#like legitimate I am feeling emotions here connected to my past with my father and this charicter is a conduit

[dyslexic-mess]

The problem is that lucifer is so flipping goofy. Like he's a literal and figurative cartoon of a person. He should be so cringe fail.

However. Viv somehow managed to take a direct shot at my daddy issues. Not even the sad or angry ones, just a bullseye, straight to the heart stab at the raw emotion there.

I don't fucking know how she managed it but now I'm obsessed with this tiny freak and have been listening to 'hells greatest dad' and 'more than anything' on a loop.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel lucifer #its insane #like sure #we all are a little more dissmissive of alistors behaviour because he plays on the daddy issues #thats fine #people will thirst over parental like figures in media for ad long as they exist #but LUCIFER??? #Im not even thirsting over him #its diffrent #like legitimate I am feeling emotions here connected to my past with my father and this charicter is a conduit #wtf #how viv??? #HOW????

[aziraphalala]

I am currently rewatching season 2, it is taking a while as I am pausing it every five seconds to take notes on every details that I loved and start theorizing, and I know that I will be posting some big bits of analysis on here at some point, but before that I just wanted to share a sweet story with you guys.

I've always been a very sensitive person. It's always been part of my personality, and most of the time people find it endearing.

I thought that as I grew older, this sensitivity would eventually fade and my tears would eventually dry up. That I would leave that part of me behind, along with the rest of my childhood, to become a strong, responsible and reasonable adult like my father.

But on the contrary. The more I grow up, the older I get, the more mature I become and the more I feel that my heart is becoming big and heavy with empathy. It takes up all the space in my chest, and when emotions get too strong, I hurt so much I feel like I'm going to explode.

I've always been told it's because I have 'too much' empathy. But I don't think that's the kind of thing you can have too much of.

Empathy is a beautiful, wonderful thing, a quality that I cherish because it allows me to help the people I love, to find the right words, to understand their pain and to share it with them. Empathy is what allows me to connect with others.

But sometimes it takes up too much space. The emotions are too heavy, too strong, too big for me, and I feel crushed.

And the more I grow, the more space it takes up. Because now that I'm older I understand certain things better, I can read between the lines better and what I find there breaks my heart. I feel like I can't appreciate the things I love, because I love them TOO much, and in the end I end up hurting myself.

I feel like I'm confusing reality with fiction, and feeling pain that shouldn't exist. Why do I hurt so much because of the death of a fictional character? Why do stories that aren't mine, and aren't even real, break me so much?

I feel ridiculous and naive in my pain, because I have the impression that it's not legitimate, that I shouldn't be feeling this way. But I can't help it.

And the hardest part of all this is the loneliness, because how can I explain everything I feel to others, and why I feel it, when I don't understand it myself? How do I convince them that, even if the origin is fictitious, my pain is real? How can I explain to them that in my heart there is no difference?

Some days it's harder than others to live with such a big heart. But fortunately, I have friends who, although they don't understand what I'm going through, do their best to support me until I'm better, and offer me a helping hand.

These past two days I have been really really hurt and lost, because of the end of Good Omens season 2. I loved it of course, but I have always avoided angst because I know that I never live it down well. And Good Omens was kind of my comfort show, so it felt like a betrayal after these 4 years of waiting (even if this ending makes sense, and that I wouldn't have it any other way now, Sir Gaiman did an astonishing job).

And I couldn't really talk about it to my friends because they don't know the show, but they could tell that I was really, really sad.

And today, my wonderful friend Élise - after cheking on me to see how I was doing - unexpectedly told me that she had started to watch season 1, that she was on episode 3, that she loved it and couldn't wait to catch up with me so that we could TALK about it.

And this, guys, is one of the most benevolent, caring and loving thing that someone did for me. It may seems trivial for her, but for the first time I felt seen, I felt heard, and I felt understood.

So yeah, I thought it was really sweet and wanted to share that with you all, just to say that sometimes the most littlest gesture can really make a huge impact on someone's life so.

You know, as the Doctor said.

Be kind.

#good omens #good omens 2 #good omens season 2 #ineffable husbands #venting #friendship #character bonding

[metalbatandzenko]

About me taking breaks from this blog

Hey everyone!

You might have noticed that I’ve been taking intermittent breaks from this blog. I try to announce it when I am, because falling off the face of the earth isn’t exactly courteous of me.

I’ve been getting a lot of asks asking if I’m alright and/or if there’s a reason why I’m kind of shutting myself off.

And here’s the thing. I know I don’t technically owe anyone an explanation for why I’ve been doing that. 

But I do want to give one. 

So think of this as more of an update I guess? Anyways, update under the cut. 

Warning: it’s long.

So, about why I’ve been taking breaks/why I haven’t been as interactive lately.

I’ve been rolling this around for a long time and trying to form the words to express all this.

There’s several major factors going on here, but the TLDR is I have an issue with feeling guilty about everything, even when I have no obligation to a person or situation, and it’s tanking my mental health.

1. The first, and most inconsequential, is I’m back to school. 

I’m a full time college student generally and have been since I started this sideblog. But as of this semester, I’ve officially transferred to a new university, which means school is taking up more of my time. 

I’m also in an honors program now, which means maintaining a 4.0 is—for financial reasons—more important than ever. I’m a bit stressed out, I’m not gonna lie! 

Also, the switch to remote has been a particularly rough one. I’m having a really hard time defining the boundary between “school and homework time” and downtime, which means anytime I spend not doing homework is really just spent with me feeling overwhelmed with guilt that I’m not trying to get ahead in class.

2. The world is kind of going through shit right now.

I’d be a liar if I said the state of the world isn’t killing my motivation. There’s a lot of shit going on, and it’s overwhelming. It feels like the second we slow down to catch a breath, a new tragedy hits. 

3. My depression is kind of killing me.

Like everyone, isolation is fucking with me. It has the fun side effect of piling onto my depression, so I’ve been really having a hard time finding the will to do anything, even things I enjoy. 

This also links to that feeling of guilt over not being productive: I want to do something I enjoy, but I can’t because I’m consumed with guilt over the fact I’m not meeting some perceived “productivity quota”, so instead of doing that work, or doing something I enjoy, I do nothing. I’ve been sleeping more these past few months than I ever have, but I’m still tired all the time.

4. Family matters.

I’m lucky in that I’m quarantined with my parents, so I have some interaction, but that also means that I am quarantined with my abusive father. As a closeted, nb gay mixed-asian, being forced to spend almost all my time with my violently racist, homophobic and transphobic white dad has been uh. not great for my mental health.

He also just finished his second round of treatments and we’re waiting on a prognosis to see if he’s cancer free or not, so I’ve been grappling with my extremely mixed feelings surrounding him (as well as the fact that I’ll likely be outed at some point and have to plan for an emergency exit when I live in a different state than the rest of my family and the majority of my friends in the middle of a pandemic) for the past six months or so.

5. I have been teetering dangerously close to full burnout for about five months now, and I think it’s finally hit.

Like I mentioned, I’m sleeping more than I ever have in my life. I’m tired all the time, and I keep getting hit with waves of just. really aggressive sadness and isolation. I’ve cried more in the past month than I have in uh. years.

Writing fanfic is a hobby. The problem is, my hobby overlaps with my major: I’m a creative writing major, so a lot of my creative energy has been going towards that.

Trying to balance both is a really tricky line to walk, and I just can’t do it right now. I’m struggling enough with class as it is, so content creation has fallen to the wayside, and I feel really shitty about that, especially since it’s something I enjoy.

I also felt like I always had to be “on”/accessible for this blog. (This is a personal problem that stems from growing up in a very service based culture, and one I’m working on, but it required time away and better boundaries on my part.)

6. Increased sense of alienation from the fandom at large.

This is kind of linked to 5.

Being able to keep anon on is really important to me, I know I personally don’t always feel comfortable sending asks to people off anon (I’ve joked before that even with users I’m genuinely friends with, I send asks on anon bc I don’t want them to feel like I’m waiting on an answer). 

I only answer about a quarter of the asks I receive (I won’t say a quarter of the asks people send me given tumblr’s tendency to eat asks). About a third of the asks are: asking me when a fic of mine will be updated/a wip will be posted, accusing me of something, flat out rude/hateful, or asking really invasive personal questions. 

I’ve gotten a few asking me to elaborate on specific traumas that I don’t think I’ve even mentioned on this blog, which is both violating and extremely entitled: as if someone else gets to decide if my trauma is legitimate enough or something.

There are also the asks that I either don’t have the energy to give the love they deserve and avoid because I feel guilty about that, or just flat out I don’t want to answer.

But deciding not to answer the asks sent in good faith makes me feel incredibly guilty and ashamed. This, again, is a personal problem, and one I’m working on.

I also feel my hyperfixation on opm beginning to fade.

But generally, I just feel less connected to the fandom. It’s mostly because my lack of spoons means I’m not reaching out to people as much, but there are other factors too. It sounds dramatic, but I’m still a little shaken by the spat I had with another opm blog a couple of months ago.

And generally? I don’t think the fandom is as active anymore anyways. Some small, self-absorbed part of me still blames myself for some of that, because the timing of the fandom dying down and fracturing came right after the dispute I mentioned.

7. I really want this account to stay associated with happy things, and I’m not feeling too happy right now.

This blog was one I made because I enjoyed opm and wanted to have fun with it. I still love opm, and I love some of the friends I’ve made on here, but I just. I don’t feel the love for the fandom as a whole right now, and given all the negative emotions/things I just laid out, I’m worried about it somehow rubbing off on this blog, both for me, and for the people who follow me.

---

So yeah, that’s what’s going on on my end. I’m trying to stay positive and take care of myself, but I’m beyond overwhelmed, both for reasons related to, and entirely unrelated to this blog.

I want this blog to feel positive, and I worry this feels like I’m fishing for pity. That’s not it. I just need to get it off my chest, and kind of lay out where I am for you all, because I care about you.

Anyways, that’s all I got. I don’t know if I’ll delete this for now, but for the time it’s up, I’ll have it pinned to my blog. 

Love you all, and be gentle with yourself.

#personal #anyways. now that I have that all out. time to pass out dshlkasdjh

[miguel-manbemel]

Aspects & Fanfics Ep. 26: A Side is Born Part 1: Virgil’s Pregnancy

Today is one year since the first episode of this story inspired on Sanders Sides by Thomas Sanders and Joan S. was released. I figured I had to do something special to celebrate it and I decided to try something new. And I decided to do something that hasn’t been done even on the original Sanders Sides: a five part epic serialized story starring the Sides.

The fun fact is that this originally started as a regular entry and the idea of a multipart episode came when I wrote the ending. And yes, the title is quite revealing. A new original Side is joining the story and it’s gonna be Roman and Virgil’s son. They’re not human so why not making a male pregnancy possible in this universe? I hope you enjoy this silly opening for this story which will be released on a weekly basis. So, until next week.

WARNINGS: The story features a physical childbirth with the struggles and pain usually associated with it, including a scene of vomiting, if it could be a trigger. Existential doubts for Virgil are to be found in the story too. Also romantic prinxiety and logicality, and a brief hint to romantic receipt played for laughs. Because yes, Remus appears, but he’s an ally in the story. This doesn’t prevent him from doing his anctics of course.

SYNOPSIS: Thomas feels strangely nervous, so he feels something’s wrong with Virgil. He’s sick and nauseous and his belly starts growing so they all deduce that Virgil must be pregnant. Now they wonder how this happened and Virgil has doubts about if he’s gonna be a good parent or not.

EPISODE INDEX

[Thomas is reading from his cell phone]

THOMAS: Merci… Gracias… Grazie… Go raibh maith agat… Efharisto… Danke schön… Tack så mycket… Dank je wel… Hvala… [noticing the camera] Oh, there you are. What am I doing, you say? Well, I’m learning how to say “Thank you” in as many European languages as I can. Soon I’ll be traveling to Europe and I want everyone to understand at least that from me… The next thing I’ll learn will be how to say “I love you”. What? That’s so me, you say? Well, thank you so much from the bottom of my heart and I’m grateful and proud of having you as my wonderful followers, the best followers anyone could ever ask for… but I don’t know what you mean by “that’s so me”.

[intro sequence]

THOMAS: What is up, everybody? Today hasn’t been a really good day. I don’t know why, but I have been feeling on the edge all day. Really, really nervous, and I don’t know why, cause we didn’t have specially stressful projects today. Well, I guess you know what comes next. If an emotion of mine spirals out of control, I have the advantage of being able to talk to that emotion face to face, so here we go. Virgil? Could you come here, please?

[Virgil rises up. He looks pale and sick]

VIRGIL: What do you want… [retches] Thomas?

THOMAS: Whoa… Are you okay, Virge? You look sick…

VIRGIL: Very observant, detective Sanders… I’ve been feeling awful today.

ROMAN: [rising up] Why didn’t you tell me any of this, my love?

VIRGIL: I didn’t want to concern you, Roman. Probably it’s just something I’ve eaten that’s not agreeing with my stomach.

ROMAN: Still, my duty as your husband is taking care of you when you’re feeling bad. I thought we had agreed on not hiding things from each other.

VIRGIL: Don’t worry, Roman, I’m sure this is not serious.

PATTON: [rising up] What is this about not feeling well, son?

VIRGIL: Oh… don’t worry, dad, I’m…

[Virgil can’t end his statement, as he suddenly turns around and starts loudly vomiting off-screen. Faces of disgust are shown from each of the Sides and Thomas]

THOMAS: Oh, my gosh…

ROMAN: It… It’s the first time that I see… magenta vomit?

PATTON: It would be cute if it wasn’t so disgusting…

THOMAS: What the heck did you have for breakfast today, Virgil, a bag of ink cartridges?

VIRGIL: [turning front] Do you think I am Remus or something? I’m sorry for this mess, Thomas. I… I don’t know what’s wrong with me today. I didn’t eat anything unusual today.

ROMAN: I don’t know… Could it be indigestion over too much eating?

VIRGIL: What do you mean?

ROMAN: Well, I’m sorry, my love, I didn’t want to say it, but… I think you’re gaining a bit of weight lately.

VIRGIL: What?

ROMAN: I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude, but… look at your belly.

[Virgil looks at his belly. His purple shirt is too tight on it]

ROMAN: Your delicious abs are gone right now. Don’t get me wrong. I love that chubby belly and I’ll love you in any body shape, but I’m just worried about how you’ve gone chubby so suddenly.

VIRGIL: [angry] I’m not chubby! And I’m not fat, for the record! It’s just the belly what has got thicker! [suddenly outbursts crying] Why you have to be so rude!?

[Virgil starts crying, sobbing, with both hands covering his face]

ROMAN: [scared] I’m sorry! I’m sorry, my love! I’m sorry!

THOMAS: Morning nausea, protuberant belly, irritability and emotions on the edge… Heh… It’s funny. If you weren’t a man I would say that you’ve got all the symptoms of being pregnant.

[Virgil slowly lowers his hands from his face and looks at Thomas with a face of horror]

THOMAS: [serious] Wait… don’t tell me that you can…

VIRGIL: Oh… my… goodness… [putting his hands on his belly] For the love of Gerard Way…

THOMAS: But… this is not a Sims game! Since when can a person with male reproductive organs get pregnant!?

ROMAN: [in shock] I… I didn’t know that was possible either.

VIRGIL: [stuttering] I wasn’t certain if it could be possible. But these past months I was thinking… How did Patton have me? All of us, the Sides of Thomas, are male like him, so there were only two options. Either Patton got someone pregnant who delivered me, or he got pregnant with me at some point. In any case, there was a male Side delivering me. The alternative is me being created by the Mind Palace itself, like most Sides, and therefore Patton not being my real father, which I know it can’t be true, given the special kind of love and connection that we share. I refuse to believe that Patton is not my real father. That’s out of the question.

PATTON: You are my son, Virgil. Never have any doubts about it, because the connection that exists between us both, the kind of pure, unconditional love that I feel for you and you feel for me, that wouldn’t exist otherwise. However, I’m a bit confused. By that time, I hadn’t been with anyone yet… and I haven’t got any recollection of having you through pregnancy. Is that how kids are…?

VIRGIL: Either way, it probably was so long ago that you don’t remember how it happened, just as I don’t remember being born as a Light Side, then turning Dark. [makes a sudden pause and looks at Patton with a serious face] Wait… what do you mean by “by that time”, dad? Do you mean that after I was born you have…?

ROMAN: [interrupting Virgil, nervously] Um… Thomas, I think we need Logan to shed a light to all of this, don’t you agree?

THOMAS: Yes, I’m so confused that I think my head is going to explode. I hope Logan can help us. Logan, could you come here, please!?

LOGAN: [rising up] How may I serve you, Thomas?

THOMAS: It’s not me who needs help. It’s Virgil.

LOGAN: Well, what’s the problem?

VIRGIL: I know it doesn’t make any sense and that it defies all laws of reproduction, but… I think I might be pregnant.

LOGAN: [unconcerned] Okay. How do you feel?

THOMAS: What? You think it’s completely logical that a male individual can get pregnant?

LOGAN: Well, I would find it completely illogical if Virgil was human. But he’s not, and as you know, not all laws of science apply to the Mind Palace, so in theory is perfectly possible for him to get pregnant. It is the first time that I’ve seen it with my own eyes, though. [looking furtively at Patton] That means we’ll have to take extra precautions when…

ROMAN: [nervously, looking at Logan with a murderous glance] Um… yes, Logan we all must always take precautions when. But it’s a little late for you to tell us this, don’t you think?

LOGAN: Well, you should be happy, Roman. I thought your biggest concern was your apparent inability to, following the laws of your principality, conceive a legitimate heir to the throne of Sandersia because you didn’t want to spend the rest of your life with anyone other than Virgil. Now that’s solved and you’ll get the legitimate offspring you always wanted to have while preserving your true love.

ROMAN: I… I hadn’t thought about that… But that’s right, Virge, I always wished to have offspring and you made the miracle possible. I love you.

VIRGIL: Well, I love you too, but I would have wished to know that this was possible beforehand, so that we could have planned this all more carefully.

LOGAN: First, before we continue theorizing, I think it would be best if I made a little check on Virgil to verify or counter-verify the news. It would be silly to talk about it when we don’t know yet if you’re really expecting. For all we know, it could just be a bad case of gas.

VIRGIL: I wish, but I don’t think so. Do I have to pee in a glass or something?

LOGAN: That won’t be necessary, just relax and let me do my work.

ROMAN: Won’t the shaking energy you use be dangerous for the baby, if they exist?

LOGAN: Don’t worry, I’ll be working on low power to avoid any damages to the child. Virgil open up your hoodie and lift up your shirt. I’ll need direct contact with your skin to be able to make a low-power check on you.

VIRGIL: Okay, Logan, you’re the doctor.

[Virgil opens up his hoodie and, with some difficulty as it is already too tight, he lifts his shirt up to the chest. Logan approaches Virgil and puts his hand gently on Virgil’s belly button, then starts caressing Virgil’s belly gently]

VIRGIL: It’s funny, I feel like a weird tingling sensation wherever Logan places his hand…

THOMAS: Incredible, it looks as if your belly was growing bigger by the minute as we speak… No offense, dude, I have felt that sensation myself sometimes after eating too much pizza.

LOGAN: Guys, be quiet, please. It’s harder for me to compile data while working with this low amount of power, I need silence or I won’t read anything.

THOMAS: Sorry, Logan.

[Logan slowly caresses Virgil’s belly up and down, left and right for a few seconds with a face of huge concentration. Roman, Patton and Thomas watch in expectation]

LOGAN: [taking his hand off] Okay… it’s done.

[Logan returns to his place]

VIRGIL: [on the verge of hysteria] Well, what did you see!?

LOGAN: Congratulations, guys. It’s a boy. Not surprising, though, as all Sides of Thomas share with him the same sex, gender, and attributes.

ROMAN: So, it’s true, then. We have a bun in the oven.

LOGAN: [confused, looking at the kitchen] I… I don’t think so, Roman, the oven is unlit and there are no signs of dough on the counter… And what does that have to do with this case, anyway?

THOMAS: It’s an expression, Logan, write it down on your vocab cards. Well, guys, I think we must call the others to give them the news. Deceit! Honesty! Remus!

[Deceit and Honesty rise up. Remus pops up]

DECEIT: What’s the ma… [looking in shock at Virgil, who is still with his shirt up as his now too bulging belly doesn’t let him lower it down] …what is going on here?

[Virgil summons his shirt away and zips up his wider hoodie with no shirt underneath]

VIRGIL: This is going faster than I thought. Wasn’t this supposed to last for nine months or something?

HONESTY: Nine… nine months? You mean that…?

ROMAN: Yes, guys. I don’t know how this happened, but we’re having a baby!

REMUS: Well, we’re all adults, Roman. We all know how babies do happen. [smirk] Wow, you really were hungry after these two months away from your husband! [wiggling his eyebrows] You two made the most of your time together, right?

PATTON: I didn’t know that’s what you had to do to make babies happen. I didn’t really know this thing existed until recently, so…

VIRGIL: Until recently? So you recently have…

ROMAN: [interrupting, looking at Patton with another murderous glance] Is no one going to congratulate us?

HONESTY: Of course, Roman. Congratulations!

DECEIT: Congratulations, Virgil. I… I’m happy for you.

VIRGIL: Thank you, Dee.

REMUS: That means that now I’m gonna be an uncle! [gasps realizing something] I’ll be Uncle Remus! [starts singing to the tune of the Disney song] Zeep-a-dee-doo-dah! Zeep-a-de-day! My, oh, my, what a wonderful day… [speaking] I hope you don’t pretend that I don’t exist like it happened to that other famous Uncle Remus from Disney.

THOMAS: Nah, you don’t need to worry. We already tried that and it doesn’t work. Not completely at least.

PATTON: And now not only I’m gonna be a dad! I’m gonna be a grand-dad too! I’m so happy!

[Patton jumps to hug Roman and Virgil, squeezing them a little bit. In doing so, the magenta puddle on the stairs behind Virgil is exposed]

REMUS: Wait, what is that magenta puddle behind Virgil?

[Patton goes back to his spot]

VIRGIL: [looking at the puddle] Oh, that’s right, I forgot to clean it up. I went really sick a moment ago and I puked this magenta… goo.

