#and sometimes he Needs to sleep at arbitrary times during the school day. if he wont do it voluntarily he'll just kinda faint- | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

priorireverte · 3 years

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Congratulations Ash!

Your application for Katie Bell has been accepted. Katie is a character I’ve rarely given much thought, frankly, but I’ve completely fallen in love with her already. You’ve given her so much depth and involved her so closely in everything that is happening. I can’t wait to see what she gets up to!

Please look to the checklist for the next steps and reach out if you have any questions!

OUT OF CHARACTER

NAME & PRONOUNS: Ash, she/her.

TIMEZONE: PST

ACTIVITY LEVEL: I reckon I am about a six or seven out of ten. I am constantly on mobile and accessible for plotting, but prefer to do all of my replies once I am home from work and have access to a computer.

ANYTHING ELSE: I have ten plus years role-playing experience and I am looking forward to this amazing opportunity to potentially write Katie again for the first time in years. She was one of the first characters I ever wrote in the Harry Potter world and holds a very special place in my heart.

CHARACTER DETAILS

NAME: Katherine Emery Bell ( Katie Bell )

BIRTHDATE: 21 April, 1978.

DEATHDATE: 10 October, 1997 N/A, still alive and kicking.

GENDER, PRONOUNS, and SEXUALITY: Katie is a cisfemale who uses she/her pronouns. She is bisexual, as she was taught to love and embrace everyone for who they were at a young age. It doesn’t matter what they are; she only weighs who they are inside.

BLOOD STATUS: Half-blood.

HOUSE ALUMNI: Gryffindor.

OCCUPTATION: Unspeakable, Death Chamber.

FACECLAIM: Poppy Drayton, though I might want to switch if accepted / after having some time to sleep on it.

CHARACTER BACKGROUND

POSTBELLUM

Like many, Katie too has scars from the war. They are weighted far heavier than she cares to admit and she carries them with her everywhere. In the pocket of her favorite cloak, tightly wrapped around her not just for warmth, but security too; on her broomstick whenever she needs to escape from the static background noise; or to one of her best mate’s houses where she is sure to find relief at the bottom of a shared bottle of fire-whiskey.

Katie shies away from intimacy’s pervasive touch. She does not give her trust away so freely like she once did as a carefree girl. Every instinct to share a piece of herself and love others is met with restraint. These are a few of the repercussions she faces because of the damage inflicted on her. She has been to a dark place; tethered between the realms of life and death while being neither here nor there. She clawed her way back to stable ground, though there are times she questions its permanence. In fact, if anything the war has taught her everything is fleeting. Now she leaves claw marks on everything, but can’t seem to hold onto any of it.

Practically everyone she knows has been touched in some way by the war; some of their scars running far deeper than her own. She lost friends and a part of herself, but many had it off far worse. Katie tries not to linger on her own pain and psychological trauma for that reason. At the end of the day, she survived; the heart beating in her chest confirms she is alive despite sometimes feeling anything but.

Since the war came to pass five years ago ( though at times it feels like a separate lifetime ago ), Katie has channeled her experiences and emotions into molding a successful career as an Unspeakable where she works in the Death Chamber. Since her brush with death at seventeen, Katie found herself unusually fascinated with the subject matter. She spent six months hospitalized in St. Mungo’s, a majority of which she was at what felt like death’s door. She swore she did die, but that was a difficult pill for her to swallow—let alone anyone else, so she kept that secret sealed tightly under lock and key. Katie figured that was the better alternative than being labeled crazy.

It took a long time for her to cope with what occurred, and even longer to bring up the occurrence with those closest to her. Being cursed certainly had its affects; it changed who she was and what made her tick. When she returned to Hogwarts and participated in the final quidditch match of her school-career against Ravenclaw, the game did not give her the same adrenaline filled rush it once had. She unknowingly battled depression and PTSD that year struggling to hold onto all the things she loved. They no longer provided her with sustenance, but she confused these arbitrary feelings with lackluster consequences from a progressive war with what felt like no end insight.

PERSONALITY

As a girl, Katie was known for being carefree and reckless. She was an untamed spirit who had not yet learned about the world’s cruelness. She had no reason then to be the emotionally guarded woman she would become. The final years of the war forced her to grow up much sooner than she ever planned for herself. Her overly-competitive demeanor was combated by a sudden instability. Trust no longer comes as easily for her as it once did. When she was imperiused during her last year of school and subsequently cursed by the Opal Necklace, she felt like she lost a part of herself. She no longer enjoyed many of the same hobbies she once did. She questioned everything, from the motives of her friends to the intricacies of life. She was no longer left in control, but instead reeling with trust issues in the present day—the most concerning being the lack of trust she feels in herself. It is an unspoken feeling, but it looms above her like a dark cloud.

Since being cursed, Katie has been keenly inept at desensitizing and disassociating from reality whenever it doesn’t fit perfectly in the box she has crafted for it. The war left her jaded and its scars provided an unwanted resilience she transformed into armor. She has survived many battles, but even the ones she lost were never for naught. They each made her stronger—just a mere fraction of the woman she will become, but still knowingly has many lessons to learn before fully evolving. However, Katie is plagued with self-doubt. Perhaps that is what holds her back from achieving her full potential.

Katie is now far more reserved than she once was. Her desire for love and ability to share it with others has diminished since she was a child, muted by a perverted sense of drive. She has a bad habit of shutting not only the world out, but those closest to her too. It can be a lonely road at times, so she throws herself into her work with hopeless abandon. She is driven and sees every project through to the very end. Ironically though, her never-ending need to answer life’s most challenging questions is exactly what holds her back from living life to the fullest. She has a one track mind and can become so preoccupied, or short-sighted, she forgets to hold onto what is really important.

BRIEF OVERVIEW OF FAMILY

Katie grew up in a happy family with very relaxed core values. Her parents always demonstrated love to her and her brother, Christian, even when they weren’t the most deserving or receptive. Olivia and Rhys Bell loved each other fiercely; that was one consistent factor in Katie’s life. As the youngest Bell in the family of four, she was spoiled and fussed over more than she cares too admit. She recalls all the arguments and tiffs her and Christian got into over the years—a trait that seemed to follow the pair into adulthood. Their parents on the other hand hardly ever fought. Katie believed there must be occasions they clashed with one another, but it was evident they were far more emotionally reserved than their children. They made a point not to fight in front of them, which always raised the question of where their children’s argumentative tendencies came from.

It was important for Olivia and Rhys to make their children feel empowered starting at a young age. They wanted to instill in them a strong sense of confidence that would allow them to break through any obstacles in their way or complete whatever task they set out on. As survivors of the first wizarding wixen war, and Olivia being a muggle-born, it was imperative to them their children didn’t embody the same fear or embrace any limitations as they once did. This nurturing mindset is exactly how Katie got into flying. Her father gifted a toy broomstick to her one Christmas when she was no more than six years old. She can recall the sheer horror on her mother’s face that morning; it was evident she was not in on the surprise, otherwise there probably would have been no broom at all that year. Christian had received one a few years prior and Olivia’s excitement over the matter quickly disintegrated when he lost control and spiraled into their garden trellis. Christian didn’t fly again until his first year lessons, however his sister’s abilities came far more natural than his own.

Once Olivia realized her daughter was more agile than her first born, she quickly warmed up to the idea. After she mastered and eventually outgrew the dainty toy broomstick, it was her mom who splurged for her first trainer’s broom. Katie excitedly whipped the new broom around their property, memorizing every trace of it from the new safe haven she had discovered. Flying became an escape for her. Quidditch always brought much excitement, but flying was what truly made her feel at peace with herself. Over the years she fully mastered the skill ( while running through her fair share of broomsticks ), and Katie knew she had her parents to thank for supporting her in spite of themselves and pushing her forward every time she wanted to quit. Though her quidditch career eventually faded away, her love for flying never wavered as her unconditional love for her parents and brother never has.

Present day, Katie and her family still share a special bond. Her parents continue to support all her endeavors even if they don’t necessarily agree or understand them. At times Katie is aware there is a disconnect between them, but it is something she can’t seem to avoid. Olivia and Rhys witnessed their daughter go from a bubbly and charismatic girl to someone almost unrecognizable at times, but since the war is still so fresh for everyone it has become easier to turn the other cheek.

HISTORY

Katie always considered her life very ordinary. Her parents worked hard to ensure her and her brother had a good life. They were a close-knit family and, though they got on her nerves on occasion, there was nothing she wouldn’t do for them. Katie recalls her childhood fondly. Olivia read books to both her children frequently, however Katie found herself to be easily distracted. Her head would wander to the sky where she would pluck shapes out of the clouds. Christian was the calm and retentive child—it was much easier for their parents to hold his attention. Katie on the other hand was a bumbling ball of energy since she was of crawling age. She would color the walls or demolish Christian’s toys if left unattended. It was much easier to hold her attention whenever baking was involved. Katie had a knack for sweets, though the thought of giving her more sugar didn’t always appeal. Still, she somehow persuaded her mum into baking cookies with her often. These were some of the best days of her childhood.

As soon as Katie was gifted her first toy broomstick, a spark ignited. Flying undoubtedly was her first love. Whenever her and Christian had a sibling squabble or he was getting on her nerves, she would run to her broomstick immediately and take flight; and when it was his time to leave for Hogwarts and she was left behind for three more years, flying became her therapy and release. It remedied the loneliness.

When it was finally time for Katie to head off to Hogwarts, her natural charisma and energetic personality really shined through in all she did. She made friends quickly and they became a forefront in her life. She fed off the energy of those around her and subsequently became a member of numerous school clubs. Joining the Gryffindor quidditch team her second year was the highlight of her entire school-career. She considered those initial years to be the best of all; her original teammates quickly became a second family to her. It was a feeling that still echoed long after their glory days on the quidditch pitch.

When Lord Voldemort returned, Katie found herself at a loss for words. She considered Harry Potter a friend and teammate. No one in her inner circle doubted him nor did she, however she did have a difficult time comprehending just what that meant. Cedric Diggory was also a friend; like many, seeing his body in the aftermath of the Tri-Wizard Tournament was Katie’s first brush with death. It was evident to the then fifteen year old that only something vile and cruel could take the life of someone like Cedric—someone with so much potential. She jumped at the opportunity to join Dumbledore’s Army for that reason. She believed in the cause and, reflecting on the pain the first war put her own parents through, Katie had to believe there was a reason she wound up here when she did.

Katie genuinely did not believe anything could be more difficult than that period of time, but her seventh year was one of the most challenging of all. Katie was not sure when the trip to Hogsmeade went awry on that beautiful fall day. There was excitement in the air despite the frigid temperature that brought the first snowfall of the season. That is one of the only memory’s Katie holds onto from that day. She later woke up in St. Mungo’s where she was told she had been for six months recovering from a fatal curse.

With a hoarse voice and fear filling her eyes, Katie asked the first healer she saw if she was dead.

The healer laughed as if she made some kind of joke. “ No honey, you’re lucky to be alive. ”

Lucky to be alive.

Except the problem was Katie didn’t feel anything, least of all alive. She spent the last six months in a foreign place, but didn’t feel nearly as lost or confused there as she did now that she was back in the earthly dimension.

The phrase continues to haunt her six years after her near-death experience. Maybe the Healer was right and she should feel lucky, but she doesn’t. Now that the war has come to pass, she is riddled with guilt. She cannot walk away from what happened to her six years ago despite making it out of the war alive. That alone should be enough reason to celebrate, but it is not. There are too many unanswered questions and Katie understands better than most who survived the war that everyone is borrowed time. She cannot unsee the place she spent six months of her life trapped in. She is desperate to understand it and even more desperate to know if the souls of her lost friends now inhabit the same space.

OOC EXPLORATION

WHAT ARE YOU MOST LOOKING FORWARD TO?

This group captivated my attention immediately upon discovery. The Trio Era is what originally got me into role-playing Harry Potter and the Marauders is what kept me, so this role-play truly is the perfection combination. I have been looking for a group to join for some time now and your group has one of the freshest and most unique concepts I’ve ever seen! Plus, it is obvious the passion and care that has gone into creating this group. I am excited to potentially be a part of the journey and see where the story takes us all together.

EXTRA FOR NON-BIO CHARACTERS

CHARACTER CONTRIBUTION

Katie possesses a lot of versatility with her character. She naturally has an outgoing and charismatic personality, and is quick at adapting to her surroundings. She has always been an integral part of whatever community she is a part of—ranging from her time at Hogwarts on the quidditch team, in the dueling club, or Dumbledore’s Army; to her career beyond the castle’s walls. She has proved herself a loyal friend to many. I think her experience being cursed by the Opal Necklace makes her an imperative character because she has knowledge from that ordeal others might not be equipped with, which she has channeled into a career within the Ministry of Magic as an Unspeakable.

I headcanon that when Katie was cursed by the necklace during her seventh year, she spent a large portion of her time in St. Mungo’s unconscious. During this period she had an out of body experience where she thought she was dead. She tightly holds onto the secret that she visited what may be known to some as limbo, purgatory, or the underworld out of fear of being labelled crazy. She doesn’t dismiss her experience though; she clings to it, and it to effects every aspect of her life.

Katie’s brush with death made her obsessed with the idea of it. Since the war’s conclusion she has tried to dissect the mechanics of life and death, but had no success. Everyday feels the exact same; she is capped out with little to show for her efforts. That is, until the first of the returned makes their appearance through the veil. This ignites a new obsession in Katie all over again.

PRESENT

“ Have you heard? ” A stocky Unspeakable buzzed with excitement as he pushed passed Katie and exited the elevator lift.

“ Heard what? ” The woman quipped in his direction as she rubbed her tired eyes, but by the time she gathered her senses he was already hurrying off down the corridor. Katie shrugged her shoulders back and dismissed the interaction before continuing along in the same direction. Unusual occurrences were the norm in this part of the Ministry so she didn’t think much of it. She was already getting a late start on her day anyway so she decided to quicken her pace as she rounded the corner leading to her dual office/laboratory, where she was forced to stop abruptly when she came across a throng of other Unspeakables littering the hallway. Katie quirked a brow upon the realization everyone was huddled near the Death Chamber.

“ What is going on? ” She asked the same Unspeakable who she spotted standing nearby.

“ You don’t know? ” Emerson gaped, which annoyed Katie slightly. “ They are saying someone has returned through the veil. ”

“ What do you mean ‘returned through the veil?’ I didn’t realize we were trying to send anyone to the other-side— ”

“ No, someone no longer living returned through the veil. They came back from the dead. ”

“ Impossible, ” Katie uttered in protest, but her own near-death experience quickly replayed in her head. She was only seventeen when she swore she too briefly died, so maybe it wasn’t impossible for the dead to return after all.

“ No really, a boy was found wandering the corridors naked this morning. Creevy is what they’re calling him. ”

Katie stood silent for a moment as she processed what she had just been informed. “ Someone came back to life? Through the veil? ” The witch repeated as her dark eyes swirled with sudden intensity. Emerson merely nodded. “ I sure picked a hell of a day to be late. ” She concluded completely gobsmacked.

“ You won’t make that mistake again, ” Emerson chuckled before disappearing off into the crowd to try and sneak a closer look.

And he was right. From that day forward, Katie was never late again. She always put her best foot forward when it came to her career, but the stakes suddenly felt like they had been raised even higher upon the departed’s return. The one thing she now knows for certain is that this might be the only opportunity she has to find answers to the questions that have been tormenting her for the last six years—and she doesn’t plan on letting this moment pass her by like she did unwittingly the last one.

#prioriacceptance #katie bell

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bloodline-rpg · 4 years

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WREN MOREIRA // 26 // ORIGINAL WITCH

❝ I'll sleep in this place with the lonely crowd❞

______________________________________________________

BIOGRAPHY

Wren Velasco was born dead, a baby without a heartbeat until a spell shocked it into working. Or at least that was what her coven liked to whisper amongst the ranks, a pretty lie to fit into her mythology. No one had any way of knowing. To her coven she first existed as a bright spot on a map, a five year old oprhan being raised by human caretakers. They actively sought out Original witches without other magic or family to turn to, located by an old form of blood scrying. After being talked through the tears and guilt, the couple gave up their adopted child without much fuss. Wren had never spoken a word to either of them. When left alone, she would have full conversations with the walls. Superstitious to the bone, they assumed her cursed.

Wren studied every scrap of magic she was given and tried her very best to fit in with the other children in the tiny village coven. Afraid of being called odd, she avoided eye contact with the shadowed strangers in her peripheral vision. When they whispered things to her, she tried her best to block them out. When spirits sought her out, she ignored them. Every time she didn’t need to actively talk or listen to a member of the living, she had headphones on at full volume, drowning out the voices with eyeliner bands and belting women. She learned to sing, her voice strong from the constant humming, vocalizing, making any sound she could to keep in constant motion. The rituals that benefited from some sort of sung incantation always flowed naturally, and sometimes the older witches would call her in to help. She tried to be a dutiful Original witch. If she exceeded expectations in other ways, she could earn her keep and forget about her innately forbidden abilities. Those dark waters that frightened her would remain unexplored, just like the witch council wanted. Wren caused no trouble.

Until the day the coven leader’s daughter died during a ritual gone tragically wrong. In an act of comfort, Wren found the grimoire hidden under the floorboards of the girl’s closet and returned it to her mother, apologizing for the theft and passing on a few final words. The coven leader gently suggested the idea of relocating to a school that could help her in suppressing her darker talents, but Wren begged and fought her way into staying.

