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clubwnderland · 4 months

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⤷⋆⋆ 𝑴𝒆𝒓𝒓𝒚 𝑪𝒉𝒓𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒎𝒂𝒔 ♡

To: @moonlightchn Christopher

Irene didn't really know what to do, what do you buy for someone who wants nothing? Who would say he doesn't need anything and has everything? She didn't want to burden him too much so she decided to try and do things that would make his life easier.

The bookshelves weren't really something she could hide for too long, they turned up while Chris was there and he saw them. "A part of your present," Irene had smiled and let him build them with the new toolset she had bought him to go with it.

As Irene had been spending more and more time at Chris' place, unofficially moving in, she had slowly been bringing more and more of her possessions and part of those were books. He already had an abundance but Irene added to his own collection with pieces he might love simply because she didn't see the point in them collecting dust in the penthouse.

They needed places to live.

The bookshelves she had bought were rustic, wood and metal, and big enough that the books that sat in piles on the floor were able to be put safely on the shelves. There is even enough space for his radio and CD's. Of course, by the time Chris was getting ready to leave, half the books weren't even on the shelf. "They'll all be on the shelf by the time you're back," she promises, taking his hand and leading him to the couch while the cookies bake in the oven.

It's silly but she always wants him to have a little something of home whenever he leaves, like an incentive to have him come back, so this year, Irene decided to bake some of her chocolate chip cookies for him to take with him.

The woman sits beside him, grabbing the envelope with her wax seal and the small gift it sits upon, Irene passes them to Chris with a soft smile. Her eyes watch his face as he opens the gifts, she knew what she got him so she didn't need to watch that but she wanted to know his reaction. She needed to know his thoughts.

Once the envelope was opened, Irene explains. "Your little witch friend, Luna, told me about a forest that is unclaimed. It's just out of the city and there have been talks about it being destroyed to make more housing. It's home to a lot of wildlife and Luna said it was once home to a powerful witch, she said she goes there once a year and collects different foliage for her spells and potions." Irene smiles softly as she looks down at the photos in his hands, watching him look through them.

There are pictures of an abandoned cottage that is untouched by time, a river and swimming hole, as well as a cave Luna had found.

"I bought it." Irene says, looking back at Chris' face, trying to read his expression. "Or well, since we are now engaged... we bought it. You can choose what to do with it, you can turn it into a nature reserve, you can give it away, you can do whatever you want with it. I thought it would be nice to protect it since the cottage is in pretty decent condition and the animals... it's their home."

She knows Chris is without a pack, without his own land really and while Irene doesn't expect him to claim it as his, she hopes he understands the reasons behind why she decided to do this.

Once the photos had been placed down on the coffee table, she chuckles when Chris shakes the small box and opens it up. "It's a coupon box. All designed around you." She lets him open it up and search through it. There are times where she knows Chris won't ask for certain things, whether it's him being stubborn or whether it's because he doesn't want to ask for too much, so Irene made every coupon in hopes he'd ask her for more since he gives her a lot.

Coupons include: Irene stays home, a day in bed with no phone, no clothes days, ‘baking together’, ‘spa day’, ‘story time’, ‘lobster dinner’, ‘best burgers in town’, his favourite foods and items on menus that she’s noticed that he wants but avoids because of the price, different kinks that Irene knows Chris enjoys, and various others. Things that aren't too much for him to ask for, things that put him first, but it also means he can ask for them at any time and Irene will do it no questions asked.

"You never ask for too much when you want something, whether it's to stay home with you for whatever reason or to break and ruin me during your rut. You are always there for me to lean on, to turn to when I'm having a bad day so I want you to know that you can always do the same with me. You are my fiancé, my priority and the person who makes me so happy. I love you, my wolf~" She kisses his cheek with a soft smile, "Merry Christmas."

#post: irene #my wolf 🐺

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imo-chan-imagines · 4 years

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『 Random acts of kindness | Haikyuu!! Headcanons 』

The everyday acts of kindness our boys do and think nothing of, but are actually incredibly sweet.