REMUS: It has a really pretty color… Can I eat it?

EVERYONE: [yelling at the same time] NO!!

REMUS: Ugh… But it looks so delicious… Why letting go to waste such a cute delicacy? [Virgil summons the puddle away] Okay, fine… I’ll make my own magenta puddle later. And I won’t share!

THOMAS: Thank God the vomit’s gone. I was fearing how long it was gonna take me to clean the stain off the carpet.

VIRGIL: One thing I don’t understand is… why was that vomit all magenta? I don’t get it.

LOGAN: Well, magenta is the result of mixing red and purple. Roman is red and you are purple. The Side that is inside of you, about to be born, will be magenta, for sure.

VIRGIL: [in pain, putting his hand on his belly] Aw!

ROMAN: [scared] What was that, Virgil! Are you okay?

VIRGIL: I… I think so… He moved inside me, and kicked me really hard from my insides. It was so weird…

ROMAN: Seriously, Logan. How can this go so fast? This morning he was having the first nausea and now he looks as if he was six months pregnant already!

LOGAN: Well, as I told you, we’re not human. Maybe instead of nine months, Virgil’s pregnancy will be only nine hours. Probably less, judging how fast it’s going.

THOMAS: I was thinking…

LOGAN: What?

THOMAS: When we lost Ira, you said that, one day or another, the Mind Palace would create a new Side to substitute him as Wrath. Could it be that the Side that is about to be born will assume my Wrath functions?

LOGAN: I don’t think so, Thomas. Roman is Creativity and Virgil is Vigilance and Anxiety. The Side that is born from them must have traits from them both, just like Virgil, son of Patton, shares with him that he’s a feeling. Wrath as an aspect is not directly tied with Creativity and Anxiety, it could happen as a product of Anxiety, but it can also happen on its own without it. Besides, it is up to the Mind Palace to create the new Side of Wrath, he won’t be born like this. We’ll still have to wait for the new Wrath to arrive someday.

THOMAS: Okay, if you say so, Logan. But then, what Side of me will he be?

LOGAN: I can’t tell yet. I’ll need to check him when he comes out. Then we’ll know for certain.

VIRGIL: [scared] Guys… How is the baby going to come out from me? Unlike women, I don’t have any ducts in my body through which he could come out.

REMUS: Yeah, is he going to burst out through his chest like in the movie “Alien”?

[Virgil grimaces]

ROMAN: [angry] Remus, please!

REMUS: What? That’s exactly what Virgil was thinking about, only that I put it out into words so you all know what he wanted to say. You’re welcome, Virge.

LOGAN: It’s okay, Virgil. When I checked you out I also checked the baby’s basic biology and status. Remember that our bodies can shape-shift?

VIRGIL: Yes…

LOGAN: Well, so the baby can. When the moment of delivery comes, he will come out through… any open conduct of yours as if it was some kind of gaseous smoke, safely solidifying in your arms without any damage for any of you.

REMUS: So, he’s literally gonna fart my nephew out? [clapping hands excited] That is so my aesthetic! I love it! I wanna have a baby too! Dee, will you help me out!?

DECEIT: [horrified] Whoa! Don’t stay away from me!

REMUS: [happy] Yay! Let’s do it!

DECEIT: [nervous] No, I really meant to say that! When I get nervous I tell the truth! Ugh! Don’t step back! [Remus starts approaching Deceit with his arms wide open and a sick smile] Dang it! Why did I have to be the embodiment of lies!? Guys, don’t help me!

[Deceit starts running away, Remus runs after him. They run in circles for a while while Patton shows a face of confusion, Honesty a face of shock, Logan facepalms, Thomas shows a concerned face and Roman just stares with a void expression. Then Virgil is shown with a face of angry struggle until he snaps]

VIRGIL: [yelling] F… [bleep] …ING SHUT UP!!!

[Everyone looks at Virgil, Deceit and Remus stop and look at Virgil too]

VIRGIL: FOR F… [bleep] ‘S SAKE, SHUT UP! AW! IT HURTS!

ROMAN: Virgil, what’s the matter!?

VIRGIL: How do you want me to know!? This thing inside of me is so heavy now! And it hurts! Aw!

LOGAN: Uh-oh! I think the time has come!

VIRGIL: What!? So soon!? I’m not ready yet!

LOGAN: Well, the baby is gonna pop out, whether you’re ready or not. Come to the couch, come on.

[Roman and Logan grab Virgil’s arms and help him walk to the couch, where he lies down]

VIRGIL: This is horrible! I thought you said it wouldn’t hurt!

LOGAN: No, I said it wouldn’t damage you. I never talked about pain. Your whole abdomen is full of gas as the baby takes that form to get out. How wouldn’t that hurt? Once you start delivering, the pain will disappear, you’ll see.

VIRGIL: Gosh… this all looks so ridiculous! Are you sure this is not some short of stupid nightmare!?

PATTON: It is not, but if it was a dream, why call it a nightmare? This moment, even with the struggle right now, should be something beautiful for you. Is it not?

VIRGIL: I don’t know, dad… I don’t know if I’m ready to be a father.

PATTON: Why?

VIRGIL: How am I going to take care of someone else when I can barely take care of myself, and with difficulty? I’m gonna suck as a parent! I’m not good enough for such a huge responsibility! I’m so scared!

ROMAN: [holding Virgil’s hand] You are good enough, Virgil. You’re the one who always takes into consideration all the possible outcomes to any situation before it even happens. The kid wouldn’t be in safer hands than yours.

VIRGIL: But I’m wrong a lot. What if he turns into some kind of manic paranoid because of me? What if I spoil him and turn him into a sad excuse of a Side? What if…?

ROMAN: Enough with those “what ifs”, Virgil! That’s not gonna happen! I’m a little scared too. I think it’s normal to feel unsure when a new life comes into the world and it’s your responsibility to take care of him. But remember that you’re not alone in that responsibility. This child is also my son and I’m gonna take my part of the duty too.

PATTON: And we’re also here to help you two in any way you need.

ROMAN: I’m sure we’ll figure it out. As long as we’re together, we can do it, you’ll see.

VIRGIL: Roman…

ROMAN: Yes?

VIRGIL: Please, don’t drop my hand while it happens.

[Roman smiles lovingly at Virgil and kisses his forehead]

ROMAN: Never. I only beg you something.

VIRGIL: What?

ROMAN: Please, when you’re pushing, don’t break my finger bones while you’re holding my hand… I need it to write.

VIRGIL: [titters] I’ll try… [suddenly in pain again] Nnghh!

LOGAN: Okay, now calm down, Virgil, and listen to me. I’m gonna be your midwife during the process and I’ll help you go through it safely. This is not gonna be like a regular human delivery with contractions and all that stuff. What you’re feeling right now is the baby, in the form of smoke, circulating inside your body, trying to find the way out. It is as if you had a bad case of intestinal cramps. That can really hurt sometimes in a regular situation, so imagine having your whole intestine full of it.

VIRGIL: [in pain] Oh, they’re really bad cramps, I can confirm! Roman, if you want any more babies, you’re gonna carry them!

ROMAN: I… I think one will be enough…

LOGAN: When the smoke reaches the exit, the pain will be gone and will be replaced by the happiness of having your son in your arms, and you’ll think that all you’re going through right now was really worth it. But until that moment comes, I need you to be strong. Okay?

VIRGIL: [whining, his forehead is full of sweat] Okay…

LOGAN: Now, I’m sorry, but I need you to be in more suitable clothing for the operation.

[Logan moves his hands and Virgil is now dressed with a purple hospital gown]

LOGAN: [positioning next to Virgil’s feet] That should do it. It’s open in the back so that the baby can come out… from where he has to come out… while respecting your own privacy.

VIRGIL: Thank you… [in pain] Aw! Here comes the pain again, and it’s worse than ever!

LOGAN: Okay, as I said there are no contractions, but what doesn’t change is that I’ll need you to push.

VIRGIL: Couldn’t I get the epidural?

LOGAN: It’s too late for it to take effect. You’ll have to cope. It will be over in less than a minute.

VIRGIL: Seems more like a century! [yelling] Aaah!

LOGAN: Now, push!

[Virgil makes a gesture of pushing while groaning. Roman looks at Virgil with the hugest concern. Then Virgil stops and loudly pants]

ROMAN: Come on, my love! I believe in you! You’re strong enough to do this!

LOGAN: It’s not enough yet. Push again… now!

[Virgil pushes again. A loud rasping noise is heard]

VIRGIL: Is it out yet?

LOGAN: [with a face of disgust as if smelling something unpleasant, fanning with his hand] No, sorry, that was just a regular fart. But it’s a good sign. The next thing coming out of there will be the baby. Now, one last time, use all your might you have left and push as if tomorrow would never come. Now!

VIRGIL: [pushing] NNNNNGGGGGHHHHHAAAAAAA!!!

LOGAN: Here it comes!

[A bright magenta smoke comes out of Virgil’s body. As it comes out forming a magenta cloud, Virgil’s belly shrinks until it returns to its normal flat form, while he shows a face of huge alleviation. Then, the cloud floats to Virgil’s chest and after some seconds, it disappears, to reveal a little baby dressed only with magenta diapers. The baby starts crying]

LOGAN: Well, it’s done. Good job, Virgil.

VIRGIL: [with his eyes full of tears] I… I… look at him, Roman.

ROMAN: [crying] I’m looking at him, Virgil. He’s as handsome as his dad. And I mean you.

THOMAS: [with his eyes full of tears] He looks just like me when I was a baby, I’ve seen photos of that. Congratulations, guys. I’m so happy for you.

VIRGIL: Thank you, Thomas.

ROMAN: Thank you.

THOMAS: Now, how are you going to name him?

VIRGIL: Well, first we need to know what aspect of your personality he’s going to represent. I want him to have a suitable name. [kissing the baby’s crown] A perfect name for a perfect boy.

LOGAN: Let me check the baby now and I’ll tell you what Side of Thomas he is.

[Logan touches the baby gently for a couple of seconds then looks at the couple]

LOGAN: Well, I can tell you confidently that this baby represents Thomas’ creative angst. He’s also his emotional sensitivity, his empathy and the Side that helps him connect his creativity with his emotions. That was probably inherited from his grandpa. Congratulations to you too, Patton, by the way.

PATTON: Thank you, my lo… [noticing he was about to mess up] …o-o-o-gan.

VIRGIL: Okay, I was too busy being worried about what was happening to me earlier. But now that that’s taken care of, what are you three hiding from me? And yes, I’m looking at you too, Roman, don’t think I didn’t notice it earlier. And you called me out for hiding things from you?

ROMAN: I’m sorry, Virgil, I…

PATTON: Sorry, son, I asked him to keep the secret for us. I promise we were gonna tell you eventually.

VIRGIL: Tell me what?

[Logan’s face is bright red. He looks nervously in all directions]

PATTON: I can tell them if you want me to.

LOGAN: No, what kind of teacher would I be if I couldn’t deliver a simple sentence stating a true fact about us? Well, the truth is that… [starts stuttering nervously] well, that Patton and I… well…

[suddenly, out of nowhere, Logan shows a determined face, looks at Patton and plants a long kiss on his mouth. All the Sides look at them in shock]

LOGAN: [breathing heavily] There! That should do it. [pulling out a vocab card] They say that “an image is worth a thousand words”, and since I was never gonna be able to put my feelings down in words, I decided to use the real language of feelings to communicate how much I’m in love with Patton. [embarrassed] Oh, wait, I did say it…

[Virgil looks at Logan and Patton. Notices how red Logan’s face still is and starts slowly giggling. Soon the giggling becomes a loud cackle and the laughter spreads to the rest of the Sides. In the end, even Logan is faintly giggling]

VIRGIL: Wow, I really needed this laugh after what I have just gone through. I’m happy for you two, guys. You really make a cute couple.

PATTON: Thanks, kiddo. Well, I don’t know if I should call you kiddo anymore, now that you’re a father yourself.

VIRGIL: Please, dad, no matter how old I get, and how many children I’ve got – which will only be this one, by the way – never stop calling me kiddo. I’ll always be your kiddo, okay?

PATTON: [heartwarming smile] Okay… kiddo.

ROMAN: Glad that the secret is out. Do you know how many times I was tempted to strangle you every time you messed up? You both suck at hiding secrets.

PATTON: Sorry, Roman. And thank you for staying true to us even if we made it so difficult. And now, kiddos, what name will you choose for the baby?

VIRGIL: I’m too tired right now to choose a name. Roman, you’re the creative one. Choose a name for our son.

ROMAN: Well… Since he’s now royalty, he needs a name worthy of a prince. Creative angst, you said? Hmm…

[all the Sides and Thomas look at Roman in expectation while Roman is thinking]

ROMAN: [talking to himself] Creative angst… Creative angst… If I rearrange these letters, remove some of them and add some more… [yelling to the others] I got it! His name will be Christian. Prince Christian Gerard Sanders. Gerard is in honor of Gerard Way, vocalist from My Chemical Romance, cause I know how much Virgil loves that band. And if you shorten the name to Chris Sanders, it sounds like the famed author of Lilo & Stich and How to Train Your Dragon. Even though that director’s full name is Christopher, I still think the name Christian really suits our boy. Do you like it, Virge?

VIRGIL: Like it? I love it, Roman. Just as much as I love you.

[Roman leans towards Virgil and kisses him]

THOMAS: Well, I think we should all let them rest. Feel free to rest on my couch all the time you need, Virge. You can stay over for dinner if you want.

VIRGIL: Thank you, Thomas, I’d really appreciate that. I need some time before I feel ready to stand up.

THOMAS: Of course, take all the time you need.

VIRGIL: For starters, Logan, would you mind giving me my outfit back? This gown is still open in the back and I can feel something itchy from the couch getting on my higher back and in my… [looking at Patton] … lower back.

THOMAS: Sorry, Virge. I’ve been so busy these past few days… that I didn’t have time to vacuum the couch for a couple of weeks. There probably are crumbs of pizza everywhere and you must be lying on them. I didn’t expect Logan to put you in that open gown.

VIRGIL: Thomas! I’m gonna be itchy for a week!

PATTON: Let me hold the baby, son. Roman, help him brush his back okay?

ROMAN: Okay…

THOMAS: [to the camera, putting himself in front of it, blocking the action behind him] Okay, to all of you out there, thank you much for watching this… weird session of ours we had today, and until next time, take it easy, guys, gals and non binary pals. Peace out!

[end card]

[Virgil is sitting on the couch, already with his usual hoodie on. Roman is next to him. They’re having a pizza that Thomas ordered]

VIRGIL: Is it weird that I feel as if everything today had happened like a decade ago? I can barely remember anything of the bad, [looking at Chris, who is sleeping on a light blue cradle Patton summoned earlier] just the good that came in the end.

ROMAN: Yeah. You never know what life has in store for you. Yesterday we were living our lives like always, and now here we are, facing the ultimate adventure of life that is parenthood.

VIRGIL: It’s a good thing that Logan told us that I can’t produce milk and that I have to summon bottles of formula for him. I don’t know if I could have stood the sensation of having to breastfeed the baby through my nipples. And women can go through this and an even a harder kind of delivery labor than mine? Women are the real superheroes. Kudos to them all.

ROMAN: Yeah… I don’t know why stories like the ones I usually star in always portray women like a delicate creature that needs someone like me to save them. When in reality, most of the time, it’s them who save us in so many different ways.

THOMAS: Do you want any more pizza, guys?

VIRGIL: Oof… thanks, Thomas, it was great pizza, but I’m full.

ROMAN: Me too…

CHILD-LIKE VOICE: [off-screen] Pizza…

[Thomas, Roman and Virgil get quiet]

THOMAS: What was that?

VIRGIL: It sounded like the voice of a kid…

ROMAN: Did the neighbor kid sneak into your apartment to steal your meals again, Thomas?

THOMAS: I hope not. I seriously talked with his parents and they promised me they would severely ground him if he did that again. He wouldn’t dare to…

VOICE: [voice] Pizza! Pizza!

THOMAS: Again! Who’s there!? Where are you!? Show yourself!

ROMAN: Whoever it is, they’re in the same room.

VOICE: Pizza!

VIRGIL: The voice comes from the cradle! [jumping to the cradle] Whoever you are, get away from my son!

ROMAN: I have a samurai sword and I’m gonna use it!

VOICE: Pizza! Gimme pizza! Pizza!

VIRGIL: Um… guys…

ROMAN: What?

VIRGIL: It looks like our little baby is not so… little… anymore… Look…

[Virgil takes Chris out of the cradle. Except that it is now a three year old boy]

CHRIS: [giggling and poking Virgil’s nose] Dad, I want pizza!

THOMAS AND ROMAN: [overlapping] Whaaat!?

[A sign reading “To be continued, guys, gals and non binary pals appears]

#thomas sanders #sanders sides #virgil sanders #roman sanders #patton sanders #logan sanders #deceit sanders #remus sanders #sympathetic deceit #sympathetic remus #sanders sides fic #sanders sides fanfic #fanfic #prinxiety #romantic prinxiety #logicality #romantic logicality #fanfiction #sanders sides fanfiction #aspects and fanfics

[mediaeval-muse]

Book Review

Descendant of the Crane. By Joan He. New York: Albert Whitman & Company, 2019.

Rating: 2/5 stars

Genre: YA fantasy

Part of a Series? Not yet?

Summary: Princess Hesina of Yan has always been eager to shirk the responsibilities of the crown, but when her beloved father is murdered, she’s thrust into power, suddenly the queen of an unstable kingdom. Determined to find her father’s killer, Hesina does something desperate: she engages the aid of a soothsayer—a treasonous act, punishable by death... because in Yan, magic was outlawed centuries ago. Using the information illicitly provided by the sooth, and uncertain if she can trust even her family, Hesina turns to Akira—a brilliant investigator who’s also a convicted criminal with secrets of his own. With the future of her kingdom at stake, can Hesina find justice for her father? Or will the cost be too high?

***Full review under the cut.***

SPOILERS in the last paragraph of the “Plot” section.

Content/Trigger Warnings: violence, blood, references to torture, slavery

Overview: I really wanted to like this book. I really did. The premise seemed promising, and I loved the idea of a Chinese-inspired fantasy world with a touch of courtroom drama. Unfortunately, there seemed to be too much going on, so much that I couldn’t connect with this book’s characters and the narrative didn’t flow in a way that drew me into the intrigue and mystery. I would have given this book 3 stars on premise alone, but because I didn’t feel like the scenes built on one another, this book only gets 2 stars from me.

Writing: He’s prose is fine for a YA novel in that it is fairly straightforward with a few poetic images sprinkled in here and there to evoke emotion. It’s very similar to a lot of other YA prose I’ve read, and I don’t personally think anything sets it apart. I did notice, however, that would sometimes use imagery or metaphors that I found more confusing than illuminating. For example, He describes a character as taking to the shadows “like a knife in a sheath,” which would have been ok, but the character was supposed to be more dangerous in the shadows - and a sheathed knife isn’t a threat.

I also found that He would reference bits of lore, backstory, or worldbuilding at odd moments, and sometimes, this info wouldn’t be especially relevant. It felt like she was trying to make references to her worldbuilding without infodumping, which is all well and good, but these references would sometimes distract from the main action.

I also thought He’s pacing and focus was off; the trial/mystery plot would sometimes fade to the background, while the tensions with neighboring kingdoms wasn’t really felt until a certain point in the novel, then it disappeared again. Some events received more attention than I think was warranted, while others received less. For example, we get a lot of scenes of Hesina doing paperwork, but then the ending felt rushed and a lot of information was dumped on us after several plot twists. There were times when things would be summarized rather than played out “on screen,” which is ok sometimes, but it often felt like He used summary so she shock the reader rather than lead them on a journey.

And lastly, I noticed that He has the tendency to use constructions where things other than the characters have agency. For example, “fear creeped into her” or “hope fluttered through her” and the like; it wasn’t bad, per se, but it was noticeable, as if He didn’t want her characters to have as much agency.

Plot: Describing this plot is fairly difficult, since, in my opinion, none of the scenes seem to flow or build upon each other to create a structured narrative. It seemed like He wanted to write a courtroom drama, a high fantasy novel, and a political saga, all of which came together to meditate on things like truth, history, and oppression. It was a lot to cram together, so much so that instead of an action-packed saga, I got a narrative that I couldn’t focus on because there wasn’t the time to explore themes or events in detail. In other words, because a lot happened, all events were rushed and felt shallow. The murder trial plot, for example, didn’t feel very developed; all of the courtroom drama felt pretty standard (this suspect couldn’t have done X because she’s left handed and the cut had to have been made by a right handed person) and most of the people who are trying to fabricate evidence are pretty bad at it. The political conflict, too, seems to be an afterthought, as the people’s desperation for salt isn’t really felt (just told to us) and no one seems too bothered about the raids along the border. I think the novel would have worked better if it focused primarily on the trial and following characters as they uncovered evidence that would be important for that trial. Not only would the narrative structure have felt tighter, but I think the courtroom drama could have been a good vehicle to explore the themes that He seemed interested in (things like oppression and truth can definitely come up with the right focus).

I also found myself to be frustrated by the plot twists because many of them felt random. There wasn’t a lot of groundwork that was laid to make them seem plausible, and I personally don’t like twists that I can’t see coming on some level. Don’t get me wrong - I think a little shock is good here and there, but I think plot twists work best when there is some hint that something is awry. The twist with Hesina’s father, for example, felt earned, whereas the ones involving her brother Caiyan and Lilian, felt random. I especially did not like that the whole epilogue was devoted to explaining how one of the plot twists was made possible; the behind-the-scenes action was dumped on us all at once, and I don’t really like it when I read a whole book and am then told “actually, this was happening the whole time” without some hints during the narrative that there is a bigger picture.

Also, just a quick note: while the plot twist with the Tenets is interesting, I feel like it has the possibility to be a scapegoat in the vein of “prejudice is due to a magical curse rather than something real and ingrained that we have to do hard, continuous work to remove.”

