him, whether it came from the cruel treatment you had endured with the Jötuns or not.

Either way, you knew it would take you a while longer to warm up to him and speak your mind freely. Now that you knew you were recovering, you suddenly longed to be his equal, longed to be desirable to him. As of now, he was your king. The more time you spent with your saviour though, the more you cared for him… the more you wished for him to be so much more.

Loki sighed when your eyes fell shut again and you were about to drift off to a peaceful sleep. What was he thinking? Touching you like this, again. Part of him, so knew, was bathing in your vulnerability, your helplessness. The other more decent part, the part none other than Frigga had raised, urged his cheeks to turn bright red. What was wrong with him? He was a grown man. In the past, he had had sex more than his mother could have anticipated and he would be safe to claim he was even more experienced than his brother. His sexual needs had always had this… darker tone to them.

Loki wanted submission, he wanted devotion and through that, he wanted unconditional love and trust. All that… he had now found in this terrified and half-frozen girl he had rescued from his own race. Who was he kidding? Himself? For too long he had struggled to understand himself, to comprehend that never dying pain within his tormented heart, wondering what it was he had done wrong to earn himself suspicion, rejection and mistrust—before he came to Earth under Thanos’ spine-crawling threats.

But he knew he wanted you. There. He had thought it, his mind slowly wrapping his head around it. Were you the one, perhaps? He did not know. But he was willing to try, willing to accept fate might have given him a chance for someone to desire him despite his flaws and despite his past. This was a chance, so he finally realised. Would you say yes to a walk in the garden once you had recovered, he wondered? He had often taken the young women he had courted to the palace gardens and impressed them with his vast knowledge of rare flowers and their spiritual and healing capabilities—all of which old books and Frigga had taught him.

Loki flinched for your sake when someone burst through the door. Muscles flexing and hammer in hand, Thor was panting in the threshold. Your eyes flew open, alarmed and ready to hide from any pain about to be inflicted on you. He sighed quietly. It would take you quite a while longer to adjust to the world again. Besides, he would never allow anyone to ever lay a hand on you again.

“Loki, we need you to come downstairs right now.” Thor began slowly—and whenever the God of Thunder spoke slowly, he was panicking. This much Loki knew.

Your eyes widened. Something was amiss. Uncertainly, you gazed up at Loki, for the first time initiating body contact yourself and reaching for his forearm to squeeze it gently.

“My king…” Thor raised his eyebrows but said nothing at first.

“Loki, now!” He thundered then, panicking slightly and making his opposite frown. Reluctantly, he left your side and followed his adopted brother out of the room, the tips of his fingers already tingling with seidr which he was ready to fling at whatever endangered him… or you.

“Loki… why does she still call you her king?” Thor roared reproachfully as they practically clattered down the stairs. The God of Mischief rolled his eyes.

“For once, I am innocent. I have told you what she was taught in the Jötuns’ grip. (Y/N) is afraid of addressing me differently, to not disrespect me to earn her violence or punishment.”

“And you have told her she has nothing to fear and may call you Loki?” No. He had not. But not because Thor’s words were untrue. It was because he enjoyed how you practically lay your life in his hands.

He sighed. “What is the matter, Thor?”

“FRIDAY gave the alarm. There is an intruder. Loki. It’s a Jötun.”

For just a split second, Loki froze, stopping dead in his tracks. In his mind, he formed arguments already, ways to defend himself. It was an old habit, really. He was used to taking the blame. He might as well fight back now—whatever they were going to throw at him.

“Send someone upstairs and make sure (Y/N) does not get hurt.” He highly doubted that they had come back to get rid of their mistake and finish what they had started. Still, he was not going to risk it. “Do it, Thor.”

With that, he pushed past him and hurried outside. The Avengers all stood in a half circle, weapons drawn and on high alert, ready to fight, their scrutinising glances fixed on the blue creature in front of them.

The Frost Giant remained silent, though his eyebrows did rise slightly when he spotted Loki approaching the group.

“What do you want?” He asked without further ado, ready to replace himself with an illusion in case of an attack.

“I came to warn you, Laufeyson.”

Loki frowned. He could feel the Avengers’ perusing glare on him, curious and suspicious about his next move. None of them opened their mouths yet to intervene.

Loki lifted his chin proudly, arrogance dripping from his voice when he spoke again. “What have we to fear?”

“My leaders are planning an attack. Dozens of us, all coming for you, Avengers.”

“Without the casket, you will not stand a chance.” Thor roared, having just appeared behind Loki again. He gave Loki a brief look. “Clint stayed with the girl. She will be safe.”

The Frost Giant chuckled coldly when he nodded. “We have grown as much as you have, Odinson.”

Perhaps, Loki thought. Only the Jötuns had done exactly what the God of Mischief had predicted—what he had tricked them into. Their pride had been their death sentence before, if anything to not appear like cowards.

The Avengers had taken the war to where they wanted for it to take place. Here, they had an advantage. In a warm area, more than only dozens would be needed to pose a threat to the superheroes. At least, that’s what he hoped.

Loki sighed once more. He was beginning to realise the Jötun in front of him was indeed no threat, even if the Avengers did not believe so as of yet.

“Why would you help us?” Natasha added. She was ready to strike. In fact, she was longing to strike. “He could be the distraction.”

“Not all of us think invading Midgard is a wise idea. We failed once, centuries ago. Odin might have perished and Asgard might have been destroyed but our species is weakened. Even if we succeed in killing any oncoming resistance, we could never resettle our entire race to Midgard. My leaders fail to see that… which is why I am here.”

“I say we smash him.” Hulk said.

This time, the Jötun scoffed. “I did not come here to fight!”

“Then how do your people know of us?” Tony shouted.

“Loki Laufeyson told them.”

The God of Mischief bared his teeth. Of course this would be his fault now. They should rather thank him. Many enemies, him included, had underestimated the Avengers’ power before. It would be over soon if they started an attempt to wipe them out for good and claim Midgard as their new home.

“He’s telling the truth,” A quiet voice suddenly interrupted. Several heads turned to face you. You were leaning against a pillar, your nails digging into the white marble. “I… I know him. He was… one of the few warriors who never lay a hand on me. He brought me a blanket, and any edible food he could find when the others didn’t pay any attention.” Your voice had become louder, clearer. You were indeed recovering.

When Clint had appeared in your room and told you about the dicey situation downstairs, you had jumped up so fast your vision had turned black for a moment, wanting to witness the terrors unfolding. It would be ridiculous to think that in your current condition, you could help Loki if need be and yet…

“You lived.” The Frost Giant stated. “I am pleased to see that.”

Loki took a threatening step forward. Don’t you dare come near her. The danger radiated off of him like singeing heat.

“You said they would attack. When? How?” Tony asked. His voice sounded strange, you figured, when he wore his iron suit.

“Soon… they are preparing themselves. Your metal armour will be no match for our ice.”

“Let that be my concern.”

The Frost Giant scoffed in response. Then, he disappeared, an ice cold cloud of tiny little ice crystals surrounding the spot on which he had been standing on mere seconds ago. They all took a moment to realise what this meant.

“Great. Reindeer Games did it again. How exactly are we gonna fight an army of icicles, Loki?!”

“You ought to thank me. You heard him yourself. Their species…”—he put special emphasis on their—“…is weakened. Countless of their warriors failed to even make it through the wormhole without perishing in the process. They cannot afford attacking more than once. They will put all of their strength in one onslaught only.”