Characters: Sawamura Daichi, Kuroo Tetsurou, Ushijima Wakatoshi, Iwaizumi Hajime, Sugawara Koushi, Bokuto Koutarou, Azumane Asahi, Oikawa Tooru, Akaashi Keiji, Nishinoya Yuu, Tanaka Ryuunosuke, Kozume Kenma, Miya Astumu, Miya Osamu, Sakusa Kiyoomi, Hinata Shouyou, Kageyama Tobio, Tsukishima Kei, Yamaguchi Tadashi, Haiba Lev

Tags/warnings: Haikyuu!! (anime), no warnings, fluff, lots of characters I didn't realise how many I'd done until I came to type up the list 😳, a lot of cats and dogs, cuteness, headcanons

A/N: I've had an exhausting and busy week, and just felt like writing some comforting fluff. Thanks for reading! Please enjoy! ♡

And please consider voting in this poll (ends this Sunday 18/10/20) to help me celebrate reaching 100 followers! Thank you to everyone who's already voted! ♡

☆ Sawamura Daichi ☆

Helps lost people find their way and regularly gives directions

We're talking off-duty, here Daichi puts the 'hot' in 'Hot Fuzz' 🥵

Hahaha, fuck 🙃

He's very approachable and warm, and gives excellent directions

He'll also walk them there if they don't understand or don't feel confident, even if it disrupts his day 🥺

And he's really good at helping lost kids and calming them down he feels so proud when he gets them back to their parents, safe and sound 🤗

☆ Kuroo Testurou ☆

Helps elderly people with their shopping bags and getting across roads

It goes against his nature to stand by and let an old person struggle, and even if they're not struggling, he always offers his services anyway

He has a soft spot for old people, 'kay? 🥺

He makes a point of getting the traffic to stop so it's safe, and letting them hold his arm as they slowly make their way across the street

They often tell him that he's 'a very sweet and handsome young man,' and 'nothing like the other young people you meet these days' and he blushes

☆ Ushijima Wakatoshi ☆

Gets things from the top shelves for people that they can't reach at the supermarket

It's a pretty normal thing to do, right? So he's chill about it

Except he will 100% walk down the entire length of the isle just to help if he sees you stuggling it's super cute 😩😍

But he won't smile or make idle conversation, or anything. He'll just nod courteously

It can be a little ominous, with his looming height and serious face, but most people take the gesture well 😊

☆ Iwaizumi Hajime ☆

Pays for the shopping of the person in front of him when their card gets declined or they don't have the right cash

He manages to offer in a way that isn't offensive or patronising he's honestly a life saver 🥺

He's very humble and casual about it

It's what he hopes someone would do for him, if he were in that awkward situation

And you never know what struggles people are facing, so his philosophy is to always be kind what goes around, comes around, my dudes 😌✌

☆ Sugawara Koushi ☆

Leaves snacks and a cute thank you note on the porch for the mailman

Or mailwoman! Or mailperson!

He hopes that the little gesture will brighten their tough day of work so precious, I can't 🥺🥰

There's usually a good selection, too no skimping here, no sirree 😌

If he's home, he'll give them a cheery wave through the window as well

Especially in this COVID-19 environment. Suga would really appreciate the services they're providing

☆ Bokuto Koutarou ☆

Spends time every week playing with the cats and dogs at the local shelters

This man is hoenstly a blessing, I physically can't 🤧

He loves seeing their little faces light up when he walks in, scruffling their ears and playing fetch, etc. and just generally showing them that they're still loved 🥺😭

And he helps take the dogs for walks too, so they get their exercise, and brushes them down, and rubs their tummies–

He wants to adopt, but he's not settled enough, so he knows he can't 😭 but it's his goal

One day 😖

☆ Azumane Asahi ☆

Always holds doors open for other people

We're not just talking the occasional, feebly held door

Asahi will ALWAYS hold a door open for anyone else

Men, women, children, old people, people with prams, whole families– literally everyone

He is TALL and STRONG, and he will be USEFUL

He will hold it open even if you're really far away, like the giant dork that he is 😂😂 you cannot escape

☆ Oikawa Tooru ☆

Often pays for the next customer's coffee in advance

Sure, it makes him feel good about himself. But, I mean, why not? What's so wrong with that?