Characters: Hesina, our protagonist, is a Princess who becomes Queen for the purposes of having control over her father’s murder investigation. Personally, I found Hesina to be somewhat bland. She’s not really a ruthless ruler or cunning strategist; most of her decisions are driven by emotion, which can be a good character flaw, but it wasn’t really balanced out by a trait that I found particularly defining. The most she has going for her is that she’s pretty brave and is sympathetic to people who are oppressed, but I don’t think Hesina developed enough for me to really see her character as having an arc. I did sympathize with her dilemmas, especially when she had to make difficult political decisions, but I wanted a little more from her.

Akira, the convict-turned-lawyer who is tasked with solving the case, is a ho-hum love interest who Hesina chooses to represent the crown in her father’s murder case because a Sooth vaguely tells her to “find the convict with the rod.” Akira is written as somewhat mysterious, with skills that seem to come out of nowhere: he is good at fighting, knows some languages, and seems to be good at understanding chemical compounds. All these seemed to be laid as breadcrumbs toward figuring out his tumultuous past; however, I didn’t feel like I was dying to know more because Akira is so aloof and fades in and out of the background. We also don’t really see him putting together clues or explaining how he figured things out; most of the time, we get a summary of what he said (”Akira explained this chemical reaction”), so he doesn’t feel like a major player in the plot. Even his background is dumped on us all at once in summary, which made it less emotional to read. The romance between Akira and Hesina also felt a little forced. While it doesn’t take up a lot of space in the story, it did feel a little random. I didn’t really understand why Hesina decided she wanted to kiss Akira, and the emotional moments they exchanged didn’t really feel genuine.

Supporting characters also felt a little one-dimensional, such as Hesina’s mother, who doesn’t get along with her daughter (because of mental illness? other reasons?) but does get along with her son. Civil servants also weave in and out of the story at convenient moments, and commoners are fairly faceless. I did, however, enjoy the family dynamics between Hessina, her brother Sanjing, and their half-siblings, as it created some complicated personal and official court tensions, while also showing some family affection that transcended “legitimate” bloodlines. The dynamics between Hessina, Caiyan, and Lilian were especially well-done, as they seemed to balance each other out. I would have liked to see more instances where Caiyan’s and Lilian’s experience living on the street affected how the plot went; He tells us this detail, but I think it only comes in handy once.

Other: I don’t think every fantasy novel needs a lot of world-building, but more support in this book would have been helpful. I might have missed some details because a lot was going on, but I constantly found myself asking questions like “What are the limits of Hesina’s powers as queen? Why can’t she command this person to do this thing? Why bargain with her main enemy, Xia Zhong, instead of expose him right away?” I also think some of He’s terminology needed to be reworked, as she used phrases like “sticks of black powder,” “Investigation Bureau,” and “pillow log” - terms that got the main idea across, but felt a little clunky.

I did, however, like the idea of the Eleven and the Tenets, especially their role as historical people/documents that are idolized and not challenged. There’s a real opportunity in there for some exploration of how history is sanitized or how bad things are overlooked in the attempt to present the current state of a nation in the best possible light - it reminds me of the ways in which America idolizes the Founding Fathers yet glosses over aspects like slave ownership.

TL;DR: Descendant of the Crane suffers from a shallow exploration of too many plot threads, plot twists which feel in service to shock value, and a forgettable main character and love interest. While it does have some interesting themes, such as the idolization of historical figures, there was ultimately too much going on that I found it hard to focus on any one thing for long.

#book reviews

[angelbabylu]

Saturday Nights // M.C.

pairing: reader x mikey

warnings: it’s like, sad for a bit, anxiety tw, breeding kink

word count: 4.4k

notes: phew, hang on friends because this is a very emotional one. i lowkey had a breakdown this week while watching one day at a time on netflix then wrote about it?? anyway, this is like, crazy personal, so please be nice to it. shout out to Christa ( @5sosnsfw ) for being the best mom a girl could ask for. thank you for reading thank you for all your advice and thank you for loving me despite how much of a mess™️ i am.

Title from Saturday Nights by Khalid 

-- 

This is so dumb, you told yourself, bringing a trembling hand up to wipe at your tears. This fucking TV show had a habit of making you tear up, but it had never really been like this. This was full on crying. Your breath was coming out in short pants, your chest began to get heavy, and the stream of tears was so constant now, the sleeves of your sweater could not keep up.

And the show? It wasn’t even sad. It was a sitcom about a loving family from LA navigating their way through modern issues. But it got to you; each episode was a reminder of the childhood you wished you had.

Through eyes blurred by tears, you watched the TV mother run her fingers down her daughter’s spine in comfort. She was helping her daughter through an anxiety attack.

You couldn’t help but go back to age ten when you had your first anxiety attack, too afraid to ask a lady at Costco for a sample. Your mom had called you weak and threatened to leave you in the store. The distinct feeling like the world would collapse around you just from saying “hello” had already been so much for your little brain to handle, but to then be told that you were somehow a disappointment for emotions you couldn’t control—that took you over the edge.

You cried for hours that day.

And that was the first anxiety attack. The more frequent they got, the more your parents reminded you what a burden these emotions were. It didn’t matter how often you screamed that you wanted to get better, that you were trying. Because you couldn’t socialize like they could, you were a failure.

You’ll never forget the sound of your dad’s voice the night he said, “I think God went wrong with you somewhere.”

And yes, after years of therapy, you were better at communicating and socializing, but these memories were perpetually at the edge of your subconscious, ready to bubble to the surface at, say, a fictional mother telling her daughter that anxiety attacks were okay.  

The very idea of this support was so foreign to you. It made you feel jealous of the teenager on screen, upset at the universe for putting you in a home where you never got the support you needed.

All the feelings of anger and frustration and jealousy welled up inside you until you were at the edge of bawling. You knew better than to dwell in these feelings, you knew how they could take over your emotions in an instant. But it had been so long since you cried for your past self—the death of that happy childhood you never got to have.

You were so wrapped up in the happy family on the TV and your own turbulent storm of sadness inside you, you didn’t notice as Michael came into the room.

“Babe?” Your attention snapped to him as he rushed towards you. “Are you crying?”

It was dark in the room, but as he came closer, you knew there would be no denying your tear-streaked face. He placed the slice of pie he was holding on the end table and came to kneel right in front of you. Immediately, he grasped your face with both his hands, thumbs reaching up to wipe away the tears beneath your eyes. You could see the concern in his green eyes as they searched yours. His brows were furrowed, obviously confused at how his 2-minute recess to the kitchen had ended with you sobbing in the living room.

“Talk to me,” He pleaded.

You gave him a small watery smile. “It’s nothing,” you promised. You tried calming yourself, taking deep breaths, ever-conscious of how your turbulent mental state could sometimes cause Michael to worry.

“Just this fucking show.”

He turned away from you to look at the screen, no doubt checking to see if you were still watching the light-hearted sitcom you were earlier.

“Alexa,” he called out to your home Echo system. “Pause Netflix.”

Even through the tears, you couldn’t fight a smile. Michael’s actions were very reminiscent of the first time he’d seen you cry. He had been playing a video game, and you had been sitting behind him, silently in tears, trying not to divert his attention. When he caught sight of you, he turned off the game immediately—he didn’t pause it, he had it off completely, giving you his full attention. That was how he was. When you got like this, his focus was on you until he felt you were okay again (and you did the same for him).

This time was no different.

“You love this show,” he said, prodding for information on what exactly was making you cry.

You shook your head, then dislodged his hands from your face with both of yours, bringing them down to your lap. “I’m just being stupid. I promise.”

“Your feelings are never stupid. You are valid. Your pain is valid. And I’m here to talk about it if you need to.”

He was always reminding you of that. It was probably another one of those lessons you would have learned growing up in a happy home.

The thought of that had you crying even harder.

“Hey, woah,” Mikey called out, obviously surprised.

He sat down next to you and pulled you in his arms. You wrapped around him in response, arms stretching across soft torso, face burying in his neck. You cried for the loss of your childhood, for the affection you never received, for the seventeen fucking years of your life that you will never get back. Each time you thought you were all cried out, another memory would hit you.

Everything from how your mother hated talking to you, to how your father said you were unlovable, and how your brother spent ten years never giving you the time of day. How was someone like you, so emotionally vulnerable, supposed to make it out of that house alive?

Mikey sat there with you through it all, rubbing at your back, whispering his love into your ear. He waited for the onslaught of bad memories to subside. It took a while. You were unsure how long you sat there crying, but slowly, you stopped feeling like the unloved teenager you were and more like your adult self. You moved from Michael’s side to sit in between his legs, resting your head on his chest, and throwing your legs over his left thigh.

As you came down from that hazy cloud of sadness, his presence was a reminder that all that was in the past. That now, you were loved.

“Babe?” he tried again. His voice was hesitant, unsure what would set you off.

“I’m okay now,” you said with a watery laugh.

“Please tell me what’s going on, princess. I’m worried about you.” You could hear it in his voice. He was the biggest empath when it came to you, always in tune with what you were feeling. It was great for your relationship because while your past made you hesitant to show others your emotions, being with Mikey was slowly working to undo all that.

“It’s dumb,” you repeated for the fourth time that night. “The show just made me realize what a shitty childhood I had. My mom would never help me through an anxiety attack.”

His arms tightened around you. He didn't even have to ask. It was a conversation you’d had before.

“What does your therapist say?”

“I know, I know.” Your parents were still a major topic of conversation with your therapist as well, and each time they came up, she usually had the same advice. “I need to forgive them. But it’s so fucking hard. That was my entire childhood, Mikey.”

He nudged you off his chest, and in response you twisted in his lap, moving your legs around his waist so you were fully straddling him. You brought your arms from his waist to his neck and his went to your back, softly rubbing circles there. Your eyes met soft green ones, and it was hard not to get overwhelmed by the love you saw there.

“Your parents didn’t know what they were doing,” he said softly, ever a voice of reason. “They didn’t care to get to learn your love language and fully expected you to conform to theirs. That was wrong. But they were bred from generations of that. They didn’t know any different.”

He was right. It didn’t make the past any easy to forget, but it made accepting your parents for who they were in the present a lot easier.

“Besides, you’ve got me now.” A smile spread across both your faces at that sentiment. “No matter where you are and no matter where I am, I will be there for you when you’re having an anxiety attack.”

It was a cute sentiment, though a bit exaggerated.

“Hmm,” you teased, scrunching up your nose in disbelief. “What about when I’m here, and you’re halfway across the world performing shows?”

He laughed and rolled his eyes. “There’s actually something I need to tell you.”

You raised an eyebrow in lieu of an answer. You couldn’t tell if he was continuing along the lines of your teasing of if there was a legitimate matter he had to discuss. With Michael, it could be either.

Turns out it was the former.

“I’m The Flash.”

“The Flash?” You asked incredulously. “Why would you say The Flash when Doctor Fate is right there? He is so much cooler than the flash. He can literally teleport. And I’ve never seen you run a day in my life.”

“Maybe,” Michael countered, “I don’t run because it’s hard to contain my speed.”

Which also didn’t make any sense. She said as much to him. 

“That doesn’t make any sense? A Flash is connected to the speed force at all times. They just manipulate their perceptions at will. If you were a Flash, running at normal speed would be exactly like walking at a normal speed for you. It’s just you deciding how fast to move.”

“Oh my god,” he said in faux exasperation. You would almost think it real if it weren't for the way he tried to contain his smile. “If I were a DC superhero, I would just use a boom tube. Then I could get to you in a second. There. Problem solved.”

“I’m just saying,” you continued, despite the decisive way he ended his last sentence. “Of all people, why the Flash? I would even take superman over him. I -”

He gently pulled you forward to press a kiss to your lips, stopping you mid-rant. You fell into him, taking a moment to enjoy the feeling of his lips pillowing yours.

When he pulled away, he said, “Seriously. I will be there for you when you need me. In whatever way I can. Even if it’s just over the phone.”

At that sentiment, you had to lean forward to give him another chaste kiss. He paused to press his lips to yours, then continued on.

“Whether its an anxiety attack or depressive episode or even if you’re just too lazy to grab a slice of leftover pie from the fridge.” You both glanced then at the pie he had placed on the end table earlier. You let out a hesitant chuckle. Your eyes were filling with tears again. This time, they were brought on by an entirely different feeling.

“I know you didn’t get a lot of the love and affection in the way that you needed as a child. But we’ve got forever to fix that.”

His hand came up to cradle your cheek then, and you leaned into it. “And we’ll do better with our kids.”  

You bit your lips. You couldn’t help the way the thought of having kids with Michael made you feel. For years you swore up and down that you didn’t want a child, afraid you would mess them up the same way your parents did you. But then you met Michael. Starting a family with him would be easy, the same way he made being together so easy.

This time, when you captured his lips, it was a filthier kiss. You bit his plump bottom lip and tugged, before dipping your tongue into his mouth. Mouths still connected, you got to your knees, brought both hands to cradle his face, taking control of the kiss. His settled on his hands your hips, occasionally roaming up and down the side of your thighs or to your ass.

“Is this,” he began, pulling away from you, breath already a bit uneven. “Is this turning you on?”

Instead of answering, you went down to suck at the junction where his throat met his neck. Teasing the skin there, you nipped, sucked, and licked, knowing there would be a large red spot his makeup artists would complain about the next morning.

He tried to nudge you away from his throat, obviously wanting an answer to his earlier question. Instead, you ignored him and moved on to another spot on his neck.

“Babe,” he whined, drawing out the vowel.

When you didn’t let up, he brought his fingers to prod at your left side. You squealed and released his throat, but that didn’t stop him from bringing both hands up to pinch at your sides. He was unrelenting as his jabs turned to tickles and your squeals turned to laughter.

“Stop, stop,” you begged between giggles and huffs. “Please.”

“Answer my question,” he demanded, fingers finally coming to a halt.

You bent your head again, this time placing it on his shoulder so he couldn’t make eye contact with you. Tugging at the neck of the loose, old t-shirt he was wearing, you mumbled, “Want you to put a baby in me.”

He was not expecting you to say that.

“Fuck.” He was also not against the idea if the hitch in his voice was any indication.

“Yeah?” he asked as if checking to see if you were joking.

As if you’d joke about something like that.

Instead of answering him, you picked your head up from his chest, brazened by his apparent interest in the idea. You dipped your tongue into his mouth to meet his once more before saying, “We’d make beautiful babies.”

His mouth was back on yours before he even finished nodding in agreement. You could feel him getting hard as you ground down against him, your own pussy throbbing in your sweats.

You were really going to do this.

“Alexa,” You called out, pulling your mouth away from his, moaning as he went directly for your neck. “Play Jodeci.”

“Oh, come on,” Michael complained (as he did every time you chose Jodeci to fuck to). “You know I hate hearing random people talking while we’re fucking.”  

“Our first baby is going to be a Jodeci baby Mikey just accept it.”

He groaned and rolled his head away from you in mock annoyance. “Our second baby can be to whoever you want,” You promised, grabbing his chin and bringing his face back to yours. “We can even listen to Ariana Grande the entire time.”

He snorted and rolled his eyes in response, no doubt already creating a mental playlist of Ariana songs.

He caught your lips with his before maneuvering you both so you were sat on the couch and he was kneeling in front of you. Your propensity to never wear pants was a blessing at times like these. It was easy for him to slide his forefingers through the waistband of your panties, pulling them off and tossing them somewhere behind him.

He brought two fingers up to your lips, and you immediately encircled them and sucked. You spent a moment to trace over his fingers, moaning as he pressed against your tongue. He pulled them out, bringing them down to slide against your folds.  

“Hozier,” He said. For a moment you were so overwhelmed with the feather-light traces along your lower lips, you were unsure what he was saying.

“What?”

“Hozier would be a great person to fuck to,” he continued nonchalantly as if he wasn’t ruining you, sliding his middle finger in and out of you easily.

“Is now the time?” you asked, slightly exasperated. You pushed against his fingers, silently begging for him to add another finger.

Instead of giving into you, he slipped out of you completely, continuing his earlier exploration of your folds with feather-light grazes of his fingers.

“I’m just saying,” he stated with a shrug. He lightly swiped over your clit, pretending he wasn’t aware of how tantalizing his movements were. “Hozier is good love making music.”

When he started humming Movement, you lost it.

“Michael.” You needed his focus wholly on your pussy. There were better things his mouth could be doing. “If you keep this up the next time we fuck, we’re listening to Jet Black Heart Live on repeat.”

It was definitely one of your favorite songs. Hearing him perform live was always so sexy to you. You’d fuck to it. He wouldn’t - it would make him too uncomfortable.

“Fine,” he groaned, knowing full well that you were not joking.

When he caught sight of your little smirk of triumph, he retaliated.

He gave you no warning before diving down to suck on your clit. In contrast to his earlier teasings, he became unrelenting. He alternated between exploring you with his tongue and sucking at your clit, fingers coming up to scissor in and out of you. You writhed underneath him, bucking up into his sinful mouth.

You had both hands in his hair, holding him against you as you rocked up against his mouth. The longer he ate you out, the more erratic your movements became. You began to quiver, already so close from his tongue alone.

“Babe,” you whimpered, nudging him up for air.

“You’re so wet for me, princess,” he said, and although his mouth was off you, his fingers still ebbed in and out of you.

You puckered your lips to ask for a kiss, so he came up on his knees and gave into you. As his tongue traced yours, you could taste yourself on him. You moaned, burying your hands deep in his hair, thirstily taking a moment to savor him and what you were about to do.

As the filthy dance of your tongues slowed into chaste kisses, you pulled away, still close enough that your lips were touching. “I’m ready for you,” you breathed. “Ready to make a baby.”

He captured your lips in another, albeit shorter, kiss, before getting off of you and getting naked.

You got up on your knees, reaching out for his erection the second he slipped out of his underwear. You traced over the head with your thumb, smearing the precum that had gathered there. He watched your actions with thinly veiled heat, both of you enthralled for the moment as you jerked him with short, fast strokes.

“Ready, baby?” You asked after playing with him for a moment, and he nodded hungrily.

After a short peck on the lips, you turned around and placed both hands on the back of the couch. You wiggled your ass invitingly, until he brought one large hand down to steady you, the other guiding his dick into your entrance.

You hissed as he slowly entered you, crying out when you took him to the hilt. He took a moment, both of you getting used to the feeling. Then he started moving in short, punctuated strokes that had you crying out, intoxicated on sensations of pleasure.

His hands caressed up and down your sides, whispering praises into your ear. You moaned as one hand dived underneath the shirt you were still wearing, tugging at your bare nipple there. He leaned over you, coming to mouth and bite at my ear.

“You’re taking me so good, princess.”

“Yeah,” you moaned out. Your breath was coming out in short, staccato pants as you eagerly pushed back against him. “Can’t wait for you to come inside me. Can’t wait for you to put a baby in me.”

The very thought was turning you on. It had your pussy quivering. You were ready to take that next step with him. You squeezed around his dick, smiling as you heard his breath hitch in pleasure. He groaned and began fucking into you in earnest. You were overwhelmed as he plunged into you. Eventually, the only sounds in the room were the passionate sounds of your sex over Love U 4 Live.

“Wait,” Michael said a few moments later, bringing his hips to a stop, drawing a whine from your lips. “Gonna come. Wanna see you when I come.”

You both maneuvered so you were fully reclined on the couch, Michael coming to settle over you. You loved fucking like this. You loved being able to look into Mikey’s eyes, to take in how beautiful he was with his face blissed out in ecstasy.

He re-entered you and wasted no time pounding into you once more. He got a hand under both your thighs, pushing them up to your chest so he could deepen his strokes into you. It only took a few short strokes before his hips were stuttering to a stop and he was coming inside you. You groaned in unison as he filled you up, both in love with the feeling and what it could mean for your future.

Slowly, released your legs and pulled out of you. You settled one leg, bent at the knee on either side of him, and hissed as the feeling of being filled with cum had you clenching involuntarily. A bit of cum dribbled out of you and onto the sofa making you wince. Your poor cleaning lady was not going to be happy about that.

Michael had the same thought.

“Poor Jen,” he said. “Next time we fuck on the couch, we’re using a towel.”

You both giggled. You always said that, but in the heat of the moment you were both always too distracted to remember.

“Hey,” you called up to him, bringing a hand up to play in his messy blonde hair. He leaned into your touch. “Could you hand me the pie?”

The pie he had brought in earlier sat forgotten on the end table. It was a lemon meringue pie you had both made from fresh lemons off your mom’s tree. You sat up slightly, resting yourself on the arm of the couch. Michael came and settled on your chest with the pie in his hand. He placed it on the ottoman that lived in front of the couch.

Picking up the fork, you scooped out a piece and offered him the first bite. He shook his head, seemingly only interested in burying into you. He pillowed his head on your chest and slipped both arms around you, ever the cuddler in your post-coital bliss. You didn’t mind. You had always loved touch as a sign of affection.

You wrapped one arm around his shoulders, using the other to feed yourself pie.

“Do you think that did it?” he asked, settling a hand on your stomach.

You looked down at him, laughed and shook your head. “Well considering the fact that I still have in my IUD probably not.”

“But,” you continued. “I’m serious about doing this with you. I think I’m going to get it removed.”

Mikey hummed thoughtfully. “Your parents are going to be mad -”

“I think the theme for tonight has been fuck my parents.” You interjected, talking over him, as he said, “They want me to make an honest woman out of you first.”

“You asking me to marry you, Mikey?” you joked. Not that you were against the idea, but the way he brought it up felt like a joke.

When he didn’t respond for a few seconds, you realized that he was not joking.

“Wait, seriously?” You asked, nudging him up off your chest and into sitting position so you could look into his eyes.

He was dead serious.

“Mikey you are not asking me to marry you while I’m sitting on the couch with pie crumbs off my face and dry cum coming out of my pussy. No way.”

He rolled his eyes, shook his head, and smiled.

“We’ll do the whole huge thing later,” he promised. He reached out and grabbed the hand that wasn’t holding the pie fork. Thumb gently running along the back of your hand, he continued, “I bought a ring a year ago. Six months into this relationship, I knew I wanted to marry you. I didn’t tell you then because I knew it would freak you out.”

“Oh yeah. I would have broken up with you in an instant.”

“Even a year ago, I knew you were still working through some things, and that you would want to be in a good place mentally before committing to anything this big. But lately we’ve been talking an awful lot about forever and having kids so,” He trailed off and looked at you, waiting for you to say something.