“And then what? I don’t think they’ll say ‘oopsy daisy’ and go back to wherever the hell they came from.” Tony intervened.

He had a point. While it would be effective to let them attack at once, they would soon gather in Jötunheim to start another attempt. So he nodded.

“Is there a way to destroy the wormhole? We cannot destroy an entire race.” Thor said. Loki rolled his eyes. As if the Thunderer had not tried that before himself.

“A way to seal it,” Tony added. “What about Strange, could he do it?”

Loki frowned. He would be insulted if he didn’t know better. Doctor Strange, that mortal amateur wizard? On the other hand… if Strange did take on the task, he would have one problem less to worry about—and he could instead focus his energy on you. Finally, his gaze met yours.

“You should be in bed,” he said reproachfully.

“Sorry. She’s faster than she looks.” Clint added when Loki shot him a warning glance.

“Oh, I don’t doubt that.”

“I’m so sorry… I just thought… argh.” It felt like your words got stuck in your throat when a terrible hot flush suddenly washed over your body. Your blood was boiling—you could practically feel it. With a start, cramps rippled through you, your knees no longer supporting you. Loki caught you so fast Clint barely managed to blink.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you did your best to control your breathing. You were panting as if you had run a marathon, sweating like you had been wandering about in the desert. Your clothes were soaked.

Loki’s cool touch on your upper arm and neck was comfortable, soothing. His body temperature calming your singeing veins and skin. You never noticed how the Avengers rushed to action once the God of Mischief had scooped you up into his arms, ready to do the hero-thing and help. Loki ushered them away quickly. Your condition was bad as is.

“(Y/N)… look at me, little dove.”

Whimpering, you did as you were told, pressing yourself closer to his cool body. Loki gasped when your eyes locked with his. He pressed his lips together to a thin line when he carried you back upstairs and into your bed so fast you felt a little dizzy. He barked orders to the doctors who had just arrived out of breath to come to your aid, alerted by FRIDAY. Their voices were too dull to understand what he was saying, only a few minutes later, however, you suddenly felt the wet coolness of moist towels on your arms, chest and legs to regulate your body temperature. Moments later, you drifted into unconsciousness.

He had been wrong. He had hoped to have cured you. Hoped to have overcome the atrocity the Jötuns had contaminated your body with. You had complained about being warm at night but never had he suspected… your eyes had been blood red when you looked up at him, so innocently and afraid. Not afraid of him but afraid of what was happening to you.

There was only one logical explanation. Your human body had fought the Jötun blood—it had, with his help, prevented you from freezing to death—but only to some extent. Instead, your own blood had connected with it… it had made you part-Frost Giant.

Loki hated to admit that he did not know what that meant. He was a god, his anatomy way beyond the capabilities of yours. Would you survive it? How would you live on? There must have been a way for you to adjust to the heat in your environment… besides, once you were back in Iceland… Loki sighed. He was not ready to let you leave just yet. In fact, he was not ready to let you leave him ever.

He stayed by your side for a while longer, making sure you were as comfortable as possible. When the sun disappeared behind the horizon and the room slowly but inevitably grew darker and darker, he finally stood and made his way to Stark’s library.

The billionaire, despite his indifference about books, did own a remarkable amount. Surely one of them could help him… because if there was anything he could do to make your suffering which tore his own heart apart, easier, he would ensure not to let an opportunity slip through his grasp.

Loki had not quite wrapped his head around it yet. You were part Jötun—you were like him. Now you did not turn blue as of yet but he wondered, if your skin came into contact with ice… and it was in that moment he realised he had developed serious feelings for you—feelings that went beyond sexual lust, like he had assumed before. It felt strange to admit that even to himself but what he saw now wasn’t just the possibility of passionate love, appreciation and deep respect—effects of a hot fling… it was more of a chance now than it was ever before.

He would not reject you. He would not lead you to believe all Frost Giants were monsters. You had come to accept him despite his Jötun heritage—but that might partially be because of his fairly normal appearance and your never-dying fear as a consequence of your abduction. You had not seen him in his true form as of yet. He dreaded your reaction.

The Jötuns had made sure to prove themselves the crude villains. It was on him to convince you otherwise—that there was a way to live with yourself in spite of the Jötun blood running through your veins.

“Brother?”

Loki flinched when he heard Thor’s voice thundering through the library. He had been so lost in thought he hadn’t even heard a presence approaching. He really was losing his touch with all his sorrows about the woman he l… about the woman he had begun to care about.

Shutting the book he was holding with a loud thump, he turned around. Thor was wearing those casual Midgardian clothes again, his hammer nowhere in sight.

“Can we speak?”

Loki sighed and put it back on the shelf. It was most unhelpful. He might as well play along and speak. It was not often Thor switched to Old Norse for it. “We already are,” he said, speaking the dead language himself now.

“Good. What happened to (Y/N) today?” He began outright. “Is she… dying?”

“No,” His voice was quiet when he answered. “It appears that her body did not reject the Jötun blood the way I expected it to.”

Thor frowned. “What do you mean?” Loki waited for a moment before he replied.

“It means the blood has turned her half-Jötun.”

“Will she… survive that?”

“I believe so. But it will take me a while to understand her new anatomy. Those hot flushes can mean no good.”

Thor nodded. Then, with a start, a cheeky smile grew on his face.

“You care about her. It is obvious, brother. And it’s why I came to see you. You are concerned about (Y/N)’s well-being, are you not? I have never seen you like this.”

Loki glared at him.

“There is no shame in that, Loki.”

“I don’t feel ashamed.” He snapped. Truth was he did not know how to deal with his feelings. Nobody in the nine realms, after all, had ever laid their life into his hands like you had.

“Admit it then.”

“I do. For Valhalla’s sake, Thor, yes, I care about her. Is that what you want to hear?”

Your heart jumped. He… did he reciprocate your feelings? When you had woken up, with now dry towels on your limbs, Loki was gone. It felt like his presence was missing, like you could not function without him.

Your legs were still a little shaky from your stroke or whatever it had been that made Loki look at you so full of sorrow and pain—but you were strong enough to leave your room to find him. In the compound, it was dark already. You presumed most of the Avengers had gone to sleep already, for the sun was long gone.

Soon, you reached a huge metal double door, opened just a smidge through which a small beam of light illuminated the floor to your feet. You were about to open it when you heard two familiar voices speaking in a foreign language which seemed not so foreign at all. Thor and Loki, were they speaking… Old Norse?

To claim you understood their every word would have been a lie. Being a native Icelandic speaker, however, the bits you did pick up and comprehended made your heart beat faster than it had when your hot flush had taken control of your body.

Biting your lower lip, you pressed your ear against the metal door. That’s when you heard it. You were no mere toy. You were no nameless and faceless subject, not to him, not to your king. Loki genuinely cared about you.

“What are you doing here?” Your eyes widened in the dark. How could she even see you? You swallowed when you turned on your heel. Natasha had crossed her arms, an eyebrow raised.

“I… I heard Loki’s voice, I…”

“He—and I can’t believe I’m saying this—specifically gave us the order for you to stay in bed. You were awfully pale when you broke down outside today. You really should go back to bed.”

She did not tell you a moment too soon. The talking in the library stopped, replaced by loud and determined footsteps. The door opened, the sudden bright light making you squint—and then you saw Loki and Thor standing right before you.