Oikawa calls it SAOK-ing people (pronounced 'soaking') meaning: Secret Acts of Kindness Iwa-chan has told him to change the name, but he won't 🙄

Oikawa would love the touching joy of a stranger paying for his coffee in advance, so he gets a warm, tingly feeling when he thinks about it happening to someone else because if him he's literally beaming for the rest of the day 🥰

☆ Akaashi Keiji ☆

Buys food and drinks for homeless people when he passes them

He sometimes stops to have a chat with them, too 😔🤧

He's the least condescending person you could meet if you're in trouble he's so genuine, I can't

Except for maybe Iwa-chan and Daichi. They're also very down-to-earth

He'll also give them all his food vouchers that he's been collecting in his wallet to help spread their costs

Akaashi finds it hard to watch other people struggling and suffering, and so always makes the time for it when he can afford to

☆ Nishinoya Yuu ☆

Helps make up the numbers for the kids playing games in the park

Be it soccer, dodgeball, basketball, volleyball, tag, or something else entirely, Noya loves to see the kids running around in the park, playing games and enjoying themselves

So he's only too happy to join in when they need more players he'll sometimes recruit Tanaka to help as well

Yuu fits right in with them, both in height and mentality 😂😭😂😭

He may or may not get them to call him 'senpai' 🙄😂

☆ Tanaka Ryuunosuke ☆

Helps fix people's cars on the road

Tanaka's one of those people that knows how to change a flat, and so can't drive past someone having car trouble without stopping and helping

He's also a pretty good handy-man in general, and is always willing to help out his friends and neighbours with their jobs that need doing

Like plumbing problems, putting up shelves, building furniture, etc. He's good with his hands!

Kiyoko: 👁👄👁

And he'll never charge a penny! He's all too happy to do it out of friendship and the kindness of his heart 😇

☆ Kozume Kenma ☆

Hosts gaming charity livestreams for various causes on a regualr basis

All the donations go directly to the charity of choice for the stream, not through him, so everyone knows it's legit 😇

He also donates gaming consoles etc. to charities and organisations that help kids who are in hospital

He's a huge advocate for charities and organisations that focus on helping people through gaming, like AbleGamers and St Jude PLAY LIVE, and regularly donates to them

Honestly, Kenma is an angel 🥺 👉👈

☆ Miya Atsumu ☆

Gives up his seat on public transport for old/pregnant/disabled etc. people

Look, Tsumu can be a little selfish and grouchy at times, but he's not a complete asshole 👉👈

There's a line, and hogging seats on public transport when someone else clearly needs it more than him is, indeed, the line 😌

He'll do it without a second thought or a fuss, and with a smile on his face but will be low-key proud of himself, ngl

He will also get offended if someone else doesn't give up their seat when they should, and may confront them about it 😳 like, what makes you so special that you can't do that simple courtesy that even he does??

☆ Miya Osamu ☆

Donates food to charities and shelters

Both store-bought food and from his own shop

Literally gets so depressed at the thought of people not getting to eat 🥺

This man LOVES FOOD. And people are out there not able to?!

He also has a scheme set up where homeless and stuggling people can come into his shop for some free onigiri

This man 🥺🤧 can I please marry him already?!

☆ Sakusa Kiyoomi ☆

Donates sanitary supplies like soap, toothpaste, antibacterial gel, pads, tampons, etc. to shelters on a regualr basis

Literally cannot abide the idea that people are forced to live without these basic necessities, simply because they can't afford them

It's almost for his own peace of mind rather than theirs? 😅😂 almost. He does actually care on their behalf, too

But he doesn't like to make a big deal out of it, and so donates anonymously

His donations are literally a godsend to those people, though 🥺😭

☆ Hinata Shouyou ☆

Reads books to kids at the library when he's there with Natsu

And he's really good at it! He reads very animatedly, and really gets the kids engaged with the stories you can just imagine it

The kids all love him and bring him their favourite books to read!