And it’s crazy that even after all the pain of your past, even after growing up never really understanding what love was, you were able to find someone that loved you enough to take the time to get to know you. The crazy thing was, you had never once told Michael that you wanted to be in a good place before committing to something like marriage – he just knew you like that. And, thinking about it now, you were in that good place that you spent years dreaming about. All that stuff with your parents – that was your past. Mikey was your future.

“Mikey,” you said through a grin so wide, your face was starting to hurt. “There’s no one else I’d rather spend forever with.”

“Yeah?” He asked.

“Yeah.”

And you weren’t even mad when he knocked the rest of your pie off the ottoman in attempts to give you a kiss.  

--

end notes: don’t forget to let me know what you think! thanks for reading :) 

tag list: @5sosnsfw / @bloodmoonashton / @lukescaboose / @5sex-of-summa / @deviantnines / @halcyonnhood / @gh0st-0f-y0u-95 / @aspiringwildfire / @cal-pal-cuddles / @hotmessmichael / @hereforlukescruff / @softforcal / @ohhmuke / @calum5os / @grittyisathot / @calumamongmen / @ashtonandcalslefthand / @asht0ns-world / @colorful-queen-of-the-roses / @peraltiago-drarry / @slowlyelectronictragedy / @myemptywallets / @pagesuponstpages / @fallfrxmgrace / @thefireisgone / @michaelorwhat / @dammitbands 

#michael clifford #michael clifford fic #michael clifford blurb #michael clifford imagine #5sos #5 seconds of summer fic #5sos blurb #5sos imagine #michael 5sos #michael clifford au #michael clifford fluff #michael clifford smut #michael clifford angst #5sos fluff #5sos angst #5sos smut #5sos au #luke hemmings #ashton irwin #calum hood #none of which are even mentioned in this fic sjdfksdlsldfjds #my fics #recs #jay writes #fics

[wolfpawn]

Life is a Game of Risks, Chapter 51

Chapter Summary - Alexianna and Tom celebrate a year together as Alexianna mulls over a few things.

TRIGGERS - Past domestic abuse, Past emotional abuse, Past sexual abuse.

Previous Chapter

Tags: @damalseer​​ @hiddlesbitch1​​ @winterisakiller​​ @theoneanna​​

Request if you wish to be tagged

Alexianna sat looking at the paperwork in front of her. It was official, a bank account with an exorbitant amount of money in it and the strict stipulation it was for the education of Lily, with the annual cost of her public school fees to be taken before the start of term and there was no clause. If Oliver passed away before she completed her education, the money was still there, if Alexianna chose to never let Oliver set eyes on her or Lily, then so be it, it was still there.

She looked at the paperwork suspiciously, it could've never be that easy, surely. That's what her mind kept telling her, but when Tom had his friend Jeremy study it and he confirmed that it was legitimate.

When she passed the school on the bus back from work, she looked out the window at it. She wanted it, she wanted to give Lily the education she felt her daughter deserved, tutors that would work with her to guarantee her the best from her academics, not to mention, she knew the use of good connections in school. She had seen with herself, Tom and Emma that knowing the children of influential people, who in turn became influential people themselves. Lily would most likely make ties with people that could assist her as Tom's legal friend had assisted them, though in a different context, she knew if she got so much as a smell of a Jonathan type character from anyone Lily brought home, she would never allow them near her daughter again and should Lily become a single mother, she would never abandon her as her mother had, she would be there to assist her however she needed to...while also assisting Tom and Daniel in hiding the corpse of said deadbeat.

She bit her lips together as she thought of her brother. She had not spoken to Daniel since her return from the Isle of Wight but he had sent her a single message “ I know you are still angry, and I know why, when you're ready to talk to me, I'm still here. You're my little sister and Lily is my niece. I want nothing but the best for both of you, Al. I did it for her and I will never apologise for that. And with regards Dad, I am not going to live in the past. I know you are angry with him and I totally understand why, but this is the way forward for me. I'll respect your decision and I hope you respect mine. Love Dan”

Alexianna respected his choice wholeheartedly. She did not agree with it for her but she did respect Daniel's choice to let Oliver back into his life. Tom had made her see sense on that one very quickly when he stated that both siblings had every right to their feelings, as polar opposite as they were. Alexianna was still angered by Oliver's abandonment, Daniel had forgiven it and saw a chance for a father-son relationship at the end of it all, something he had yearned for growing up. She also understood his decision with regards to Lily. His sole reason for doing that was not to spite her or disrespect her as Lily's mother but to provide his niece with the best start in life. To make sure that she had every avenue open to her. It was a love and responsibility to Lily that spurred his decision to badger Oliver and goad him into paying.

She got off the bus and walked into the apartment, collecting her post from the front desk on the way. When she got up, she was startled to see not just Tom, who she was certain had said he was not available for the day, but also Diana and Emma in her home, Lily in the middle of them, controlling the room.

When she saw her mother, she beamed brightly, running over to her and into her arms for a hug. “Mummy, guess what? Nana and Auntie Emma are minding me tonight so you and Daddy can have a McDonald's.”

For a moment, Alexianna was baffled by her daughter's declaration but on her saying that it was to go for a McDonald's made her laugh. “Okay...?”

The other adults laughed as well before Tom stepped forward, pulling Lily into his arms. “You are a little blabbermouth.” He chastised playfully before looking at Alexianna. “Hello, how was work?”

“It was...interesting. We have some sort of PR disaster based on the fact one of the companies we represent is closing all foreign manufacturing due to Brexit, so that was fun. Thankfully, that's not my area of expertise but the whole place was dragged into it. How was your day?”

“Good, yes. Mum and Emma are in town, obviously, and I asked that they mind Lily while you and I celebrate.”

“I... celebrate what?”

“Well, I am away next week so….”

Alexianna sighed. She had spoken with Tom with regards their one year anniversary already, insisting that they did not have to do anything for it, that she was not concerned with such but since he discovered her marriage anniversaries included her being forced to ‘celebrate’ at home by herself while it included a night of drinking on Jonathan's behalf to wallow for his lost freedom according to his comments to her, Tom insisted that he show her how it was actually done. She hoped he would have forgotten and when it was made clear that he would have to be away for it, she was relieved that it would not happen but now he had clearly made alternative plans. “I don't want there to be a fuss.”

“And there won't be. You and I are going to go to dinner somewhere small and nice, nothing overt or fancy and we are going to have a nice glass of wine before coming back here at a reasonable hour.”

Alexianna bit her lips together and thought of his idea before smiling. If she had to choose something to do, that did sound more pleasant than most things. “What time?”

Tom beamed at seeing her smile at the idea. “Well, reservation is for six so that gives you two hours.” He checked his watch.

“Six, isn't that a tad early?”

“Yes, but you see, I may have also got us tickets to a show in the Donmar so we need to get there by half eight.”

“You failed to mention the show.”

“I may have but it's good and you will love it so, go get sorted.”

“What sort of show is it?”

“It's a small independent group, doing a Victorian-era piece.” He informed her, elated when her eyes brightened. He recalled as a youth, how Alexianna would always go to shows when she could with Emma, Sarah, his mum and on occasion, him and how she adored the manner in which the Victorian works were done. When he was given the details of the play, he knew she would love it and acquired two tickets for it.

“I want to go to a show,” Lily declared sullenly.

“Unfortunately, my beautiful princess, I could only get two tickets for this one, l but I promise to get more tickets in the future so to take you to one,” Tom leant down to speak to her.

“Promise?” Lily held out her pinky finger.

“I promise.”

Satisfied, lily accepted his word before frowning. “So, no McDonald's?”

“No, sweetheart.”

“That's boring.”

“That's debatable,” Alexianna laughed. “I guess I better get washed and changed then?”

“Yes, shoo.” Tom ushered.

An hour and a half later, with the assistance of Emma, Alexianna was ready to go and the cab had been called to bring them to town.

Lily grumbled at being left behind, though she soon forgot it when Diana and Emma began to fuss about her. She waved goodbye to her mother and Tom before telling the two women all they needed to know about “My Little Pony” for the movie she was about to inflict on them.

“She'll be alright.” Tom placated in the cab, knowing how Alexianna disliked leaving when Lily was still awake.

“Do you think she'll like Hampstead Hill?”

Tom's frowned slightly, startled to hear Alexianna say outright for the first time what she was doing regarding Lily and her schooling options. “I think she will adore it.”

“Will they bully her, for not being as well off as them?”

“Honestly, I don't think so. You remember what it's like, everyone's the same, even the scholarship kids.”

“There was one in our class Luanda, she was so nice and always thought she'd be different, but she was genuinely the smartest person I have ever met but she was also the nicest.”

“My year had a few and they were just part of the group, so no, I can honestly say, she won't be made feel as though she doesn't belong based on wealth.”

“She'll hold you to that promise about the show, by the way,” Alexianna warned.

“Good, because I meant it.”

“Are there any shows suitable for young children?”

“Of course, the 'on ice’ shows and pantos, actually that's what we'll do, bring her to a panto.”

“Oh no, we won't.”

Tom's smile widened and his eyes brightened. “Oh yes, we will.”

#Life is a Game of Risks #chapter 51 #tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston fic

[nellie-elizabeth]

Arrow: Purgatory (8x07)

Arrow has decided to lean firmly into the nostalgia camp for this final season, and I for one am all for it!

Cons:

I'm going to say this one more time, just because I want to have it on the record. I'm not letting the CW pull me in to their fun crossover shenanigans. I like Arrow just fine, but I don't have the time or the bandwidth to watch all of the other shows in this extended universe. It's a good marketing technique, sure, but I am not going to be watching all of the crossover episodes. This means that I will next check in with Oliver in January, and be super confused as I'll be coming in to part... 4? 5? of the Crisis on Infinite Earths story. This isn't really a "con" of this episode in particular, but I just wanted to make my stance on this crystal clear. If you're in to all the other shows, cool. But I can't be fussed. And it annoys me slightly that this final season of Arrow, with only three episodes remaining, is using one of those episodes to tell a story that's not really about Oliver and his gang, but is instead about all of these other shows and their characters as well. After that, the penultimate episode is the backdoor pilot one, and then the finale... it really feels like a lot of real estate is being used for things that are tangential to Oliver's journey, but not central to it. And that's a bummer, even if the other content is good.

I was happy that we got some explanation about Lyla last week, but I have to admit the relationship between her and Diggle is kind of baffling. Why did Lyla have to be so circumspect about everything? She kidnapped William, Mia, Connor, Oliver, John, and Laurel. She straight up kidnapped them. She seemed perfectly able to convince Dinah, Rene, and Roy to come under their own power, so what is with the drugging? They've justified it somewhat by saying that it's all part of the effort to make Oliver understand his role in the coming Crisis. But even that doesn't quite do it for me, especially now that Lyla has been taken over and has become "the Harbinger," whatever the hell that is. It's just a little too wonky for my taste.

Pros:

The nostalgia is so strong with this one! You've got Oliver back on Lian Yu, encountering his first enemies and his first ally - Yao Fei. This return really brought things full circle. In many ways, it made this episode feel like the finale that it... kind of is. Yao Fei reminds Oliver of the lessons he's learned, and helps him to fight his way out of his past and into his future destiny. He also connects with Oliver on the importance of a father's relationships with his children.

I want to talk about the time travel of it all for a moment. I love that without hitting us over the head with it, we now have pretty firm proof that the timeline has been irrevocably changed. That was pretty much obvious from the moment the kids turned up. But now we have things like Roy losing an arm to really nail it home. Whatever the darkness of that future was, there's a real chance now to save it and make it better. It retroactively makes me a little less annoyed with how the last season ended, when I felt so discouraged by the narrative of suffering that ended with no promise of change. Now, Oliver's efforts don't feel like a waste of time.

Roy. Roy, my darling sweet boy. I love this development for him. I mean, I'm sad for him that he lost his arm, but it makes so much sense for him as a character on this journey. One of the episode's biggest highlights for me was his scene with John. Diggle feels guilty because he's the one who pulled Roy out of his safe life and got him dragged into this mess. He lost an arm because of it. But Roy says he'd rather be here with his team, than back safe in obscurity. He made his choice, and he's glad he did, no matter the cost. I just... this makes me sooo emotional. I love Roy so very much, and he's such a hero.

This episode was really Oliver's chance to say goodbye to his family, even if he didn't know that's what he was doing. As the episode ends, the Harbinger arrives to let us know that the Crisis has officially begun. These goodbyes were all pitch-perfect, and all appropriately different from one another.

To start with William - there's less baggage to unpack here, as they've already had some serious talks earlier in the season about their relationship. William reiterates to Oliver that he forgives him for not being around, that he understands better now the reasons, and that he's had twenty years to deal with it. William says he's proud of Oliver. Oliver says he's proud of William. Then they have this adorable exchange:  William: "I'm gonna hug you now." // Oliver: "You'd better." I had all the feels.

And then there's Diggle. If there's one central relationship that really underpins this show, it's not actually Felicity and Oliver. Sure, they're a big part of it... but at the end of the day, John Diggle and Oliver Queen have been the defining relationship explored through all eight seasons of this show. Their loyalty and love for one another is a special thing to behold. Here, we see that John is letting go of some of his issues surrounding Oliver's upcoming sacrifice. Earlier in the season, he just couldn't contemplate letting Oliver give up his life, because it would feel like a failure on his part. But now, he realizes that being Oliver's brother means letting him do what's best for the multiverse. Oliver asks John to find Felicity and tell her that William and Mia should grow up knowing each other. They share a hug. Again, I had all the feels.

And we end with Mia. This scene MURDERED me. Her arc with Oliver over the last several episodes has been about working through her very legitimate anger with her father over feeling abandoned all her life. Here, we see them come to a place of acceptance and love, where Mia acknowledges that she can enjoy the time she did get with Oliver. She's honored to be a part of his story. Oliver says she'll make stories of her own. (This is a nice meta reference to the spin-off show in the works, of course). They hug, it's sweet, and I had more feels.

I think that's where I'll stop. I can't believe there are just three more episodes of this show before the final goodbye!

8.5/10

#review #arrow #arrow review

[captainatin]

My Top 5 Favorite Anime Characters

Tagged by my darling @waddledeeart!

Hello class, today I will be providing an essay for 4 of the 5 characters we shall be looking at today. Many of my favorite characters in anime are those who I personally resonate with, and those that have taught me something about myself. Two of these characters have really shaped how I view my life, and all of them have asked something of me that has challenged my attitude.

So here they are in no particular order.

1. Khamsin Nbhw (Shakugan No Shana)

While he didn’t have a lot of screen time considering how long the series was, Khamsin was a real standout among a cast of likable characters in my favorite anime of all time. He comes off as grumpy, distant, and blunter than the rocks he shatters to use his powers, but under all of that is a person who has truly become wise over the centuries he has existed. He knows that life is fleeting, even if it is less so for him, and serves as a guide and foil to the protagonists’ secondary love interest. While his backstory was only briefly touched upon, the moral that it shared is something that will stick with me for the rest of my life. Your love for someone is not valid justification for your actions, or theirs. I hear all the time “but I love them” and “I don’t want to hurt them” being tossed around as excuses not to confront real issues with the people that they care about. While Khamsin’s case was a lot more cataclysmic of a situation than ours, the moral still rings true. I have known many people in abusive relationships, I was in a very neglectful one myself, and they often justify staying by saying “but I love them” as if that fixes everything. It doesn’t, and it never will.

2. Yuu / Strength (Black Rock Shooter)

I’m going to be talking about Yuu and Strength, because I feel like they both count since they are connected and acknowledged as the same person. Not only is the twist behind their character really cool, but it is something that I can relate to on a personal level. Yuu, the human in our world, trades places with her counterpart because she feels like it is easier to battle to the death with glorified imaginary friends than it is to accept the pain she faces in the real world. Escapism is a problem that plagues millions of people, especially people who sink their lives into video games, anime, etc. The idea that reality is too painful to bear is something that has come up multiple times throughout my life. I have always used fiction to protect myself from the real world, to have hope in something more ideal or fascinating. I had a baby cousin that was still born, it was even more tragic because she was the first girl born in our family for several generations. It hurt. It hurt to my very core and rattled me like few other things have. I dove deeper and deeper into reading, gaming, and binging anime, to the point where I didn’t talk to my oldest brother or my father for weeks on end. It wasn’t until I got addicted to League of Legends that I saw how bad my problem was. I was leaving several friends hanging out to dry, not lending an ear because I didn’t want to feel emotional pain. I even started using physical pain to cover up my emotional pain. I often punched my legs or bit my cheek when I felt sad or angry, because I didn’t want to have to deal with an ugly side of me. Yuu and Strength’s dynamic helped me see that I could not keep doing this to myself, and that I needed to allow others to help and that by helping others I could find hope and relief.

3. Simon (Gurren Lagann)

Gurren Lagann has been a long time favorite of mine. It’s a big mess of crazy fun and over the top adventure. There was a lot of serious themes mixed into the wacky and wonky romps that quickly descended into a more intense plot in the second season. It is hard to talk about Simon without talking about Kamina first. I was one of the few people who didn’t like Kamina the instant I saw him. A loud, obnoxious, impulsive, crazed lunatic with an inclination towards violence. I saw the merit in him though, but I knew Simon was the protagonist. The episode Kamina died is the same episode where everything for this anime clicked for me. While Kamina is the one who encouraged Simon to “do the impossible” and “grit his teeth,” Simon’s application of it and his struggle along the way is what makes me love him as a character. Simon doesn’t understand everything after Kamina dies. He has a damn near identity crisis as he tries to be more like his role model than he is himself. And it didn’t work. Watching Simon struggle to accept who he is, his own way of doing things, while also learning from the man that shaped his life is something I can respect immensely. The drill in Gurren Lagann symbolizes the ability to move forward, the ability to advance a little further with every turn. Life is full of twists and turns, but the only way to live is to face forwards. “Don’t believe in yourself, or the me that believes in you, believe in the you that believes in yourself.” It’s a rather nonsensical quote from Kamina, but here’s what I think it means based on watching Simon grow into his own man. “Don’t believe in who you are now, or any other person, because the only one who will always be there for you is yourself, believe in the vision of what you want to become. Be better. Move forward.”

4. Kousei Arima (Your Lie in April)

I can’t say much about Kousei Arima right now. I’m currently rewatching it with @waddledeeart, and it’s her first time watching it so I don’t want to spoil too much. They say when you’re in love, the whole world turns into colors. In my last experience, it slowly grew muddier and muddier, and I felt stuck. I felt stuck in my monochrome world, alone with my escapism and my excuses not to socialize. Thanks to some good friends, I got off my ass and started legitimately bonding with people for the first time in a long time. And right now I’m glad to say my world is colored beautiful shades of orange sunrises, lavender clouds that look like cotton candy, and navy blue skies at night. I am very much in love with my darling.

5. Slaine Troyard (Aldnoah.Zero)

Slaine Troyard is a good character that was held back by the rest of the show and his foil in the protagonist. Aldnoah.Zero was a really sub-par anime in my opinion, and Saline was one of the few things that made me think this anime could be great. As an antagonist, we get to see how he mirrors the struggles of someone who should really be the protagonist. He has a lot of conflicting emotions, he has to balance his feelings with the position that he has given. Everything he earned in the story he earned through his own grit and drive. The flaw that we see is that he has an inability to see past his own faults and has a tendency to over react. When he truly feels like giving up hope, that’s exactly what he does. While he wasn’t a noble person, and he did a lot of selfish things, his motivation is what held my interest. One of his last quotes is when his mech’s foresight function gets damaged and he looses his best asset and chance at winning against the main character: “I no longer require a future.” Watching somebody give up, and feel the desire to punish themselves for their own mistakes, that is a feeling that really tugged at me for a while. In the end, he fails to better himself, because he’d rather just take on punishments that he himself mandates. For a long time I punished myself for every screw up that I thought I got away with, because I felt that I deserved it and that it was some form of justice. Slaine’s fall into hopelessness showed me that punishing yourself is counterproductive to bettering yourself. While he’s definitely my least favorite out of these five, he still taught me a very important lesson.

OH GEEZ I HOPE YOU READ THAT ALL! That was a trip and a half for me, but I hope you guys got a better idea of who I am and what things I value. It was some good fun!

Now it’s time for me to tag other people: @little-evolved-one @yuureis-truly @askthesevensouls

#shakugan no shana #aldnoah.zero #black rock shooter #gurren lagann #Your Lie in April #arima kousei #simon the digger #strength #slaine troyard #khamsin nbhw

[sparda3g]

Tokyo Ghoul:re Chapter 172 Review

It would seem that we are very close to the end of the arc, which also means the end of :re. I sensed part 3 is on the horizon. With that said it begs the question on how much change awaits. It’s all on Kaneki to handle the last and prominent problem. The end is near and Ishida is set to go all out with a bang. With a surprisingly emotional end to Amon and Donato, and the badass and hyped start to Kaneki versus Furuta, it’s certainly going to end strong.

As I said before in my last review, I am a fan of Amon and was really glad that he was able to get a closure with Donato. Hell, he won the fight after a series of beating he received. What I didn’t expect is how emotional this bout turned out to be from the moment Takizawa called him out on his struggle. It is better this way to invest it more than a simple revenge bout.

Donato was decapitated, though able to speak for a while before he dies out. Nico did heal his head to speak for a bit, so that make sense for its universe. It’s eerie how he laughed at his loss though. I understand that fans would find it strange, though Ghoul RC cells and what not is something takes imagination to accept. It was also established that there are Ghouls that could speak without a body for a short while, like how Roma was speaking before Urie sliced her face off to end her for good. I believe it was Ishida’s way to have a strong Ghoul’s slow death moment.

It does reward us a really emotional scene that I wasn’t expecting. If it wasn’t for the last chapter, I would think this is just purely revenge and justice storyline. Donato isn’t asking us to feel bad for him, rather establishing how he has been always in the dark and corrupted side of living. Interesting that he’s the third Clown King that the title was given by the second; not sure if Ishida wants us to theorize it. He’s the definition of what CCG once defined Ghoul as and he capitalized it to the very end.