You feared he would scold you now for leaving your bed again—but instead, and much to Natasha’s surprise, he gently touched your forehead and looked you straight in the eye.

“How are you feeling?”

“O-okay… but way too warm. It… burns.”

Loki pursed his lips and sighed. “Come on. Back to bed.” He took your arm, dragging you with him firmly but tenderly. Apologetically, you gave Thor and Natasha a weak smile before you disappeared around the corner.

Loki knew you were tired. As soon as he had closed the door to your room behind you two, he pulled you into his arms, hugging you so intimately you gasped for air.

“Let me get you some fresh towels.”

“That’s not enough, it grows warm too fast… please… can you just keep holding me?”

For a moment, he remained still. He knew he was cool to the touch, especially for you. His hand slid down the small of your back. He had changed your clothes before he left. With dismay he found you had soaked the fresh shirt with sweat as well. You were right. The towels would not do—and as of yet, he was unsure how much agony you were being put through with the heat around you, usually fully bearable to humans. But perhaps… perhaps there was one other way. He swallowed bravely. He… might ruin everything.

“Lie down.” He commanded quietly, pushing you away from his chest reluctantly.

“Will you stay with me, my king?”

“Loki,” he said, his soft gaze meeting yours. “Yes, I will.”

You nodded, if anything in obedience. Loki. You did like his name. As fast as your mangled limbs allowed it, you crawled back in bed and allowed the God of Mischief to join you. You did not object when he removed your wet shirt and tossed it out of bed, leaving your naked breasts on display for him in the pale moonlight—nor could you avert your eyes when he removed his own shirt to reveal a well-defined and rather pale chest.

He sighed, a barely visible smile playing on his thin lips… then he pulled you back into his arms, pressing you against him. It took your nipples only a few second to harden and react to his touch, your body enjoying the intimate skin on skin contact. You gasped when he grew colder and colder, his breathing growing heavier.

He was blue. Blue, with blood red eyes resembling yours when you had looked in the mirror in the bathroom. You could feel the ridges on his skin, complicated patterns all over his chest which you longed to trace with your fingertips. You had always thought all Frost Giants were atrocious, repulsive. But Loki… Loki was…

“You are beautiful…” You whispered, inching even closer to him. Snuggling up to his chest and burying your face in his neck, you wrapped your legs around his and closed your eyes, enjoying the coldness of his skin. Unlike only a short while ago, when you had detested the cold and the ice, you now welcomed it with open arms.

A/N: If you enjoyed this chapter, I would appreciate so much if you supported me on Kofi! kofi.com/sserpente ♥

163 notes · View notes

jessicanaaa-blog · 5 years

Text

Movie Analysis Paper: Short Term 12

Movie Analysis Paper: Short Term 12 Jessica Cervantes

Psych 160T/Online California State University, Fresno

Running Head: Short Term 12 1

Running Head: Short Term 12 2

The film Short Term 12 was written to provide delicate and truthful understatement to those that may not understand what these children went through. This film demonstrates a lot of sympathy for anyone that has gone through something traumatic in their lives. This film displayed troubled children who have mental illness and are trying to cope with it. This film was inspired by an individual that actually worked in a foster-care system. It demonstrates both the struggles of the children and the staff that worked there.

This film mainly focuses on an older girl by the name of Grace. She is the person who watches over at least 15 kids. There is a particular child that she gets some sort of attachment to, which is Jade. Jade is sent to this place because her dad was in jail and is now a recovery alcoholic. In the film Jade later tells Grace in a story she wrote that pretty much her dad sexually abused her.

In the article Pathways to PTSD, Part 2: sexually Abused Children it is stated that it is very common for child abuse to lead to PTSD. The event can cause psychological damage to the victim and the time of the abuse and also years later (Kaplow, 2009). It also states that due to being sexually abused as a child, the child deals with denial and poor psychological adjustment in adulthood (Kaplow, 2009).

I believe because Jade was sexually abused by her father she now suffered from all these different things. Attempting to commit suicide is definitely correlated to the sexual abuse (Royal College of Psychiatrists 2018). Something traumatic happened to her, and not just by a stranger but, by her own father. Jade may have suffered from PTSD due to the same traumatic event. At the end of the day it all comes together for the same reason.

Running Head: Short Term 12 3

Although, in the film they never gave a diagnosis for Jade, I would say she may have suffered from PTSD due to the sexual abuse trauma. For those that may not know what PTSD is, it is a psychological condition that may affect a person who has experienced a life threatening, violent and/or terrifying event in their lives (Kaplow, 2009). There are 10 signs of PTSD. Which are agitation, irritability, hostility, hypervigilance, flashbacks, fear, anxiety, guilt, insomnia, and mistrust (Kaplow, 2009). A lot of these are signs/symptoms that Jade had. In the film Jade was easily agitated, and easily irritated. She was very closed off and did not want to interact with anyone. She did not trust anyone and when she finally opened up to Grace it took a lot from her.

Jade was dealing with self-harm issues as well. In the film it showed the scars that Jade had from when she attempted to cause self-harm to herself. Jade did not see it as an issue, she thought it was normal for someone to want to cut their selves. According to the article Psychotherapeutic Approaches to Non-Suicidal Self Injury Adolescents, self-injury amongst children has increased drastically within the last decade (NCBI, 2012). Self-harm typically happens with young people such as teens. Once they attempt it one type it is very likely for them to want to attempt it again. In the film I think it helped when Grace tried to talk about it with Jade. Grace was even able to relate to Jade in that sense.

A good practice for children with PTSD is interventions with other adolescents that have gone through similar situations. Group treatments are good for PTSD as well. Peer support is always a positive aspect, and school involvement. Although, it may be hard for children/teens to talk about what happen to them it will be very beneficial (Child Welfare Information Getaway 1994). It is stated that group therapy could go both ways for individuals. Meaning they can release a whole lot of information or shut down and not say anything at all. In the movie it

Running Head: Short Term 12 4

demonstrates exactly that, some of the individuals did not want to share anything and there were about 2 who had no problem speaking about the issue.

It has been noted that the best type of practice for PTSD is cognitive behavioral therapy. Cognitive behavioral therapy focuses on thoughts, behaviors and feelings throughout a certain amount of time (PTSD Clinical Practice Guideline). There are theories that suggest that cognitive behavioral therapy help those suffering from PTSD. Social cognitive theory suggest that people who try to incorporate trauma with misbeliefs or beliefs of themselves have more control over the situation (PTSD Clinical Practice Guideline). Therapists that use cognitive behavioral therapy insist the patients to rethink their choices and thinking patterns. This allows the patients to have more of a balanced thinking pattern (PTSD Clinical Practice Guideline).

In the film Jade suffers from a panic attack. This occurred on her birthday when her dad never showed up to pick her up. At this point in the movie is when Jade shows her true colors. In the movie they do a really great job at demonstrating what needs to be done in a situation like this. Grace and her coworkers were able to control Jade and the situation. In the article How to Manage A Panic Attack, gives 3 strategies you may attempt to use to calm your mind or anxiety before you have a panic attack (SELENI, 2018). Those 3 strategies are roll with the waves, meaning panic attacks usually come in waves and racing thoughts therefore instead of trying to shout them out you can try to visualize them to calm you down (SELENI, 2018). The other strategy is anchor yourself (SELENI, 2018). Meaning, when you feel like you are losing control of your body then you should practice full body breathing every day. Lastly, the other strategy is to engage your whole brain (SELENI, 2018). When you feel a panic attack coming you can talk yourself through it until all those sensations have gone away. They are all god practices when dealing with a panic attack.