And the parents all watch and compliment him on how good he is with kids

And this goofball just blushes and grins like a doof 😚 so freaking sweet

☆ Kageyama Tobio ☆

Always carries a spare umbrella with him to give to someone

He hates getting caught in the rain himself, so he keeps a spare just in case this precious baby 🥺

He's had to use it quite a few times, sometimes giving it to people he doesn't even know, so he ends up not getting it back and has to buy a new spare

But it makes him smile, if a bit awkwardly, to know that he's helped someone out, even just a little Tobio!! 😭🤧🥺

☆ Tsukishima Kei ☆

Steps into the road to allow room for people with pushchairs and prams

I know it might not seem like much, but this is Tsukki, guys 🙄

*Narrator voice* this is one small step for man, one giant leap for Tsukishima!

And this just goes to show that he's not as tough of a cookie as he looks

He doesn't like the idea of parents etc. and young children having to walk in the road he gets worried for them...🤭

And he does it consciously, which is important

☆ Yamaguchi Tadashi ☆

Spends time each week looking for the animals on the 'lost' and 'missing' posters around town

He hates to think of them out there, cold, alone, frightened–

It makes him feel nauseous just thinking about it 😣

My poor, precious baby!! He's too pure for this world!! 😭

It's not often, but sometimes he actually manages to find one and bring it back to its owner safely, which is a huge boost for his mood and confidence

He feels so valued and appreciated, and just happy that the little guy is SAFE 😇🤧

☆ Haiba Lev ☆

Helps strangers get their cats out of trees and other high places

What else is a tall, handsome, goofball-of-a stranger to do? 😌

Legit, he doesn't think twice. Tall people should use their height to help people, shouldn't they?

Sure, it doesn't always go to plan, and his arms sometimes end up looking like well-used scratching poles, but he's just glad to help 😇

It's good to see the cats safe and with their owners

♡°☆•♡°☆•♡

If you enjoyed, please consider voting in this poll (ends this Sunday 18/10/20) to help me celebrate reaching 100 followers! Thank you to everyone who's already voted!

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nicolewoo · 4 years

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Speakeasy Part 1

Pairing: Fergal Devitt X Reader. Finn Balor X Reader

Scenario: Desperate to make enough money to live on during the great depression, Reader gets a job at a Speakeasy, and finds a dangerous ally. Can she trust this man and his stories or should she listen to her friend's advice and steer clear of him?

Warnings: Part 1 has no warnings. Future parts probably will.

The minute I walked in, I could smell it.... the stale smell of cigarette smoke and alcohol were practically oozing out of the walls. This wasn't going to be good for my throat, but then again, this wasn't going to be good for anything except paying bills. It's 1930 and a girl's gotta do what she's gotta do.... especially living alone in Chicago.

I had a job at a diner, but the breakfast tips weren't enough to get by, and I'd been frantically trying to get a job in a proper theater. The problem was that everyone wanted dancers that could sing. I had the singing part down. The dancing? Well, I've got 2 left feet. No matter how many lessons I took, I just couldn't dance. So, here I am, in a speakeasy, getting ready to try out for a bunch of mafia guys, risking getting arrested just so I could pay the bills.

Count your blessings, girl. A lot of people are a lot worse off. I told myself as I remembered leaving Hutchinson Kansas due to The Great Depression. I remembered the sight of homeless families and bread lines and brawls for crumbs. Yes, I was doing something illegal, but I was going to be able to live because of it.

I was shaken out of my thoughts with the sound of a trumpet squeaking out. I knew before I even looked that it was my friend Tony getting my attention. “You made it. You look great, doll.” Tony said coming up to me. “Let me introduce you to the band.” He placed his hand on the small of my back and led me over to the stage.

“Marty,” Tony called out getting the band leader's attention. “This is Y/N, the singer I told you about.”

Marty barely looked up from the sheet music he was reviewing, “Hey. Let's hear those pipes, doll.” He sounded less than enthusiastic. “Guys.” He yelled to the band. “Give me some Mean to Me.” He motioned me over to the mic.