He was everything that you must hate him as a villain. It helps with the visual of him laughing his way out to death. Every time the panel shots his smiling face, he meant every word of it and it’s disgusting to fathom. He came a long way to meet his fate at the hand of his one and only “son” Amon, which even he said it was the most fitting end. His grin in the last chapter makes sense with how perfect the setup is for him to go out, but Ishida goes in deeper with the later scene.

As his death was going to be a cold and dreary end, Amon adds in for the powerful emotional impact. After learning about his inner feeling, it’s a bit surprising that he kept his straight face for so long. I know this is his enemy, but a small crack on his face can happen. I got a bad feeling that his last words were going to be really sad.

Donato talked about his life as a villain; Amon talked about the memory. Those moments he recollected can be argued to be contradicting to everything what Donato finished saying; it’s night and day difference. The fact he remembers those days prove how much dear they are to him, even after the moment of “betrayal” or rather heartbreak. Those times cannot be erased and it will always be effective to Amon, no matter how much he denies it. It was supposed to be a simple revenge story, but it became sorrowful.

What did it for me is Amon elaborating how he has all the reasons to hate him, despise him, and wanting to get a closure; yet, it was too much to bear the emotions he still have. Amon crying for him is so disheartening yet humanizing. His words never felt so powerful. It’s not easy to kill someone who raised you and it’s even harder when you loved someone dearly. Amon couldn’t hide that fact and that’s why he finally let out his genuine feelings. It’s the development that was long waited, but the cost was always severe.

Donato’s final laugh is really interesting as it leaves on ambiguous note. He was called “father” by his cherished “son” and it makes his story into a masterpiece. He laughs with tears until he finally dies. Was he crying from laughing so hard because of how perfect the story was or crying from sadness because of how he was seen like a father to Amon, who arguably the only child he legitimately cared for?

There were many hints from the past that Donato was always fond of him as well as vice versa despite the disconnecting thoughts. They both found a connection to remember in the orphanage; it’s only fitting for one to end another. I thought this was one of the best death scenes of the series. It was eerie, cold, and teary by the end; I was sold by the reactions. Ishida is at his best when exploiting the emotion in subtle and explicit way.

It’s not really funny but I find it comical that Owl is now stopped, only we still don’t know if it was Eto or not. It left with CCG and Ghouls about to approach it, ending before any confirmation. You got to wait for a bit longer. Ishida is probably at his best when teasing. It’s a small scene but I find it charming with Touka sitting beside Saiko whispering “Maman.” Seriously, Touka should adopt her once this arc ends.

It’s evident that this could very well be the final volume of :re when it shifts to the main event: Kaneki versus Furuta. This is the only part left to cover, which would mean that there will be a Part 3. It does make sense seeing how much of a setup this last arc has ensued so far. It would make sense to have another time-skip to clean the awful mess from Dragon. Who knows. Maybe Ishida will pull a Golem Hearts and solve all problems in a matter of a chapter.

I love how the battle begins. First of all, for those who believe Furuta has everything all part of the plan, despite his more or less doubts, fans can be at ease with the fact he was genuinely surprised that Kaneki is alive. Honestly, if he did say it’s part of the plan, that would be too much. Anyway, I was under impression that there will be some serious discussion to be hold but Kaneki waste no time and nearly take his head off.

I laughed at how Furuta reacted; believing Kaneki wants to ask questions. There’s one problem: he don’t care. I feel like Shuu in Part 1: drowned by his badassery. It feels like this Kaneki is the embodiment of all Kanekis before it; basically, when he fights, he becomes Kuroneki as fans would call it. If so, that is awesome. Clearly, he’s done with Furuta’s shit. Poor guy, he thought he’s against a Shounen Protagonist.

I got a good laugh at the narrator while Furuta runs for his life. It opts for describing Furuta’s character in that very moment, only to turn out it’s his monologue. That is pretty funny. He had the nerve to put himself as the hero of the situation. I also laughed at the callback to him versus Eto when he felt like he had some sense of déjà vu. This small scene is rich.

Speaking of déjà vu, it isn’t entirely one until he actually pulls the similar stunt when pleading for mercy, only to surprise attack. Not going to lie, I thought that was it and Kaneki just loses. I don’t think I need chapter 143 déjà vu as well. Also, I thought those Kagune came from Furuta, but it appears to be from Dragon. That is unless Rize is behind the shadow; that would be freaky. It looks like either Furuta knows how to trigger it or it is assisting him.

When it comes to accelerating the hype level, leave it to Ishida to handle it; only thing is he did it too good. It finally comes down to this very moment between the two with everything at stake. Kaneki thankfully wasn’t down and out; only got push back with no sight of fear. Furuta gets his V trademark sword ready and announces his secret: he’s strong. Color me shocked. The hype level goes through the sky with Kaneki getting back up and ends the chapter, cracking his finger. Oh yeah. A complete badass beat down is in order. This is so hype. I must have Unravel ready for the next chapter.

I have to say, the artwork here is outstanding. Ishida went above and beyond here to execute deep heartfelt emotions between Amon and Donato. The details during Kaneki versus Furuta are really good. I like how clean and sense of badass aura oozes out from Kaneki’s line “Don’t care.” The double page is great despite Kaneki getting knocked back; it’s the surrounding that impressed me. It balanced out with the last page that is just pure hype. The dialogues are strong as well; whether it’s the sincerity mood or comical and horror, it has best of both worlds.

This chapter was pretty stellar from beginning to end. I was awed by the emotional end between Amon and Donato with strong dialogue delivery and touching expressive display. Kaneki versus Furuta is off with a strong start with comical and badass reactions. The artwork stepped up and the ending is hype. Seriously, don’t pull chapter 143. I loved it for narrative, but this one doesn’t need it. Go for broke!

#tokyo ghoul:re #tokyo ghoul :re #tokyo ghoul re #tokyo ghoul #chapter 172 #review

[aleatoryalarmalligator]

Life Story Part 98

Sometimes when Sarah and Zack were gone – Sarah to work and Zack to wherever the drug-winds blew, I would go and sit in the room they were staying in at my mother's until they got home. I am sure they assumed I was waiting for them. I was not. I guess by sitting in the room – feeling the essence of their sleeping little lives in there, I got a sense of how things were now. And I was able to be alone and unashamed and reflect – not even on them anymore, or myself, but what it meant to be a living breathing thing in the world and what people are meant to become and do with their time. I had always clung to other people if I had the chance. Being alone, even when I pushed others away – somehow it had never been a choice of mine. And yet here I was, more alone than I ever had been in my entire life. I felt lost. Perhaps I visited their room in an attempt to find it. It might very well have been intrusive, or creepy in some fashion. I felt like a ghost visiting old friends who had turned on me and murdered me. I thought about painting a picture to symbolize how I felt. I imagined the painting, I would be the dirt. I would be the earth, and the roots would grow from my heart. And Zack and Sarah would be stepping on my body like Adam and Eve, carelessly taking advantage of me. Admittedly, I was indulging the severity of my life at that point, but art isn't that meaningful if we don't indulge ourselves a little. They had intruded on me in some fashion. They took something away from me that I loved. It wasn't them. I have been trying to define it, and maybe I never will.

I worried about forgetting. Because when I contemplated on everything, the loss of my brother, Sarah, Zack, the last years of my life trying to get away from my father and out into the world, I realize that someday the pain I was feeling now that made me aware of what it meant to be alive, well, it would become the new normal and I wouldn't even identify it as pain anymore. It would eventually seep in. I wanted to make sure that when the cement dried on this whole icky life I seemed to be having, that the cement would be the sculpture of something beautiful and creative and meaningful. Just because things had ended badly, it did not mean they were a failure. I was having the thoughts I was having because of the bad stuff. I had to look in the mirror and see myself in a light that people rarely find themselves doing. This is the stuff my life was made of. These were the ingredients I could whip together to create something more beautiful. I could never hide again the same way I had. It was a blessing, and it was also a curse.

When I visited the room, I would write long ten page winded letters to Sarah on her computer, not so much as a means of shaming her, but talking about the stuff that kept me awake at night. Allison was right and wrong in a sense about how she thought I overanalysed Sarah and Zack's relationship. There was nothing to analyze. They were.. stupid. There were was no reason for what had happened. But it had been a poetic fall from grace. If it wasn't so pathetic and embarrassing, it had novelesque attributes. If Sarah couldn't have a real conversation with me about the deeper meaning behind her choices, if she wasn't willing to be as brave as she apparently expected of me, then I was at the very least willing to see if she would engage from a less personal perspective. Some of my letters involved me dissecting lyrics to songs that I thought were amazing. I remember dissecting Arc of Time by Bright Eyes one night, writing fervently till morning about the genius of the lyrics. But Sarah never really reached back, or gave any real indication that she understood. I know she read them, but the letters themselves required something from her that she didn't want to display. It seemed unfair and selfish that on top of losing her trust, I couldn't even feel reciprocal anymore in my ability to share an idea and ponder with someone else about it. It made me feel sickeningly alone.

I ended up reading Sylvia Plath's 'The Bell Jar', and as disappointing and sad as it was to acknowledge this, I felt such a kinship with Sylvia Plath. I recognized so elements of my own life in her story. At the time, I didn't know that she ended her life, and I read so much in The Bell Jar that I related to that when I found out that she had offed herself later on, I wondered if I would someday do the same for myself. Being this kind of woman in the world, was it inevitable that it ended up this way for all of us miserable out of touch women who don't belong? I'd like to think not.

And I found this new band I really liked too, The Dresden Dolls, which quickly became one of my top favorite bands. They are sort of indie pop – but most would describe them as a sort of post punk cabaret. In a way they meant more to me than anything else I ever listened to because they filled that hole in me so recently created by everything around me. I guess I just found them at the time in my life where I felt most vulnerable to the message that was coming across from their lyrics and sound. I sort of fell in love with Amanda Palmer, the lead singer and keyboardist -  in the nonromantic sense naturally. She was the most open creature I had ever seen. I felt open now. And I wanted to use that openness to reach out to others. I felt through her music – a much more personal sense that her hand was drawn out to me and inviting me in, in a personal way. It was almost weird that I could have found something so perfect for my psyche at this time. Whereas, with a someone like Tom Waits who I technically love more, I feel like I just walked into a little bar and discovered him – he didn't care if I found him – he was just there. He never reached out to me personally, I just was taken in by the trashy beauty of it all.

Amanda Palmer was about making emotional and meaningful connections with other people. The relationship I had with The Dresden Dolls had an element of the same kind of meaningful connection I wanted to make with people in my life – people I as of yet had never met, but wanted to. I didn't want to feel ashamed anymore. I wanted to be accepted and seen. There was something so theatrical and interesting about taking dark things and finding the light in them, and taking light things and finding darkness in them, and I saw all of this in her music as well. The Dresden Dolls changed everything about me to a degree. They changed my style, the way I did my make up and hair, the way I chose to articulate my thoughts. They altered the way I talked to people, the way I related to the world, my sense of humor, what I found beautiful at the antique store. I realize that music can't replace people, but for what it's worth, it was half way like finding a new friend. In life, it's always important to find your people, so they say. I think in some cases that involves finding your kin in works of art and expression. Sylvia Plath and Amanda Palmer were like sisters who would never really know me, but had given me this gift, this feeling that I wasn't alone or crazy. That what I was feeling was legitimate.

And it was coming to be that a new aspect of my life was coming out of all this sadness. Some of what I wrote to Sarah on those lost nights were was positive in the extreme – and I was chastised by Allison and avoided by Sarah just as much for my bouts of inspiration and exhilarating happiness almost as badly as I was for my bad times. Hidden in all the tragedy and self awareness, this new blossoming power was happening. The chaos had provided the right atmosphere for latent parts of me to come to the surface and be transformed. I could do anything, and be anybody. I was malleable. Just as I had lost some things, it was beginning to feel like I had been baptized into a new and better version of myself. I had vision and direction. I didn't want what Sarah had, or what anyone had. I didn't need to attach myself to a famous musician or be a duo with anyone. I was me. I would look in the mirror for hours sometimes, and become fully aware that this girl was me, and that I was in some ways terribly pathological now yes, but I was complex and human and had this great capacity for visions of greatness and being fully in love in a way that mattered. I would feel this odd bursting love for myself and for the world around me and for the potential of someone that could fill the shoes that Zack clearly couldn't.

Sarah and Zack were faded gray fools dealing with such basic elements of their experiences. They were both wasting away in their own simplicity of wanting to feel good for free. They didn't get the concept of work, what it took to fight for life and really appreciate it. They stole what they had. They were too basic to full appreciate or recognize my vision of a grander picture. I knew from reading 'How to Win Friends and Influence People', that saying something like this would win me no points, so I tried my best not to look down on them so openly, but it was difficult. Is it weird to say that I was beginning to feel paradoxically about life? I was at times, happier than I had ever been – so much so that I felt this rush in my veins that scared me – like I was free falling. I would take up projects, not sleep or eat, I would laugh to tears. I had found this threshold within myself where a truer me, a less afraid version of me took the reins. I wasn't defined by my imperfect past. I didn't need Sarah anymore. I didn't need the myth of who I thought Zack was. I didn't need to feel strangely ashamed for being an odd girl. I was free of my father's control. I was free of my obligations to my siblings – even though the shame I felt was very real. I wouldn't need to tolerate my mother for too much longer as soon as I moved out. It turns out that quite subconsciously I had blotted out from myself, aspects of who I was that my family and friends couldn't understand and I had done it for so many years that this creature that emerged was this strangely familiar version of me that I had never fully let wander around and take the reigns before – even while she seemed a stranger to what people around me saw as normal. I didn't need to be polite anymore. I could be what I felt – and I could live that truth without considering the discomfort that might cause others. I could be transformed by it, I could turn my sadness into art. I could turn my sadness into several things actually. Everything seemed so connected. Had I ever really been this free?

And then there was an opening at Zany's, and I had a job. It happened very fast. I was sitting either in Sarah and Zack's room or I was crying on the couch and Sarah walked in after working and told me to get ready because I was going in for work that Monday. The son of the kitchen, Jacobi, manager at the restaurant was working as a dishwasher. He was a teenager, and he was one of the best skateboarders in town. He won a competition and started to feel very confident and hopeful to go pro. He quit school and his job, and he decided to move out to Seattle to try and make it out there, which to my understanding did not end up unfolding so easily so he ended up moving back. In any case, he put in his two weeks, which meant that I was now in line to take his place as a dishwasher at Zany Graze.

I went in for an interview. I already had the job, but I was required to meet my new bosses. The first interview was with the general manager, Patrice (some people called her PP, I never did). Patrice was in her late forties. She liked fine boring things that rich people get into, fine jewelry, drinking wine, trips to tourist resorts in other countries, reality television shows where a bunch of identical Californian women try to win the heart and money of a rich bachelor, golfing. With that said, Patrice didn't seem as phased or surprised by lower class values as other women in a similar boat might be. She had a strange toughness to  her. She was like a cat, you could randomly rub her the wrong way, or she might enjoy some strange detail in what was said or done. It was hard to say with her. She was a perfectionist, and she did run the restaurant very well. She looked out for everyone. I was nervous going in, but to her credit she skipped any bullshit questions that other places had asked me. She didn't ask me what my passions were, she didn't want me to fake stuff. She asked me why I wanted to work there, and I told her for job experience and money and she told me those were very valid reasons to want to work. She didn't need to hear me go on some monologue about how my passion was dishwashing – never mind I had never had a job before. She didn't want to hear me go on about some corny scheme regarding me making the restaurant better. There was no philosophy to dishwashing, and she didn't want me to pretend there was. This was the first time an employer didn't bounce off dumb questions and didn't expect those dumb questions bounced back with bad answers. She asked reasonable questions about my schedule. About my ability to take orders. Stuff that made sense.

The next boss I had to meet was the kitchen manager, Nicholas. He had a thick Spanish accent which I had troubles understanding at first. He was sturdy and sharp and slightly intimidating. He sized people up in a very obvious manner. It felt like I was being set up for bootcamp or something. I was told later on by people with more work experience that Nicholas was a little bit extreme as far as kitchen managers went. He had an enormous girth of pride, and he if he felt challenged he took offense to it. Nicholas worked so much that he rarely had time to be home with his family, but I eventually learned that he painted these beautiful vibrant colorful desert paintings. They were very traditionally Mexican in a sense, but influenced by the contrasted surrealism of seventies science fiction artwork. I have a feeling that Nicholas was capable of a great many things that he never had time to consider or hone in on. His life was to slave away in the Zany's kitchen, and he had more or less lost himself in his obsessive need for dominance and perfection. Nicholas was made of fire, and he wanted everyone who he worked with to be made out of that same fire. If you didn't react to his demands properly, he would knock you with this iron hammer until you were molten and he would reshape you to fit the mold.

I remember my first day. It was evening and I was scheduled to spend four hours to get a sense of the place. I was intensely nervous. This was similar to the experience I had with Burger King, but different. Once you step into the back of a kitchen, you get this really intense seriousness from the workers that I don't think people realize unless they have worked in a place like that themselves. The kitchen is this highly organized group of scoundrels essentially and for certain parts of the evening at night when everyone comes in for dinner, and in the early evening when people go out for lunch, they have to run around like their life depended on making this food as fast as possible. Food sizzled loudly, Nicholas yelled over people. Everyone was synchronized in the way they worked around one another and together. It looked frightening and insane. It was everything I was not used to. It was highly structured and involved none of my natural strengths. I was intimidated by the kitchen initially. I felt like I had to be a sort of strange food soldier in order to even bring plates out for the cooks, these men of various ages and ethnicity, but who seemed uniform in humorless bloodshot adrenaline based aggressive when they were busy. Looking at the wild chaos of making these meals I felt like I was made of dough. I was part school girl, part dumpling. I didn't have that kind of fire in me. I wasn't pragmatic enough, angry enough, or as certain of myself as I needed to be. I was an idealist, and an abstract idealist at that. The kitchen didn't need the tender bleeding heart of an artist, and yet here I was.

The owner of Zany's was a successful business man in town named Bruce. He was a big tall elderly man with white hair. He owned eight other restaurants in the general area – all of them being successes. Zany's was his most popular restaurant. On a good Saturday he could pull in 20,000$ worth of sales a night. Which, if you know the industry, that is a ton of sales. It was why the restaurant was so busy, and why someone like Nicholas had to be in charge. As it was, there were certain nights of the week where one dishwasher could not possibly keep up with the business so they had to have two dishwashers on. Zany's was the busiest and most successful restaurant in town.

I walked in that night not knowing what to expect. I shook hands with a bunch of sweaty men in uniforms. Some of them seemed like pirates. Others seemed like normal guys off the street. I was taken back to the dish pit where I would be spending nearly all my time. The dish pit served as a sort of hallway between the front where the servers and hosts and customers were, and the back where the kitchen was. In between the dish pit and the kitchen, there was a prep table where a prepcook would premake a lot of the food that would be reheated or cooked later when it got busy. The lighting was strange and intense. The walls were made of strange piping and such that I never fully understood. The dish pit seemed impersonal, part food mush, part stainless steal and part porcelain. Jacobi, who was Nicholas's stepson, showed me around. He put some dishes on this plastic rack. They sort of fit variously on this rack, which I am sure is duplicated and used throughout all restaurants, and then he used this nozzle which power sprayed the food off the dishes into these three sinks, and then I would put it into this intimidating angry hot machine that I was told was the dishwasher. When they came out forty-five seconds later, they were clean, and steaming hot. Then they were to be stacked, and when the stack became formidable enough, you took it to the appointed place, either up front, or to the kitchen. And basically that was the job. You just did that over and over till there was no more dishes, and at the end of the night you bleached the fuck out of everything, cleaned the sinks and emptied the dish machine.

It was sort of nauseating looking at this super repetitive task in this dim/harshly lit corridor of a dish pit where I would be spending a great deal of time. I worried I wouldn't be fast enough. The servers would throw plates of food into this garbage at their area, and this big garbage had to be emptied twice a day more often than not. It was so much food waste. Not only that, but the cooks had to throw out perfectly good food at the end of the night, soup, chicken, potatoes both mashed and baked, noodles, sometimes crème brulee, salads, cakes, gravies, chocolate sauce. The food waste was sickening. Workers were discouraged from taking it home, but nobody adhered to the rule because none of the managers were ever there at the end of the night. People tried their best to take it all home with them – but even so a good portion of it had to be thrown out.

Both of the dishwashers I met that night were not there for the rest of my time there. Jacobi obviously went off to Seattle of course, and the other dishwasher was this short, absurdly loudmouth, and not terribly bright fellow named Anthony. He talked loudly and incessantly. He wasn't very good at his work because he was sloppy and got distracted and sometimes had to be told that he talked too loud. He was offended by how quiet I was – and took it as some kind of sign that I hated him. I think from the start my attempt to joke with him when he got uncomfortable only made things worse because he didn't get my sense of  humor at all and took further insult to it, and he soon came to believe I was some kind of enemy of his. Anthony was a recovered addict – and it sort of made sense. Anthony's personality just rubbed me the wrong way I guess. It wasn't so much that I had anything personal against him, he just annoyed me on a basic level the way a fly is annoying. I told Sarah I didn't care for him very much, but when I was told this she explained how he had been addicted to Speed and he had really pulled himself out from nothing and he had come very far, I realized that I was being an unfair snob in my assessments.

I never really cared for Anthony ultimately, but it made me realize something about working with other people, particularly people in the restaurant industry, since the food industry is a place where imperfect sorts flock to in order to make some kind of a living. Often times they are ex convicts and recovered (or current addicts), and due to the extremely corrupt and unfair laws against convicts, it is very hard for them to find work in other places. And even when they seem simple, often times a great deal of them have these intense histories and upbringings. You meet and work with a lot of strange people in the industry, some of them are terrible people, and some of them are heroic in a way nobody will ever recognize, and the funniest people I have ever met have been in kitchens. In the end it's a good take on this strange assumption that you know nothing about someone and that you also realize that there is a universal similarity and trope to many of them.