Running Head: Short Term 12 5

Grace and Jade shared a very close relationship by the end of the movie. At first Jade was really closed off and did not want to open up to Grace. Since Grace was Jade’s mental health professional there were boundaries that should have been followed. For example Grace let it get personal when she overstepped the therapists personal opinion about letting Jade go home with her father. Something she should have definitely have done is show up to Jade’s fathers house and walked in without permission. Trespassing is a very serious matter. Grace made herself look very unprofessional and unethical in the public’s eyes. According to the article making a home visit is considered a boundary crossing (Zur Institute). Not all boundary crossings are unethical, but in this case it was. There are many boundaries that need to be followed between a mental health professional/therapist and a client. Some boundary crossings can be seen positively, for instance when the therapist/mental health professional discloses personal information about themselves to feel more connected with the client (Zur Institute). This really helped the relationship between Grace and Jade.

Conclusion

The movie Short Term 12 portrayed a sense of reality. This movie displayed how a girl like Grace can care for children/teens when they had no one other to care for them. It showed how a young girl like Jade can suffer from things like PTSD, self-harm and panic attacks all because of being sexually abused. The symptoms were all there but, the movie did lack current practices that would have benefited Jade.

I think this film’s MMI rating is BCDA. Let me explain why, the movie had a good portrayal of Jades symptoms. I was able to read them clearly. A part of me would want to rate this section a C as well because the diagnosis were not clear at all. Nowhere in the movie did

Running Head: Short Term 12 6

they state exactly what Jade suffered from. The portrayal of the movie was not consistent with current approaches or best practices. The movie could have done a better job at inserting more detail for this section. This movie did not show much of a therapeutic side, other than when Jade opened up to Grace and Grace decided to take things into her own hands. Although Grace was not a therapist she seemed to get more out of Jade then anyone before. In this sense, I do not believe people would want to seek help after watching the movie. After watching this movie I have great compassion for anyone that has gone through or is currently going through something similar. This movie definitely gets people to feel sympathy or empathy.

Running Head: Short Term 12 7 References

Child Welfare Information Getaway (1994) “Treatment for Abused and Neglected Children” Retrieved from: https://www.childwelfare.gov/pubs/usermanuals/treatmen/

Kaplow, Julie B. Ph.D., Kenneth A. Dodge, Ph.D., Lisa Amaya-Jackson, M.D., M.P.H., and Glenn N. Saxe, M.D., F.R.C.P. NCBI (2009, September, 29) “Pathways to PTSD, Part 2: Sexually Abused Children” Retrieved from: https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC2754170/

NCBI (2012, March, 30) “Psychotherapeutic Approaches to Non-Suicidal Self Injury in Adolescents” Retrieved from: https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC3782878/

PTSD Clinical Practice Guideline (29, November, 2018)”Cognitive Behavioral Therapy” Retrieved from

https://www.apa.org/ptsd-guideline/treatments/cognitive-behavioral-therapy.aspx

Royal College of Psychiatrists (2018, November, 8) “Coping After a Traumatic Event” Retrieved from:

https://www.rcpsych.ac.uk/healthadvice/problemsanddisorders/copingafteratraumaticeve nt.aspx

SELENI (2018, November, 18) “How to Manage a Panic Attack” Retrieved from

https://www.seleni.org/advice-support/2018/3/19/how-to-manage-a-panic-attack

Zur Institute (2018, November, 29) “Dual Relationships, Multiple Relationships, Boundaries, Boundary Crossings and Boundary Violations in Psychotherapy” Retrieved from:

https://www.zurinstitute.com/dualrelationships.html

1 note · View note

setaripendragon · 7 years

Text

Not All Who Wander - Chapter 4

[Chapter 1] - [Chapter 2] - [Chapter 3] - [Chapter 4] Here it is, as promised: Chapter 4. I had a lot of fun writing this, because Fili and Kili make everything more fun. Thorin has no idea how much he’s giving away to people who know him well, with the way he acts around Bilbo =P Also, cultural differences are still so much fun.

Spring came, and Thorin’s Halls woke. Thorin was itching to leave, to take his travelling forge back to the Shire, to Bilbo, and he jumped at the first opportunity. Balin gave him a suspicious look, as though he suspected Thorin of doing it only to dodge administrative work, but didn’t outright protest. No one would, Thorin knew, because they needed the gold.

Kíli was almost more excited about the idea than Thorin was, all but bouncing off the walls in excitement, eager to get out of the mountain, to travel and work after the confinement of the last couple of months. Of course, where Kíli went, Fíli followed, even though he seemed like he’d much rather hibernate for another month or two. In more normal circumstances, Thorin would have grated at being on the road with a hyperactive Kíli and grouchy Fíli, but he had the promise of seeing Bilbo to buoy him through the tedious days on the road.

They stopped in a few towns of men along the way, but Thorin made a relatively straight path towards the Shire. The day they crossed the border into the North Farthing, Fíli gave Thorin a squinty-eyed frown. “We’ve never gone this way before, Uncle. I thought the halflings didn’t like outsiders?”

“Hobbits.” Thorin corrected automatically. Bilbo had made his distaste for the term ‘halfling’ quite clear several times over in his dream-memory, and Thorin would really rather his nephews didn’t make as bad a first impression on Bilbo as they did in his dream. “And I was assured we would have customers, so there’s no reason why we shouldn’t.”

“Assured? By who?” Kíli interjected from where he was walking beside the pony-driven wagon.

“A hobbit.” Thorin replied dryly.

“When did you have the chance to meet a hobbit?” Fíli pressed, sounding grumpy.

“While I was working.” Thorin answered, unwilling to respond helpfully to that tone.

“Uncle…!” Kíli whined, half laughing at Fíli, who had rolled his eyes dramatically, and crossed his arms in a petulant huff. “We’re just curious. You’ve never bothered with half-” Thorin shot Kíli a reproving glare, and Kíli corrected himself hastily. “-hobbits before. You didn’t seem to like them very much.”

“I don’t, as a whole.” Thorin agreed. They were just the same as Thranduil; content to sit back in their comfortable little holes while the rest of the world burned. They’d ignore the suffering of others so long as it didn’t affect them, and woe betide the dwarf that knocked on their door, looking for help. Unless that door belonged to one Bilbo Baggins, of course. “But I don’t like men, either, and their gold is still good. The same is true of hobbits.”

It took them the best part of the day to reach Hobbiton, and they set up in a corner of the marketplace that a very flustered young hobbit guided them to, on the instructions of a very cantankerous old hobbit who informed them that she was only allowing this because “Mr Baggins has vouched for you, and he’s got his father’s good sense, but if you cause us or that young lad any trouble, you’ll be very sorry indeed!” She then limped off while muttering uncomplimentary things about dwarves.

Thorin glowered at her back, and glowered at their young hobbit guide, and glowered at the ponies as he set them loose in a paddock their guide pointed him to. As they were setting up the forge for use, he reminded himself that he would see Bilbo tomorrow, and that did help soothe his ire at being surrounded by small-minded well-fed people.