Everyone had an eye on her after that. Witches of her type were exceedingly rare and they tended to bring misfortune upon a coven in the form of hauntings, possessions, even garden variety demons. She was quiet and determined to keep to herself, until she met a witch that wouldn’t give her peace. He started as an academic rival - a cocky bookworm with a form of omnilingualism that the elders used to decode dead or obscure languages. They were only a few days apart in age. He used his words deliberately and like daggers and picked fights with anything that moved. Within the year, the were inseparable. Wren and Jakob claimed to be brother and sister when anyone asked, sometimes twins.

Wren spent so many early childhood days being scared of the ghosts in the corner of her eyes that she didn’t stop to wonder what could possibly terrify her more. A riptide pulled Jakob out to sea at the edge of the ocean. His body washed up waterlogged days later. And so at seventeen, Wren started talking to the spirits willingly. Some ghosts haunted individual places, some haunted people, and some caught wind of the changing current in the supernatural energies and came to find her directly. She mentally exhausted herself for sleepless months on end trying to hunt him down, searching every inch of this plane and calling his spirit forward, but he had either moved on or he didn’t want to be found.

Now that she had opened herself to it, Wren couldn’t redo the stitches to close her mind back up again. It was the only thing that saved her when hunters stormed the high walls of the villa where her coven sat defenseless. The spirits gave her a four minute head start, and the rest of the witches were slaughtered.

Grifting with her ability was pretty easy. She only needed enough money in whatever town she passed through for a suite, a few good meals, and a few devastating outfits. Her magic paid for all of that and more. Turns out, people always wanted to talk to their departed loved ones. When a spirit didn’t feel like cooperating, she made it up, using an uncanny ability to read people to patch in the missing details and some light telekinesis to move a pointer around a Ouija board. Levitating a few inches off the ground was always a good visual trick, too. When the hunting got exceptionally bad, she picked her way up and down the west coast sleeping in mausoleums, knowing that there was always at least one friendly spirit willing to give her warning if a hunter was around. Malevolent spirits came for her too, but her mental wards were usually strong enough to keep them out except in sleep, leading to some pretty vicious nightmares.

Wren couldn’t avoid detection forever. What she was doing was the witch council equivalent to high crimes. By twenty four, she found herself in the walls of their sanctioned school to ‘learn the proper control’. They wanted her to block it out. She played along, but kept wanting to push in the opposite direction. What was she truly capable of if she were ever allowed to fully embrace her ability? She took all the magical instruction they were willing to give her, always looking for a little more power for self preservation’s sake. But she wasn’t an easily moldable child anymore. Eventually Wren fled from the boarding school. To her shock and utter delight, Angelina followed. The tightly buttoned up older witch that endlessly fascinated her. She was imbued with some of the most archaic magic in the universe and she refused to use it for anything fun. By the very nature of her otherness, Wren felt tethered to her.

They travelled together for two years before they made the fortuitous mistake of cutting through the loudest town Wren had ever set foot in. All of the voices competed for her attention at once, an overlapping pattern with the same message about a creature deep below the earth that sounded like a bad myth. She got to ask Lina her pivotal question after one too many shots in the local dusty bar to calm down. Want to see a dead body? They dug up the coffin and gave the female vampire inside blood, performing an act that felt eerily close to raising the dead.

______________________________________PERSONALITY/TRAITS

Thrill seeking, impulsive, and mercurial, the rules of nature itself don’t seem to apply to Wren. Other rules by extension only need to be followed when she feels like it. Social contracts seem so thin and arbitrary when the dead are so free with their secrets. For every single moment of peace or message from the beyond she gives to someone, she’ll tell three lies. Some spirits can sense her intent and won’t engage. Seeing others twist in pain over a loved one is like a cathartic release, a tiny balm to sooth over the cracks of knowing that she wasn’t worth coming back for, and that she’ll never truly belong in either world until she dies herself. Though indulging in an occasional cruel streak, she’s usually a carefree chaotic neutral over anything truly evil. She trusts Lina to be her moral compass, pulling her back in the correct direction if she veers too far off course. Her recklessness is form of not knowing or caring what things can hurt her or what her magic could eventually bring forth, but she isn’t the only one who bears the costs of such risks.

DETAILS

STATUS: Taken

Related bios: Angelina Zavala, Carmen de Leon

Species/Family info: Original Witch

Faceclaim: Priscilla Quintana

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berniesrevolution · 5 years

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You have lived in the U.S. for 30 years. You’re speeding a little to get to work when you’re pulled over. First they realize you have no license. Then they realize you have no papers. You get thrown in jail. You need your wife, a U.S. citizen, to gather documents for you. But she is undergoing chemotherapy and her memory isn’t working right. After a few weeks, her phone number goes dead. Is she in intensive care? Was she evicted? You don’t know. You are trapped in prison and have no one else to call. You explain the situation to the judge and he gives you a few extensions. Then, finally, he says his hands are tied. You’ve presented him with no evidence. You are deported back to a country you haven’t seen since you were 10. You still don’t know if your wife is alive or dead.

You work in a factory where the boss won’t turn on the heat in the wintertime, where you aren’t allowed to use the bathroom, where you get paid less than the documented workers for the same labor. You and your colleagues take a list of complaints to your boss’s office one day. He greets you with a loaded gun. You are afraid to complain again after that. Then a SWAT team raids the factory and rounds you all up. You have young U.S. citizen children, so they don’t want to deport you immediately, because your children would become burdens on the state. But every day from now on, immigration is watching you. When they call you on the phone, you must answer. When they summon you to see them, you must go. Every few years, they slap an ankle monitor on you, and then take it off again, and then put it back on you, without explanation. Every so often, they threaten to make you buy plane tickets. They tell you they can deport you whenever they want. They have already deported several of your former coworkers who are in the same situation. You are always one slip-up away from being ripped away from your family. You can’t sleep at night. When you try to picture your future, all you see is a blind fog.

When we talk about enforcing immigration laws, it’s important to be quite specific about what we mean. Immigration enforcement is not words on paper. It is a constant, daily sequence of concrete acts. It is kicking down people’s doors, it is putting people in handcuffs, it is taking people’s photographs and fingerprints, it is locking people in cages, it is forcing people into cars and buses and planes. Some of these acts happen at the border, when the government tries to block people from entering. Some of them happen inside the country, when the government hunts down those with irregular status. Sometimes, this immigration enforcement is explicitly violent, like when Border Patrol officials unleash teargas (a chemical weapon banned in warfare) on toddlers, when they rip children from their mothers’ arms, when they kick women huddled on the concrete floors of border cells and scream at them that they are animals. Other times it’s something humdrum and largely invisible: the border guard who calmly tells an asylum seeker at a port of entry that there is “no more room” in the U.S., the judge who silently decides that the terrified person in front of them hasn’t done quite enough to deserve a favorable exercise of discretion, the police officer who has a funny habit of always stopping cars with Hispanic-looking drivers, the countless bureaucrats who review immigration applications and deny them without explanation. All of these acts, from the monstrous to the mundane, have real-world effects on individual people. They mean families separated, whether by deportation or by the hard border that keeps an undocumented breadwinner from ever again visiting the children he had to leave behind. They mean people dying horribly, because they are forced to return to life-threatening danger, or because they become ill in the U.S. and are scared to go the hospital for fear their lack of status will be discovered. They mean workers exploited, because the threat of deportation keeps them under the thumb of their boss, or because arbitrary territorial lines prevent them from seeking better employment conditions in another place.

Immigration policy in the United States cannot be discussed in the abstract. Unless we talk about what our immigration laws actually mean for people’s lives, we’ll have no way to sensibly evaluate them. There are about 11 million unauthorized immigrants in the United States, and several hundred thousand arrested and deported annually. Beneath the statistics, there is fear and pain. Every choice of what laws to have and how to enforce them produces consequences: workplaces raided, kids pulled out of school, women being turned back to face domestic violence.

This context is important when we turn to Angela Nagle’s “The Left Case Against Open Borders,” recently published in American Affairs (formerly the explicitly pro-Trump Journal of American Greatness). Nagle confidently informs us that all mass migration is inherently tragic, and that incentivizing it with overly liberal immigration policies, although it seems kind, is actually cruel. The “open borders left,” Nagle declares, by embracing unrestricted immigration, is hurting the very people they are trying to help, and undermining the prospects for successful labor organizing and a restructuring of the global economic system. She goes so far as to argue that advocates of unrestricted free movement are the “useful idiots of big business,” because they are sanctioning the exploitation of imported laborers. Instead of addressing the root causes of economic migration, they have allied with the Koch Brothers in advocating “open borders.” This “open borders left” has a radically ignorant set of priorities, reacting to Trumpism by embracing Koch-ism, and ignoring the way that unrestricted migration serves the interests of the capitalist class by dividing workers and depressing wages.

ABOVE PHOTO: A U.S. Border Patrol agent patrols along a section of the U.S.-Mexico border fence on July 16, 2018 in San Diego, California. Getty Images/Mario Tama MAIN PHOTO: Government agents apprehend a landscaper during an immigration sting at Corso’s Flower and Garden Center, Tuesday, June 5, 2018, in Castalia, Ohio. Associated Press/John Minchillo

Now, because Nagle (supposedly) cares about immigrants, she doesn’t want to see them teargassed at the border or hunted down by immigration police. What she doeswant to see is employers who employ undocumented workers being punished by the state, so that they don’t hire undocumented workers anymore. This is the only concrete policy proposal in Nagle’s entire piece, and at no point does she discuss what its enforcement would actually look like. That’s because the enforcement of this policy proposal would look pretty fucking monstrous. In fact, the “E-Verify” system Nagle touts as a humane alternative to ICE is a system that people like Ann Coulterand Kris Kobach have long been putting forward as the ideal immigration restrictionist policy. (Given such political bedfellows, by Angela Nagle’s logic we might accuse her of being the useful idiot of white nationalism. Then again, Angela Nagle’s logic is terrible.) E-Verify is the central piece of a slate of an anti-immigrant policies designed to encourage “self-deportation”: that is, making life so miserable for undocumented people in the U.S., making them so poor and desperate and demoralized and afraid, that they decide to leave the country of their own accord. As the anti-immigrant Center for Immigrant Studies describes, the goal of self-deportation is to “create ‘virtual choke points’—events that are necessary for life in a modern society but are infrequent enough not to bog down everyone’s daily business. Another analogy for this concept to firewalls in computer systems, that people could pass through only if their legal status is verified. The objective is not mainly to identify illegal aliens for arrest (though that will always be a possibility) but rather to make it as difficult as possible for illegal aliens to live a normal life here.”

The fact that a self-described leftist like Nagle would openly support E-Verify shows that she is, at best, so grossly uninformed about immigration policy that it was irresponsible for her to commentate on it. At worst, it might be that she genuinely does not give a shit about the suffering of immigrants and is perfectly happy to sacrifice them to political expediency. Either way, she is not a credible exponent of what “the left” ought to think about anything.

However, ideas like Nagle’s have proven persuasive to a number of people over the years, so it’s worth going through her essay and dissecting each of her claims. First, Nagle argues that “the left” has historically (and wisely) opposed mass immigration as detrimental to worker interests. Secondly, she argues that there are no compelling arguments in favor of open borders or free movement other than those put forward by “big business,” whose only desire to exploit cheap labor. Thirdly, she argues that using the E-verify system to target employers of undocumented workers, rather than the workers themselves, is a humane way to keep undocumented people out of the workforce. Finally, she argues that immigrants don’t truly want to migrate anyway, so we should block them from doing so, and in the meantime just go about fixing all the problems that caused them to feel they needed to migrate in the first place.

(Continue Reading)

#politics #the left #current affairs #immigration #immigrant rights #immigration reform #progressive #progressive movement

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laidbackmarco · 6 years

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Trinkets of a Different Time

As a kid I remember rifling through my dad’s nightstand to find small pocket knives, trinkets, and various other personal articles. As a romantic and philosopher I believe the inanimate objects we interact with everyday tell us a lot about ourselves, and have deep vast stories hidden with them. One could argue that they are as much a part of this living breathing universe as we are. The imagination of a child allowed me to daydream of a life lived before I came into the world.

How much do I know of being a minority in the 60s, 70s, 80s? What Tacoma was like, the stories of Kansas and Virginia which always seem to not be long enough for me to know anything. Or on my mom’s end how could I know what it was like to lose my father at an early age. To grow up in a third world country miles away over the pacific ocean. I hear short snippets of each of their lives through oral stories passed down from one generation to the next. But it’s often strange to think about how little we know about the people who raised us, and often weirder thinking that they have as little of an idea of what they are doing as you do.

Strangers With The Same DNA

My mom being a party animal, my dad being some sort of geek. . . If I met them on the street would I recognize them? What I would give to be Marty McFly and meet and observe my parents in their youth. My knowledge is so limited I have troubling remember what happens in a day if I don’t journal. The images I have of my parents are constructs in my mind that change and shift with every passing moment. Remember the image you held of your dad when you were five, its probably the way my elementary school students think of me now as a 23 year old adult. Up till seven I thought my dad was some sort of flawless super hero. Of course that image has since changed, but as I grow into adulthood and discover how hard it really is, I can once again say that I am amazed by the things my dad has accomplished on his time on this earth. The flaws my dad has only make him more relatable, and overcoming some of them is a testament to how much he cares.

Parents lie to their kids all the time, I think my parents lied about their past as much as they tell the truth. Of course they could be lying on accident due to the lackluster perception of self present all humans. (including me the author)

Most of my parents lives I was not a part of . . .the time I spent with them is less than half of their lives. I know mostly nothing about the people that live under my roof with me and have guided me through the world that they too had to figure out and find meaning in.

The Same Name

Maurice Vincent Harris

My dad and I share practically the same name, but I have never once called him Marc or Maurice, to do so would just feel wrong. Even calling him dad for the sake of my “audience”(thanks for reading really. . .and most of you are English speakers I’m assuming?) feels so unsettling. Because to me he has always been Tatay. Hearing that word in my head makes years of memories fly through my mind. Recently he’s picked up the name Beefo, a name my little sister has knighted him with. During my time in high school my friends had come up with a name for my Tatay that is the most fon for me to use Black Mario.

Black Mario felt just as right as Tatay and is less intimate so for the sake of this chapter let’s call him Black Mario.

Things Only I Know

What can I tell you about my dad that no one else knows? He’s afraid of dying just like everyone else, he hates his job although he appreciates all that it’s provided for us, his favorite cigarettes are menthol lights, he worries all the time about all his kids. Karina, Cristina, me. . . But he worries about Karina the most. . . Because they are scarily alike. He is very old fashion and rarely cooks, cleans, or does the laundry, but he does like to do yardwork and keep all the vehicles in working order. Some of his bad habits are gambling, smoking, and road rage. It’s hard to sleep around him because he snores very loudly, and once he’s out it’s hard to get him back up(yay for sneaking in xbox time). He’s not afraid to express what he feels at restaurants, but for some reason can’t get in touch with his sensitive side. He misses the days when I was little. His mind is always on the future, but is sometimes impulsive. He doesn’t sleep much, but he can sleep for a while when he finally retires to the bed. He’s not as fast up and down the stairs as he used to be even just ten years ago when the regular pace of the slight jog going up the stairs has turned into a labored and offset slower paced climb up them. He expresses his emotions in weird ways like some sort of anime tsundere.

That’s my image of him now, but I know with all things this wasn’t how he always was.

I remember growing up I used to tell people I was black and they wouldn’t believe me until they saw my father. Trying to describe my father to someone who had never seen him went as follows. Well he’s a tall black guy with a mustache, who always wears a hat, and blue Boeing coveralls. He is a plumber/maintenance worker. A description closely matched by one of the world’s most famous Italian plumbers in the world. Mario. . .

Slice of Life

Although Black Mario is my father, the knowledge I have on this specimen is, only a slice of his life. Most of his existence remains shrouded in mystery.(If I ever have kids they can literally search through my teens and twenties, and even further back if I get around to scanning and uploading our photo collection) They need to hurry up with that assassins creed machine Animus please. I know his birthdate by heart thanks to all those damn how old are you things on the internet for mature games not porn I swear. I always put in my dad’s date of birth for some reason so my Xbox live account says I’m in my sixties. I always think about Alan Watt’s description about how we describe a beginning, did my father’s life start when he was born, when he was conceived, or when he was an evil gleam in his father’s eyes?

Baby Boomer

Black Mario is a baby boomer born on December 31st 1954, being part of a military family he was born on the other side of the country in Virginia. Dave and Patricia Harris. Like many, my grandfather had served in Second World War another young man thrown into a battle that shed much blood, but also brought the world together. When the war was over he was in his late teens and met a young girl from the Philippines who returned with him to the states. In the Philippines due to the lack of documentation it was possible for my grandma, who was actually 14, to lie about her age. Perhaps America was the land of opportunity and a chance for her to seek adventure out of her small province. Due to the different cultural values of both the time and the region, it wasn’t strange for people to be settling down and having families at a young age. I mean the concept of “adulthood” is a construct created by culture. Using an arbitrary number such as one’s age to determine responsibility is pretentious, preposterous, and absurd. There was a time when people settled down much younger in life due to the short life expectancy. In other cultures the marriage ages vary to some degree as well, and for all you Christians out there, Mary was like fourteen so . . . Yeah.

Two teenagers went about raising a family . . What could possibly go wrong?