There were two other dishwashers I was to deal with. Dee and Cain. Dee (real name Delia, but everyone called her Dee) was/is one of the strangest women I had ever known and I grew to know about as much as anyone did know about her over the course of my time at Zany's. Her sense of humor was like someone from the thirties or forties. It was very hard to explain. It felt like she hadn't seen anything modern. She told stories like you were hearing it from someone in a drugstore in 1947. She was extremely thin, reminding me almost like Olive Oil from Popeye. She reminded me of vintage cartoons. She had an IQ of 155, and she was autistic. She had intense mood swings, and when things got busy she had difficulties emotionally handling change. She had a certain way she did things, and the way she wanted to do things didn't work out when the business became busy and she would begin screaming and making howling and growling noises. It was alarming at first. But soon I learned how to help her, to anticipate how she was feeling that day, and to do things around her that made her job easier to handle. To a degree I had been doing something similar with my mother and father for my entire life, and it became second nature for me to step in and assist and notice her emotional dispositions. To a degree, I felt very different then her, but in other ways I think we had similarities. People kind of loathed her fits and her seemingly needless behavior, and I will admit that most places would have fired her. But Patrice liked the idea that she was helping Dee by keeping her on.

I would spend on average, about twenty hours a day with Dee in that dish pit so I eventually learned a lot about her. She was obsessed with old horror movies, like the Mummy and Frankenstein. She loved Egypt and even owned some old relics from some excavations. Her daughter lived in town but didn't visit much. Her son was in the army fighting in Afghanistan. On a good day, she would reminisce about the past. She was functional and normal enough and I think ultimately she had a very good heart, but she wasn't very good at equal exchange in conversation. It was better just to give her my full attention and smile as I listened. She liked to tell me about her husbands, and her childhood, her pets and her children and some of the crazy things she'd been through. She grew up in an abusive home. I could sense the details around her telling me this, but I also knew an abused woman when I met one. There's a sort of defensiveness. You can never entirely get your father's rage out of your head. I think she was probably misunderstood when she was young, suffering from autism and such.

Her first husband tried to cut her arm off with a machete. She showed me the scar. He got a good deal in too – it was nearly a forty year old scar, and still very prominent. I guess he was a soldier and he just went insane one day. He was convicted for it, and kicked out of the military. The second husband that Dee had had died in a submarine due to someone's negligence, and it broke her heart. There were certain nights when I could feel this intense loneliness from her. She missed her second husband intensely. He had been the father of her children and he had loved Dee unconditionally. She spoke lovingly about the time when he had turned their home into Hawaii because she had always wanted to go but they couldn't afford it, so he 'brought Hawaii to her'. Dee had a guarded nature about her, and I think her second husband might have been one of the few people she ever felt understood by. Whenever I felt sorry for myself, I sometimes thought about how cruel it was that Dee had lost this one person who had meant so much to her. And somehow she was here and she still existed to talk about it on weird nights in the dish pit with only me listening. People who dissed on Dee, they didn't recognize what a survivor she really was.

Dee's third husband had been a biker, a sort of motorcycle hog. She had more or less become a biker with him. He was unapologetic. He didn't understand Dee, but he liked her around anyway, and they had both I assumed bonded over a mutual sense of gruffness and ignored the rest. He sounded gross to me, and she admitted that he was a mean old ass, but she seemed to enjoy his existence more or less. He died of a heart attack twelve years previous.

When Dee was younger, she lived in the Southwest, and she made a living making saddles in a small town. She owned a small ranch where she kept miniature goats as pets. She had named them, and kept pictures of her old goats in her wallet that she would show people. It was a running joke in the restaurant, Dee whipping out her wallet to show you pictures of her old goats. She had all these stories about the goats, and some of them I didn't really believe. She said that one of her goats could talk once. I came to understand that it just made a noise that sounded like it was talking. Goats are pretty bright, so I wasn't as skeptical about her goats as some people were. I think she exaggerated because she reminisced so much and it turned into more extravagant tales than they were, and I think she was desperately lonely and wanted people to care about what she cared about. Being autistic, she wasn't good at a certain kind of communication where you share. She couldn't always tell when people were annoyed with her. Dee wasn't that good at outright lying – but she was accused of lying a lot. People would try to laugh with me about Dee, calling her a liar and making fun of  her, I suppose because they thought I could relate, and they would tell me they felt bad for me because I had to work with her so often. I didn't like it. In a sense I felt insulted too. Who the fuck were these young girls to get off on making fun of someone like Dee? It was usually the upfront staff that made the most insulting jokes, and most of them were in their early twenties, came from rich homes, were part time students. They assumed everyone came from the same privilege as themselves. Of course Dee was eccentric and it was only natural to get tired of her fits, but she had personality, and ultimately, she was more real than anyone else in the restaurant.

Cain was the other dishwasher. He was the only black guy who worked there, probably one of the few black people in town actually, and I'd say that even though no one outright said it, you could feel the racism off of people in regards to how they did and didn't say things about him. It was hard to pinpoint at times, but the atmosphere around Cain and the way people regarded or laughed at him was racially motivated. Cain was no doubt weird. He was given an honorable discharge from fighting in Iraq and nobody knew why. He didn't seem right in the head so I assume that might have been the reason, because he talked to himself an awful lot and sometimes would say something to me while we were working that genuinely made no sense. It sounded like he thought I could hear his thoughts and was in on what he was saying – so he was just vocalizing that part of what he was saying without need for explanation. I would look at him and smile and nod, and generally that's all I needed to do.

Girls complained about him being a pervert, but I think a lot of it was built around the fear of him being black – and the racist idea that this made him some kind of predator. He was definitely open about his availability to dating, and he smiled and said flowery things to the of age ladies who worked up front occasionally, but I never felt it was out of line or perverted or overly sexual. There was definitely no aggression.  He had a thing for Sarah for instance – he told me about it, and he told her he thought her hair was nice or he liked her eyes, but he would never have stalked her or expected anything from her. And he actually seemed hesitant to be in situations where he might be accused of something. He was for instance, hesitant to hand me something one time, because he seemed to think I might be afraid to touch his hand. This was what the body language indicated to me. It really seemed bizarre to me at first, but then, given how people reacted to everything he did I started to understand why  he might feel weary, and even have a false sense of needing to cater to and apologize without words, on account that he was black and I was white. Like he had to be sorry if by nature of us working in close proximity we might accidentally bump into one another, which is perfectly normal working in a restaurant with a lot of busy people. It was just one small thing that I realized, and in that situation I think it gave me this overwhelming sense that there was a lot I probably didn't realize about being black. All I can truly say though, is it silently pissed me off when I felt racist undertones in the people around me, and I am sure people would deny the bias was there, but it definitely was.

Cain eventually was fired for turning the channel to InuYasha – his favorite show in the whole world, and eating a slice of cheese cake while he was doing janitorial duties (he was a janitor part of the time). It was technically a fireable offense, but in my time working there I saw other employees do things that were just as bad and not get in trouble for it. I didn't fully grasp why he was fired and I think it was probably because he was black to some extent, but people come and go in restaurants pretty frequently, and Cain was somewhat of an unpredictable sort. He wouldn't have lasted regardless. You can just tell with certain people.

I ended up being the best dishwasher, and I got employee of the month three times for it – which is abnormal for a dishwasher and I was competing with forty five other employees or so. I became the fastest dishwasher that anyone working there had ever had. I was able to work with Dee, which is something a lot of people couldn't do. To me, working became a way of escaping the lonely sick feelings that came upon me at night. The physical activity, the sense of urgency would cloud my thoughts and I would rush around and become a machine in my duties. I had to learn to speak up and say 'Behind You' a lot. Every time I passed someone I had to say it. If I didn't, Nicholas would jump my case. And I guess really it made sense. Communication is very important in restaurant work. A lot could go wrong, even causing injury if people weren't careful. When Sarah worked in that kitchen down in Texas, a woman she worked with had worked in a place where a man had for some god awful reason, stepped into the deep fryer and his skin melted off his lower leg and foot. You definitely have to be careful.

The kitchen guys, when they weren't working, were actually really friendly most of the time. I didn't like all of them all that much. Some of them drank too much, or got pissed off some nights for no good reason. On a good day they would sometimes joke around and sing together humorously, a lot of nineties hits I had long ago forgotten about, only to hear a bunch of silly men singing together. They were all pretty nice to me for the most part. It was so strange to be semi accepted by a crew of people, a bunch of guys no less. I had/have an instinctive weariness around men. I have this sense that they will play unfair or use their power negatively. I feel the need to either get away or be manipulative in order to avoid problems. But for the most part, initially, I was well received. The only other experience I had being in a situation where I was around a lot of people was school, and that had obviously been a very isolating experience – so to suddenly go from being alone all the time with my siblings to now working in this fast paced uniformed environment with a bunch of people I would never have thought I would talk to was surreal sometimes. Work wasn't perfect for me per say. I didn't feel fully satisfied by doing it, and my social life and my depression was what it was. But it gave me this sense that I could work with others, and not be attacked. That being around other people didn't have to be this super negative experience, at least not on every level. That I was on some level – human, at least kind of, and not completely worthless, or some stain on society or whathaveyou.

It helped me focus on myself too. It helped me get out of the house where my mother was, away from thoughts of David's hatred for me, away from Allison, from Sarah and Zack and their stupid thing. I was in a new environment and I was beginning to forge my own life, an identity independent from all of the things that happened to me. Because at the restaurant, everyone had bad luck. Everyone who worked in the kitchen had some sad stories to tell about their parents dying, about girlfriends crushing their spirits, being hospitalized, locked up, beaten, being homeless. Sure they were a bunch of pirates with alcohol abuse issues, and maybe they didn't reflect on life like I did, and some of them weren't even all too great of people. But in the end, pain is pain, and I wasn't particularly special or important in the grand scheme of things. We were all the same in our ability to be broken and hurt, and for many the kitchen was the best economic prospect they had. And that was okay. My sad story was probably a lot less visibly entertaining then theirs. I didn't feel drowned out or forgotten. I felt relieved. I felt cut off from that old identity. Being able to work was all the more helpful in reinventing myself. Because nobody knew me here. They didn't know about my panic disorder or my father or my childhood. I could be anyone.

And as for the work in the dish pit. It was very repetitive, but after awhile, when I became good at it and used to anticipating when things would happen, I was able to tune out. I could be doing the dishes, and running dishes, and working at a fever pace, but be elsewhere in my own imagination, narrating and writing in my head as I often did. I could listen to music, or think about Amanda Palmer or what I wanted to do with my life. I didn't have to be 'in' the restaurant mentally and I didn't have to think about the dishes. I just had to let my body do the work on autopilot. It helped me stay in shape. I lost ten more pounds. I was still pretty pudgy by this time, but I was beginning to definitely show the beginnings of maybe being thin eventually. And seeing all that wasted half eaten food grossed me out and my appetite went down.

To many being a dishwasher probably sounds like a huge humiliating thing for someone with my personality. And of course ideally I should have been put into art school or traveling the world or some other activity that artsy people are supposed to be doing, had the world been a perfect place where we all are born where we need to be in order to reveal and hone our true potential, but life doesn't work out that way. If I had the money or family name or opportunity unfolded I would have gladly taken that up some exciting career of some kind. But the opportunity was slim. At night while I worked in the pit, and as I left the restaurant at the end of the night, I would walk out to the night summer air which has a very distinct scent in Lewiston, and  I would feel my smallness against the harsh night sky – all around the business area on the hill there were other restaurants with other people like me in them. I was a small cog, within a small cog, that was in a town that ultimately meant next to nothing, lost in the hills and deserts of the inland northwest was a small cog in the north west. Outside of this area, there were cities like Portland and Seattle, but there was also a world of people who I could meet whom I might fall in love with, or help me grow. There were new experiences in the distance. But right now, I had to become anonymous and work my way up. Nobody knew my name. I was not famous or overly important to anyone. I was just this anonymous girl, and my life didn't have a lot of value in the grand scheme of things no matter how self absorbed I could sometimes be. At the time, being a dishwasher in this lousy restaurant on the hill of Lewiston, it meant a lot despite what I was missing out on – it gave me leverage and agency I had never  had. It gave me the opportunity for growth that staying at home and drowning in my sorrows did not. In a sense, it was the last gift that the old Sarah had given to me, a gift that had reached me long after she was gone.

PART 97 - https://tinyurl.com/ybvlfusf

PART 96 - https://tinyurl.com/y8cm6pdy

PART 95 - https://tinyurl.com/ybxq2o5j

PART 94 - https://tinyurl.com/y8k7mwq4

PART 93 - https://tinyurl.com/yc8mae7e

PART 92 - https://tinyurl.com/yb7bwsuw

PART 91 - https://tinyurl.com/yar8e8rp

My Life Story in Chapters, PARTS 1-90 (this link below will lead you to a list of all the chapters i have written thus far). 

http://aleatoryalarmalligator.tumblr.com/post/168782771574/life-story-sections-1-90

#text #writing #life story #long text

[talkingstarwars]

Last Jedi positives and negatives, plus predictions for Episode IX!

Alright, enough time has passed and I think it’s okay for me to finally give my spoiler thoughts on The Last Jedi and predictions for the future (plus I haven’t had time to write something here specifically until now!)

Right out of the gate: I like The Last Jedi. I think I like it as much as The Force Awakens, but I like each film for very different reasons. TLJ took way more chances and was much more subversive than TFA, which I greatly appreciated. However, there are so many problems that I have with this movie. I know that sounds really negative, but here me out! I love Star Wars, but I also love movies. Upon first viewing I watched The Last Jedi as a Star Wars fan, and the second time I looked at it with a more critical eye.

Let’s get the problems I had with the movie out of the way first.

1) I hated everything that had to do with Canto Bight. Like, legitimately hated. It dragged upon the pacing and every time they cut back to it, I found myself checking my watch and hoping they’d go back to something more interesting. I thought its “message” was too on-the-nose and delivered poorly. It felt so prequelish and cartoony to me that I rolled my eyes more than once. I like Finn. I kinda like Rose. They were not serviced properly at all. Finn was one of my favorite characters and I felt like he was reduced to an ultimately meaningless side quest. Honestly, I look forward to fast forwarding through all the Canto Bight sequences once I get my hands on the Blu-Ray. And before you tell me the deeper meaning of the sequence, listen: I got it. I got everything that they were trying to say, but the execution didn’t work for me. It was too long, too. 45 minutes on that dumb planet felt like 90. Also, some of the effects look a little wonky, especially when Finn and Rose were riding those horse things through the city streets.

2) Leia’s Superman moment. It really pains me to say this because I miss Carrie Fisher with my whole heart and she gave a hell of a performance in this movie. But it was just to weird for me, seeing her fly through the stars like that using the Force. I’m glad that she used the Force but jeez, it was strange and took me out of the moment.

3) Snoke’s death. Alright, so this is a tough one. I love, love, love the manner in which Snoke died (more on that later), but I can’t help but worry about what this really means. The Force Awakens told the audience which questions to ask and what questions were important; one of those being “who is Snoke?” He was set up as this Big Bad™️ and was killed by almost nothing. Look, I know this whole movie’s deal was “subverting expectations” and being “unexpected”, but this is a mistake that the prequels had. Killing off your villains too early doesn’t give your main character a good motivation to keep fighting. Think about it: if Darth Maul hadn’t died and was the ancillary villain throughout the prequels, there would have been more emotional weight in Obi Wan’s journey (don’t @ me with that “but Maul was in the Clone Wars TV show!” Let’s keep the talk to movies, but I do love TCW a lot.) I think Snoke needed to be a driving force for Kylo Ren in his struggle with both the Dark and Light Sides. Clearly I don’t know what is going to happen in Episode IX, it could be the greatest story ever for all we know, but for now I thought the character of Snoke was, quite frankly, wasted. I felt no impact when he died, other than the impact that came with the rest of the scene. I wish we had known more about him, that’s all! One line of dialogue about who Snoke was or “he’s like, super crazy powerful with the Force because of X, Y, and Z.” I needed more from Snoke to feel any weight/impact when he was killed. What had already been presented to me about Snoke (which wasn’t a lot, I think we can all agree) was not enough for me. Maybe we’ll learn more about him in a book or a comic or in Episode IX.

4) Right, so where the hell were the Knights of Ren? Again, something that was presented as important to the audience in The Force Awakens and was not elaborated on. I think this- coupled with my previous ramblings on Snoke, the revelations about Rey’s parents, and some other story beats- show that there is a lack of a complete vision with this story. I appreciate the fact that Lucasfilm is letting storytellers tell their stories, and have creative freedom over projects (for the saga films, not the stand alones apparently). That being said, it didn’t feel like JJ Abrams and Rian Johnson collaborated and compromised as much as they should have. Look at Marvel; each story can stand alone but there is clearly an overarching story. I understand that this is “Rey’s journey”, but it would be nice if there was a supervisor (à la Kevin Feige) overseeing this saga. Yes, I understand that many feel as if the Marvel films are formulaic, but one must see that they’re still letting filmmakers tell their stories (see Thor: Ragnarok. That was 100% a Taika Watiti film.) It felt like there was a large disconnect between The Force Awakens and The Last Jedi. If the Marvel analogy didn’t satisfy you, let’s look at the original Star Wars trilogy. George Lucas did not direct all of those movies. He did not write all of them. But he was the head of story development, and they all felt connected and like there was one overarching narrative. These are just my opinions, mind you! For me, I wish that there was more connective tissue between 7 and 8 and that certain story threads weren’t dropped/disregarded.

5) This is a slippery slope, and not completely a negative, but sometimes...sometimes Rose didn’t work for me. Overall, I thought she was a good addition to the saga and Kelly Marie Tran is a DELIGHT, but her line delivery was a little rough and her one-sided affection for Finn fell completely flat. This was a super minor issue! Don’t hate me, please. If you loved everything about Rose, awesome! This movie is yours to enjoy and pick apart, and you should never change your opinions based on those of others. Live your life.

6) Ah, Luke Skywalker. One thing: I don’t believe for a second, based solely off of what we know about Luke’s character, that he’d ever consider killing his nephew. Just hear me out, please, I know this is a iffy subject for most fans. Specifically, I don’t think Luke would have ever turned on that damn lightsaber, even for a moment. I know we’ve seen Luke straight up MURDER fools (see Jabba’s sail barge) and we’ve seen him tempted by the Dark Side (see when he was tempted to kill the Emperor or when he was tempted to kill Darth Vader.) Almost killing Vader and thinking about murdering Ben Solo are completely different. Vader had actually done all those horrible things; Luke only saw a glimpse into the future of Ben Solo. One of Yoda’s chief lessons to Luke was that the future is always in motion. Luke would have had hope, he wouldn’t have thought (even for a second!) that killing the son of his sister and best friend would be a good idea. Luke would have spoken to him, Luke would have tried to make amends. Vader, Ben Solo, the Emperor, those drunk idiots on Jabba’s barge; all different scenarios. All in all, I didn’t agree with this decision with Luke’s character. Oh well, it’s not my choice, it’s not my story, as much as I would like it to be. I’m a Star Wars fan, and I love these characters so so much. Still, it’s okay to formulate opinions about things you care about.

7) I could live without DJ. Honestly I thought they wasted Benicio Del Toro’s talents. I think he was much more suited for either a Resistance official or Knight of Ren, not some stuttering Lando Calrissian antithesis. I get the lesson he taught to Finn about arms dealing, but his character got on my nerves. Maybe it was just intensified by my dislike for Canto Bight.

8) The plot device of “the characters didn’t communicate” is cheap. I am, of course, referring to Holdo not informing Poe about what she was up to. Was Poe a lower ranking official? Yes. Still, Holdo must’ve known that he was still one of Leia’s most valuable soldiers. She could have told him something! This could have avoided Canto Bight and cut down on the film’s long run time. This would have given a stronger relationship between Holdo and Poe, further showing how he will be trusted with the future of the Resistance.

Here’s a quick run-down of other things I had a problem with:

Hux was even more of a cartoon character, and it was annoying

The fact that Rose stopped Finn from sacrificing himself! It could've been a really powerful moment but she came in with an out-of-left-field message that doesn't mean anything because they had no chemistry! (And I'm not referring to the purposeful awkwardness; this is just them together in general.)

The fact that Poe said “big ass door”

Final Finn/Phasma confrontation, mostly because Phasma was still grossly underdeveloped and showing part of her face did very little to humanize her.

Luke throwing the lightsaber over his shoulder like the legacy of his father and his past meant nothing! I understand that Luke wanted to be left alone, but even he still had a heart. He should've taken it and grumpily walked away instead of throwing the damn thing so nonchalantly.

GEEZ, DID YOU ACTUALLY LIKE ANYTHING FROM THIS FILM?! Yes, yes, I like so much about this film! Let me explain all my positives!

1) That Luke and Yoda scene put the biggest smile on my face. That was bonafide Empire Strikes Back puppet Yoda! I love the message Yoda gave to Luke, I love how he bopped his former trainee on the head with his walking stick, and I loved how they burned the Force tree. Honestly, it’s one of my favorite Star Wars scenes of all time, I think. It felt so organic and genuine, and I loved every minute of it. That was the kind of moment and dialogue that makes me love Star Wars!

2) I loved that Rian Johnson TOOK CHANCES. He managed to keep my guessing through the movie and presented us with situations that expanded the Star Wars story. One of my biggest complaints with The Force Awakens (which is shared with many) was that it felt so familiar. I appreciate the Rian Johnson made this film his own. And yes, I liked the Force-projection that Luke did at the end (aka Force doppelgänger or whatever.) I lost it when Luke brushed his shoulder in his confrontation with Ben Solo. Gold. Pure gold.

3) The Rey/Kylo Ren team up fight is a top-five Star Wars moment for me. What a battle. Especially in a filmmaking perspective; the fight choreography was exquisite and the wide shots of them back-to-back taking on the Praetorian guards looked SO GOOD. Also, I was tricked into think that this was Ben’s turn to the light side, and was promptly misdirected. Nice job, Rian; you got me. What an emotional, rage-fueled battle. It shows us the obvious compatibility of the two, their interconnectedness, and the sad truth of their separation. You cannot have light without darkness. Somehow, in some way, those two- they complete each other.

4) Porgs. I am pro-porg. Porgs are friends, not food. Thank god they did not go the way of the Gungan.

5) We got a force-bond, people. Not gonna lie, this might be one of my largest positives with the film because it was one of my predictions that came true... Anyways, I loved every interaction of Rey and Kylo Ren. Even the shirtless scene, which was obviously just to show the audience that Rey could see him- it was only for this, nothing more, clearly. Still, these two are the heart of our story; our Skywalker and our Scavenger. The light and the dark. Yin and yang. Peanut butter and jelly. The dynamic duo, if you will.