The next morning, they started work at dawn, along with the rest of the marketplace. Business was slow, but they got a handful of grumpy, anti-social hobbits stopping by to ask for repairs, and one young fauntling who managed to convince their mildly terrified mother to buy one of the small trowels Thorin had made in his practice for Bilbo’s gift. Thorin’s mood had deteriorated steadily as the day wore on, but he soldiered through the undeserved mistrust as he always did. Thorin left his nephews watching their wares and trying to attract customers, and set to work repairing a broken hoe. He had always found solace in his work when the world had nothing to give him but more pain.

“Good afternoon, Thorin.”

Thorin’s head snapped up at the familiar voice and his hammer stilled. Bilbo was standing on the other side of their little display, looking quite dapper in a red waistcoat, hands tucked into the pockets of his dark trousers, and a cheerful grin on his face. Thorin couldn’t help but smile back as he placed his hammer aside and stepped away from the anvil. “Kíli.” He called, jerking his head towards the hoe, and Kíli obligingly bounded over to take up the work, although he did give Thorin a befuddled look as he passed him, which Thorin summarily ignored. “Good afternoon, Bilbo.” He greeted as he stepped out of the forge, using the rag tucked into his belt to wipe the soot off his hands.

“I was starting to wonder if you were going to keep your word.” Bilbo commented.

“Winter isn’t the best time to travel.” Thorin admitted, a little sheepish. “The mountain closes over the coldest months, so you’re either inside or outside, no coming and going.”

“Ah, I see. How fascinating.” Bilbo mused, looking honestly intrigued. “We hobbits tend to venture out and about more during the winter. Since there’s very little work to be done until spring, winter is when we tend to be most social. So, what do you do in your mountain all winter, then?”

“Sleep, mostly.” Thorin admitted easily.

“Sleep? What, all the time?” Bilbo echoed, surprised. When Thorin nodded, his surprise became intrigue. “You mean dwarves hibernate?” He wondered.

“We can, we don’t always.” Thorin corrected.

Bilbo nodded, looking thoughtful. “Goodness, but that does sound useful. If I could sleep a season away and avoid having to entertain the Sackville-Bagginses when they come to call, I would be a very happy hobbit indeed!” He declared, and Thorin snorted.

“The Sackville-Bagginses are the ones who’re after your house, yes?” Thorin checked.

“Yes. Lobelia, really, is the one that wants it, Otho just wants her to have whatever she wants.” Bilbo elaborated. “She’s utterly fixated on the fact that Otho is my closest male relative on my father’s side, and therefore should inherit the place when I die. I think I’m going to leave it to a Took, just to spite her.”

“Your mother’s family.” Thorin remembered, smiling.

Bilbo nodded, looking distinctly pleased. “Yes, that’s right. Oh, and these two must be the nephews you spoke of, yes?” He checked suddenly, shooting a polite smile over Thorin’s shoulder at Fíli.

“Yes.” Thorin confirmed, turning to gesture at Fíli, who he only then noticed was watching him with a slightly slack-jawed expression on his face. “This is Fíli, my sister’s eldest, and the one at the forge is Kíli.” He added, indicating Kíli, who looked up and spared a moment to wave cheerfully, before returning to his work. Bilbo waved back, then offered his hand to Fíli. “Boys, this is Bilbo Baggins.”

“At your service, Mr Baggins.” Fíli said politely, shaking Bilbo’s hand, and bowing a little out of habit.

“Oh, uh, likewise, and please, call me Bilbo.” Bilbo replied, fumbling a little over dwarven manners.

Fíli nodded, and then clenched his jaw on a yawn in case it would be rude by hobbitish standards. Thorin knew it would have been, so gave his nephew an approving nod, to which Fíli smiled a little. “Thank you for vouching for us here, Bilbo.” Fíli added politely.

“Oh, it was no bother, no bother at all.” Bilbo waved the thanks off immediately. “Your uncle does very good work, I could hardly not. And really, anyone who would turn their noses up at buying from you just because you’re dwarves deserves to be using sub-standard tools, and serves them right.” He declared, his nose twitching in his irritation.

Thorin couldn’t fully repress a fond smile at the gesture. He wished he had made better progress on Bilbo’s gift, because if any hobbit deserved the best dwarven craftsmanship to tend their garden, it was Bilbo Baggins. Abruptly, he remembered the other present he’d been intending to give Bilbo, and made a small noise of realisation, which had Bilbo and Fíli glancing at him curiously. “I just remembered, I have something for you, Bilbo.” He explained.

He ducked into the forge to root through his pack, ignoring Kíli’s repeated curious glances as he found what he was looking for and stepped back out into the weak sunshine again. “Here.” He said, handing over the roll of several sheets of thick parchment.

Bilbo blinked, but took them curiously, nimble little fingers undoing the leather tie holding them together. The parchment unfurled into a much looser cylinder once it was undone, and Bilbo pulled them the rest of the way. “Oh…”He breathed, once he’d gotten a good look at the first map. “This must be Erebor, I take it?” He asked eagerly, leaning so close to the map that his nose was almost touching it.

Beaming at Bilbo’s evident delight, Thorin nodded. “Yes. There’s another one that has Erebor, the Iron Hills – where my cousin lives – and the Grey Mountains, and one of Eriador and the Blue Mountains. I thought you might like to see what a dwarven map of the Shire looks like.”

Bilbo lifted his head just enough to stare at Thorin over the top of the maps. “Thank you, Thorin.” He enthused, and then disappeared again to flick through the maps and find the one Thorin had mentioned. “Oh, goodness, that is strange. No wonder you had so much trouble with my first map, I barely recognise anything when it’s the wrong way up. Ah, and there’s Hobbiton, oh, how lovely.” His eyes reappeared again. “Really, this is absolutely wonderful, Thorin. You – and your nephews, of course – must come to dinner again so I can thank you properly.”

Thorin was a little taken aback, but not at all displeased. “That- would be most welcome, thank you.” He agreed, which earned him a bright smile.

“Bilbo?”

The new voice caused every head to turn, and Thorin saw a hobbit lass – all rosy cheeks and rich dark curls – walking over, looking very wide-eyed and surprised. Thorin assumed that was at the company Bilbo was keeping, rather than seeing him out and about, or with his nose buried in maps. “Jasmine! Lovely to see you!” Bilbo greeted cheerfully, rolling up his maps swiftly to shake Jasmine’s hand. “Oh, Jasmine, this is Thorin Oakenshield, and his nephew, Fíli. He’s a very excellent blacksmith, fixed my broken spade in about half an hour, you can barely tell it was ever broken at all. Thorin, this is Jasmine Cotton.”

Thorin bowed a little stiffly. “At your service.” He greeted, and Fíli echoed him a moment later.

“Right…” Jasmine said distantly, dipping a clumsy little curtsey. “Pleasure to meet you.” She managed a moment later, and seemed to find her balance with it. “It’s all been a bit of a scandal, Bilbo talking about dwarves for months and inviting them into the Shire. If it were anyone but the Mr Baggins, he’d have been shunned.”

“You’re exaggerating, Jasmine.” Bilbo chided, but Thorin didn’t hear much conviction in his voice, and Thorin had to grit his teeth against the irritation that wanted to come spilling out in defence of his people.

“We’ve been very fortunate in Mr Baggin’s patronage.” Fíli interjected, which was far more polite than anything Thorin might have managed in that moment. “Can I interest you in anything? We have a small selection of gardening and farming tools available, but we also do custom work if you don’t see anything you’d like.” He explained, the usual spiel for customers.