My Grandpa was a short tempered, sharp tonged, sometimes violent man. . . God. . . He’s starting to sound like the stereo typical African American T.V. Dad. Although I imagine being in the military during war time will change you, being African American his role was limited to a cook. He was damn good at his job too often getting requests from generals and officers to have him be the one to prepare their meals. I can’t really speak much about Grandpa Dave as I know almost nothing about him.

Mark In The Middle

My dad is a younger middle child of a large family. . . 12 kids I believe, Lola tells stories of never ending cooking, cleaning, and laundry. . . My worst nightmare. . . Laundry. The values at the time consisted of a breadwinner and the stay at home mom. With limited education and the high cost of daycare what choice was there for Lola. Did she have any bigger dreams than that? For someone like me with delusions of grandeur I often forget that some people’s dreams is to provide and care for a family.

My dad’s journey began in Virginia, where there are a lot of other Harris family groups, but I have never been to the big Harris Family reunion so they might as well be aliens with similar D.N.A. My dad himself doesn’t seem to remember much about Virginia as the earliest stories he had was the drive to Kansas itself. With no freeways, it must have been a traumatizingly long journey for a kid to remember it. When I was a kid when I thought of Kansas I thought of the Wizard of Oz and little house on the Prairie. But included in my dad’s memories are a packed station wagon full of stuff and kids. The American Road trip has some what of romanticized image. With no smartphones the entertainment you had was the people with you and watching the world fly by you.

Kids tend to complain when enduring such things as their perspective on time is much different from a fully grown adult, since time is a relative function 1 year to a five year old is 8 times longer than it is for a forty year old. They would have complained but I imagine grandpa would probably say this when he was at the end of his nerves. “Stop complaining before I give you something to complain about”

The thought of a Parent striking a child is something that I’ve been protected and shielded from for the most part. Sometimes black Mario would spank us or give us a light tap on the head. . . But never beat or strike us with full force. . . Apparently his dad would “beat the shit of of him” and his siblings sometimes. . .I don’t know if this extended to my grandma as well. The terrifying thought and reality of a child being abused in any way isn’t something we like to keep in our minds, but it happens I can only wonder what kind of feelings Black Mario must be harboring about that, he never talks about anything, so that’s not how he expressed it. Perhaps in some journals in the garage somewhere I can find an answer. (Although I’m one of the people that thinks kids are too soft now a days, I mean I got spanked and I turned out somewhat fine. . . Right?)

I doubt that Black Mario has many memories before he was ten, because I’m a third of his age and I have barely anything up there, but from what I can gather about Kansas is that its flat, cold in the winter, hot in the summer, and there are tornadoes. Being stuck in the basement of a house sounds like as much fun as a being millennial in a power outage without cell service.

The Place Where I’m From

When Black Mario was in the third or fourth grade he moved to the City at the Center of my heart. The 253, T-Town, the city with the famous aroma. . . The city of Tacoma. And his family lived in the one place they could afford a home, Hilltop. Which if you’re not a local has a bad rep with being a not so good area to be in, Tacompton. Although neighborhoods were not segregated by color in essence with the way housing prices were in certain areas they might as well have been. Speaking of Black Mario experiencing racism in his youth. It’s not a matter if he did, the question is how much and when he met these challenges and from whom. Being a mixed raced Filipino sometimes it’s hard to fit in with either group and you end up in this limbo between races. Thankfully being in the pacific northwest the harsh treatment was padded to a certain extent, but not eliminated.

I find it extremely odd that events I’ve read about in history books like the moon landing, JFK, Nixon, and all the fantastic things that were happening with the red scare and the cold war were experienced by the teenage version of Back Mario. I ought to pester him and ask him about that one day over a beer. . . Or a joint I mean I’m in Washington let me pick my poison XD. I get these stories but, there are certain things that don’t come to the surface when hearing these stories. It’s so hard to interpret another’s worldview and the personal experiences they have that shape the way they see things. What kind of ten year old was he? A shy quiet one, or the ever rambunctious loud type. Being the younger of the boys of his family, I can speculate that he was given a lot of hand me downs, having the nickname buck(for bucktoothed) probably means he was the one getting teased by his older siblings. Being that my dad is like me and has trouble communicating and keeping friends he and my uncle Cisco or Coach were probably really close.

One thing I know about my dad from his stories is that he is a hustla. He used to shine shoes or sell things to the businessmen of Tacoma downtown, he had a paper route, and he worked in the school cafeteria. Which has a number of benefits, extra food, free lunch, and cash. But it was probably hard for him to make friends if he was working while most kids bond over things like meals. He went to Jason Lee middle school where he played in the drum line and was a bench warmer in sports. To be honest being a black kid in America you’re expected to come out of the womb dribbling a basketball, but luckily for black Mario he enjoyed basketball, but where he actually played the sport I have no Idea.

East Side

Sometime during the teenage years the family moved from hilltop to the East side of Tacoma. The house they lived in was very small for the amount of people that were housed there, but you have to make do with what you have.

This house is very close to the original home in east Tacoma, shown here is my uncles place

When Black Mario hit high school age he went to Stadium High school where he once again played the drums and remained on that shiny bench keeping them nice and warm for the starters. Black Mario didn’t actually graduate from stadium, although he did get his GED. During this time I have stories of him getting caught underage drinking with his stadium friends in northeast Tacoma, when apprehended by the police, he was met with the terrible consequence of pouring the beer out “I had to pour out a whole 30 rack once it was the saddest thing as the cop made us pour them out one at a time”.

When he joined the Military in 1972 as a young Kid. Often hearing his disdain of the government it’s really surprising that he would ever join the military, but I guess you can’t argue with a job with decent wages that provides meals and housing for its soldiers. Not to mention that being in the military teaches values such as work ethic, the importance of time, and some other valuable skills. Other than the whole training you to kill other human beings thing, it’s a pretty good deal. With the military he was able to go to Germany and Korea. Those memories unforgettable as he still talks about the days abroad.

My favorite story is after a night of drinking his best friend Rodney began to put his uniform on.

Black Mario: Nigga why you putting your uniform on Rodney: They serve midnight chow and you gotta be in this here uniform to get some chow. Black Mario: Hey wait for me I’ll put my uniform on too.

While he was in the military Black Mario did some real evaluating and thinking. He calculated the amount of money he got paid per hour to be a solider and compared it to what they were making at Boeing. In 1977 he was honorably discharged from the military achieving the rank of Sergeant. His stint with the military gave him priority for getting a job at Boeing. The company he’s still working for into his sixties. Unfortunately his first relationship didn’t last as long as his job, and neither did his second, but he did have kids and I got extended family members out of the relationship.(well more like they got me because I was to come later) What is a mystery to me is what he was like through the 70s and 80s.

The Big Mystery is What was he like?

His vocabulary and humor makes me feel like he experimented with drugs, I mean that 70s show and Cheech and Chong are funny for most people, but the green guys n gals find it more funny. He and his friend Bobby used to Deejay, but what kind of records did he spin house, hip hop, disco, techno? We get snippets of the music he liked, Funk, Disco, Old school Rap, disco. Did he like dancing and stuff going to the discos?

Having owned a Harley, a Firebird, and some other cars like an RX7, he must have enjoyed motorsports as much as I did.

I think he was a geek, because I remember he had a NES, a Nintendo entertainment system, and so many nerdy toys from the late 80s that he has to be a nerd. Not to mention he beat the Mario Arcade Game, he knew the Pacman Pattern at one point, and he is insanely good at Bullet Hell games. I felt like he went to the bar and played the arcade games and pool, more than socializing or drinking. His memorabilia includes Transformers, and Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, so like me he was a grown man who watched cartoons did he read comic books as well?

Family Guy

My dad has fond memories involving my three cousins Ja’nielle, Jarod, and Jon Jon, where he was that cool, weird uncle who lived next door. There was probably a part of him that longed for that family life after his relationships didn’t work out as he had hoped.

Life changed for Black Mario when he went to either a party or a bar one night, he would encounter the most dangerous thing known to man. . . A pretty Woman.

If anyone wants to learn about where I come from this is an article that's about a millenial kid thinking about his boomer dad #babyboomer #millenial #family #kids #dad #father #black #mario #autobiography #tacoma Trinkets of a Different Time As a kid I remember rifling through my dad's nightstand to find small pocket knives, trinkets, and various other personal articles.

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litsy-kalyptica · 6 years

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Loves of My Life

Of polyamory and single fatherhood. (1/?)

AHamilton: My son takes first priority in my life —always from the day of his birth to the day of my death. But if I wasn’t otherwise occupied by my Pip, I would pass the bar in only six months.

And his class partners had not liked him much after that introduction.

But they were in this for the long-run now, bunched together either by fate or the whims of a professor not one of them had seen in person. Five in total, but Alex couldn’t remember their names beyond a slew of arbitrary usernames.

He wondered if he maybe could’ve helped himself by giving his name in that first response. He’d staked his claim on mastery of the program to faceless classmates without even giving his name! That would be it.

Alexander had posted to the discussion board three days ago, and still no response. No one had posted anything yet. Alex wasn’t sure whether he was more worried that his group was avoiding him, or that he’d been bunched with a group of slackers!

Probably the latter.

His phone rang. MARTHA. He flipped it open, pushing down the rush of anxiety. Calm down, Alexander. There’s no telling that she’s calling with bad news.

“Alexander?”

“Hey, how’s my boy?”

“Oh, he’s doing just fine. He’s lying on the sofa, almost falling asleep on his picture book. Poor thing can barely keep his eyes open. Tired and hungry.”

“Okay, tell him I’ll be back soon.” He was already closing his laptop. “Don’t give him any snacks unless they’re on the approved list. He can have some orange juice.” He slipped his hefty laptop into his satchel and chucked the cold coffee into the trash on his way out of the shop. “I’m three blocks away. Ask him to start counting, unless he’s too tired to count to twenty.”

“Will do, honey. I’ll see you in a few minutes.”

Alex tucked his phone back into his jeans and ran a hand over his burning eyes. He had lost track of time again. He’d gotten out of work at five, and wanted to get a bit of coursework done at the cafe before he got home, but suddenly five became seven, and seven became nine. And he was going to miss Pip’s bedtime.

“He’s asleep.”

Alex nodded and stepped quietly inside. In the warm glow of a side table lamp washed over his small son curled into an impossible position on the sofa. How could he have been comfortable like that? Alex tried to pick him up in a such a way that wouldn’t awaken the boy.

He held Pip close against his chest. He’d always adored this boy, but he’d been feeling especially sentimental lately. It was Friday. On Tuesday, Philip would be starting school. Alexander wasn’t sure he was ready for that.

Ideally, father and son wouldn’t spend more than six hours apart at a time. Alex was lucky enough to work within six blocks of the apartment building, and George always brought Pip for lunch. It was always the highlight of his day, and Alex told himself that it was all for Pip’s sake more than his own.

“Thanks again, Martha.” He shifted his hold on his son a bit, trying to keep his computer and the small child from dropping to the floor. His poor laptop would have to go first. “And next time, feel free to call me earlier.”

“I know you’re busy.”

“I’m never too busy to miss Pip’s bedtime.”

She smiled and headed into the kitchen. Alex heard the water running at the sink. “Good night, Alexander.”

“Good night.”

Alexander lived down the hall from the Washingtons, so home was just a short walk away. But even on this very brief journey, Pip started to shift a bit in his arms, face rubbing back and forth against Alex’s shoulder as he started to wake up. “Daddy?”

“Look where we are, Pip. We’re home.” He was just coming up on the door, and kissed his son’s head through a bed of dark curls.

“Time?”

“Bedtime.”

Pip sighed and tucked his head back against Alex’s neck, only to giggle through his exhaustion. “Your neck is itchy, Daddy.”

“Oh no. Pip, I think you need to help me shave.” He dug his key out of his pocket.

“I don’t know how.” He seemed to genuinely lament his inability to help with this.

Alex laughed. “You’re a fast learner.”

Alex got Philip through his evening routine, and the four-year-old climbed into bed a half hour later than usual, but Alex easily relented to reading him a bedtime story. “But only ten minutes tonight.” He set the timer to vibrate against his lap. Pip settled under his green wool blanket, and Alex read aloud from a secondhand copy of James and the Giant Peach.

He always did the voices. It sometimes hurt his throat, but it always made Philip smile.

Pip was asleep by the time the timer went off, but he still gently tucked the boy in and kissed his head, turned the nightlight on, and left the door cracked just a little bit open.

Alex thought that Pip would be just as nervous about school starting as he was, so he dedicated the weekend to doing all sorts of fun things. Most of it was at home: they drew and colored, put together puzzles, read together. They went out to the library and Alex took out eight books at Philip’s request, and carried to heavy stack back to the apartment.

Sunday was usually a day for rest at home, and the only day of the week Philip was allowed to watch TV on his own, while Alexander got some work done in advance of the long week ahead. But they would both be home for Monday, so Alexander pushed that time off a little, and they went to the park after breakfast.

George and Martha would often take Philip to the small asphalt park in the neighborhood, but Alex splurged on a trip to Central Park, followed by a lunch out and a movie in the theater.

Pip was already on the jungle gym by the time Alex sat on a nearby bench. Pip had no trouble making friends. He ran around on the playground with a group of two other boys, both white, and one little black girl. Pip seemed especially friendly toward the girl.

Alex caught the man sitting next to him watching the same group of children as himself, and he smiled. “What I wouldn’t do to have that… again,” he added as an afterthought.

The stranger smiled. “Which one’s yours?”

Alex pointed at the mop-headed ray of sunshine as he ran past the slide, nearly slipping on the woodchips. “Philip, be careful!” But he had a bright grin on his face. “Light of my life.”

“I know the feeling.” Shortly after Philip climbed up the steps to the slide, the same girl with whom he’d been playing came racing up after him, and in a similar childlike fashion she nearly slipped right off.

“Theo!” The man that had previously been sitting next to Alex suddenly rushed over. But the girl, Theo, was all smiles and quickly resumed the game of tag. The man took a slow step backwards, watching after her, before returning to the bench with some uncertainty.

Alex decided to help him lighten up. “They look like they’re having fun. Your daughter?”

“Yeah.” He laughed but without any humor behind it. “I wish sometimes she’d take a moment to slow down. I don’t want her to get hurt.”

Alex couldn’t blame him there, but couldn’t help but think it might be better for both of father and daughter if he could relax a little. He almost voiced as much, but his brain short-circuited when he realized he’d lost track of his son.

“Philip?” he called out, starting to sit up. This seemed to get the other father’s attention, as well, and he stood to join him as Alex set off closer to the playground. “Philip? Pip? Where’d you go?”

“I’m here, Daddy!” Pip popped out from behind one of the walls of the playground set. “Hide-and-seek!”

Alex laughed off his peaked anxiety and ruffled his son’s hair. “Okay, but you can’t be hiding from Daddy, right?”

“Right!”

“How’re you feeling?”

“I’m good!”

“You’ll sleep well tonight.” He laughed, more genuinely this time. Pip giggled and scurried off into the slide as Theo rounded the corner.

Theo’s father was still standing next to him, and Alex caught back up with where they were a minute ago. Only a minute, he thought. “She’ll be fine.”

The man didn’t say anything.

“I’m Alex.”

“Aaron.”

“Nice to meet you.” Alex watched their children playing together some more. The other kids had wandered off to other games. It was just the two of them left in their game.

“We’ll have to arrange a playdate.”

Alex smiled. “Yeah, I guess so.”

“1… 2… 3… 4… 5… 6… 7… 8… 9…”

Pip let a breath out on ten; slowly, as the doctor had taught him. “You’re getting better at this,” Alex noted with a smile, tucking the inhaler back into his bag.

“School starts this week, Daddy. I’ll carry it myself.”

Alex hummed quietly. Two more days. He just wanted to enjoy it, wanted both of them to enjoy it while they could.

It was around noon, and Alex and Pip sat under a tree so the boy could nap in the shade. Pip used his father’s shin as a pillow —“The boy could sleep anywhere, in any way,” Alex noted— so Alex could pull his laptop out and do some work while his son slept. The less he had to get done during the week, the more time he could spend with Pip in the evenings.

There were two new posts to the group forum: both from the same person, both on the topic he had posed to the group. Alexander was suddenly ecstatic and eager to reply. He looked over the thread. The first post responded directly to his first question (and, Alex would admit, rather intelligently), but the follow-up had less to do with the content Alex had presented.

ABurr: Alexander —you present an interesting argument here, but I get the sense you’re trying to outdo the rest of us at something. Call it a hunch, call it truth, but the way you’ve already been speaking to us on here you seem to think you’re better than the rest of us. Let’s agree to all stay on equal footing in this. I understand, and admire, your resolve to get ahead, but I ask that you make sure it doesn’t amount to showing off.

#hamilton #elams #lams #hamliza #213 slutty slutty years

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plasticsposse · 7 years

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The Penis Game & Group Projects

(Hi, this is a japril med school au I found in my drafts. For this story I’m going with April’s first reason for being a virgin that she revealed in 7x07, saying she wanted it to be special, instead of using her religion. Hope you guys enjoy)

“I know mom.” Jackson Avery said for what felt like the billionth time into his cell phone. For the entire 10 minute duration, from his room on campus to the library, his mother, Dr Catherine Avery has been scolding him.

“Jackson I know you’re in college but you need to stop sleeping around so much or be more discrete. You’re not in your under grad anymore you’re in med school. More importantly at Harvard where half of our coworkers children attend school.”

“I’m well aware of it.” Jackson replied while rolling his eyes and striding up the giant concrete steps leading up to the Countway Library

It’s not like he sleeps around that much. In Jackson’s opinion, the fellow “legacies” of Harvard needed to mind their own fucking business, but he would never say that aloud while talking to his mom.