Ok, well, let's do this. I sidled up to the mic, trying to insert some extra swag into my walk so I'd look more experienced than I was. The music began and I reached up to hold the mic stand as I started to sing.

“You're mean to me. Why must you be mean to me?” Marty looked up with a look of surprise.

“Gee, honey. It seems to me. You love to see me crying.” Tony gave me a big thumbs up to encourage me.

“I don't know why. I stay home. Each night when you say you'll phone.” I started to see the band members nodding and smiling to each other.

“You don't and I'm left alone. Singing the blues and crying.” I saw a couple of men come from the back room to see who was singing, but I couldn't make out their faces in the dark room.

I was ecstatic to see such a great reception, and I was pretty sure I'd gotten the job. As the song swelled to the harder part, I focused on hitting all the right notes and making the song sound as sexy as possible.

I saw one of the men who'd come in from the back signal to Marty, but I didn't know what the signal meant. I peeked at Marty, but I couldn't read his expression. He made me wait until the end of the song.

“Ok, kiddo. You got the gig. We'll see how tonight goes, and if you do well, we'll talk about something permanent.” Marty showed no emotion. I'd gotten the impression that he'd gone through a lot of singers, and didn't expect any better from me. “Guys,” He yelled over the sound of instruments playing different sections of the songs and talking among themselves. “We start a full practice in ½ an hour, so go get some food now. We're gonna be busy tonight.” He dismissed the band with the same lack of emotion as when he'd hired me.

Tony ran to me as excited as me. “You did it, doll!” He hugged me tight. Then started to lead me outside. “Lets get some chow.” He said as he pointed to a diner across the ally from the speakeasy.

As we sat down, I asked, “So, does Marty want me here or what?”

Tony chuckled under his breath, “Oh yeah yeah! He doesn't show emotion,” he explained. “But don't worry. You're in!” He assured me.

“I didn't know what the signal was from the guys in the back.... or even who they were.” I explained.

“Yeah, Hey. So....” Tony paused. “Ya know not to talk about... ya know.”

He didn't finish his thought, but I knew what he meant. Although I'd never spent any time in this seedy underworld, I was no dummy. “Say no more.” I replied.

“Ok. If you have any questions, just come to me, but not at the club.” He assured me. “Just focus on singing and let them do their stuff.” His gaze bored a hole in me, and I nodded in understanding. “Most importantly,” Tony reached over and put his hand on my arm, “DON'T get romantically involved with any one there. Do you understand?”

“You don't have to worry. I know who they are.” I assured him.

Tony was like a big brother to me. He'd been a regular at the diner where I worked; me always starting my day as he was ending his over breakfast. We became great friends, and Tony and his wife had taken me under their wing, inviting me over for dinner, watching out for me. Working at the speakeasy wasn't what Tony and his wife wanted for me, but when I couldn't get a theater job, they had finally given in and got me the audition. Tony had promised his wife that he'd protect me from the going ons of the club.

After dinner, I sat with Marty going over what songs I knew and what songs I needed to get to know in order to keep working there. He was pleasantly surprised at my song knowledge, and we both felt we had enough to put on a good show tonight. It was perfect because Marty had had to sing himself since losing their last singer. We went over the songs with the band until we were comfortable with each other's styles.

Afterward, I practiced in the back, pouring over the pages of sheet music Marty gave me while tinkering the notes out on an old, out-of-tune piano in a side room, hoping to add in some of these songs soon. The closer we got to show time, the more anxious I got. It was more than if I'd be entertaining... I was worried about getting arrested. Tony had assured me that if the cops came in, and I couldn't get away in time, he'd bail me out before morning, but still. A proper girl like me didn't get arrested. What would my parents think if they were alive? I pushed those thoughts out of my head and tried to focus on the music again.