As Jasmine got drawn into examining the tools, Bilbo touched Thorin’s elbow lightly and leaned in to mutter quietly to him. “I’m sorry about that, we hobbits really aren’t used to Big Folk being about, but they’ll get used to it after a while.”

Thorin let out a slow sigh. “Was my discontent that obvious?”

Bilbo shook with silent laughter that he was clearly trying very hard to suppress. Thorin gave him a disgruntled look that only seemed to make Bilbo laugh harder. “I’m sorry.” He chortled, waving a hand in the air. “To be fair, you’re a lot better than some others I know at hiding when someone’s annoying you, but you do rather get this look in your eye. Steely, that’s a good word for it.”

“Uncle Thorin very rarely looks anything other than steely, so most of the time, people really can’t tell when he’s actually upset.” Kíli interjected from behind them. Thorin turned a raised eyebrow on him, but Kíli was studying Bilbo curiously and didn’t notice.

“Really?” Bilbo asked, looking quite honestly surprised. “I hadn’t noticed.”

Kíli’s curious gaze slid over to Thorin. “Huh.” He said after a moment.

Thorin rolled his eyes. “Is the hoe finished?” He asked, instead of indulging whatever was clearly filling Kíli’s head at the moment.

“Yup. We’ve just got that bent gardening fork and the commission for a new rake left from our orders this morning.” Kíli confirmed. Thorin nodded. It was good that they’d be able to get most of the work done that day, but a little disheartening that they weren’t building up enough work to keep them there for a good long while.

Bilbo seemed to read his mind. “Well, I can hardly run around recommending you without buying something from you when you are here. Let’s see what you’ve got to sell, and I’ll think about making a commission another day.” He declared brightly.

Thorin bit back the automatic response that Bilbo didn’t need to commission anything, Thorin was going to make him every tool he could ever need for his garden for free. Instead, he just smiled, nodded, and gestured Bilbo closer to the stall. It turned out that Fíli had managed to get Jasmine to commission a set of gardening tools for her youngest child who was still only very small and mostly playing at gardening than actually gardening. Bilbo chatted to her and Thorin as he browsed, drawing them both into conversation. By the time Bilbo had bought a trowel – that was hardly good enough for him, in Thorin’s opinion – Jasmine looked far less uncomfortable, and Thorin didn’t instinctively scowl at her back as she left.

“Be polite. Remember he’s not a dwarf, he’s a hobbit, and their customs are different. Leave your boots and weapons at the door-” Thorin instructed his nephews as they climbed the hill to Bag End. Fíli and Kíli both looked a little alarmed at the suggestion of going unarmed and bootless in an unfamiliar environment. “-it’s a sign of trust, but you may keep one dagger each-” Relief flickered across both of their faces. “-and don’t offer to help cook, apparently. Don’t eat with your fingers, try not to spill your drink, and remember that hobbits find burping rude, not complimentary.”

“Weird.” Kíli remarked.

“Better than men, though. Men have five different forks for every meal.” Fíli muttered.

Thorin’s lips twitched. “Glad to know you’ve been paying attention in your lessons with Balin, nephew.” He remarked, half amused, half genuine. Fíli looked rather proud at the compliment. Then they were at the door, and Thorin knocked.

A moment later, it swung open to reveal a smiling Bilbo. “Hello. Do come in, come in.” He encouraged, stepping back and waving them inside. They obeyed, and began removing their boots and weapons. Thorin and Kíli were done in short order, but Fíli was still pulling out knives and daggers and laying them in a neat pile. Bilbo’s eyes got wider and wider until Fíli added the thirteenth knife to the pile and straightened with a smile. “Goodness, that’s- that’s rather a lot of knives. What on earth do you use them all for?” Bilbo asked, sounding a little faint.

Fíli shrugged. “Fighting, cooking, whittling.” He listed off easily. “The bigger ones are for Orcs and wargs and the like, the thinner ones for whittling and preparing firewood. The one with the hook is a gutting knife, and the serrated ones are very good for butchering a fresh kill.”

“I see.” Bilbo murmured. He cleared his throat. “I suppose I have just as many in my kitchen.” He admitted, although he sounded a touch bewildered by the comparison.

“A few more, I would think.” Thorin muttered, amused.

Bilbo shot him a narrow-eyed suspicious look, nose twitching in annoyance. “Perhaps.” He agreed with great dignity. “Well, do come in, make yourselves at home.” He encouraged, ushering them all away from the door.

Fíli and Kíli perked up, and Thorin made sure to catch their eyes and shake his head minutely. Bilbo did not mean that the way a dwarf would mean it, if he said it. Bilbo had not appreciated a hoard of dwarves making themselves at home in his smial. The two boys wilted, and allowed their host to chivvy them into the dining room without causing any of their usual chaos.

The spread laid out on the table took Thorin aback. It stalled Fíli and Kíli, too. At first Thorin wondered if Bilbo was cruel enough to subject them to some of his relatives as an impromptu dinner party, but on counting the place settings, he found only four. It would not, perhaps, rival the ratio of food-to-people of feast days in the Erebor of old, but to even the royalty of Ered Luin, it was impressive.

“Whoa.” Kíli breathed.

“It’s a bit slap-dash, I know.” Bilbo said, completely misinterpreting their awe and fidgeting where he stood as if afraid he’d disappointed them. “I hadn’t thought to plan for a dinner party this evening, but I did pick up some pork and fresh trout while I was at the market this afternoon.” He explained quickly.

“Slap-dash?” Thorin echoed, swallowing hard on the bitter ache that was stirring in his breast. “Bilbo, this is a feast.”

“A feast!” Bilbo exclaimed in disbelief, although he did seem reassured and flattered all the same. “Oh, goodness me, not hardly. It’s just supper. Do sit, and I’ll fetch the drinks.” He urged them. “I’ve got some excellent home-brew that I think you’ll appreciate, Thorin- And, forgive me, but are you two lads old enough to drink?”

Fíli and Kíli exchanged a look that was one part amused, one part offended. “We’re not pebbles.” Kíli finally said on a laugh.

Bilbo slid a sideways look at Thorin, silently asking him to confirm that the boys were, in fact, allowed ale. He nodded, a little bewildered. Fíli and Kíli didn’t look like children by any race’s standards, so he wasn’t fully sure why Bilbo felt the need to check. He dismissed it as hobbitish peculiarity, though, when Bilbo scurried off towards the kitchen.

The three dwarves seated themselves, and before long, Bilbo returned with four mugs full to the brim with frothy ale. He shared them out, and Thorin raised his mug in a toast. “To our generous host.” He called, and Fíli and Kíli echoed him with loud enthusiasm, before all three of them drank deeply.

“Oh, well, that is- I mean to say- Um… Thank you?” Bilbo managed, clearly very flustered by even such a small display of dwarven manners.

“Nay, ‘tis we who should thank you.” Thorin informed him through a smile.

“Well, then, you’re welcome.” Bilbo announced firmly. Then he cleared his throat, muttered something about the strangeness of Big Folk, and waved a hand at them. “Do help yourselves.” He instructed. Fíli and Kíli fell on the feast with ravenous hunger.

“Mind your manners!” Thorin reminded them.