“Your grandfather and I are tired of your indiscretions being gossip here. So I’m setting you up with a date for the fall fundraiser.”

“What? No. You’re not.” He grasped the library’s door handle way harder than what was needed and swung the door open as he entered the building. Anytime his mother has tried to “set him up” in the past it was one of the younger staffers or a friend’s daughter, anyone who would be her little spy. Picking up whatever his mother didn’t hear through the grape vine.

“Want to bet?”

“You can’t because-” trying to come up with a good lie quickly, while looking for his study group was harder than one would think. The library’s arched ceiling went up to two stories tall and their study area was filled with evenly spaced tables; the way they were lined up made it goes as long as half a football field. Scanning his eyes through the dispersed crowd of people: the guy in the very back corner who thinks he is inconspicuously watching porn, but in reality, everyone has known he does that since the first year of undergrad; the Aryan study group, all of them had blonde hair with blue eyes. Some of them were stupid enough to tweet things with the hashtag #AllLivesMatter or even worse #WhiteLivesMatter; there was an attractive girl studying by herself, and two tables away from her was just who he was looking for. Charles Percy, he was wearing his ridiculous neon yellow shirt. Jackson was pretty sure no one else in Massachusetts owned it.

“Jackson, I don’t have all day here.” His mother said sounding less impressed than she had throughout the entire conversation. Bringing him back to his need for an excuse.

“You can’t set me up with someone because … Because I have a girlfriend.” He stuttered out while walking towards his friends.

“Since when? Who is she? Are you bringing her out to brunch on Sunday? You remembered we’re having brunch right?”

“Mom we have brunch the third Sunday of every month of course I remember. It’s uh really new and I can’t get into any details right now cause I have to go bye.” Jackson hung up before his mother could say anything else.

“So since when do you have a girlfriend Jackie?” One of Jacksons best friends, Alex Karev smirked. Of course, Alex had to hear his lie.

“Shut up. My mom was trying to set me up with one of her minions again.” Jackson said while sitting down.

“What’s this imaginary girlfriend’s name?” Charles asked joining in with Alex.

“Look it doesn’t matter, I’ll tell my mom it’s too new for them to meet each other and then, both conveniently and tragically, we’ll break up just before the gala.”

“Dude, you think that will actually work? Your mom is probably stalking your facebook right now looking for your fake girlfriend.”

“This issue is more than a month away, I’m more worried about the fact I have to memorize all of these reading tomorrow, Since Webbers going to grill me.” Jackson sighed.

Professor Webber was one of the most highly respected faculty members on staff. He taught with such a passion anyone would want to learn from him. But he was a hard ass who loved to pick on his students all the time. Especially with Jackson, and for no apparent reason.

Almost two hours had passed since Jackson sat down with his group. The three men stopped actually studying 15 minutes ago and for the past ten have been playing the penis game.

“Penis.” Charles whispered, this was one of these more arbitrary choices for a game, but it helped pass the time.

“Penis.” Alex said at the same octave, completely missing the point of the game. He and Charles were too big of chickens to scream the word in the library, but Jackson was so bored he went with the lengthening the time of the game.

“Penis.” Jackson repeated less than a decibel higher. Charles and Alex continued following the same tone as the person before them. Jackson was getting ready to get it to a normal noise level. Licking his top lip then proceeding to press it with his bottom lip making the p sound “pe-”

“PENIS.” A very loud, very feminine voice bellowed startling all three men, and the entire library. “There the game is over. Now can you guys please shut up so people can study in peace?” Asked the pretty girl Jackson noticed when he first arrived.

Although she still tried to sound as assertive as she was screaming, any hardness to her voice was basically gone, replaced by a soft almost endearing tone.

She took their silence as a yes and went back to reading her textbook. Jackson was completely speechless. The only other person he never knew how to reply sometimes was his mother. He was so impressed he wanted to know this girls name. Before he could ask, her phone started ringing and she was gone.

As soon as she left Alex was the first to speak “I don’t think I’ve ever played that game and had a girl win.”

“Have you ever actually played the penis game with a girl before?” Jackson asked.

“Oh God! I knew I knew her from somewhere. Oh no.” Charles mumbled actually looking sick to his stomach.

“Dude, who are you talking about?” Alex asked furrowing his eyebrows, neither he nor Jackson could follow what Charles was talking about half the time.\

“That girl, she was with the one who made out with me at the frat party two weeks ago.” Charles put his face in his hands as he continued, “and now she’ll probably tell her friend I’m an idiot, who plays the penis game in the library.” “Wait which chick did you kiss?”

“I’ve been trying to find her since the party. Don’t you guys listen to anything I say?” Charles was met with two blank stares from his friends. “The one with the pixie cut and rose tattoo on her arm.”

“Oh yeah, we thought you gave up on her like a week ago.” Jackson said.

“It’s college, and you’re in med school. Women throw themselves at us once they find out. Just move on.” Alex added. - After they were done studying the three boys parted ways from the library. Without any plans and not really in the mood to go back to his dorm, Jackson found himself wandering to the closest coffee shop.

It was a very comforting place, the smell of coffee beans greeting him as soon as he entered, plush leather couches to rest on, a shelf full of book one could borrow during their stay here, and acoustic songs playing softly in the background.

Jackson made his way to the back of the line and couldn’t be happier with what he saw ahead of him, the cashier was his mystery girl. She welcomed every customer with a contagious smile and listened attentively to every word they said. Her hair is tied in a high ponytail, that bounced beautifully every time her head moves. By the time Jackson was the next person in line he has studied every inch of her that could be seen above the counter. He knows it sounds weird but she intrigues him.

“I can help who’s next.” She called out while passing the latest coffee order she took to the person on bar. As she looked up her entire demeanour changed “What can I get for you?”

“I’ll get a medium americano, and I would like to apologize for me and my friends earlier. We had no intentions of disrupting your studying.”

“That the entire point of the game.” she laughed “And your name?”

“Jackson, can I get yours.”

“Your total is $2.58.” She replied

“You never answered my question,” Jackson said to her as he passed a $5 bill. “And keep the change.”

“My name? Nah, I don’t trust people with last names as first names.” This girl amused him more and more with each second that passed by.

“You know that’s quite prejudicial of you.” Jackson told her while giving her the ‘look.’ Whenever he used his eyes he always got what he wants. Out of trouble with adults as a child, teachers giving him extensions on projects, and dates lot and lots of dates.

“I guess I’m a biased person, you can pick up your drink at the left. I can help whos next.” Correction, Jacksons eyes usually always got him what he wants.

“I have a medium Americano for a uh-uh. Just an uh medium americano.” The male barista called out with a peculiar expression. Jackson picked up the steaming cup, unsure as to what would cause the guys expression. What was wrong with his drink? It looked like an Americano and when he put it up to his nose it smelt like one. Everything seemed perfectly normal. That was until he noticed what was on the side of the cup, with perfect writing “PENIS.” - When Sunday came around Jackson wore one of his favourite suits. A grey Giorgio Armani, with a very tiny pinstripe pattern, that was altered perfectly for him. On more than one occasion, when Jackson went to these brunches people assumed he was going to church. To many Christian girls, he looked the perfect part to be their dream guy. Because of this, he was often given many numbers belonging to girls with crosses on their necks. He even hooked up with a couple of them (on a different day), but nothing more. The one thing that destroyed each and everyone girls fantasy was the fact he’s an atheist.

He was raised to believe in science and only things that can be proven. That was the entire ironic part to him, so many of the women that wanted him believed in love at first sight and there is only one person they’re meant to be with. Jackson doesn’t even believe in the concept of soulmates, they’re ridiculous to him. How could someone actually believe that out of the seven billion people on this planet you’re only compatible with one of them. And how is it even possible that this one person is even in the same geographical region as their “soul mate.”

Jackson arrived at brunch right on the dot, at 9 am.

“You’re late.” His mother greeted him.

“You said to meet at 9 o'clock, it’s 9!”

“And I also say on time is five minutes early. Now kiss your mothers cheek and sit down.” He did as told, after kissing his mothers cheek he sat down in the seat directly across from her. “So where is she?” His mother asked peeking her head behind him.

“Who?” Jackson questioned turning to face where she was looking, unsure of whom she was looking for.

“Don’t play dumb, Jackie. Where is your girlfriend?” Oh yeah… He ‘had’ a girlfriend.

“Mom-”

“Oh c'mon Jackson, it’s not like I’m going to psychology damage her. I just want to meet the girl that’s making my son happy.”

“We’re still really new and I don’t want to rush it, mom.” Although his mom has meddled with his love life since he started dating, today she looked so genuinely excited. It made him feel awful about creating this lie. He kept telling himself if he didn’t, the night of the fundraiser would be a terrible setup. And as a bonus, when his fake girlfriend (hypothetically) breaks his heart, his mother won’t yell at him for getting lucky with someone at the gala…. And that thought was even worse if he kept this up the title of worlds most terrible son would be his soon. “I really care about her, but I will bring her to the gala.”

“Oh alright, can I get her name?” The one problem in an otherwise full proof plan.. Jane Doe? Suzy Homemaker? No name?

“No, I don’t need you internet stalking her. You can find out at the gala.”

“Fine, I’ll meet her then and she will tell me everything about herself. Speaking of the gala, since it’s on a Saturday night, and that function will go until the sun rises, I want to move our monthly brunch. What day is it your classes start later.”

“Thursday.”

“Perfect, we will meet the Thursday before the gala. Make sure, you put the changed date in your calendar.” - “Alright everyone, as you know, your Objective Structured Clinical Exams are coming up in the next couple of months. Last class, I gave you all 7 different patients to study, all with different symptoms. Let’s see who actually did their work.” Professor Webber looked down at his classroom list to call on names. “Ms Murphy.”

“Ugh yes, sir.” A tall girl, with long dirty blonde hair, and very prominent cheek bones replied.

“Patient four.”

“Uh, patient four.” The girl repeated in a questioning matter.

“Yes, tell your class about patient four.”

“Um..”

“Do you know what case I’m even talking about?” There was no response to his question, just silence.

“How could someone not do the assignments Webber gave? That’s like showing up to class naked.” Jackson whispered to his friend, completely baffled at what he is witnessing.

“A complete moron.” Alex replied.

“Mr Karev, tell me about patient four.” Professor Webber said, startling both Alex and Jackson.

“Patient four is in recovery after surgery and is having respiratory problems.” “What is your diagnosis?”

“Post-op pneumonia, I would have her put on antibiotics right away.” Alex answered, voice full of confidence.

“The drugs have been administrated and nothing has changed over night. She still has shortness of breath what now?” Professor Webber asked

“I.. don’t know.” He answered truthfully

“Name the causes of post-op fever.”

“Yes sir..” Alex quickly grabs his notes for reference.

“From your head. Not from a book. Don’t look it up, learn it, it should be in your head. Name the common causes of post-op fever.” “Uh…the common causes of post-op…”

“Can anybody name the common causes of post-op fever?” Professor Webber looks away from Alex, asking the entire class now. Jackson felt bad for his friend, usually, only Webber grilled him this bad. “Go ahead,” Webber said looking at someone further back than Jackson and Alex.

“Wind, water, wound, walking, wonder drugs. The five Ws. Most of the time it’s wind, splinting or pneumonia. Pneumonia’s easy to assume, especially if you don’t run tests.” Said a feminine voice, the same one from the library and the cafe last week.

“What do you think is wrong with patient 4?”

“The fourth W, walking. I think they’re a prime candidate for pulmonary embolism.” She replied to their instructor, completely sure of herself. “And how would you diagnose?”

“Spiral CT, VQ scan, provide O2, dose with Heparin, and consult for an IVC filter.”

“Thank you, ugh, Miss?”

“Kepner, sir.” She said sounding timider than just before. For the rest of the lecture, Webber tortured other students with these cases. Shockingly he left Jackson alone.

“Some of you succeeded today while others failed miserably. Not only is this preparing you for your tests, it’s also the basis of your upcoming project. I’m assuming the majority of you won’t like this but you’ll be in groups of my choosing. I won’t take any complaints because no matter whether you go into research, radiology, dermatology, gynaecology, surgery or any other option you will have to learn to work with your colleagues as a team. You and your partner will have to create a case. Then you will share your case to five different groups and they will show you there’s. I just sent an email with a list of every group.”

Everyone in the class whipped their phones out to look for said email. Jackson refreshed his phone five times before the email appeared in his inbox. As soon as he clicked it he skipped down to the bottom for the attachment.

He quickly read every name “Alexandra Grey and George O'Malley” doesn’t know the girl, sort of knows George; a bit of a nerd but he is always kind to everyone. “Isobel Stevens and Ryan Scott.” She’s a part time underwear model while he’s a full-time douche. A bunch of people he barely knows are listed, he sees his best friends name “Alex Karev and Reed Adamson” no clue who she is. Then he notices mystery girls last name, Kepner, and he couldn’t stop himself from smiling at the last name he saw beside hers. “April Kepner and Jackson Avery.” - “Oh God.” April sighed, slouching further into the uncomfortable seat. One would think for the $53,000+ dollars each student in this room is paying to attend such a prestigious place like Harvard, the university could afford seats with some cushioning. April didn’t really care about that right now though, she would sit on a chair made of thorns if it would swallow her up and take her away from this situation.

“What’s wrong?” Her best friend since under grad, Lexie Grey, asked.

“Look who my partner is.” April said passing her phone.

“Oh,” Lexie replied, giving April her phone back. “Well, he doesn’t seem like that bad of a guy. Plus I know you find him attractive.”

“What? No!” April gasped, sitting up straight. Obviously, she did but he was cocky and ignorant.

“Calm down anyone with a working pair of eyes would agree.” Lexie smirked. “But with the reaction you just gave now, I know you like him.” That sentenced causes a giant scowl to appear on Aprils face.

“What on good gods earth makes you think that?” April asked.

“You never get this bent out of shape over a guy.” Lexie laughed while getting out of her chair and collecting her belongings. April was quick to copy her actions but was in no way finished with this conversation.

“I have no interest in talking to or dealing with some egotistical guy who thinks he can get everything because he’s pretty.”

“So you do think he’s attractive. While you’re working on this project make sure you get some of that Jackson action.”

“Never ever say that again.” April pleaded.

“You better remove that scowl from your face, because your pretty boy is walking right this way. See you later girl, I need to go find George.”

Once Lexie left the auditorium, April turned around to become, face to face with him.

“So, April. I’m glad I finally know your name.” Jackson greeted her along with a beautiful smile showing off his perfect straight white teeth, he looked like he should be in an ad for Colgate.

“I’m glad to know you’re competent enough to read an email.” She knew she was being rude, acting in the complete opposite manner to the way she was raised, but she couldn’t help it, he was so irritating. “It will make it a lot easier to work on this project.” To her surprise this comment made his smile grow even wider, and he even let out a chuckle.

“You know, I can’t believe I never noticed you were in my class.”

“Well I am, we even have Bailey and Hunts classes together.”

“Glad to see you’re keeping an eye on me.” He said giving her the same look in the coffee shop.

“As much as I hate to cut this conversation short, I need to go to my next class,” April told him, she needed to get away from him because she might do or say something irrational, like try and kiss him or smack him, or even worse, both. In all honesty, she’d probably choose the latter option making her seem even crazier.

“Well I have a two-hour break before my lab, I’ll walk you there. Then we can talk about our project.”

As much as she wanted to say ‘no’ it was like she forgot how to pronounce that word. So she picked up her bag and lead the way up the stairs. Unsure of how to start she remained silent for a few seconds.

“I just have a question.”

“Yeah?”

“Did you show up to Thursday’s class?”

“And here I thought you were going to talk about our project.” April rolled her eyes as they entered the hall way. “Yes, I worked an early shift at the coffee shop, it actually caused me to be a bit late. Luckily for me, Webber was so focused on grilling you with a thousand questions, that he didn’t even notice me sneak in.”

“Yeah, I’m shocked Webber didn’t call on me today. And I’m assuming you were on the closing shift the night before when you so nicely wrote penis on my cup. So why were you opening at the ass crack of dawn, the next day?”

“Hey, you have to admit that was pretty funny.” April giggled to herself mainly. “I’m usually who they call when they need a shift covered, and ugh sadly scholarships don’t cover everything.” She said uncomfortably, it was no secret Jackson came from money, the majority of this school had wealthy backgrounds. April on the other hand, grew up on a farm in a town no one here would have ever heard of or care to know of its existence.

“Oh yeah, it was so funny I started referring to you as Penis Girl before I learned your actual name.”

“What?!??” Penis Girl implies, that she’s either a) a trans woman - which isn’t a bad thing it’s just she recognizes how easier her life is as a cisgender woman - or b) a woman who’s probably been up close and personal with lots of penises. Truth be told the only male genitals April has ever seen with her own eyes are pictures in her medical textbook.

“I’m messing with you I didn’t actually call you that. When are you free?” Jackson asked, quickly adding. “So we can ugh actually start the project.”

“I’m not sure, I’ll check my work schedule and email you when I know.”

“Or you could just text me it.” Jackson said stepping to the side so their forearms grazed.

“I don’t have your number.” April told him trying to move away from him - she couldn’t think straight when he did that.

“Well, that could easily be changed.” His voice was full of confidence and kind of cocky. It reminded her of when he went to her work. As attractive as he was, there is no way in hell she would let him manipulate her so he could get what he wanted.