I heard the band start, happy music flooding through the whole building. I peaked out at the crowd and was shocked to see the club almost full already. What surprised me the most was the class of the people in the club. I had expected to see hardened criminals and desolate prostitutes, but instead, the crowd was full of Chicago's best. Ladies in fine dresses with fringes everywhere. Men in tuxedo suits sporting walking sticks and monocles. I glanced at my own aged floor length dress that I'd bought from a theater who was throwing it out, and lamented at the state of it. Would these rich muckedy mucks accept me in this ragged thing? Before looking at them, I thought I'd looked good, but now. Now, I was wracked with every insecurity I'd ever felt.

I saw Tony rise from his seat at the bandstand and come backstage to me. “You ready?” He asked all excited.

“Tony!” I almost started crying. “Those people. They're all so fancy. This dress is so old and ratty.” I started to say, but he placed his hand on my shoulder.

“Doll, the minute you open your mouth, everyone is going to fall in love with you. You've got the voice of an angel. We can buy you more dresses when you get paid. In the meantime, don't worry about it. You look amazing, and the stage lights are going to hide any imperfections in the dress.” He gave me a quick hug as I heard Marty announce me.

“Ladies and gentlemen, We've got a special treat for you this evening.” How the hell did Marty have emotion now? He sounded positively jovial. I guess he was just a good actor. “Tonight, for the first time at Club Red, we are proud to present our new singer, Y/N.”

The crowd responded to Marty's happy announcement with excited applause. Tony took my arm and escorted me out to stage, depositing me in front of the mic before taking his own seat in the horn section.

We started with Ain't Misbehavin', and the crowd went silent as they focused on me. I prayed they were enjoying the performance, and I poured every ounce of energy I could muster into making the song sound sexy. I wasn't sure how I was doing until the song ended, and the crowd went nuts! They were applauding and giving me standing ovations. I even heard some lewd whistles from near the back where the mob guys had been earlier. I was a hit!

When I turned to find out what song we were singing next, Marty smiled warmly at me. “You did great.” He whispered just to me. “Am I Blue” is next.

The music sounded and the crowd quieted as the slow song changed the mood in the room.

“Am I blue? Am I blue? Ain't these tears in my eyes tellin' you.”

Marty whispered over my shoulder, “Go walk through the crowd, engage them.” he encouraged.

“Am I blue?” I slowly left the stage, pleasantly surprised when the spot light followed me with no notice. “You'd be too. If each plan with your man just fell through.” I placed my hand on a lady's shoulder emphasizing the phrase and she reached up to pat my hand in understanding. I wandered to another table. “Was a time. I was his only one.” I crooned to a table of men, and they smiled broadly at me. “Now I'm the sad and lonely one.” I continued to wander through the crowded room, placing my hand on a shoulder here, singing closely into a gentleman's ear there. The crowd was eating it up. “Now he's gone, and we're through. Am I blue?”

My eyes settled on a man at the table next to me in the back of the room. He was quite frankly the most beautiful man I'd ever seen, with a chiseled jaw, perfect black hair, sparkling blue eyes and his black tuxedo, black shirt and white bow tie matched by a white pocket square. He oozed money and sex. Logically, his table should have been the next I visited, but the way he was looking at me... lustfully... deterred me, and I skipped his table. He made no indication that my turn away from his table bothered him, but his eyes didn't leave me for the rest of the song causing butterflies in my stomach. He gazed so intently at me, I felt like he could see through my dress to my naked body.

I managed to gather my wits again as the song ended and I walked back up to the stage. This job was too important to me. It was this or I ended up being the one in the bread lines tomorrow. I couldn't let anyone, not even this wickedly beautiful man, get in the way of me making this money.

I stayed on the stage the rest of the night. I already had the crowd eating out of the palm of my hand, I didn't need to pander to them anymore. At the end of each song, the crowd cheered for me, and I noticed the lone man in the back smile as he gauged the mood of the crowd.

It was late... very late.... and I was tired when the show ended. “Heya doll. How bout I give ya a ride home?” Tony said as I started leaving the club with an extra few bucks in my pocket as the sun peeked over the horizon.