Fíli, fingers mere inches from the slices of honey roasted pork, withdrew his hand like it had just been bitten. Kíli froze in the act of shoving a slice of bacon quiche into his mouth with his fingers, cheeks bulging under his guilty eyes. “Sorry, Uncle.” Fíli muttered. Kíli matched him, although his words came out far more muffled.

“It’s not me to whom you should be apologising.” Thorin chided them, then risked a look at Bilbo. He was gaping like a fish, clearly attempting to find words, but still arrested by Kíli wiping his fingers on his tunic and hovering over his cutlery as though unsure which would be appropriate. Fíli was having better luck with the serving fork, and had already laden his plate with pork and roast potatoes and even a sampling of a few of the assorted vegetable dishes. “Forgive them, Bilbo.” Thorin requested on their behalf. “They have rarely had cause to dine with other races, and I confess, we know little of the manners of hobbits.”

Finally, Bilbo tore his eyes away from the boys to look at Thorin. “Oh.” He said a bit dumbly. Then he seemed to wake from his shock, and he clucked his tongue. “Oh, goodness me, of course. If you don’t even draw your maps the same way, I can hardly imagine how different your idea of table manners must be.” He realised.

“Extremely.” Thorin informed him dryly.

“Burping.”

“Tossed food for trust.”

“Spilled ale for cheer.”

“No forks. What’s the point?”

“Fingers work just as well.”

“Arm-wrestling.”

“Wrestling.”

Snorting, Thorin shook his head. “Enough.” He chided, but he couldn’t keep the amusement out of his voice, and that softened the reprimand. Fíli and Kíli both grinned at him as they went back to their dinner, this time remembering to use the utensils.

“Wrestling? At the dinner table?!” Bilbo squeaked.

“Aye.” Thorin confirmed. “It is a… display of skill and strength. And to the victor goes the spoils, usually.” He gestured pointedly at the last few slices of pork left after both the boys had had their turn at raiding the platter.

Bilbo stared at him for a long enough moment that Thorin began to wonder if he’d somehow offended the hobbit. But then Bilbo clapped a hand over his mouth to cover sounds that were unmistakably snickers. “Oh, oh dear.” He chortled. “I’m terribly sorry, I was just… Well, I couldn’t help but think of a Baggins family dinner where we all had to arm-wrestle to get any food.”

Thorin grinned at the idea. “Perhaps a contest of conkers, instead?” He suggested wryly.

“Ha!” Bilbo exclaimed in delight. “Then they would all starve, and I would be a very comfortable hobbit indeed.” He declared smugly.

“Conkers?” Kíli asked curiously.

Bilbo began to explain the game, and Thorin turned his attention to his mostly neglected meal. He couldn’t help glancing up every now and then, however, to watch Bilbo as he talked. The conversation moved on to some of the games Fíli and Kíli had played in their youth, and then to crafts. “Do you have a craft, Mr Baggins?” Fíli inquired.

Flustered at the question, Bilbo flailed about uncertainly for an answer. “Ah, I don’t-”

“I would hazard a guess that, by our people’s standards, Bilbo would have his Mastery in wordsmithing.” Thorin interjected. “If the number of books I saw in his study with his name on are anything to go by.”

Bilbo turned startled eyes on him, flushing all across his cheeks and up to the tips of his ears. “Oh, well, I wouldn’t say-”

“Certainly, at least, I can vouch for his skill in map-making.” Thorin added.

“Did he make a map even you could follow?” Kíli teased.

Thorin scowled at him. “It is not my fault the rest of the world does things upside down.” He announced with as much dignity as he could muster. Fíli and Kíli both smirked at him without shame, though Bilbo at least has the respect to duck his head over his plate to pretend he wasn’t amused at Thorin’s expense.

“A scribe, though.” Fíli said, changing the subject, much to Thorin’s relief. He cast a curious, faintly admiring look at Bilbo. “That’s not what I’d expected.”

“Well…” Bilbo began, befuddled. “You’re not going to find many hobbits who… smith much at all.” He paused, and shook his head. “Word-smithing, what a concept. Although I suppose it’s not all that far from the truth. They do sometimes need to be hammered into submission.” He muttered to himself.

“Our crafts are not all based on metal-work.” Thorin informed him, faintly chiding, but mostly just amused by Bilbo’s mumblings.

Bilbo looked startled, and then embarrassed. “Oh! Oh, no, of course not.” He said, even though it was clear he’d never actually thought about it before. “That would be silly.” He cleared his throat, fiddled with his knife, then looked up again, a stubbornly composed expression on his face. “Do you, um, have a craft, other than blacksmithing?”

“None I can claim a mastery at.” Thorin admitted. He didn’t want to tell Bilbo that the only other craft he’d studied at any length was statecraft. “Most crafts that have ever interested me have been forge-work. My nephews on the other hand…” He said dryly.

“We can both work a smithy well enough,” Fíli explained to Bilbo, who looked surprised, “but that’s out of necessity, rather than passion. My chosen craft is composing.”

“Oh, how wonderful!” Bilbo enthused, lighting up. “I would love to hear something of yours at some point, then.” Fíli visibly lit up, and Thorin smiled softly, even as his heart ached. Fíli should be able to spend all his days with instruments and sheet music if he so chose, but instead he was all but shackled to a forge, craft turned to drudgery in their exile.

They conversation wound through a discussion of favoured songs and poems, and by then most of the food had found its way into stomachs. Bilbo bustled around bringing out desert, which vanished much more slowly, but all three dwarves made a valiant effort, because the sweet treats were too enticing not to. Afterwards, Bilbo chivvied them into the parlour, getting very flustered about propriety when Fíli and Kíli offered to help with the clean-up.

When they looked to Thorin for back-up or an explanation, he merely shrugged and signed for them to leave it be. By the scowls on their faces, it sat as well with them as it did with him, being unable to repay their host for supplying such a generous feast. They cheered up, however, when Bilbo persuaded them to bring out their fiddles and play a few songs. Bilbo served tea, and they talked more, long into the night, until Thorin abruptly realised that it was already the wee hours of the morning.

“We should go.” He said regretfully. Fíli and Kíli immediately began to whine and protest like dwarflings half their age. “We have work in the morning.” He reminded them sternly, and they got to their feet reluctantly.

“Of course, of course.” Bilbo agreed, looking over at the clock on the mantle and nearly dropping his teacup in surprise. “Oh, goodness, look at the time! I’m so sorry, Thorin. Fíli, Kíli. I never meant to keep you so late.”

Thorin let Fíli and Kíli reassure him that they’d been happy to stay as long as they did as they ambled towards the door, and waited until they had retrieved their weapons and stepped out into the chill air to make his own goodbyes. “Thank you again, Bilbo.” He said, with all the depthless sincerity in his heart. He offered the remarkable hobbit a bow of gratitude.

“Oh, you’re quite welcome, Thorin. It was my pleasure.” Bilbo assured him, smiling brilliantly. Thorin’s breath caught in his throat. “Your nephews are wonderful boys, you know, I’m very pleased to have had the chance to get to know them better. And you.” He added, tucking his thumbs into his pockets and nodding decisively. “We must do this again before you leave.”

“That would be most welcome.” Thorin replied, finding himself smiling back before he realised it.

“Good, good.” Bilbo said. “Well, good night.”

“Good night.”