6) There were some damn good space battles. This includes: the opening bombing run, Kylo Ren almost blowing up the Resistance bridge, the outmatched Resistance fleet trying to flee to Crait, Holdo sacrificing herself for the Resistance. I like my space battles. (Although, to be fair, the bombs “dropping” in space bothered me a bit. Oh well, screw physics.)

7) Amilyn Holdo is a good character. This is because I am bringing outside knowledge about her with me when I view this film, which makes her death more impactful. I do think it’s unfair to the audience at large when people say “if you only read the book this moment in the movie would be better.” I think that’s a little annoying; you shouldn’t have to read a book/comic to understand a character. The film should give them their due. Was Holdo, in terms of the film, a little underdeveloped? Yes. That doesn’t take away from the impact of her sacrifice and devotion to the cause.

8) There were a lot of good lessons in this film, including, but not limited to:

Failure is the greatest teacher

You can come from nothing and still be something

Your worth does not lie in your past

Forge your own destiny

Don’t drink green milk from strange aliens

9) This movie made me excited for Rian Johnson’s trilogy and Episode IX. It was, like I said, effective in expanding lore and making the universe feel bigger! I mean, it’s also not like Lucasfilm doesn’t already own my soul. I will see everything they put out.

10) I liked the circumstances surrounding the reveal of Rey’s true lineage. Would I have liked her to be a descendant of Obi Wan Kenobi? Of course. Would the story be elevated by the parallel of a Skywalker training a Kenobi vs a Kenobi training a Skywalker? Possibly. Was I a tad bit disappointed when Rey actually turned out to be a nobody. Yes, and I won’t deny that, but the more I dwell on it the more I like the decision. I read some article that summed it all up perfectly: not only was that the hardest thing for Rey to hear at the moment, it was the hardest thing for the audience to hear as well. Considering the circumstances, this was a critical point in the bonding of Rey and Ben. It also further develops the theme that you can come from anywhere and still be a hero (just look at Broom Kid at the end.) I also think this moment revealed the dangers of speculation; we, as dedicated Star Wars fans, sometimes need to take a step back and realize that this story is not in our hands. I know a lot of the disappointment that stemmed from this movie came from the fact that people’s theories were not made a reality. This is not healthy film going! I am a victim to it. Still, all that being said, The Force Awakens and JJ Abrams pretty much told us to speculate about where Rey came from; she was important, her lineage was important. How could her strength with the Force be explained otherwise? Well, Rian Johnson took over and he gave us the answer; just not the one we were expecting.

11) Carrie Fisher and Mark Hamill were so good in this movie. I miss Carrie so so much, and Mark brought such a good energy to the film as a beaten down, tired Luke Skywalker. Their “reunion” made me smile so much. Love you, Carrie.

12) Kylo Ren is a complex, compelling, and damaged character portrayed impeccably by Adam Driver. Every time Kylo Ren came on screen we pulled back a layer of his psyche and got to understand why he is the way that he is. I soaked up every minute of his screen time. If you still think he’s a whiny kid not worthy to be amongst the likes of Vader, the Emperor, and Maul as a great Star Wars villain, I respect your opinion but I'd have to politely disagree. Driver, once again, gives a great performance.

Alright, so I'm just going to spare you from reading anymore and do a quick list of the rest of the things I liked:

battle of Crait

Resistance ship going through Snoke’s ship at lightspeed

Chewie cooking a porg

Luke and R2 in the Falcon

Kylo Ren force-slamming Hux against a wall

Hux getting force-choked by Snoke

Hux getting taunted by Poe

Poe Dameron, in general

Billie Lourd as Connix

Droids!

References to other movies (palapatine reference specifically)!

Everything about the Luke/Kylo fight: the brushing of the shoulder, the fake-out, the dialogue, everything

Luke ended where he began: with twin suns. Beautiful imagery.

And much more!

So, thanks TLJ for making the last month or so of my life consumed by Star Wars debate (which, if I'm being honest, isn't new.) I had a ton of fun at the movies, and now we throw ourselves right back into speculation time! So, here are my predictions for Star Wars Episode IX: Legacy of the Force (lol just a filler title don't have a hot scoop here):

Ghost Luke will guide Rey. Other ghost appearances to be aware of are: Yoda, Obi Wan, and Anakin Skywalker (who will appear as a man/machine hybrid and talk to Kylo Ren, not Rey.)

Kylo Ren will be redeemed.

Rey will start a new order of Jedi

Poe will take over the Resistance

Rose will become a pilot

The Knights of Ren will come out to play, one might be planning to betray Kylo, which might help him be pushed towards the Light Side

Ben Solo will die, but die a redeemed man, probably whilst trying to protect Rey

Chewie will die.

Leia’s funeral will be at the start of the movie, I will be crying my eyes out.

The Resistance will emerge victorious, but it won't be a...happy victory, per se.

We’ll learn more about Snoke

Rey will eventually build her own saberstaff using the crystal of Anakin’s saber

Resolution on Rey’s force vision from TFA

Rey will use the Dark Side but not give in to full temptation

The minds of Rey and Ben will be linked once more. Probably if Rey ha to track Ben down, she’ll open her mind to him or something like that

Lando Calrissian will come back

We will visit at least one planet from the Original Trilogy, because this is JJ Abrams were talking about and he doesn't want a lot of change. I think it’ll probably be Endor because that's where Luke cremated Vader, and I’d imagine that's a very important place for Kylo Ren

Is that too much to pack into one film? Absolutely! Did I already warn about the dangers of over speculation? Hell yeah, but like I do all the time I'm going to ignore my own advice! Speculation is all a part of the fun.

So, I hope you enjoyed The Last Jedi. And if you didn't like it, cool. I hope we can all just get along. Still, I’d be happy to duke it out. Meet me on Crait, where salt is more plentiful than it is in the voices of legions of angry fans.

#star wars the last jedi #the last jedi #last jedi #star wars #rey #luke skywalker #kylo ren #ben solo #leia organa #general leia #general hux #resistance #episode ix #episode viii #episode 8 #rian johnson #poe dameron #rose tico #star wars speculations #star wars theories #chewbacca #lando calrissian #captain phasma #original trilogy #empire strikes back #snoke #first order #a new hope #jedi #sith

[waraupiero]

under the cut because there’s some culturally sensitive stuff in here

mmm, there’s someone whom i’m in a mutual discord server with, and she’s of chinese and korean descent. it’s well-known in the discord that i’m ethnically chinese but my cultural background is rather culturally japanese, and i do like japanese culture

she dm’d me and was like, ‘is it bad that i drag weaboos?’ and i was like ??? ‘cringe culture is not great but like, we all self-drag anyway lmao so idk’ and she goes on this entire talk about how she can’t think of japanese culture as something worth ‘worshipping’ and how she can’t ever appreciate japanese culture because she’s salty about japanese treatment of chinese and korean people in the 20th century

and at this point i’m like? kind of weirded out lmao because i think it’s kind of unfair? i’m in no way defensive about japanese history, especially for this time period, because my family is ethnically chinese. both my parents are chinese and my grandparents lived through this time period in history. also i’m a historian, and i don’t fuck around with erasure lmao

but at the same time i do have a japanese background. ish. my parents lived in hiroshima for a decade, and at home we’ve always eaten japanese food, listened to japanese music, watched japanese films/tv shows/anime, read japanese stories, were raised with really japanese manners ... the sports teams we support are even the local sports teams of hiroshima ... GO CARP

(though my relationship with my ‘japanese-ness’ is very complicated, because my parents never taught us to refer to ourselves as japanese -- we were americans, and my parents also never taught us japanese, i learnt it by myself at age 10 -- though my father confesses that he is confused about whether he’s really american, chinese, or japanese. my mom feels firmly chinese and my brother american. only my dad and i are confused lmao)

ok, so i explain to her reasons why i think westerners like japanese culture. but in turn she gets really defensive about chinese culture? and i’m like, ‘it’s not like i’m saying that chinese culture doesn’t also have these traits, but people think of these traits in relation to japan more than with china, i think, for the most part’. it’s not as if i’m not familiar with chinese culture either lmfao my name may be japanese but it's a reference to a chinese poem, and i lived in china for 6 long and terrible years

and she says she doesn’t understand why people can like japan and guesses that she just doesn’t like it because she’s biased (true). she says that she doesn’t like that her grandma is too embarrassed to even speak about wwii. which then kind of baffles me because i was never the kind of person to derive my own opinions from my grandparents. maybe i’m a bad descendant but i never blindly believe what my elders believe. lmao my father’s mother hates japan with a burning passion and thinks mao ze dong is the greatest man on earth. obviously i don’t subscribe to that kind of stuff

at this point i’m telling her that i can understand where she’s coming from. a lot of young people i know are really caught up in a lot of emotion when it comes to their historical background. i’ve never been nationalistic or emotionally connected to any country, so i can’t say i empathise. i do tell her that i think all cultures are beautiful and worth understanding and appreciating, but it is important to keep historical context in mind because one should never see a country or culture as ‘faultless’ (which is why i hate yellow fever and people idolising asian culture in the first place. you can admire and appreciate but you should also be aware and critical). yet at the same time it’s not fair to hold this one historical event against an entire culture

but all she does is tell me how much she dislikes japan and thinks they’re despicable. she’s upset that in american schools they don’t teach about this stuff. lmao as a history professional i am fucking aware and i say that it really is unfortunate but nations use the history as a nationalistic, propagandistic tool. also, teachers only have one year to teach SO MUCH HISTORY. they’re going to cut off what is ‘irrelevant’ to most americans

though, on the other hand, chinese national curriculum on the sino-japanese war is very, very much problematic. not to say that china’s grievances aren’t legitimate or valid, but the chinese government has been mining this historical event for years for nationalism by consistently portraying chinese people as a righteous people but always victim. taking on the role of a victim is a very quick way for a country to rouse nationalism. when i went to school in china, in 2003-2010, my textbooks on CHINESE LANGUAGE (not history!!!) included phrases like ‘日本鬼子’ (japan demons), which is the chinese phrase for ‘jap’. i was in primary and secondary school. i wasn’t even a fucking teenager yet. they were already brainwashing kids by this age (all textbooks are government-written and issued). we didn’t cover this in school because there were chinese-japanese kids in my school, but they could have easily read it. thinking back, i’m terrified by this

while i think it’s necessary to know your history, i don’t think history should be so sensationalised and so emotional. history is ... in many ways like a science. it requires objectivity and perspective. i also see it necessary to consider all sides of a historical event. i have read terrible things when i was in university. i have read mein kampf and i absolutely hated it, but i am glad i read it, because it was an invaluable resource and perspective. i think it’s cowardly to not want to understand someone or something just because you see one another as enemies or whatever. maybe that makes me insensitive, but i see that as my advantage

i think that in a way hypernationalism is contributing to this continued tension in east asia. japan is unwilling to apologise to china and korea (which is wrong ... @ abe shinzo bitch apologise!!), and as a result china and korea continue to mine the emotional trauma of this time, and continue to bewail and accuse japan as monsters while acting rudely towards japanese people in public ... and as a result japanese people think chinese and korean people are rude and ignorant, and their preexisting racist attitudes towards chinese and korean people are confirmed ... all sides are justified and valid in what they’re thinking but i think an unwillingness to move on is causing this cycle. and i don’t know if there’s a good way to break it

but the fact that?? there’s a younger generation who is also so vitriolic about this?? really disturbs me. how is this not also similar to young american conservatives who believe everything their grandparents say about guns, race in america, and whatever? (you could argue that white americans are not victimised and i would wholeheartedly fucking agree with you there, but the issue is that THEY believe that THEY ARE victimised because they don’t know their history, fools) how could you be so narrow-minded and reject an entire culture just because you’re angry about? history?

while history is not all past and gone, sometimes the memory aspect of history really disturbs me as a historian. it’s hard to grasp and understand, because all those emotions are valid, but at the same time they can be destructive forces in the recounting of history and engage in counterproductive ways with the present. maybe i feel this way because i don’t like emotions and i don’t have any. i’m not sure.

this was a really strange conversation to have. i don’t know why she wanted to talk to me about it, because she clearly wasn’t trying to make me feel bad about ?? my japanese background and liking stuff like anime and whatnot?? and i’m really, really ashamed for japan for what they did, but as a historian i have no emotion towards it besides an objective judgment that it was bad, and as someone with chinese and american background i don’t hold anything against japan either, despite what they did to both these countries.

i guess i’m just really disappointed that people just can’t move past things like this. even though i’m a historian and i deal with the past, i feel like it’s counterproductive and foolish to let the past stop you from enjoying something or experiencing something. her emotions were valid i’m sure and she probably couldn’t control it, but this conversation just frustrated me so much. i believe that the world is made better through mutual understanding, awareness, and a level of appreciation. if you spend your entire life hating everything about a certain country or culture, that’s really miserable and cannot enrich yourself.

furthermore, our conversation devolved into another tangent about how not enough stuff about ‘non western’ stuff is taught in america. which i agree, is true. as a multicultural state america should do this. but she talked about how we should teach LESS about certain figures in western history, and i disagreed so much. god, just because you think there are important events in asian history doesn’t diminish the importance of western history to a WESTERN COUNTRY. all history is important and worthy!! even though i don’t like it either there’s a reason why we spend so much time on the french revolution and less on, say, the opium wars! christ!

i don’t blame her at all, but i needed to put this somewhere because this conversation pissed me off on so many levels. it was too black and white when history and historical education is decidedly not. i’m just frustrated that people can’t move on, and try to argue with me about it when i clearly don’t want to argue. i just want to offer an explanation or historian’s standpoint. why is it so hard for people to understand? and am i weird for not feeling anything? who knows.

#ren.txt #i just need to rant somewhere because i'm baffled but also confused #i don't know where this person is trying to get

[thereoncewereflwrs]

in where my body is an anthology, and literature knows more about people then we do

Today I feel ugly, my facial features angular and put together in a way that makes me feel like someone cut pieces of faces from a magazine and placed them together to create me. My clothes feel confining, probably because I haven’t worn regular clothes since lockdown and probably because I’m fat and most of my clothes fit this way anyway. Today I crave a discipline my body and mind cannot give, and this desire makes me melancholy and agitated. I keep thinking about this boy - or man, because he’s over 25 and at this stage even if we don’t feel like adults we are still deemed thus by society - who sent me a link to a tumblr page at 4 in the morning last night. I had been asleep, going to bed as early as 6 or 7 these days with little energy spent, but had woken up to the link and a casual text forewarning of nudity. The post, titled “why chloe moretz eating spaghetti from wooden boxes? why everyone lookin in the camera?? WHY SOME DUDE SUCKIN DICK???” (linked) had several comments below the picture (which showed exactly what was titled - Chloe Moretz eating spaghetti, several people in the room looking directly at the camera, and two dudes in the back, with their pants down, glimpsing over their shoulders at the camera while one of them received oral stimulation by another man). The comments all posed questions about the absurdity of this picture, revealing pieces of it to be false or photoshopped, and finally presenting the “legitimate” picture of the two men receiving blow jobs, that culminated in a scene with a large black bear walking casually by as they did. I’m confused by this, and if I’m honest, I’m also disturbed. It’s not that I’m without a sense of humor. Most of the time I believe my humor to be flexible and sarcastic, as long as it’s not offensive or insensitive. But like most of the absurdities of men, I’m confounded as to where the humor of such a post lies. Is it the homosexual blow job itself? Is it the actress consuming a meal in public? Or the fact that someone decided to photoshop such random components together in an attempt towards the casualness of such absurdity? Clearly there is something humorous about this, otherwise it wouldn’t have received such attention (241,846 notes on tumblr), and I’m left thinking that maybe I’m more ordinary and less obscene in my character after all. But beyond that, I wonder why this man decided to send me this at the time that he did. How did he come upon the link? And why, at a time when you can presume a stranger to be asleep, did he think of me and decide to send it? 

We had met only once before, and had been talking casually for the last couple of weeks. This mostly consisted of me listening to him talk about how tired, stressed and hopeless he was about the current state of his life and the world in general. It has not been an unusual connection; most of my intimate interactions with men have been like this - men needing to be heard and I playing the role of a vessel to be poured into. It’s only lately that I’ve found the act of “making space” rudimentarily extractive and imbalanced. And a lie to myself. There have been these small ways in which I’ve consented to this “extractive” practice, you see. Listening endlessly to men talk about their unloving fathers, their insecurities around mediocre sexual performance, their lack of careers or intelligence, any culmination of experiences that they deem traumatic, etc., This willingness towards extraction on my end has come about from a configuration of ideas I’ve put together in order to convince myself that this is the ultimate level of intimacy, and thus one I’ve been craving all along (to know what is not knowable to others, to know what hurts or is tender or needs healing). 

In other ways I’ve not consented to what’s been extracted - my body, my emotional entanglements, my intelligence, my victimhood that comes along with the rage of my own vulnerability. Tumblr-man is not different or far from this pattern of giving and taking, of capturing both the spaces available and the spaces I wish to be beyond grasp. I considered a series of actions to acknowledge the text he sent me, to reduce awkwardness and thus affirm that he was not wrong in sending me adult porn unsolicited or without evidence of past history of such behavior being acceptable. I considered creating further space through question and curiosity, to let him know that while I might not have appreciated it, nothing was off limits when he deemed it actionable. But as of now I can only muster enough energy to think about my own psychological patterns. My contract with this phenomenon (the “rudimentary extractive” one) makes me want to dig deeper into the superficial agreement of our relationship, to a place where I reach farther then surface level grief or joy. I want to hear, and have heard, deeper sensory, sensational information that at once makes me feel as much as the person is feeling by telling me something they’ve never considered uttering to a stranger before. I know this is just my own lack of experience around me. I am bored and perhaps numb from the lackluster stimuli that is at my disposal, and thus I want to find it in others - in men - so that it can replace my sense of unworthiness in myself with a false, brief sense of importance to someone else.  

I’ve lived in the South almost all my life. I’m more regionally Southern then most of my current peers, and yet, the culture of ‘Southern living’ did not meet me until I moved to rural Tennessee. Here we eat boiled peanuts (a practice I learned came from the dietary patterns of civil war soldiers) and biscuits with gravy and sometimes fried chicken. Here the tea is sweetened unbearably so, and moonshine is a thing, although never anywhere authentically anymore. More then anything my fat body despairs at these dietary rituals. I feel alienated from my own practices and find it hard to enjoy things. It’s really not that uncommon, however. As a millennial, feelings of alienation and displacement are common.

Tumblr-man (which previously I’d deemed LARPeg - since he both enjoys this strange phenomenon called live action role playing, and being pegged) tells me he is jealous of my ability to enjoy reading. He, in a bizarre series of events, is a Creative Writings major at an obscure liberal arts college in Asheville, NC (the same one, he informs me, that James Franco went to). He tells me that he really “likes the idea of dropping a big plot piece...” and that “writing a big, long, cheeky complaint with lots of pith is very attractive” to him. He recommends I read ‘Consider the Lobster’ by David Foster Wallace, and I do, mostly because I’ve read everything he’s sent my way thus far, and I wasn’t going to prove my own behavioral patterns wrong that day. He sends me memes about Dungeons and Dragons and LARPing that I assume I’m suppose to understand but I do not, although by his own admission, an immigrant like me is not meant to, and is hardly to blame for not understanding “cultural references.” I don’t get it, either LARPing or D&D, but I read both essay assignments he wrote for the semester around a fictional LARPing scenario. I do this because he’s a socialist, and half Venezuelan, and because I can’t help my own internal desire to show a man that I am fully engulfed in his own preferences and passions. I am not entirely foolish, I express my own passions and desires, and hardly authentically adopt theirs, but if he does not ask I do not say, because it’s always easier to listen and be seen listening, then to explain and feel the potential signs of disinterest and boredom. I am not boring. But men can be, and I do not wish to engage with bored men. Anyways, I read ‘Consider the Lobster’, the essay in the book titled the same, and it was, surprisingly, spectacular. How thrilling that something, anything, this particular man had suggested spoke to me in such a way. I preceded to read reviews and an excerpt from a New York Times article titled “How Should a Book Sound? And What About Footnotes?” in where DFW says “Most poetry is written to ride on the breath, and getting to hear the poet read it is kind of a revelation and makes the poetry more alive. But with certain literary narrative writers like me, we want the writing to sound like a brain voice, like the sound of the voice inside of the head, and the brain voice is faster, is absent any breath, and it holds together grammatically rather than sonically." I find this beyond interesting - it jolts me deep down where I safe keep my ideas around literature and its realities. I want to send it to Tumblr-man because it reminded me so specifically of what he had said right before recommending DFW: “I only recently have come to understand that the real sort of fingerprint of a writer can be where they place periods and commas. Because “She left, yesterday.” And “She left. Yesterday.” Sound similar if read aloud but read differently.” I wonder now if he, too, read this quote and had his sense of literature jolted in an inexplicable, but concrete way. 

I’ve once again picked up ‘Normal People’ by Sally Rooney. Thus far, my favorite lines are as follows (of the first U.S edition by Hogarth publishing group):

“This “what?” Question seems to him to contain so much: not just the forensic attentiveness to his silence that allows her to ask in the first place, but a desire for real communication, a sense that anything unsaid is an unwelcome interruption between them” (pg 26);

“One night the library started closing just as he reached the passage in Emma when it seems like Mr. Knightley is going to marry Harriet, and he had to close the book and walk home in a state of strange emotional agitation. He’s amused at himself, getting wrapped up in the drama of novels like that. It feels intellectually unserious to concern himself with fictional people marrying one another. But there it is: literature moves him. One of his professors calls it “the pleasure of being touched by great art.” In those words it almost sounds sexual. And in a way, the feeling provoked in Connell when Mr. Knightley kisses Emma’s hand is not completely asexual, though its relation to sexuality is indirect. It suggests to Connell that the same imagination he uses as a reader is necessary to understand real people also, and to be intimate with them” (pg 72);

“Connell paused and took another drag on his cigarette. This was probably the most horrifying thing Eric could have said to him, not because it ended his life, but because it didn’t. He knew then that the secret for which he had sacrificed his own happiness and the happiness of another person had been trivial all along, and worthless” (pg 80);

“He kisses her closed eyelids. It’s not like this with other people, she says. Yea, he says. I know. She senses there are things he isn’t saying to her. She can’t tell whether he’s holding back a desire to pull away from her, or a desire to make himself more vulnerable somehow” (pg 96).