I was so tired, I could barely speak, but I nodded yes to Tony. He was full of energy, praising my performance, telling me how happy he was. Saying he was sure I'd be hired permanently tomorrow. I fell asleep in the gently rocking car, and Tony laughed when he had to wake me up. “Guess you're gonna have to get used to the schedule.” He teased. “Good thing you're not working at the diner this morning.” After I thanked him for the ride, Tony watched until I was safely in my apartment building before heading to the diner to get some breakfast before he went to bed. I didn't care that I was hungry, I took off my dress and fell asleep in my underclothes.

I dreamed of music notes flying through the air, of gathering them in a bag and presenting them on beautiful sheet music to the guests. I dreamed of the smoky bar and the man seated in the back and that he paid me for one of my music sheets, a small contained smile on his lips.

#Fergal Devitt Finn Balor

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7r0773r · 3 years

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A Little Devil in America: Notes in Praise of Black Performance by Hanif Abdurraqib

There were no Black people who clowned me or any of my pals for listening to so-called "alternative" music, because the people who introduced us to that music were Black people. Of course, there were the hip-hop stalwarts, just like there were the overly devoted punk kids or metalheads who didn't really have much interest in crossing genres up. But these were not a malicious bunch—one simply respected the territory as needed. Keep a wide range of cassettes in a bag, so that if the fate of school bus seating shook you out next to the devoted rap heads, you'd have something to pass around and collectively nod to. And if you found yourself with a committed Black goth, you could pull the dubbed tape of Cure songs out of your back pocket. I first learned to code-switch through the musical movements of my people, and done among my people in this way, it didn't feel like a shameful burden. It felt like a generosity—a celebration of the many modes we could all fit into.

I think of this particular part of my upbringing when I hear other Black people reference what they grew up listenIng to or watching in an attempt to distance themselves from other Black people, or to make their experience exceptional or unique. A better and more interesting conversation to have, I think, is the one about how we are all outside the borders of someone else's idea of what Blackness is. To someone else Black, I am either too much of something or not enough of something else. The impulse when confronted with these facts, it seems, is to either attempt to assert whatever ness you claim and know well, or punish or deride those who might dare question your identity.

But if Blackness and the varied performance of it are to be embraced, then what also has to be embraced is the flawed fluidity of it. How the performance is sometimes regional, sometimes ancestral, often partially forged out of a need to survive some place, or some history, or some other people who didn't wish you or your kinfolk well. And yes, sometimes forged out of an ambition to appeal to the limited imagination of whiteness. The problem is that there is no way to prove oneself Black enough for every type of Black identity in the States, let alone the world. There is not always a way to prove (and possibly no way to trace) the how and why of your personal performance, until it becomes calculated. And in trying, high-profile figures often spiral further into being scrutinized by their doubters. I am thinking often on how crucial it is to love Black people even when feeling indicted by them. Even when that indictment is not out of love (which of course it sometimes is), but out of them clocking you for a standard you are not capable of rising to. I don't have any solution for this, but it has often seemed to me that even nodding and keeping it moving is an act of love when faced with the alternative of publicly debating the small or large nuances of specific modes of Blackness. And to not, in turn, make yourself a victim of Black people for the sympathy of a white audience. (On the Certain and Uncertain Movement of Limbs, pp. 103-04)

***

A country is something that happens to you. History is a series of thefts, or migrations, or escapes, and along the way, new bodies are added to a lineage. Someone finds a place where they think themselves meant to be, and they stop moving. Had the first job my father interviewed for come through at the start of the '80s, I would have been born in Providence, Rhode Island, instead of Columbus, Ohio, where work at the time was more plentiful. A city adorned with the name of a violent colonizer, his statue looming over the center of the downtown, his history a happening unto itself. I never asked to be in this country, or this city, of course. But what we end up with in the earliest moments of our lives can be beyond asking. I think now about the story of my two pals sitting down with their three-year-old only child and telling her that she was soon going to be the older sister to a new, younger child—the introduction of whom would require a halving of attention. The child took all of this information in, sat quietly for a moment, and then plainly replied, "No, thank you." (The Josephine Baker Monument Can Never Be Large Enough, p. 142)