“That’s not necessary, bye Jackson.” April chuckled, desperately trying to hide her smile as she went into class. Messing with Jackson brought such a simple easy pleasure to her day. - April laid her body on her plush, floral duvet. Nights like this were her favourite: no makeup, wearing a pair of cosy sweat pants and a pizza to share between her and Lexie. And she couldn’t be happier to see her friend. The only time they’ve seen each other this week was in class, whenever one had free time outside of school, the other one didn’t.

“So who’s the new guy in your life?” April asked Lexie. This caused a shocked look to appear on her friends face. “It’s kind of obvious when we were getting the pizza you couldn’t stop a smile from forming on your face every time your phone buzzed. Also every time you replied you’d check your phone two seconds later.”

“Um.. he… he is -uh-he’s older,” Lexie told her obviously nervous, not only was one of her hands playing with her hair, she was stuffing a pizza slice in her mouth - not even chewing, with her other hand. Two tell tale signs April has picked up over the years.

“So you’ve dated guys older than you before?” Lexie’s lack of response is what worried April. “What is he your dad’s age?”

“Well, he’s closer to my dad’s age than mine. But-but that’s not the issue.” Lexie sighed grabbing another slice of pizza.

“Is he a convicted felon?” April knew Lexie’s type of guy had always been interesting. They were always attractive but they each had a stereotypical bad boy vibe to them. Maybe she was tired of just having a vibe and went for the real thing, with a felony to match his status.

“What? No April! Why is that the first thing you go to?” Rolling her eyes, making it very obvious how ridiculous April sounded.

“Well, you’re acting really sketchy.”

“It’s Mark Sloan!” She blurted out, both girls were well known to suffer from word vomit, no matter how hard either of them tried to swallow what they said down their throats.

“Pr-Pro-Professor Sloan? That Mark Sloan?”

“Yes, I’m the girl that sleeps with Professor. I’m that girl.” Lexie said shoving her hands into her face. “But it’s so good, like mind blowingly go-” quickly shutting up to the sound of April’s door opening.

“What’s mind blowingly good?” Aprils dorm mate, Reed Adamson asked. Reed liked April and vice versa they just ran in different social circles. Both had the type of personality that took time for most people to grow on but for different reasons: April was considered too perky, too by the book; Reed was often seen as a cold hearted bitch. Each of the personalities grew on Lexie, but she’d choose April over Reed any day. Especially with something as personal as the topic of discussion right now.

“The pizza, you know how much Lexie loves food. Tonight we got pizza with peppers and a pesto sauce drizzled on top. She’s in love.” April lied, well nothing she said was false, it was a conversation that occurred (the previous week).

“Okay, well I’ll be out of your hair soon. I’m getting dick tonight and have no plans of being back in this room till tomorrow morning. You can sleep in my bed, if you want, Lexie.” Reed said pointing to her bed across the room. After grabbing some stuff including a tube of lipstick and a red lace bra, she was gone.

“So, back to our conversation,” April said wanting to go to the previous conversation before they were interrupted. It’s not like April wanted to hear every detail of Lexie’s sex life, but she wanted her friend to be able to discuss what’s going on in her life. Otherwise, Lexie would blow and have a worse case of word vomit - than what had just occurred, and it would likely be in front of the wrong person.

“Yeah, you want to talk about how I’m the unknown class slut.”

“Shut up, you’re not a bad person. You’ve always owned your sexuality. Why are you acting any different now?”

“I think you’re the wisest virgin I’ve ever met. Or did you decide to take my advice and take a ride on Jackson’s di-”

“No!” April blushed.

“Look I know you said you want it to be special, but in all honestly it’s a social construct created by men that think their dick is life changing. Speaking from personal experience, the only guy that’s given amazing sex is Mark. That’s one out of the six guys I’ve slept with. But from the looks of Jackson, and the rumours around campus -although how many of those girls can you actually trust that they’ve slept with him - he’s pretty special.”

“Will you stop with that. He’s a classmate, that I have to do a project with. That’s all.” April huffed, she definitely didn’t want to hear or imagine any of his previous rendezvous.

“If you say so.” Lexie said picking up the last slice of pizza from the box. - “That went so good.” Jackson grinned as they exited the doors of Professor Webber’s class. After two weeks of emailing back and forth, and all of the previous evenings spent together perfecting their case, it was finished.

“We were on fire!” April agreed, unable to contain her bouncing from excitement. “I still can’t believe only three other groups correctly diagnosed all of their cases.” Saying that made both of their smiles grow even bigger.

“What can I say, we are an amazing team.” He told her, truthfully. That statement caused April to jump up into his arms, giving him a big hug. Her action shocked both of them. Luckily, his quick reflexes kicked in, placing his left hand on her lower back for support.

His hand was dangerously close to her ass, and he liked it. Usually, Jackson is only in this position when he carries a woman to a bed, and they have minimal clothing on. If this were anyone else he would probably crack a joke about it - but it’s Kepner.

While they were finishing the project he realized how innocent she is. Yes, she said penis a lot when they first met. It took until that occasion for him to notice the slight red pigmentation scattered across her face when she says that word. Jackson likes talking to her, and he will gladly be more pg if it means he gets to spend time with her,

“What’s going on here?” Lexie asked startling the two.

Their denim covered legs stopped touching as Aprils black flats touched the floor again. Jacksons slid his hand across her soft, cotton covered back until he no longer felt her.

“We, uh we were um-” April tried to form a sentence.

“We were having a celebration hug.” Jackson answered, ending Aprils stutters. “And now, I’m inviting you both to the Halloween party at Kappa Sigma this weekend.” Right away Lexie’s face grinned, while April looked uncomfortable.

“Oh, Jackson I don’t really think-”

“It starts at 10:30, make sure you dress up. Anyways, I have to get going.” And with a wave, he was leaving the two girls.

He felt bad for cutting April off twice, but the first time put everyone (including her) out of their misery. And the second time he knew she was going to turn down his offer right away. He definitely didn’t want that to happen. - “Well, that was interesting.”

“Huh?” April asked. She heard her friend speak but her attention was focused on the man she was previously wrapped around and his perfect backside. “I said, ‘that was interesting.’” Lexie repeated. “And stop looking at him walk away he can probably feel your eyes.”

April faced turned and made eye contact with her friend “sorry.” She sheepishly smiled.

“Oo you’re smitten. So, what are you going to wear?”

“Nothing.”

“I like it, but a little bit too risky for out in public - especially at a frat house. Save that for his bedroom.”

April rolled her eyes “I said that because I’m not going.”

Lexie’s mouth opened and eyes widened in shock “You’re kidding, right?”

“No, you know that’s not my kind of scene.” April truthfully replied.

“Which is exactly why you should go. We’re in college for Christ’s sake, this is the only time you get to experience one of these. And I, your best friend, will be there with you.”

“I guess you’re right.”

“Of course I’m right. Now c'mon,” Lexie grabbed Aprils arm and started to guide her “go to class. Afterwards, we are going costume shopping.” “I already have a costume.” April pointed out as she was dragged to class. “You’re not going as a velveteen bunny. Playboy yes, velveteen is a big fat no!”

#japril #jackson x april #april x jackson #japrilnetwork #japril fanfic #japril au #gaau*#my writing

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gobigorgohome2016 · 7 years

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The Allure of High Mileage Running

The 100 Mile Week. For as long as I can remember, high mileage has intrigued me. Of course, this probably partly stems from spending high school glued to message boards like letsrun, dyestat, and indianarunner, where a person’s worth was strongly tied to his (rarely her) running ability. I’m sure that growing up reading stories about Deena Kastor’s monster mileage didn’t help with my fascinaton, either.

In high school I was a fairly high mileage runner, topping out around 45 or 50 miles per week. I think a lot of high schoolers do that now, but at the time we only trained for a 4k race. I have always enjoyed mileage, and my body seems to respond better the more that I run.

In college, I was a low mileage runner because I was always injured. I remember the first time I ran a 60 mile week. I was pretty proud of that moment. Also in college my fascination with 100 mile weeks grew after hearing legends of former (male) teammates that pursued 100 mile / 100 beer challenges. I’m pretty sure I couldn’t even do a 100 mile / 10 beer challenge in a week (the beer being the limiting factor), but nevertheless my interest was piqued. Would I be able to run 100 miles someday? At that point, I figured likely not since I could barely make it past 40 miles without injuries.

When I got to grad school I realized it didn’t really matter how much I ran, since I wasn’t planning to take running seriously anymore. What if I just pushed my limits instead? I distinctly remember my first 70 mile week in January 2012. Dave and I went to The Rail (now defunct) to celebrate. Well, Dave didn’t need a reason to celebrate, but 70 miles in 7 days without getting hurt seemed as good a reason as any to have overpriced hipster drinks. That night we also realized that I never picked up my car from a trail head I had parked at during the week, since I ultimately just ran home one day to add on miles. (it’s easy to forget about your car when you live in a college town!)

My first 80 mile week was when I was training for Chicago, the time I didn’t finish the race, in 2012. I felt badass, especially because I completed the mileage during one of the hottest weeks in July, and in 5.5 days (I had taken a day off and had a 4 mile day that week as well). I felt strong and badass. I knew the mileage was working for me.

I didn’t hit 90 for the first time until I was training for Chicago the second time, in 2014, when I did finish the race. 6 weeks out I did an over distance training run of 32 miles, and easily got 90 in 5 days of running that week. If I wasn’t so dead from 32 miles on horse trails, I would have surely gone out and gotten in the extra mileage to hit 100, but I fortunately realized that would have been dumb.

My first 100 mile week came when I was training for the trials. I have never been as simultaneously exhausted and satisfied.

For me, my satisfaction with running has always been intrinsically tied to two things: doing new things I’ve never done before, like highest mileage ever or longest streak of 100+ mile weeks, and my success as a runner. I guess for me I have seen the most success when my mileage is high, so I’m hooked. Of course that begs the question: am I successful at running simply because I am satisfied with my training, or is the training making me a better runner? I have always strongly believed that the foundation of success is simply believing that the way you are training is the best, and never doubting.

But, why is 100 miles a seemingly magic number for me?

No matter where you look, it appears that 100 mile weeks is what separates the elite runner from the super serious runner – at least if you read online message boards, running magazines, or talk to old school coaches.

Yet, the pursuit of the 100 mile week is ultimately the undoing of many runners. Where did this arbitrary number come from, and are we so wedded to the idea of 100-or-bust?

From my research, Jack Daniels suggests that aerobic benefit ceases around 70 – 75 miles per week. Beyond that number, runners simply improve their running economy as they add more mileage. What I have yet to find, however, is any research on how a runner feels after hitting certain barriers in training, and how that mentality ultimately affects training.

For instance, I take a shit-ton (that’s a scientific unit, right) of pride in being able to sustain 100 mile weeks sans injury. Assuming I finish out this week as planned, I will have three 100 mile weeks under my belt in a row. (kind of. One was a 98 mile week and the other a 97 – close enough).

As an aside, that’s another funny thing about 100 mile weeks – 98 miles is pretty damn near 100 miles, so why didn’t I round up? For whatever reason, that 2% difference feels more significant than the difference between, say, 45 miles and 50 miles. 2% versus 10%. This fact doesn’t make a whole lot of logical sense.

Also, this is where runners tend to run into problems. You may be asking, if you were 3 miles from a 100 mile week, why didn’t you just go out and run an extra 3 miles? Well, because that would be stupid. It seems like high mileage would be filled with a lot of junk runs, but it really isn’t (at least not for me). At a certain point, you realize there are weeks where you really shouldn’t run extra mileage for the sake of extra mileage, no matter what your log looks like at the end of the week. I think that reaching this level of maturity is important, but it took me being a complete idiot to grasp that concept (i.e. the time I ran 115 miles the week I got food poisoning. Not my best life decision).

So, again, why is 100 mile weeks considered this magic training number? As far as I can tell, this started with Arthur Lydiard, who advocated high mileage running, but I can’t find anything that specifically says 100 miles is the magic number. I’m curious if anyone has an idea why runners seem to feel that 100 mile weeks separate the women from the girls?

Frankly, I think that high mileage – at least when run consistently – is probably beneficial because it forces you to take care of all the little things that runners neglect if you want to continue to sustain this type of training. For instance, there are certain rules one must abide by when hitting mega mileage, and those include:

Sleep: my first few weeks of hundreds will require 10 – 12 hours of sleep (including naps). I hear stories occasionally of runners attempting 100 mile weeks off of 6 – 7 hours of sleep. I think adrenaline can get you through maybe 2 weeks of that before your body crashes.

running lots of miles makes you tired. coffee is important.

Self Care: Even though my body feels best during big mileage, I acknowledge that it requires more care. You can injure yourself in the dumbest ways when you’re running a lot (ask my massage therapist, she could probably write a book on the stupid ways I have tweaked muscles). At the same time, a little bit of self care goes a long way at this mileage because your immune system is on high alert. The other day I tweaked my calf muscle, and 6 hours of icing, recovery yoga, legs up the wall, foam rolling, stretching, compression sleeves, and having Dave dig his fingers into my calf resulted in a pain free run the next morning.

Nutrition: This is the trickiest part. When you’re averaging 14.3 miles per day, you’re bound to run through a meal. If you’re like me, you’re also not at all hungry after a hot and humid longer run. Kefir, cheese, crackers, whole-fat foods, yogurt, protein shakes, and high-carb / high – calorie / high-protein foods are your best friend. Also, all the popsicles.

There is a conundrum at this mileage when it comes to nutrition. You want to eat as healthy as possible, but healthy foods aren’t always calorie dense. Sometimes your stomach fills up before you reach your caloric or macronutrient needs. It is so important at this mileage to remember that quantity (of calories) is sometimes more important than quality. If all that is available to me in the foreseeable future is a big mac and fries, you better believe that is what I’m going to eat.

sugar = glycogen = necessary

Singles vs. Doubles: At 70 – 80 miles per week, doubles seem easier. But, when I am 90+ mpw, I would much rather run singles. I’m not sure why this is, but going for a 14 mile run sure as hell beats a lot of 8 and 6 mile days.

Weight lifting: I used to attempt high mileage weeks without lifting. It was fine, for like 3 weeks. Then I started noticing my imbalances and lack of lifting is probably what contributed to a lot of the problems I had in my right leg last year. My biggest takeaway from that experience: if you can’t sustain your mileage + lifting, drop your mileage to the highest level you can sustain while getting in the extra work.

Flexibility: My massage therapist does range of motion and flexibility work. Without seeing her every two weeks, there is no way I could ever sustain this mileage. I also go to yoga once per week, and try to incorporate as much recovery into my weekly routine as possible.

Speed: I was talking to someone recently who asked me what my three pieces of advice would be for a marathoner. He was surprised when I said speed work, like strides, were one of the most important components. There is a misconception that running a lot of mileage results in slowness. That’s only true if you only run all of your mileage slowly. I do speedwork and strides every week, and I know that when I am in peak marathon shape I could also PR in nearly every other distance.

Pace: I think another misconception is that “slow” miles are junk miles at high mileage - but I also think this idea is perpetuated by people who believe that all mileage must be fast. There are times when I am in the best shape of my life that I do 10 mile runs in 90 minutes, or 20 mile runs in 2:40:00. Some days you just have to meet your body where it’s at, and respect that when you’re running mega mileage there will be more opportunities for bad days. When that happens I just throw on some extra strides at the end and call it even. Slow days (for you) don’t mean you aren’t in shape or that you’re losing fitness, it’s just important to remember that effort is more important than speed sometimes.

What Does a 100 Mile Week Look Like?

Here is what my most recent 100 mile week looked like:

Monday: 10 miles (double, 6 and 4) + yoga – I always do super easy 10 on Mondays, whether that means 10 in 90 minutes, or a little bit quicker but in doubles. Recovery yoga is also an every Monday occurrence.

Tuesday: 2 mile warm up, strides, 8 mile tempo in 48:27, 2.5 mile cool down + weight lifting. My plan was to hit 5:55 – 6:00 pace for this run, but with 14 mph winds and most of the route affected by the wind, I was very happy with this run. Overall average was 6:03 pace, which is faster than my marathon PR and the effort felt great.

Wednesday: 8 miles easy AM, 3 miles easy PM, + massage. Normally I would do 10 and 4 on Wednesday, but my sister was in town so things got changed to accommodate for all the walking we were going to do (4 miles of walking).

Thursday: 14 miles w/ last 400 m of each mile hard + weight lifting I love this workout. Makes the miles go quickly and has great aerobic and anaerobic benefits. I forgot my watch and nutrition, so I had to make an adjustment and run it as an out-and-back on a path that is marked every 400 m. Not my favorite way to do this workout, but it’s always good to practice things going wrong for when crazy things happen on race day.

Friday: 4 miles AM, 12 miles PM + strides having friends to run with is nice!

Saturday: 21 miles, I have been running 20+ milers since early July, so now I am focusing more on quality than just time on my feet

Sunday: 15 miles, I like to join friends during their 20+ milers on Sunday so that I can get in a relaxed semi-long run. Back to back long runs have been good for me!

So there it is. I don’t know why I’m obsessed with high mileage – especially when I don’t really love running for the sake of running – but it does make me feel badass and powerful. Do I think everyone should run 100 mile weeks? No – especially if you are unable to recover from them or are unable to take care of the little things. I do think there is something to be said for running the highest mileage that you can sustain individually if you are going after a goal, but much of that comes from the extra vigilance people use when chasing a new benchmark as well as the satisfaction they feel when new achievements have been reached!