#Lord of the Rings #LotR #Bagginshield #Thorin Oakenshield #Bilbo Baggins #Not All Who Wander #time-travel #Fili and Kili #I suppose I ought to warn for mild racial prejudice?#even though it's a fantasy race #the dynamics are still pretty much the same #culture clash #pining

34 notes · View notes

garrisontownhall · 6 years

Audio

01.02: Clara

Things hadn’t been right for quite some time with my family. We all watched my mother slowly sink into her ancient sitting chair, where she would blankly gaze at hazy daytime television shows until her eyes rolled back into her head, and we would come and shut her lids, and lay down grandma’s quilt across her. Father worked long hours at the mill, and would always come home coughing, then he’d start a pack of coffin nails, and walk out to his work shed without a word, his face and clothes always darker with dirt than the day before. Nobody was allowed to bother father. The doors to the shed stayed locked, and he wouldn’t leave until the whole house was sleeping. It was just me and my younger brother Jason, day after day, struggling to keep each other sane.

My father was respected enough within the town, as he continued working and showing up to church, but the people harbored hatred for my mother ever since the day she stopped leaving the house. Other kids wouldn’t speak to us in the schoolhouse, or on the street. They called our family a curse, and made up nasty ugly rumors, which they whispered just loud enough for us to hear. When I cried, my brother told me not to listen to the lies, but as he said so, I would wonder whether they were lies at all.

Gradually, mother became less and less. Her skin and muscle seemed to separate from the bone like slow cooked meat, sitting loose inside a bag of wrinkled tissue. All of her bodily fat seemed to slump off to her sides and melt into the gaps between cushion and chair. Terrified by my new reality, I allowed myself to be overcome with cowardice, and inaction became the tool by which I would deal with my circumstances. I stopped showing up to school, and though the office called home every day, nobody ever answered. Instead, I would wander the fields and woods between our house and Maine Street. I would write down a name for every critter I encountered, and draw pictures of them in my journal, until Jason got off the bus, and then he’d meet me in the clearing.

One afternoon, we were out in the woods together, playing games. Neither of us could stand to be inside our home, and we would often hide out for hours, in a silent sanctum detached from the nauseating fear, and burning anger that had swallowed up our normal lives. We went running over roots and leaves, and laughed among the trees, until that creature came to light out of the corner of my sight and brought my brother to his knees. Buried under sticks, which had mostly all been knocked away by weather and passing pests, festered the dismembered torso of a massive buck. It’s hind legs were attached, but mangled badly, held together with a yard of barbed wire, and both of it’s front legs were missing, blackened scabs marking the loss. The head was also gone, and in it’s place a broken, gnarled antler, stuck inside the open throat. It’s insides had been cleared out so it’s husk was all that rest beneath the shroud of overarching trees that wept like children for it’s death. And so did Jason, for he’d never seen such a horrible display of decay and destruction. It tugged at his stomach and left him curled up on the fallen foliage, spurting up his lunch and closing his eyes tight while I watched anxiously, unsure of how to help. When he finally regained clarity, all Jason could do was hold his knees to his chin with his back against a sturdy tree and rock himself. The sense of dread that had overwhelmed my spirit came not from the crass perversion of nature that lay before us, but at the thought of what kind of hell driven beast would be capable of such a thing, and the knowledge that this monster resided within the limits of my home town.

Hours passed before Jason could get back on his feet, and we emerged from the enclosure of forest into a night flooded with the watery glow of a moon covered in fog, unsettled and defeated, no longer safe in our only sanctuary. As we marched along the roadside, Jason running up ahead of me kicking a discarded can like a soccer ball, the owner of Garrison’s only fill station and convenience store, Billie G. Dennison eased up beside us in his ghastly green pick-up. Bill always made me feel a bit uneasy, even as a little girl, but he was known around town for being a helpful, handy sort. He rolled down his passenger window and leaned over the center console.

“What’re you two doin’ walkin’ ‘round here so late?” He lifted a cup from it’s holder and spit a wad of brown tinted sludge from between his lips.

“Just heading home Mr. Dennison,” I stuck my hands in my pocket and nervously dragged my shoe against the ground as my brother turned around to join me at my side, “Spent a long day playing outside and now we’ve gotta get home and have some supper.”

“Supper at 8:30?” Billie snickered to himself and pinched the end of his goatee, twirling it around a bit before he redirected his focus to us, “Your mother still make that shepards pie she always used to? Been a long while since we had some of that good home cookin’ down at town hall.”

“Mama hasn’t been cooking much of anything lately,” I stared down at the rocks and the leaves.

“Say, she up on her feet again yet? Heard that surgery they done on that knee put her out of comission for a while.”

“I really should be getting home Mr. Dennison. My dad’s gonna wonder where we are if we’re not back soon.”

“Well then why don’t I give you two a lift back home, little Miss Lamont?”

“I’m all set, but thank you Mr. Dennison. We were just enjoying the fresh Fall air, and besides, the exercise would do us well.”

He slid into the passenger’s seat and stretched his arm out the window to rest an oily black hand on my shoulder. I shrugged it off and stepped away. He stunk fantastically of bottom shelf gin and his piggish eyes were rolling round in the sockets like catseye marbles on a wobbly table.

“You look an awful lot like your mama when she was a tight little pretty young thing,” A globulous trail of dirty brown drool running down from his chin to the window, “Why don’t you get in the truck Clara?”

He started sliding the strap of my dress off with his long hairy fingers and I froze in panic. Overtaken by a sense of distress and alarm, coupled with disgust at the thought of what might come, I closed my eyes and began to cry and as he reached for my face, Jason wound up and hurled a golf ball sized rock straight at his repulsive wrinkled face. It cut through the air and landed with an echoing crack right above his lazy left eye, splitting the skin of his brow, and Billie recoiled with a yelp that put Wilhelm to shame, holding his head as blood poured forcefully between his hairy knuckles.

“Fucking inbreds!” He shouted, scurrying back into the driver’s seat, spilling AC/DC and Motorhead tapes from the cluttered seat onto the much more cluttered floor, “You wait til’ the town hears about this you stupid little cunts!” Billie’s truck roared with the thunder of zeus, as it hastily swerved back onto the street and proceeded messily out of sight.

“Thanks Jay,” I re-adjusted my dress and tried to wipe the invisible residue of Billie’s awful touch from my shoulder, “You know I’ve always got your back too, right?”

“I know Clara.” He stared ahead with a demeanor of vengeance, fixated on the shadowy tunnel into which Bill’s truck had disappeared. Jason still didn’t look like himself, and I could tell that his thoughts were caught in the dissonance that had developed between what now existed, and the world we’d always known. His easy way and gentle nature appeared to have changed in the passing of a moment, as if he had grown ages in hours, rapidly becoming achingly aware of mankind’s depraved nature, and all the more resistant to it’s influence.

From that point, our moonlit walk had become overcast by clouds of unease and an fog of mistrust. For once, I felt eager to return home, just so I might hide for a while from the chilling cold and foreign fog that filled the streets which wound and twisted like the entrails of some great beast who’s been reluctantly provoked from out of sleeping. A sickening hum of burning telephone wires overhead rang out in a discordant chorus with the penetrating whistle of a distant railway train, plowing across some barren meadow, sounding out the wail of a harbinger of oncoming trauma.

(continued.)

#horror #Garrison #Maine #story #short #chapter two #writing #art #lo-fi #dark #artists on tumblr #strange #odd #bizarre #uncanny #fantasy #literature #cacophany

0 notes