I am struck by the way the book’s composition demonstrates a realness unfamiliar to the readings I often take on. The book reads the way people speak, and cares very little about the grammatical composition of words/sentences. Instead, characters and their thoughts and the narrators own mind speak the way one speaks in ones mind, unfiltered, scattered with anxiety and directness, with an approach to ones own truth above all else. ‘Normal People’ reads almost opposite to the narrative guidelines David Foster Wallace deems necessary, and yet, it embodies his sentiment almost as if the two had been birthed from one another. I wish I and those around me were as brave and as vulnerable as the compilation of sentences in this book. And yet, we’d all fall apart doing so. I want to recommend ‘Normal People’ to Tumblr-man, along with a series of other writings I have not yet finished but have found impactful nonetheless. I know, ultimately, that I won’t, in the same way I won’t send the NYT’s article. Maybe this is an inability to be seen on my end, or a foolish willingness to be something for somebody else without being an actual something to that somebody. Or maybe it’s too much labor and I’m satisfied with thinking through these things on my own, knowing the depth of my own thoughts without needing them to be seen or understood. In the same way my ears strain and struggle to hear noise while wearing my noise canceling headphones while no music plays, my body strains and struggles, leaping for noise and yet feeling bound by the confines the lack of it creates. 

I think about my own mortality often, and wonder whether this existence, this very moment even, I am dead or dying, with only a delusion of existence playing forth in my mind. These thoughts cause congruent sensations in me - anxiety, because of the potential of this reality that has not been proven incorrect or impossible in my mind, and strangely, a dissociation that elevates me beyond that anxiety. I think to myself, and know deep in my bones, that it is true, that it turns out I’ve been dead all along, and that my body has just been decomposing in motion this whole time, waiting for my bones to turn to ash. 

[elliotbathory]

The End of the War

Part I: Introduction (An essay relating song lyrics to my mental health issues and addiction, written late 2017) Part II: Confrontation (A journal entry, written upon entering rehab) Part III: Resolution (A short story about ego death, written in rehab)

Part I: A Bigger Paper Bag

From Father John Misty’s album Pure Comedy. The album has had a deep impact on my life and I have an emotional connection with each individual song. Some view the artist as a contrived, self-absorbed, false prophet. I think he knows exactly who is and what he is trying to do. Pure Comedy touches me in a way that no other album since The Who’s Quadrophenia has. I identified with the protagonist, Jimmy, for many years. His depression, his recklessness, his desperate desire to ‘get out [his] head’. Father John Misty has created a sonic place in which I can rest with my deep despair about the state of the world. Dark, clever, occasionally very witty, and of course, real. What follows is an exploration into the many ways in which I, including my inner Jimmy, relate to 'A Bigger Paper Bag’.

“Dance like a butterfly and drink like a fish

If you’re bent on taking demons down with only your fist

And I’ve never known anyone who could lose himself in a bigger paper bag”

I am an Aries. I have a fighting spirit. Demons have plagued me for almost my whole life. The first, that of isolation and inability to communicate. The blockage in my head between thought and expression. The second, the very real and intolerably cruel voice of my mother, which informed the third: the person I became after I left the suffocating suburban reality that Jimmy and I both tried so hard to escape.

He said “My mother got drunk on stout, my dad couldn’t stand on two feet.” And yet when they found out he was using uppers, they kicked him out of the house. Desperate to escape himself, he turned to drugs and wild partying. At the age of fifteen I was so desperate to take speed I used to take 8 pseudoephedrine pills at a time and lay in bed for hours shaking with my forehead pressed to the wall. I was nowhere near cool enough to know anyone who could get drugs.

My mother also drank too much. But then, that was not the trigger for the abuse. It only amplified it. So, to “taking demons down with only your fists.” I’ve used almost every other drug over the years, some quite a lot. But my main crutch has always been alcohol, because as I discovered when I was sixteen, it made me feel normal. It taught me to communicate verbally rather than through writing. I am still not convinced that I can socialise without it.

Naturally, it does not end there. Demons have no courtesy. I’ve been drunk for a very large portion of the last four years. It makes things better, until it makes things worse. It in and of itself becomes a demon. You go from longnecks in the park, to two cheap bottles of red, to finding yourself inside a paper bag, the enormity of which you cannot know. There is endless supply in there.

And as for dancing, well, after a (a lot more than), a few gin and tonics, blue under the light, I used to be quite enchanting on stage.

“The weaker the signal, the sweeter the noise

Hunching over an instrument that you now employ

Like the Starvation Army needs a marching piano in the band”

You can tune those demons out, to an extent. The riot of blood rushing through your head after you huff amyl, their complete, albeit temporary erasure when I used to get lost inside 77 on pills, drunkenness and dancing and revelry and other sounds. Britpop, for example. I no longer know if I identify as a hedonist. What I truly was was an escapist. Not an escape artist, however. My attempts to scale the barbed wire fence of my mind and never look back were always cut short.

You come down. Then you wait until you know you can go back up again. Then you do. My partner gets cranky when I try to go out these days and can’t get into it. I am no longer starving for the things I have in life now, like love, understanding, and happiness. Those situations usually now just remind me of how I tried and failed to find happiness in shallow overcompensations. I always wanted to be fun and cool. I’m not.

“Are you feeling used?

I do”

Yes but let’s not get into that. I used myself and I am ashamed.

“Oh, I was pissing on the flame

Like a child with cash or a king on cocaine

I’ve got the world by the balls

Am I supposed to behave?”

For a few years the diagnoisis that suited me best was bipolar II. Soaring highs, or more commonly, crushing lows. There were times when I was on acid or mushrooms in huge crowds and genuinely felt that the entire situation had been constructed specifically for my friends’ and my enjoyment. Eventually, of course, I fell from that specific hallucinogenic throne in a spectacularly violent fashion and developed actue psychosis.

“What a fraud

What a con”

My specific breed of psychosis was as narcissistic as it was unbearable. I was convinced that everyone in the world knew who I was, and everyone hated me. Because how dare I pretend so long to be happy, to be fun, to be a legitimate person worthy of enjoying life. Jimmy also felt as though he was not truly cool enough to be a mod, and was eventually rejected and ridiculed, confirming his self belief. The film adaptation ends with a long shot of him riding his vespa along the sea cliffs.

I believed there was a global conspiracy against me and its end goal was my suicide. I heard passers by spitting insults at me for months on end. I wonder where I got the idea that anyone would do that?

“You’re the only

One I love”

I didn’t used to believe it was enough to love one person romantically. Or rather, I didn’t feel validated enough by the love of one person. I was suffering a massive defecit of love. I don’t hate myself so much anymore. So now self love has been added, it’s notso much a matter of begging others to throw endless amounts of love into the chasm of my starving soul, but rather being able to participate in the life long work of love.

“It’s easy to assume that you’ve built some rapport

With a someone who only likes you for what you like yourself for

Okay, you be my mirror but remember that there are only a few angles I tend to prefer

I’m only here to serve”

Those first two lines fucking floored me when I first really listened to what they are saying. I learned from quite an early age that all I was good for was my looks. And then sex. So I combined the two to forge an identity that I hoped people would like. An A grade slut, both in my personal life, and professionally. Sexy, easy, available, yours if you want me (please take me I cannot stand myself). Took me a long fucking time to grow out of that. I have never fought as hard against anything and I have come a long way.

“Oh, I was pissing on the flame

Like a child with cash or a king on cocaine

I’ve got the world by the balls

Am I supposed to behave?

Oh, I was dancing 'round the flame

Like a high-wire act with a "who, me?” face

I was living on nothing but water and cake"

Perilously close to oblivion at all times and dangerously self destructive but gosh, wasn’t I good at it? Wasn’t I cute? Didn’t you used to wank to me? I have no idea what kept me together, let alone alive. Natural talent, I suppose. That Aries fight. Against the bored, lonely, suffering person I used to be. Against death, to the death. And death hasn’t won me over yet, seductive bastard that he is.

“What a fraud

What a con

You’re the only

One I love

One I love

One I love”

This isn’t about you, baby. It’s about me, Jimmy, and Father John Misty. But then, we are kindred souls. So I suppose it is. A bit.

 Part II: Confrontation (A journal entry, written upon entering rehab)

17.4.18

I haven’t been remembering my dreams. They’ve been fading so fast. I got 10 hours of sleep after deciding not to attend the NA meeting and having to walk past it anyway to get to the smoking area. I didn’t want to encroach on an experience I don’t share but what’s the difference? Why would I care for legality? It’s strange being here in a ‘good’ patch. No withdrawals, only craving nicotine. Am I here not to get ‘better’, but ‘even better’? I’m not sure how I feel. A little alien. Just letting myself think and waiting for anything significant. Being here is symbolically significant. I’m here to learn coping skills and relapse prevention, that’s it. It doesn’t have to provide anything deeper or provoke feelings of profundity. It’s basic shit. I’m an alcoholic and I don’t want to go back to problem drinking.

Where is the fear and pain I felt yesterday? What was the purpose of it? Knock out a rehab stay while I don’t have work/uni commitments and hope I fucking learn for when I do. The best I can do is be present. I am scared that I still don’t know exactly what I’m studying towards. I’m probably not as smart as I presume. What is my lot in life going to be? A job I like and a husband I adore? God, spare me. I’m having a crisis of personality. Intensity and extremity are not useful defining characteristics. Yet being a good, switched on, and fairly interesting person doesn’t feel like enough. How can I relate person to person when I see my own character as lacking? If we are all fundamentally valid and complex as individuals this negative self-assessment automatically carries across to others. I am ashamed not by how boring I feel I am, but why this baseless critical judgement feels so important. My amorphous, superficially high standard insults everyone.

Why is suffering interesting? Why is ‘different’ interesting? Why can’t I conceive of the mid-ranges of reality as interesting, am I that lacking in curiosity and imagination? I’m used to being overstimulated. Or pissed. I am not attuned to subtlety. It is harder work to find wonder in the mundane. Such a vain conquest, so incredibly shallow to attempt to make my life interesting using self hatred as a form of performance art. No one is interested in the creative flair with which you can wield that. Being alive and burning despite things is not impressive if you’re purposefully making life hard for yourself. I don’t really know where I sit with that, though. My mental torment created the life I had. It’s not that I didn’t want to get better. I just took too much pride in how much I could relish in how fucked up I was.

The hereness and newness of myself is queer because it is complete but also completely lacking in drama. I don’t know what foot to start on if not shock value. I’m a recovering alcoholic, a reformed self loathing attention seeker. What am I inviting people to see if not a hot mess? A tepid, anxious 27 year old boy. My social stance is defensive. Find my projected self interesting but do not attempt to actually know me. I am too fragile, too sad, too boring. I don’t want these human frailties to be levelled with so I cast them up high, make an overexaggerated display of them. I’m not doing that anymore. Take me as I am, whatever that is, but also don’t because I don’t know what that is and I won’t make any efforts to help you find out either. So it seems like I want to be left alone but I have been alone on my plinth celebrating my vain, personal self loathing for so long I am starved for human connection. I was lying the whole time. I am one of you. It is still embarrassing to admit.

 Part III: Resolution (A short story about ego death, written in rehab)

30.4.18

So you arrive on your own doorstep one day, right? You would never come to yourself at a time like this, the you that suffers knows he’s not exactly wanted, but he is desperate. There is nowhere else to go, every safe haven is closed or gone. You’re tired, cold, and soaking wet. It’s pouring because of course it is. A few hours pass and your ego, comfortable inside, decides to take a chance and let you in. You’ve been screaming and pleading for hours. “Let me in, LET ME IN!” You collapse fully clothed in a hot shower while your various self conceptions tut and fuss, bitching about the decision. “Family,” some of them say uncertainly, “That’s what we’re for, right? People say that kind of stuff when they love irredeemable fuckstains, yeah?” They don’t actually know this, and the other parts of your ego are by turns confused and furious. “What the fuck, guys? He’ll be fine, he’s always fine, get him out of here!” “You fucking IDIOTS! WEAK! This is NOT what’s supposed to happen, this is not what we do!”

They’re all running around swearing, aggressively and resentfully caring. Like the first time you ever got drunk by yourself to make yourself feel better before your year 10 half-yearlies. How you remember sitting naked in the shower with your head lolling, parents freaking out. Meanwhile, you are there again. Bewildered. Overwhelmed, barely responsive. But you’re wide awake. Layers and layers of clothes, costumes, identities weighing your body down as the warm water soaks through. Something clicks and you realise it makes no sense to be fully dressed in the shower. As a token act to bring normalcy to the situation, you start to take the layers off. The process of removing them all takes a while, but once it is done you feel as though it happened in the blink of an eye.

“Huh.” You say, looking down at your own body. “Is this what I look like?” It’s a significant action in the symbolic world, taking off your clothes. It never felt like it was before. You didn’t understand the meaning of exposing yourself, of vulnerability. You just did it cos you had a malformed concept of fear. Scary things are good for you, they make you stronger. A seemingly contradictory belief that laying your flaws out on the table prevents people from abusing you for them. Nothing can hurt you when you are made of hurt. It is different completely, however, to reveal yourself to yourself. You’re there naked in the bathroom, looking at yourself as though you’ve never seen yourself before.

Your ego, anxieties, notions of your self that you’ve constructed are all pacing around frantically, fighting with each other about who’s right and what’s the best course of action. None of them ever had a contingency plan for acknowledging the hurt. Confronting the core of who you are. Their very existences are reliant upon dividing the self into these fragments. The elephant in the room of your life is in the fucking bathroom doing god knows what. He’s been in there for hours.

Back to you there. With all the layers removed, you turn on the light. It’s a lot like tripping. What you see in the mirror you know to be yourself, but the image feels so foreign. Stranger still is how separate the amalgamated pile of faces you used to wear looks there in the corner, apart from you. Not, as you believed so deeply, parts of you. They grow irrelevant as you trace your finger over your reflection. “Fuck. Is this who I am?” After a little while you start to think your time in there might be worrying all of the other selves, and they really didn’t want to let you in, so it would only be right to go and let them know you’re okay. You’re not going to cause any trouble. You’re grateful. None of the clothes on the floor are suitable to wear, so “Fuck it,” You think, and walk out. The exhibitionist, the slut, and the hippie were all naked anyway.

The place is empty, dead quiet. For some reason it feels like it has been for a while. You’re confused, are they playing a trick? After wandering around for a while you decide to make a cup of tea and have a cigarette. Make yourself at home, as it were. It’s nice to be out of the storm, relaxing and enjoying your own company. You don’t need the assistance of your ego selves to do that anyway. You are allowing yourself residency in your own mind, this overexposed, brutally hurt self. The hurt doesn’t feel very present though, strangely. You thought yourself to be the suffering person. That’s why they didn’t want you here. The situation leaves you bizarrely unphased. Things that should be scary tend not to be, right? You’re just rolling with it, acting like the place is all yours while the selves are elsewhere.

You can’t quite believe it, both that they actually relented when you were banging the door down, and that you got into a situation so fucked you needed to seek the help of the conscious collective. You usually just communicate via proxies. “I’m here, how weird.” You think. Perfume Genius is playing and the sound quality is fantastic. Walking back into the bathroom to pee, you notice the pile of clothes has vanished. The trippy feeling you had before settles on you again and you look to the mirror. Your eyes widen as you see all your selves, the shades of ego and anxiety, floating behind you, faint as ghosts. You see the Party Girl, the Masochistic Martyr, the Stubborn Whore. Their faces are passive and kind. Something you’d attribute to the relief of death.

You lived through them, they lived as you so you could survive. They panicked when you got here, begging to be let in. Because your arrival signified their exit. With your presence, in your self and reality, false constructs fall away. You are the spirit that persisted, the soul that endured. Their service was for one end, and that was getting you here. Everything they protected you through, all of the lessons they helped you learn are intact, part of you as a whole. You’re left staring at the naked truth of who you are. None of the people you’ve been fought in vain. The end game was always unity.

From the other room you hear the piano player playing “This Must Be The Place” and you think: it’s a miracle to be alive. You exit the bathroom into the rest of your life, hearing someone say “Pleasure to meet you!” It’s a pleasure to meet you, too. You are the resurrection, and you are the light you needed to let in. You could only bring yourself to hate yourself for so long. A spark, a flame, a bang, a phoenix. You see yourself rising in the vast and limitless universe. Within and without, at peace, as one.

#essay #journal #short story #alcoholism #ego death #survival #mental illness #self actualisation #sobriety

[loner-ston3r]

Date - 6th June 2017 Day - Tuesday Time - 8 am

Dad - Have you checked, everything has been packed?

Mom - Don't worry, all things are packed, extra eatables had been kept in the right pocket, some cash for first few weeks, Winter wears only a few pair had been kept in top of the trolley, listen Joy, don't have outside food, don't make friendship with wrong people, don't do drugs, don't be a fool around, Do this , do that and the list continues.

Me : Chill! this isn't the first time, i am getting out of the hometown, Maa!

But yes, this time it's a great feeling to travel with you guys after so many years. I am thankful to to you and God also. I will always be grateful to you and Almighty!

We were at our seats in a 3Tier AC Coach of Duronto from Howrah to Mumbai, Swapno ka Sahar!

A lot of partially known faces in the train, since a lot of people had applied, cleared, interviewd and got selected for Post graduation programme in the very same institute, I had choose to completey post graduation.

My city, Kolkata was sulking day by day with literates having no jobs, since political power at that time was focusing on beautification of the city. Their agendas was to bring "Shilpo and Shilpayan to the state" but not industries. Selling Chops and chaa had been the slogan and point of topic. No business is small, everyone has similar opportunities, the political party for the time being is responsible for job culture homicide due to which a lot of people like me, identified so lately that it's almost nothing in here, so let's start our suffer from traveling or migrating to another city!

Many of my friends chose to flew out of the country, might have some bigger vision!

When everything was in turmoil, People like me decide to move on with what we have and went on seeking for a better future.

Let me clear the air a bit, Myself Avishek Dutta, only son of a small business owner, and a home maker, had not been doing great in life back then, graduated with a technical degree from not a renowned College, but only a degree and some ideas and that spark in mind and heart to survive the crisis back then! 2016 I, quit Job due to an accident, was bed ridden for Half of the year, felt like starting something of my own with minimum resources and supervision.

Before that, had built a network worth 21000$ only! I jad grown my taste in photography since graduation 2nd year back in 2012.

Since belonging from a middle class family, my father thought it was too much I asked for, and even I also didn't pressurize him to buy me a DSLR, I started working as a free lancer, and once I was too much into to buy myself a new car also, but something clicked my mind that help me to utilize that experience and grow more in life rather than settling down at home city that too at an age of 20. I realised one thing, that earning money is not so easy, it requires tremendous skills and conveniencing power to earn and grow. I started career counseling without a proper career, it paid me a lot back then, my network was very strong back then, but soon I realized, it's not a full time career since I was pursuing Engineering, yes just another sheep from a cattle, Hell no! Not another sheep! I was that creature who controls the cattle and have the ability to control the cattle. I soon realised that, Money is not all I seek in life, respect is much more valuable than money! Money can buy you a lot of stuffs but respect is what that justifies your earning in much more better way, so decided back then to pursue some more professional degree and will take a job at a good company.

The greed and hungerness of earning in a short span and without anything else to take back, I burried that thought for a little while, since I seek legitimate earnings! I seek much more like respect in life and a good life style too.

I scratched my balls for few years, traveling few cities with minimum income to survive and finally came back to home and decided on doing professional degree, it was indeed high time of my career to decide upon. I choose Mumbai to be the city since none of my friends decided to step in and the degree as Post graduate diploma in Management on Markrting and Sales since Engineering and Management was a trend back then and leaving all excuses, I believed in myself, that I had always been a strategic person from the point I took admission in engineering! May be I made a wrong choice, but experiences and depth of situations and people you learn from your mistakes only.

So, 2017, 6th June, with the most positive thinking and optimism level at it's peak, I started my journey, leaving family, friends and comfort zone to a next level.

I was like, throw shits at me, I will make paper and sell or use it as an energy of some kind.

"throw stones at me, i will make you a home to stay, throw some cursive words, i will write a literature out of it. Disrespect me, I will apologize to you! I started by changing my nature, practising to be more humble in life"

With lots of known faces in the train, accompanied by one well known face Deba, we smoked and gossiped through out the train journey, my parents were travelling with me and had also arranged and convinced someone in Mumbai to be my local guardian too,. though i never visited his place in last 3 years!

I was excited to meet new people in life. I am too exicted to meet new people all the time.

After a day, I reached Mumbai at Chattrapati Shivaji Maharaj Terminus around 12.30pm.

Took a local of one and a half hours at that time, to come down to that place where I was about to learn make and do some epic things in my life!

Rest you all know!

I was not some special kid, I was not that influencial, I was not someone having a very good past experience, I am being nice to you means, You really matter to me! I being so humble these days means I learnt to stay calm and think positive, whatever crisis we could have faced. I saw people, I met people, I stayed with them, had food with them, laughed with them, travelled with them, nurtured them, also took intensive care for them, treating them like my own blood, studied them, realised and identified several behavioural traits after nurturing them for so long.

Secret thing - I can read your emotions while we chat online! Sorry for judging in a most appropriate way. But it's true.

Learning is a never ending process, don't get bored of it, don't stop doing it, practise it everyday, evrytime and every moment you breathe. The World is full of positive if you have the eyes to look at it.

I am and will always be a life long learner!

Thanks for staying connected.

Stay Home, Stay Safe

Have Fun and believe in Karma!

#MyProudParents

#MyLifeLine

#CreatorOfSomeoneWorthwhile

Thank you Maa & Baba :)

#privilege #family #friendship #love #save money #motivation #jobs #money #mumbai #city of dreams #opportunities #professionalism #quarantine hobby #humanity #humble #nature #human nature #adulting #sacrifice