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spaceorphan18 · 7 years

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Finding Kurt Hummel: Love, Love, Love

Masterpost

5x01: Love, Love, Love

Hello season 5! It’s so lovely to see you. I love this episode - it’s the Beatles, and it’s the Klaine proposal, and it kicks off my personal favorite season of the show (oops did I say that out loud?). Funny enough, Kurt’s not in this episode a whole lot - but! There’s so much Kurt in this season it’s crazy, so let’s dig in!

This episode is so my happy place.

Got to Get You (Back) Into My Life

I’m so glad that Ryan Murphy decided to let this season be bright and colorful - comparatively to a drabber and somewhat more serious season 4. It’s funny - because this entire season will be haunted by the the tragedy that happened bts. But there’s also a lot of joy and happiness and downright crackiness that defines the season, too. It’s such an interesting mix of things.

So, anyway, despite this being a huge episode for Kurt - he’s only in a few scenes, his first one here with Blaine some ten minutes into the episode.

When last we saw Kurt, he was getting much more comfortable with Blaine again, even if he claimed he wasn’t going to hook up with him, and he told some lesbians they weren’t a couple. But I do believe the end of last season, even if we didn’t get much in the way of Kurt explicitly stating so, he’s entertaining the idea of getting back with Blaine. He’s healed quite a bit in the six months they’ve been apart (Yeah - it’s supposed to be March here, lol). And Blaine’s relentless showering of love and affection only bolsters his own feelings.

His dad’s fine, school is fine, New York is fine, maybe, just maybe he and Blaine can be fine, too.

We open up with this picnic. And as a time reference, I believe this is during Kurt’s spring break - because Blaine’s mentions Kurt finally going back to school. And you know - there’s such an ease between these two. This conversation is light and playful and a little desperate on Blaine’s side, but Kurt knows exactly where this conversation is going, and he’s delighted by it - enough to taunt Blaine a little by holding back purposely.

Okay before I go too much further though, let’s talk about the dialogue they cut from the opening of this scene:

Kurt: This farewell picnic is the perfect send off, though. Blaine: One might even call it romantic. Kurt: One might. Blaine: So, what are we doing here? Kurt: I thought we were swearing off labels. Blaine: I love you, Kurt. I’m sorry if that freaks you out, but this part, the romance and love part, I’m good, I’m done, I want you. Kurt: It doesn’t freak me out -- not in a bad way.

Oy this show - sometimes cutting things I really like (most of the time no, but this episode, yeah). Also - this all happens before Blaine inquires about New York guy.

Anyway, the reason I’m including it here is that I like the insinuation that Kurt and Blaine had talked about what the status of their relationship was - and puts Blaine’s actions in a little more context. There could have been a conversation way back in I Do - where they continued to sleep together that weekend but Kurt insisted it wasn’t called anything but friends with benefits. They could have done things over Skype - and hence had a ‘let’s not label this’ conversation. I do think, despite Kurt claiming they wouldn’t, before this picnic, they fell into bed together again.

And I do think that had this stayed in, Kurt would have played the moment playfully. Because he knows exactly where this is headed. He knows he wants Blaine just as much.

So about that New York guy. Ha.

Okay - so yeah, I wish that the Adam part of the story would have been more complete - that we would have seen Kurt try to date him but ultimately realize, yeah, no, I want Blaine. I mean - while we were all pretty sure where the story was going, it never really got a proper resolution after 4x15. And this is almost like tying up a loose end.

But I like what Kurt says here, and how he says it. He liked Adam fine, but it wasn’t serious. I mean in the middle of “dating” Adam - he slept with Blaine, c’mon. But Kurt is so dismissive of the whole thing. It wasn’t about whether or not he liked Adam. It was about if he could forgive Blaine for cheating on him. And that’s one of the things I find so fascinating about this story - it’s always about the conflict within themselves and between each other. Third parties are always arbitrary and inconsequential. And merely placeholders (or plot devices) while one of them deals with their shit.

(As an aside - the comment about people like them together is completely a fourth wall break. The writers knew there were non-Klaine fans out there, and this is them saying, yeah, we hear you, don’t really care though.)

The real point here is that last time they tried long distance, Blaine cheated on him. But Blaine’s grown and healed a lot, too, since the beginning. Even amidst the playfulness, Kurt is slightly hesitant. He knows he loves Blaine. He knows they’re going to be together. But he also doesn’t want to ever be hurt like that again.

But let’s talk about Kurt’s playfulness in the scene. When was the last time we saw Kurt this open with Blaine? This relaxed and having fun? He knows exactly what Blaine wants, and he continues to deflect at every turn - sign a no-cheating contract, do relationships really work?, weren’t Bethany and Jason supposed to be forever? He’s totally stringing Blaine along.

Labels or no. They’re already back together. It’s just a matter of saying it out loud.

I love that when Kurt finally stops screwing around and says they’re going try a relationship again - he’s so damn giddy and excited about it. They get to be Kurt and Blaine again. And Kurt can follow his heart openly again. Oh, kiddo.

Also, cut from the script - another moment where Blaine leans in and kisses him. **shakes-fist**

So - I want to take a sec and talk about the costuming. Glee’s costume department has always been one of the most competent things on the show. And Klaine has always had a way of matching. But I think they begin to out do themselves this season. Kurt and Blaine’s outfits here not only look fantastic on them - but they are complimentary colors to each other - and it makes this already gorgeous scene look brilliant. And -- these are almost toned down versions of the colors they’ll be wearing for the proposal. It love it. Brilliant work costume guys. ;)

Anyway, Blaine says he has something planned and Kurt shuts that down pretty quickly. And I think it’s interesting - not just because Kurt has his own serenade ready and waiting, but because it’s not about Blaine serenading Kurt anymore. It’s about them being in an equal relationship, and doing things for each other.

But also - I spoke of this pattern back during It’s Time - it does seem right that this is the last time they sing in the courtyard, because look at the pattern:

S2 Somewhere Only We Know - Kurt is coming back to McKinley, and leaving Blaine at Dalton.

S3 It’s Not Unusual - Blaine is coming to be with Kurt at McKinley

S4 It’s Time - Kurt is leaving McKinley to go to New York

S5 Got to Get You Into My Life - Blaine will be leaving McKinley to be with Kurt in New York.

There’s a lot of coming and going, but ultimately, they’ll both be leaving McKinley together, as a couple, for New York, which is where they’re supposed to be - so on another level beyond these two are adorable singing to each other - it’s incredibly fitting that they’re singing this together.

Trying to still this song was a miserable experience, so I’m going with a BTS shot instead - thank you, greatly, to those of you who sent me this pic <3 This is a gorgeous shot of Chris/Kurt, and here we can see the whole outfit in all its glory. Also, anyone else notice the huge number of butt shots during this performance? I wonder if that was intentional, huh.

Kurt says that he has this planned - which means he had already decided to get back together with Blaine before this conversation took place. But it makes me wonder, did he decided to do this on his own? Or had he found out Blaine’s plans and took control of it for himself? Idk - interesting....

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So - you guys know that this song is about doing drugs, right? This is a love song to pot - or whatever they were on at the time, lol.

But I mean, love is a drug, too.

I feel like this song is pretty self-explanatory, and incredibly fitting for a couple of codependent little lovestuck goobers.

Ooh, then I suddenly see you Ooh, did I tell you I need you Every single day of my life You didn't run, you didn't lie You knew I wanted just to hold you And had you gone you knew in time we'd meet again For I had told you Ooh, you were meant to be near me Ooh, and I want you hear me Say we'll be together every day Got to get you into my life

I love this performance. While not my favorite Beatles song, it’s just such a fun number. They’re playful and incredibly flirty, and very themselves, and that ending kiss. Damn. It’s not just that it’s hot - cause, yeah. But because it’s a declaration of their love in a very, very public space. Remember when Blaine once just tapped Kurt on the shoulder because they were on the stairs outside?

Season 5 Glee, and season 5 Klaine, do not give a fuck.

I’m rounding this out with the Sue’s first line in the next scene

Sue: America, your prayers have been answered.

Getting Better

So, I want to take a second to talk about the one big Kurt scene they cut from the script. Originally, and it was filmed because we have bts stills, there was a scene involving Kurt and the girls sleeping over at the school (Why the school, god who knows.)

Deleted Kurt/Ladies Scene from Love Love Love**

(**Note - this isn’t the full cut scene, I’ll explain in a minute.)

The reason I bring it up, since I’m normally a huge advocate of ignoring what’s in the script, is because it has some interesting tidbits in it.

First of all - it’s a scene with all the girls and Kurt. Even in the New York arc - WE NEVER GET THIS! This is kind of like Kurt’s bachelor(ette?) party and it is one aspect of the wedding stuff we don’t get at all - even with Brittana. I realize that stuff is kind of TV cliche but dammit - they’re also usually really fun, too. So I’m sad to lose this scene for that.

It also shows that Kurt’s very in the know about Blaine’s proposal plans (I mean, god, Blaine is the least subtle goober on the planet) and that Kurt’s initial reaction is, god yeah sign me up for this.

Also - this bit of dialogue:

Kurt: [...] I’ve dreamt about marrying Prince Charming ever since I saw my first Disney movie -- I just never thought it would be possible. But the world’s changed and more than anything...I want Blaine and me to be apart of that change.

Aw, Kurt, you little goober. That would have been so sweet to hear you actually say. **shakes-fist again**

They also cut a song - Getting Better that Kurt and the girls would have sang. (This, btw, was already omitted by the time the script I have was produced.) On the surface - this sounded like a good idea, especially when Kurt singing would be great over a second Artie/Kitty duet.

Here are some of the lyrics:

I've got to admit it's getting better (Better) A little better all the time (It can't get more worse) I have to admit it's getting better (Better) It's getting better since you've been mine

It’s a nice little sentiment for Kurt to sing, right?

Well - here’s later on:

I used to be cruel to my woman I beat her and kept her apart from the things that she loved Man I was mean but I'm changing my scene And I'm doing the best that I can (Ooh)

**scrunches nose** Yeah, maybe it was best they cut this.

Meanwhile, the one reason I’m glad this scene was cut? At the very end (apparently not in that link I gave you) - Santana gives this whole speech painting marriage as the worst thing two people can do, and it makes Kurt doubt the idea of getting married. Because, according to the script, he never really thought about the future. And I really call BS on this. Because we have seen that Kurt is an incredible planner, has already thought about he and Blaine getting old, and part of the whole break up stuff was Kurt living in the future instead of living in the past. So it just doesn’t add up.

Plus - I think leaving Kurt’s insecurities with just the Burt/Kurt scene works a whole lot better than what this scene does.

Fatherly Advice

You know - you can’t go wrong with a Kurt/Burt scene. And this is one of my favorites.

Kurt’s, understandably, nervous about this whole proposal business. It’s not the proposal itself, it’s not because he doesn’t love Blaine - and I love, LOVE that he explicitly states here what Blaine means to him, that he feels safe and connected and loved with Blaine -- it’s because they are young, and because they just got back together, and no I don’t think Kurt is fully healed from that break up yet. (I don’t think he will be until the second one - when he screws up the relationship** and learns that relationships don’t have to to be perfect.)

**I’m saying this as a blanket statement - obviously the situation is far more complicated, but I’ll save that discussion when I get to season 6.

Kurt’s perfect relationship broke once, and there is a part of him that doesn’t entirely trust that it can work again. It’s not so much Blaine as it is Kurt’s not really ready to be put in this position yet. (And - interestingly, Blaine’s pushing Kurt is part of the reason the season 6 break up happens -- though most of it’s really about Kurt being dumb, but anyway....)

It’s funny that Burt tells Blaine that he should marry a person and not an idea, which is what Blaine’s doing a little bit. But also that Kurt’s scared of the idea more than the person, and that’s a problem, too.

Anyway, I love Burt’s speech during this scene. We learn more about Kurt’s mom - and how Burt knew almost immediately that she was the one he wanted to spend the rest of his life. I’d go out on a limb and say Hummels know how to commit. ;) Burt talks about being young, and the fantasies about what being together would be like (which involved dancing in their underwear, sex, and pasta, lol), but he also gets real and says it’s also about fighting over bills and spoiled milk. But when you get down to it, you have a short time on this planet - and you hold the people you love dearly closely to you.

And, interestingly, Kurt’s somewhat living in the future again. What if I get hurt badly again? What if we ruin this good thing I’ve just let back into my life? What if, what if, what if? Kurt wants more time -- but Burt says - hey, you get to make your own choices now, so make one. Oh Burt, you’re so wise.

But also, what Burt says here is going to linger over the rest of the Kurt and Klaine story. We’re going to see Klaine have good times and rocky times. Burt’s warning about it being a hard thing is something Kurt’s going to not be able to deal with come season 6. But also Burt’s words are why it makes complete sense to me that Kurt will later get married on a whim when he and Blaine get back together a second time.

It’s funny that these two have a habit of - they’ll break up, and then when they get back together commit even more to each other. (Though, no, I don’t believe they’ll break up after they get married.) Burt’s words last us through the end of the series - only Burt speaks of experience, and Kurt still has to learn that.

And Kurt takes the first step as he heads towards Dalton to make his decision.

All You Need is Love

Kurt’s look of wonder as he heads up to Dalton. I don’t know what Kurt was thinking he was getting - but I don’t think he realized that his proposal would be ripped straight out of one of those Disney movies -- all beauty and music and extravagance and love and Blaine being that incredible Disney Prince that he had always dreamed of. And, oh hey, there are all his friends, and the people he knows and yes, of course Kurt knows the significance of coming back to this place - the place where their story began.

Kurt - as he wanders through Dalton, amazed and amused by the theatrical display going on around him. He was unsure until he saw Blaine - but once he saw Blaine, and let Blaine take him on this magical, romantic tour, Kurt was reminded of one aspect that really is a part of their love story. The fairy tale romance. And it still is, even as many times as this show is going to show us a more realistic side. Here is the grand musical-esque gesture that, let’s be honest, Kurt has loved all his life. It probably is one of those out of reality moments - it’s just that crazy.

It’s funny - because the song is All You Need is Love. And anyone who has been in a long term relationship will tell you that the song is idealistic at best. Love isn’t all that you need - as Burt explained to us somewhat in the speech coming over. But it is a foundation for something great to be built. And their romance is that something great.

Kurt is so overwhelmed, but in a very, very good way. I mean - there’s freakin’ rose petals coming from the ceiling. Damn, Blaine.

And man - does this scene push all the right nostalgia buttons as Kurt comes down that staircase like the day they met. Kurt gets that - and I think the reality that this is really happening - this fantasy that he really dreamed over - that this sweet, wonderful man will ask him for forever.

Blaine: We met right here. I took this man's hand and we ran down that hallway. And for those that know me, I'm not in the habit of taking people's hands I've never met before but I think that my soul knew something that my mind and body didn't know yet. It knew that our hands were meant to hold each others, fearlessly and forever, which is why it's never really felt like I've been getting to know you, it's always felt like I was remembering you from something. As if every lifetime you and I have lived, we've chosen to come back and find each other and fall in love all over again, over and over for all eternity. And I just feel so lucky that I found you so soon in this lifetime because all I want to do, all I've ever wanted to do is spend my life loving you. So Kurt Hummel, my amazing friend, my one true love, will you marry me?

Kurt: Yeah. Yes.

This speech is one of the most beautiful things the show ever wrote. And watching Kurt’s face during all of this? He’s so moved. He loves this man, so, so much. He doesn’t say a word during this, he doesn’t have to. His face says it all as all the emotions come rushing forward.

I love that, despite the public setting, despite everyone being around them, it’s a very intimate and personal moment. (Um, maybe because the camera’s so close, lol.) Kidding aside - this moment, where Blaine asks Kurt to marry him is not about the spectacle (though these goobers do get off on the spectacle), it’s about declaring their love for another - it’s about committing full-heartedly.

And I kind of love that Kurt’s so emotional that it takes him a second to respond - a breathy ‘yeah’ cause that’s all he can manage. Blaine’s once again taken his breath away.

Kurt went in not knowing what to expect, but by the end - it’s yes -- yes this is the man I want to spend the rest of my life with. His heart takes over for his brain for once, and he’s all in, wherever that might take them.

(And I mean - Kudos to both Chris and Darren on their acting here - they sell this couple so damn well, I can’t even. Just, yeah.)

Alright, so I’m probably cheating using another BTS shot - but I love the full body shot of the kiss. I mean look at these goobers putting the puzzle back together with a kiss. And those suits are just so gorgeous - I cannot compliment the costume department enough.

Now - for opinion time -- for me, I see this as more than a proposal - I see this more as their spiritual marriage. It’s designed to look like a wedding in its scope, with Kurt walking down an aisle and his dad taking him up there and the bridesmaids waiting at his side and the groom ready for him. (God - does that mean Will is the priest?) But for me - this is their wedding, and everything after this (because dreams come true, not free) is learning to navigate that kind of committed relationship. But season 6!! Yeah - but season 6. They’re going to fuck up again - because of all the reasons Burt says here - they’re young, and dumb, and have never done this before.

But yeah, their wedding doesn’t really compare to it (even if the writing of that episode was pitch perfect, idk if they could have topped this). It’s more a technical, yes they’re legally married now. But here - here starts that second half of the journey, the -- what comes after happily ever after -- stuff that I find so fun and interesting. Most stories stop at happily ever after. I’m grateful that we get to see that it’s not all perfect beyond.

I mean - we are still in the middle of this story, not at the end ;)

But yeah - I love this moment so, so much. And I love that Kurt gets to have this happy moment, big and romantic and ending with a kiss and a promise of forever with the man he loves. :)

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I’m including the whole thing here - because it’s such a thing of beauty. The boys look gorgeous in their suits, Dalton is beautifully lit, Blaine’s speech is really just pitch perfect. Everything about this scene is amazing and wonderful and romantic and I encourage you to watch it again. It may be my favorite moment in the entire series.

Oh season 5 - how I do adore you. :)

#finding kh #kurt hummel #Kurt's in only three scenes and I wrote a novel #welcome to season 5 y'all

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bi-apps · 4 years

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Accepted - Rabastan Lestrange

lyinginthemeadowes

submitted:Application for Rabastan Lestrange

OOC Information:

Name/Age/Timezone- Ashley, 25, PST

Activity Level- I’m sorry - I know I sucked this week, but on average my activity is about a 6 out of 10.

Ships/Anti-Ships- Angst and chemistry.

Did you read the rules? Yes, I did! :)

IC Information:

Character Name- Rabastan Amir Lestrange

Age/Birthdate- 24; June 30, 1954.

Faceclaim-

1. Gaspard Ulliel 2. Chris Wood 3. Tom Sturridge 4. Theo James

Occupation- He claims he is “self-employed,” but in actuality he is more of a socialite.

Blood Status- Pureblooded, Sacred 28.

Traits-

(+) Resourceful (+) Ambitious (+) Dynamic

(-) Resentful (-) Calculating (-) Vindictive

Patronus- Rabastan’s patronus is a hawk primarily due to his attention to detail and strive to achieve perfectionism in all of his crafts. Also very much like the hawk, he shows keen intelligence and does not like to be trapped or limited by any barriers.

Boggart- His brother’s dead and mangled body. After all, Rodolphus is the one person on this planet he truly loves and would be beside himself without despite all other grievances.

Key Points-

One constant in Rabastan’s life is his relentless desire to please those closest to him. He often wondered how different his life would have looked if he had been the firstborn child. Instead, Rabastan Amir Lestrange grew up and discovered quite bitterly that he was a few years too late to being the coveted child and rightful heir. It wasn’t as if Rabastan was ever neglected. The Lestrange Family was well off—they always took care of their own. There was, however, an emotional element missing. It was hard watching his brother receive praise after praise from his parents as children while Rabastan rotated through new nannies at alarming rates. The boy stirred up trouble at every viable opportunity, scheming for familial attention and then breaking down when the result was anything but expected. Rabastan watched from afar as his parents groomed Rodolphus with certain assurances and promises about the greatness he was destined for and what he stood to inherit. It triggered Rabastan to feel so much contempt for an individual he relied on with his utmost being and yet he continually wanted to find new ways to impress Rodolphus. He could not resist somehow being in his orbit, which made it difficult the first few years they were apart.

Being at home without his brother proved to be both mundane and meaningless. While he didn’t have anyone to bump heads with, he also didn’t have the same competition that drove him forward. Rabastan felt stagnant until finally starting Hogwarts. The young wizard approached the new experience with an open mindset. He knew the world was full of possibilities for him and he was looking forward to getting a fresh start away from the prying eyes of relatives. However after being sorted into Slytherin, Rabastan learned this new segment of his life wouldn’t be all he amped it up to be in his mind. Rodolphus was already well-known; not just amongst members of their shared house, but the entire school. Rabastan felt much smaller than he was during those initial years. He feared he might be stuck living in his brother’s shadow for the rest of his life if he couldn’t find a way to break through the barrier.

Upon graduating from Hogwarts, Rabastan immediately knew he didn’t want to work a standard job or live a mundane life. At the expense of his family, he had more than enough means to figure things out on his own—so that’s exactly what he did. At eighteen years old, Rabastan briefly explored various portions of the world including Venice, Italy and continental portions of Europe where the art of gambling was originally founded. He was no stranger to the craft, but decided to take the time to expand his knowledge base on the subject which he would later use to his advantage. The wizard knew he had a special talent when it came to arithmancy, which he twisted to his advantage. He learned to count cards when it was applicable, and even discovered sequences that proved useful when placing bets on sporting events such as quidditch.

Gambling became one of Rabastan’s prime interests—he centered his entire life around it. He typically garnered success executing his carefully laid out tactics and strange methodologies, but not always. The wizard was known for going off on the occasional binder. At twenty-one, his family briefly cut him off from his trust fund in order to do damage control. He had gone nearly seven days without sleeping—fueled by a mixture of alcohol and questionable potions, it was apparent he wasn’t in his right mind. He gambled away more than a quarter of his inheritance over that time period—it was a hefty sum of money and, though he later made it back by completing an astute collection of ambiguous and borderline illegal tasks, it wasn’t his proudest moment. The wizard then went on to turn his momentary lapse of judgment into a sleazy, yet wildly successful and ingenious part-time business. For the right price he would be willing to commit certain crimes like arson or larceny, always laced with his own creative twist.

Ensuring his identity is well-guarded, the wizard wears a dark cloak and hides his face beneath shadows and concealment charms. Though Rabastan doesn’t remember the exact moment everything spiraled out of control, this alter ego has provided him with the exact sense of individuality he has been searching for all his life. For once, he feels he has stepped out of his brother’s shadow and achieved something entirely on his own—only the painstaking irony is everything he does is still done in the shadows. When the notorious ( and completely self-dubbed ) pyromaniac Napalm isn’t slumming the streets of Knockturn Alley looking for new business, the socialite Rabastan Lestrange is usually busy keeping up appearances within the community. The Lestrange Family plays a prominent role in the financial backbone of the wizarding community by often donating large sums of money to those they support and, though he isn’t the first-born son he wishes he was, Rabastan has learned the hard way that it is best if he doesn’t dishonor the Lestrange Family name again.

Changes/Extra Info- N/A

Para Sample- I just want to apologize in advance for this. Rabastan is A LOT to deal with sometimes.

(tw: death, tw: murder, tw: abuse)

Golden embers whipped and whistled in the taunting summer breeze as Rabastan admired the blue-eyed girl running across the hillside. The girl, though no older than twelve or thirteen, was an exquisite work of art etched onto a living canvas of flesh with an apprehensive and narrowed bone structure. Nearing fourteen at the time, Rabastan reckoned it was the closest he ever felt to love, as he had a chance encounter with what life might have looked like had a different path divulged. However he would never confess to these sinful desires in early adolescence. The muggle was an abomination to his livelihood and he had been groomed of such assurances upon every available opportunity, until one day he snapped altogether, damning the reflection of an angel to wither and derail her days away in hell right beside him.

The sun beat down, scorching against the nape of his neck as he sauntered out from the canopy of oversized trees. Like an enemy on the prowl, Rabastan lurked in the shadows while watching the girl play with restless and hungry eyes. Her freckle-covered legs were lost beneath tall and wispy blades of grass, which he noted was long overdue for a trim. The wizard assumed that’s why she entertained herself there day after day, basking in the comfort the cool grass provided during these blistering hot summer days. Minutes passed until the fair angel took notice of him. She bore an innocent, yet totally despicable look in her crystal skeleton eyes, which made him eager to sink his teeth into her flesh as he glided his tongue across the surface of smooth lips. Seeded by his family’s blatant hatred, Rabastan perceived the sole way to silence his arbitrary desire would be something concrete; something both finite and fatal. The angel welcomed him with opened arms; it was the first and only time a slaughter would come to pass so easily.

As he meandered over, Rabastan’s growing-silhouette darkened the rays of sunlight that danced through her bouncing head of curls. The angel—laughing and smiling without a care in the world— continued to wave up at him, shielding a single eye from the stray sunshine that reflected in her oceanic eyes. She called his name and he cringed; he was lost in thought—maybe even perplexed—wondering if he could go through with the daunting task plaguing his doubtful mind. He knew how easy he could coax himself into action when equipped with his wand, but using magic outside of school was strictly forbidden. “Besides,” a little voice echoed off in his head, “your first kill should be done with your hands. You need to remember the first time living flesh stops pulsating in your bare hands.”

“Do you want to play a game?” Rabastan asked the younger girl who quickly dropped her doll and rose to her feet. “What game?” She nodded vigorously as her mute blue eyes widened with intensity. “Hide-and-Seek,” he breathed, exhaling raspy breath as he shoveled his hands into his pockets. The girl boiled with excitement at the thought—a cute older boy was inviting her to play a game, what could possibly go wrong? It was evident she hadn’t the faintest idea what was in store for her as they traversed across the weed-choked terrain and back toward the trees where he first emerged. “How about you count and I will hide first?” The smirk on his face was perceived as nothing more than a harmless smile and the angel quickly agreed without protest. She adjusted herself at the trunk of a large oak tree, which she used to blacken out her eyes as she recited a string of muffled numbers out loud.

“Ready or not, here I come!” She called out and Rabastan noted her voice was more celestial sounding than ever. It would be the last time he ever heard it. She turned around and quickly became disorientated when she discovered he was already towering above her. She didn’t have time to react because he didn’t hesitate. He forced her to the ground and, though she struggled, he successfully pinned her down with the full weight of his body. Rabastan was weaker then, however compared to the sheltered and fucking pitiful muggle seizing in his grip, he was a lethal weapon wired to kill by nature. She struggled beneath him, flailing various body parts in an attempt to free herself from the chains of his fatal touch. With adrenaline pumping and instincts thriving like never before, he balled his hand into a fist and fired his best weapon at her.

Blood instantly trickled from her nose and stained Rabastan’s hands before conjoining them around her neck. It was a seemingly perfect fit and he quickly became high off the idealism that this very moment—his desire leading to indispensable action—was somehow part of a greater destiny. He tightened his restraint around her, slowly sending her deeper into the fate which he controlled. Rabastan’s subconscious desire was to revert his gaze anywhere but her own, however he would not let himself forget this special day. As she heeded consciousness for the last time in her short and disgusting life, he stared down into her blinding crystal blue spheres. They were more reprimanding now than ever, however as she lost the final stages of alertness, Rabastan too lost something; his perception transpired and whatever feeling he had disintegrated. As he choked the last breath from her body, she suddenly became the dirt she was always intended to. A fallen angel who went to sleep on earth woke up in hell because on that day Rabastan Lestrange chose to make earth his own hell.

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kyotohub-ktv · 5 years

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Kenta K: “…-and for our guests on this week’s Newcomer Showcase…!” Mitsuri: “Please welcome the members of-…” Kenta K and Mitsuri: SNOW and WISH!~”

Like clockwork, overwhelming swells of elated applause and washed-out cheers erupted in the large television studio. The cataclysmic roar of sound flooded the room to the rafters, nearly drowning the two groups as they made their respective appearances on stage. Daichi felt his chest expand with breath and something else, barely aware of his feet planting cautious steps across the lacquered flooring that donned the stage. He almost felt like he was swimming; trying as gracefully as possible to flail his arms and navigate the churning waves of recognition and expectation that were plastered across every indistinguishable face in the crowd.

This was the type of feeling that could consume you. Take you under and never let you go. And just as he thought every other time he’d stepped out on stage, it was as terrifying as it was thrilling.

A recurring symptom of being “famous" that he might not ever get used to.

But this wasn’t his first rodeo. And it for damn sure wasn’t going to be his last. So, moving with a practiced sense of purpose the blonde violinist willed his turgid limbs to center stage. His face was stoic and unwavering as he stood at the rear of the line of his bandmates. Each of them took their moment to greet the hosts of the Idol Watch, as SNOW had done just before them moments ago. When it was finally his turn, he paused as they’d rehearsed a day prior to shake Kenta K’s with a slight nod. The bright-haired male made an offhand comment that Dai ignored as he shifted his attention to Mitsuri. Bending at the waist, Daichi bowed to her and grabbed for her hand at the same time. He planted a quick, practiced kiss on the top of Mitsuri’s palm, offering the smallest of smirks before moving to his seat at the leftmost end of his bandmate’s row.

The audience erupted in more cheers and squeals at the act. Kenta K stayed faithful to their skit, giving an exaggerated sound directly into his mic.

“Wow! A bold move from WISH’s Daichi! Am I sensing a loooove connection?”

“K-kenta! Cut that out! You’ll have Daichi-kun’s fan club waiting to jump me outside my apartment!”

More cheers, groans and undistinguishable (slightly inhuman) exclamations sounded as Dai settled onto the semi-uncomfortable stool. The rest of the WISH members followed their scripts as well, the guys joking him and giving him thumbs up while Kirra rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. The artificial smirk stayed screwed on his face as things began to settle a bit and the show got underway.

“Now that everyone’s introduced, let’s get to prying! Shall we?” Kenta K’s voice dropped in a theatrical manner and the lights on the stage did some sort of cheesy effect to accompany the line.

“I second that! Let’s start with SNOW. So how are you guys feeling ton-…"

Daichi found himself zoning out as the Q&A began, emerald gaze scanning his surroundings on pure instinct. He and his bandmates were perched at the back of the SNOW brigade since they had 1 more member. Their smug-faced rivals were aligned in front of the members of WISH, poised between the gaps in the WISH member’s seating.

Luckily, when they’d come in for a run-through yesterday, Daichi found out that not only would he be at the end and the farthest away from their prying hosts, but that Shino of SNOW would be on the opposite end. Which would limit their contact and possibility of interaction to nearly zero.

You won’t hear me complaining about that arrangement, he’d thought at the time. He had to be close enough to the guy enough at school.

A few months prior

It was enough that Fuwari was in his class in the first place. But to have the guy sitting so close to him, surrounded by newly acquired buddies that doted on his every word could seriously be classified as torture.

It had only been a few days but just as Daichi predicted, Fuwari had charmed nearly everyone in the class. All the girls had arbitrary crushes and the guys wanted to hang out after school and play video games with him. Typical high school shit that Daichi wasn’t even remotely interested in.

What really got him was that in all the grabs that Fuwari had made for people’s attention and good graces, he’d completely ignored Daichi. To the point where the blonde was sure it was intentional. Not that he’d been jumping at the chance to become best buds with the guy but still. Fuwari had talked to literally everyone in the class but him. He’d even given Minato an address of acknowledgment and respect. Minato that just one desk apart from Daichi.

What the total fuck is that guy’s problem?

It pissed him off even more that he was pissed about it. He shouldn’t care. He didn’t care. It was just disrespectful. Totally dissing someone that was supposed to be a fellow musician at the same agency.

“Dai, fix your face. You’re glaring.” Minato quipped between bites of Melon bread one morning.

“I’m not glaring.”

“You are. And maybe that’s why he doesn’t talk to you. You look scary. *munch* I wouldn’t take to you either if I didn’t already like you.”

“Fuck you, Mina.”

“Woah, woah Mr. Moody. Did you not get enough sleep last night? You’re never this snappy.”

Dai stiffened and paled a bit, feeling anxiety creep up his spine. Minato was right. His emotions were out of control and that was just not like him. What the hell. He needed to get ahold of himself. This mask was all he had to glue the frayed pieces of his persona together. He couldn’t let it crack. Not even for a second. Not if he wanted to keep functioning correctly.

“Yeah,” he grumbled, grabbing at his bag and standing at the same time. “I don’t think I did. I’m goin’ home.”

“Oi, Dai wait!” Minato called after him. Daichi had already made a few quick strides toward the door, artfully but noticeably slipping past the crowd around Fuwari. The guy didn’t even look up at him. Che.

The anger welling in him drove his retreat faster. He could barely get his phone out of his pocket to call Rinko to come pick him up. He needed to decompress. He needed music. He needed…to figure out why Fuwari pissed him off so much without even opening his fucking mouth.

Daichi blinked a few times as he was brought from his thoughts. His hands at his sides had balled into fists, stinging with pain as his blunt nails dug into the pliant flesh. Minato, who was sat to his immediate right wrapped an enthusiastic arm around his shoulder and pulled him in. No doubt in response to something one of the hosts had said that Daichi missed.

He uncurled his fists, hoping they’d gone unnoticed and the sudden fiery anger he’d felt didn’t show on his face. Now…was not the time to be distracted by Fuwari.

Not to suggest that it happened often. It was just that sometimes when he thought about how utterly irritating the guy was it took him to places in his mind that were hard to get out of. Especially since he was prone to get lost in his own thoughts anyway.

And he was so close right now.

Well..-he was usually close anyway during the day cause—unfortunately—they’d landed in every single class together. Even the composition elective which had Dai chewing on his lip trying not to curse when he’d seen the guy enter the classroom with an excited look on his face a few months back.

But right now he could almost see the air of superiority swirling around the tall darkette that drove Dai totally up-…

‘Stop,' he urged himself in his mind. He could feel the sting of anger forming against his cheeks. He seriously needed to get out of his head. Now. 'Focus on the band. On WISH. Making a good impression in front of the millions of people watching you right now.’

He gulped silently at the thought, going cold as the anger drained from his face and formed a pit of unease in his stomach. Great. Triggering anxiety was probably something else that should be avoided right now. Get it together, Dai. Next thing you know, they’ll be asking you a question and you won’t be paying atten-...

“-…Daichi-kun?”

Fuck.

The look on his face betrayed the sudden tanking feeling he felt in his stomach when he slid his cool gaze to Mitsuri; who was looking at him rather expectantly. He had absolutely no idea what she’d said.

Double fuck.

A sharp, pointed chuckle broke the almost awkward silence.

“You’ll have to forgive our Dai. His mind is always filled with music so he spaces out a lot. I know it seems mysterious but he’s probably just composing something in his head right now!”

'Nice save, Ryu. I owe you one,’ the praise rang in his head as a relieved sigh rushed from slightly parted lips.

“Oh, that’s right! Daichi-kun, you do compose and produce a lot of WISH's tracks, right?”

“Ryu likes to exaggerate about me but yeah, with help from everyone else, I have produced several of our tracks.” Just keep talking about the music, Daichi. Don’t think of anything else.

“It’s not an exaggeration,” Inari added, continuing to boast about him. “Before we got scouted by MUSE, Dai did all of our producing and publishing. Our entire first EP and all our singles. We wouldn’t have gotten noticed without him!”

Said blonde male lifted a hand to brush his bangs from his face in a feigned act of modesty, looking away from the host for a moment and clearing his throat.

“It’s not that big of a deal. It was really all our hard work that got us here. I’m just good at the technical stuff.”

“That’s really amazing, Daichi! So bringing it back to Mitsuri’s initial question, who’s your greatest motivation when it comes to music? We know you’re classically trained and have a residency at the Kyoto Philharmonic and a member of WISH. What drives your passion for music so much?” Kenta K’s eyes flashed with curiosity and playfulness as if he hadn’t asked a potentially loaded question.

Which it definitely was when it came to Daichi.

He shifted in his seat, feeling extremely uncomfortable at the palpable silence that filled the vast television studio. His heart slammed against his ribcage as he quickly collected his composure when flashes of his Dad’s face slashed in his vision. He didn’t know if it was his hesitancy to answer or what but it felt like everyone in the room was staring at him expectantly. Luckily, he’d practiced an answer that didn’t give away too many personal details.

“Well, that’d mostly be these guys. When we met, I was in a pretty bad place when it came to music,” Good, his voice didn’t sound shaky. “I kinda just played because I was good at it. But then in my last year of elementary, I met Ryu who was desperately trying to get people to join the “Rock Band Club”

“Aww, come on Dai! Don’t tell them about that!”

“Hey, I didn’t ask the question.”

A groan and the sound of a hand slapping against skin. Probably a face.

“So anyway, I don’t know why I joined. But I did. And long story short, we all had a pipe dream. Theirs was to become a world-class group of musicians and mine was to make sure theirs came true. At least that’s what it started as.” He felt his body relaxing in his seat again, clearing captivating the hosts, the audience, and even most of the stars of the program with his heartfelt tale.

“Now I’m probably the one that pushes us all the hardest when it comes to goals.”

“When he’s not napping or daydreaming,” Kirra adds.

“Or off winning violin competitions,” Minato snorts.

“Oi guys. Don’t embarrass me. We’re on national television.”

Laughter erupted in the studio, washing Daichi in a satisfied sense of accomplishment. Persona maintained. Question answered. Blunder managed.

“Awesome! It’s obvious that you guys are close and we love to see that don’t we?” Mitsuri prompts the audience’s response which is a surge of clapping and cheers, “and now we know the stoic, mysterious Daichi-kun has a sweet side!”

“Promise you guys won’t tell anyone,” he adds for a bit more humor.

“*chuckle* We can’t make any promises!”

The rest of the program went just like that. Kenta K and Mitsuri asking a plethora of questions, both trivial and probing. Most of it goes well, especially when they take breaks in between questions to do little challenges and games. Their rivalry is tested and lightened as the two bands pull laughter from the crowd and each other. They’re working hard at it, just as Rinko-san requested and it appears to be going well for them.

As the Idol Watch neared the final—and most anticipated—performance segment Daichi was given one final question.

“So the last question of the night is for WISH’s Daichi,” Kenta K starts. “In light of the perceived rivalry between your two bands and in order to quell some of those rumors (if you can), what is one thing you admire about SNOW?”

Ick. He’d hoped he didn’t get this question. Mostly because he had a genuine answer that he just absolutely would not admit to. That their musicality was pretty great. Augmented by a truly unique voi-…

“I think that SNOW’s lyrical prowess is something to be admired. They always find unexpected ways to word something or make an ordinary phrase musical. Also..-,” he paused, taking a moment to look at the small red-head that was seated directly in front of him. “I think Nami-san is a really talented bassist. I’d like to see what she can do on a contrabass one day.”

Said SNOW member craned her neck around to look at Daichi, giving him an incredulous look with a light pink blush on her face. She offered him a sly smile and a chuckle before turning back around and nodding.

“Challenge accepted, Daichi.”

Just as every other interaction between the two groups riled up the crowd, this one was no different. The nearly jittering audience was just about hoping from their seats in anticipation for the performances.

“All right! You saw it here folks! SNOW and WISH: Rivals or comrades? You decide!” Mitsuri exclaimed.

“But not before you grab hold of your seats and get geared up for the performances of SNOW’s “Butterfly” and WISH’s “Elements”, next on Idol Watch!” Kenta K said in a flash of movement. The directors counted him off for the break and he relaxed, looking back at both groups with a satisfied smile.

“Awesome show, you guys. I think this’ll be one of our highest rated yet.”

“Yeah! For sure,” Mitsuri added, placing a hand on her sharply hip. “We can’t wait to hear you guys perform. That’ll set the ratings off for sure.”

A plain faced man approached the chatting group of celebrities with a voice of authority, grabbing their attention instantly.

“Alright, we’re back on in 7 minutes. SNOW, you’re up first. WISH, we’ll be moving you to the gallery area there,” he pointed without looking up from his clipboard. “so you’ll still be visible during the performance, bear that in mi—oi, I need the stagehands moving faster to set this up!—mind. After SNOW’s performance we’ll have another short break and then it’ll be you all’s turn, everyone clear?”

“Clear,” was the resounding response from everyone on stage.

“Right. Kenta, Mitsuri. Go get freshened up and then meet back on your marks.”

Lots of hustling and quick-paced steps followed. Daichi and the rest of the members of WISH were rushed to the gallery, all the while being poked, prodded and fixed. A particularly interesting looking make-up artist added more powder to Daichi’s face with a look he couldn’t quite place….disdain? Disgust? Annoyance?

Whatever.

He wasn’t really interested in whatever that guy’s problem was. The only thing he was interested in at the moment was his sickeningly high level of anticipation towards SNOW’s performance. He’d-…maybe listened to their album a few times for research purposes and “Butterfly” was one of his fav-..one of the most interesting tracks. He was more than curious about what it would sound like live. If the melody was still as smooth and if Furwari’s voice still sounded as nic-…

He shifted in the equally uncomfortable stool he sat on in the gallery area. These guys really needed to invest in more comfortable seats for their guests. Daichi clenched his hands at his knees, feeling sweat collect in his palm, making it clammy. He gulped again, mentally kicking himself for being so bound up with nerves over this performance that wasn’t even his own.

He could hear his bandmates whispering to each other, trying to include him in a conversation he didn’t have the focus to contribute to when the producer sounded for final checks and everyone’s scurrying multiplied by 10.

“We’re almost back. Minute till’ live!”

1 minute.

He could see Nami adjusting her bass and securing the strap to her neck before turning and giving her bandmates a wide-toothed grin.

45 seconds.

Wataru pressed his fingers on a few chords, silently giving them a thumbs up.

30 seconds.

Okita hopped around his mark, strumming his dormant guitar with an over exaggerated fervor. He was so hyped up that it was almost comical.

15 seconds.

And then there was Fuwari. His posture was relaxed as he looked behind him, probably giving his bandmates encouraging words as the front man should. He gripped the mic with a sureness that made the hair on the back of Dai’s neck stand up. He looked more than confident.

'Cocky,’ Dai thought halfheartedly. The insult sounded half-assed even in his own head.

10 seconds. 9…8…7…

The quartet drew in for a few seconds, bumping each other’s fists before settling back at their marks. Fuwari turned fully away, facing the audience’s already deafening calls.

5…4…3…

Screaming fans were pressed as close as the bulky security personnel allowed. Dai could make out several signs with the band member’s names on them. An overwhelming amount of them read “Shino”.

2…1…Live.

The producer gave the final motion that the show had gone live again. Kenta K and Mitsuri’s voices cut through the commotion only for a few additional seconds, introducing the group and moving off to the side of the stage with faces alight with excitement.

And then, as the breath that Dai didn’t know he’d been holding released, the first chord sounded on Wataru's keyboard.

#tIWarc #tIWarcpost3 #shidai #dai-pov

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jasperwoke · 6 years

Text

The faults in my friends

I have some friends. As of now. I consider them friends. I believe they put up with me, deal with me, and offer company voluntarily with no intentions of repayment behind their amicability.

Sebastian the Eagle

Independent And dashing. He’s tall, tower over others, and always watching. He is observant, but not for the motive of protecting himself, but rather to capsize on opportunities. There are always moments to be chanced upon, and Sebastian’s watchfulness allows him to take advantage of openings. He dresses in a rugged, but not dirty or unruly manner. He does not dress for opinions of wealth nor high fashion, he does not billboard colors and slogans and logos. Rather, his dull combination of patterns and colors make him feel rustic, and very sure of the world. Knowing what he has to offer, what he must do to offer such insights, as well as what others may offer him.

Like an eagle he soars over others. He in incredibly smart, ignoring race, gender, as other social economic statuses. He has been granted many benefits and where others may waste them or flex them, he is very humble, knowing he already stands high above others, and seeks only to ascend more upwards, rather than constantly watching below. His father had a good position for his early schooling, his college as well as athletic history grants him many opportunities that others may not have the motivation or ability to achieve, let alone combine together. His coloration is also much like an eagle. Earthen tones as well as earthen patterns are compose his normal attire, but he does wear flares, of colors or graphics. He is independent like an eagle in the sense he is sure of himself, and knows that for his improvements, only he can achieve it. No matter how much assistance or leverage he may receive, it is only his ability to utilize it that ultimately helps him go higher.

My opinions on Sebastian may be limited, I only know the surface of him, with occasional glimpses into his inner mind. He is very driven, however. Fierce. He does not frown or sneer in intimidation, but rather, focuses. His eyes are always determined, never shifting in suspicion or accusation. Perhaps that is what strikes the most respect and awe for all his peers and onlookers, not his size, appearance, nor intellect, but his composure.

Sebastian does not surface many fears. Like an eagle, he soars above and always watches. Watches for himself, and watches for others. In a spectrum of watching out and watching for. In our limited conversations, he indicates a different persona underneath. I feel he has insecurities he never surfaces or shows, perhaps the opportunity never arises. All his masks that he wears during the day govern him respect, he is rarely put in the position of seeking help. But even eagles return to nests at night, to nurture, and to rest. In our conversations, he sometimes stumbles over his words, or misconstrues the words of others. Perhaps it is prolonged independence that has strewed his communication in ways he is not used to. He does have friends, a team, and fits in well, but I believe it is rare he gets to open up. It is important to not confuse independence with isolation.

fear of insecurities

Aaron the monkey

Smart. He has the mind for wealth, enjoys the pursuit and promise of higher position and opportunity. He is artful, enjoys many sorts of music, very composed and analytical and accepting.

He is very submissive. I feel he elopes for acceptance. I believe his brother’s leaving may have damaged him in some way, leaving him with a scar of dissonance or nonacceptance. He enjoys losing himself through drugs, as well as hooking up with females, forming severable connections.

Perhaps this is his method to cope. By fantasizing himself with different females, which he has a very solid and real ability to do so, he justifies to himself his acceptance of a male figure. He dresses to flex, though more calmly than many other counterparts of his age. Perhaps it too is for acceptance within multitudes of communities. Sectors of wealth, age, physical attraction.

Handy like a monkey. But also must feel inclusive to the group. Wielding strong intellect, but also acknowledging the preference in power and company.

seeks acceptance

Kendy the lion

He is proud, easy going, open minded. Sometimes he is too lax, but that is not an immediate flaw. He has good intellect and intuition, values money well, and has a very strong grasp on economics and the development of wealth.

He has become too content. He is in a powerful position in life, with many open opportunities. He compares himself to a lion. He even has a mane, his hair resembles one. He is boastful and proud, important trails, but only when balanced with humility.

Proud like a lion. Pompous like the mane. Wields strength within himself, but has also become lax like a resting lion.

too prideful

Kenny the duck

Kenny is big. He dresses in a masculine manner, is rough, boisterous, but also humorous. He is calm, keeps to himself, and knows his own worth, but is not pompous.

Kenny is very simple. He can keep company, or be company, and can hold his own in any scenario. He is good among friends. However, he is simple. Not a high business man, but a man of his word. He is smart, but his decisions are simple decisions. Others flock to him.

Like a duck, he can be aggressive. He puffs his chest and hisses, fending off through intimidation. But he is just him. He can entertain, enjoy, and stand his own. He flies, swims, walks on all terrain. But he is a duck, a fowl. Not the makes of a hawk, a lion, or a shark.

lacks development

Denis the bear

Denis is very attractive. He has a button nose, like a bear. He is cute, and attractive, but also somewhat fierce. He is dominant, and can impose himself upon lower groups. He is big too, a nice physique with his face, complimenting his inner content.

He hibernates. Many times, he feels lack of motivation, or perhaps a greater power inhibiting him. He will do what needs to be done, take aggression when needed. But like a bear in headlights, or perhaps a bear being hunted, sometimes he does not know how to act, or acts inappropriately.

His face and size impose like a bear. He is dominant, masculine, and powerful. But like a bear, inside, he enjoys sleep more than work. He can put himself into much higher positions, but seeks to avoid aggression, even if small, when possible. He enjoys his territory, the cubs he has made. He does not seek to take on others. Confident in his own skin, he does not seek to grow larger. Perhaps for the sake of his own comfort.

self inhibition

Riz the chameleon

Riz, likewise, is also quite attractive. He has a nice jaw, nice hair, and colorful and artful aesthetics. Much like a chameleon. He can adapt to many situations, wearing his appearance, voice, and personality as camouflage. He takes life one step at a time, enjoying the moment with good company.

He uses his traits as camouflage, as aforementioned. He wears colors boldly, wields himself proudly. But he can still be hurt. He is attentive like the chameleon, always watching and adapting. Fitting in but also standing out. His hair standing up also somewhat resembles the spines you’d see on a lizard’s head. Big eyes and gorgeous colors, he is beautiful.

Like a chameleon, he constantly shifts, and watches, and readjusts to blend in. Yet within the setting, he stands out boldly and proudly. Like a chameleon, he is fast and cunning. He can wait or he can lash out, with both traits equivalently strong. However, he does not stand out in a pompous manner. He too can get hurt, can be preyed on, and though camouflage and attentiveness are defenses, there are many things he can not protect himself against. He enjoys life in the moment, and takes unforeseen losses as they come. Analytical, and quick to adjust, he is the essence, but not the center of a party.

does not stand out

Anushtup the chinchilla

petite and cute, with plump cheeks, Anushtup is much like a domesticated pet. However, he is exotic. He is definitely smart, being able to squeeze through conundrums that may befall him. However, he is inhibited by many factors as well, some out of his control. He finds joy and sorrow in life, but understand there are greater forces behind veils of reality. He feels, and reacts to these circumstances, but merely accepts them as they come. like a house pet, he has become content, unwinding in afternoon slivers of sun, rather than prowling on savannas or taking arbitrary risks.

Anushtup’s small size allows him to blend in to many situations. I feel he wants to stand out but for many factors, simply can not. Likewise, he dresses subtly, though not in a bad manner. His clothing, though quite expensive, is a studied taste, and though they do not call for attention, they can very much incite thought and invoke deeper emotions behind them. Easily over looked due to his normality, his attire blending in, it is an art form how he wields and acts, a sort of studied negligence.

I do not know Anushtup well. Often times, I find myself misconstruing his meanings and connotations to his words. He is playful and energetic, often cunning and mischievous. However, he understands his hand was not a one that wins the game. Where others crush obstacles, asserting themselves, he maneuvers around. Higher powers do help him often, as he tries to make sense of the mazes that befall him. Yet each day, he finds time to enjoy his predicament. The beauty in overlooked moments of life. Perhaps this is because he himself, is often overlooked. He seeks to make connections but unlike the rat, he is timid and exotic.

Sophisticated and exotic, yet small and overlooked, like a chinchilla. It is an obstacle that may be out of his hands, to assert and overcome in not just size. But he has made good company, loyal connections are superior to vasts networks. He knows himself more than anyone else. I think it is for the better he does not call attention to himself. Like fine art, he is best admired from a distance, and truly appreciated by a select few.

depressed

#confession

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thegloober · 6 years

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My Son Is Two Years-Old And I Already Feel Like He Needs Me Less

Now, when I help my son from his crib in the dark of the morning, he hooks his feet around my side. His hands start grabbing for purchase. In what feels like one move — a toddler jiu-jitsu guard pass — he’s adjusting his grip on my collar and pulling himself to face me head on. Then we’re chest-to-chest, his feet drumming against me.

He narrows his eyes and leans over my shoulder to try scour the dimness. After a moment, he turns to face me. He says “dah dah” like a pilot whispering the instrument’s name while they check it. In a moment, he’ll say “down,” push his hands against my chest, slide down to the floor, and start trundling around the house, the first blues of morning sliding through the shades.

Two years old, and my son Winslow’s already begun shedding needs. That’s expected. My wife and I do less for our son than we once did. He believes that he needs us less, too. He’s not wrong. But, for me, it’s less expected.

Still, the dark, from dusk until mid-morning, was my thing. I worked the third shift of parenting, along with the odd hours, and drop-everything-and-go-do-Y-because-X-happened availability. The idea my son needs less the thing on which I rested my parenting killed me for a while. If I didn’t provide this one loving service, what good was I? What would my son know me as?