***

Merry Clayton never gave birth to the baby she showed up to the studio pregnant with. Shortly after getting home from the session, she miscarried. There are those who say that the physical strain Clayton exerted in the studio contributed to the miscarriage, though she herself has never blamed the song or the Stones or the studio, which may be her way of keeping her grief her business and not aligning it with another piece of rock 'n' roll mythology. I don't know anything about what it is to carry or give life, but I know that when Merry Clayton's voice cracks in "Gimme Shelter," a part of me wants to jump as if it is the shot that begins the war itself. A part of me hears Mick shout and wants to know what he saw in that moment. A pregnant Black woman balancing on a stool, summoning all she had in order to leave behind something memorable. The backup singers, man. They get to be memorable for a few minutes at a time and forgotten in all of the minutes in between. I want to know if Mick saw every wretched tooth in the mouth of the world's most wretched beasts trembling and falling to the ground. There is some awful reckoning to be had in a song like that. Some awful things to be lived with. (I Would Like to Give Merry Clayton Her Roses, pp. 200-01)

***

I would like to give Merry Clayton her roses. I would like roses to burst forth from the walls of every room Merry Clayton is in. I would like to give roses to every singer who had a name tied up in liner notes and not on the tongues of people who sang along to their pristine vocals. I would like to bring roses to the doorstep of the house Merry Clayton walked out of at midnight in 1969 and I would like to lay roses on the stool where she sat, her pregnant belly hanging over the edge while she sang murder, murder, murder. I would like roses to come out of the ground somewhere any time a person's voice cracks under the weight of what it has been asked to carry, I would like to do this while the living are still the living, and I don't want to hear from any motherfucker who isn't with the program. I would like roses for Merry Clayton to fall from the sky whenever a gunshot echoes above and I would like roses for Merry Clayton in the hands of whoever could throw the first punch but doesn't. I want the small red fists to come from the earth and slowly open wherever Meredith Hunter's body is, or wherever his body had been. I want Merry Clayton to be as big as the Rolling Stones. I want teenagers to wear her face on T-shirts, and I mean her good face with her good afro and her fur coat and her father's eyes. I want record stores to stock the solo records of Merry Clayton in the front case and I want them to play all of the songs she sang alone, with no one else. I want enough roses to build headstones for everyone I love. I want the moment when the drums kick in on any version of "Gimme Shelter." I want that feeling in my chest to always remind me what I'd miss if it were taken from me. I want shelter, and I don't even know what that means anymore. I want nowhere, nothing sacred. (I Would Like to Give Merry Clayton Her Roses, pp. 203-04)

***

Late in 2016, after the election results had come back and the demographic voting breakdowns began to circulate, the most jarring of all the stats was that white women voted for Donald Trump over Hillary Clinton at a 52 percent to 43 percent clip. Resting underneath that, however, was that Black women overwhelmingly voted Clinton, at 93 percent. A lot of the conversation centered on the intersection of gender and power, and how white women will vote in the interest of the latter if it means ignoring all else. But what also began was a groundswell of appreciation for Black women that read as disturbing to me, largely because it was rooted primarily in their ability to fix the country, or labor on behalf of a mess many of them didn't ask for. The discomfort was most visceral because a majority of people engaging in this narrative in its early stages were white, and potentially "well-meaning," but not considering what the building of those ideas might be doing. Or not considering the motives behind these actions. To shout "Black women are going to save us all!" might feel good to type out to send in a tweet, but it reads as less good when one stops to consider that Black people—specifically Black women in this case—are not here in this country as vessels to drag it closer to some moral competence. The American obsession with immorality and a willingness to push its hardest labor off on its most marginalized is integral to the Black American experience, and so it occurred to me that maybe Black women were simply attempting to save themselves. That many Black people in the country have to go to jobs they don't love, or deal with waves of microaggressions at work or at the coffee shop or at the gym, and still know that voting won't save or stop any of this but did it anyway because the bet was already bad but the dealer had the cards in his hand to make it worse, and so many of us knew it. (Beyoncé Performs at the Super Bowl and I Think About All of the Jobs I've Hated, pp. 215-16)

***

Friends, I come to you very plainly afraid that I am losing faith in the idea that grief can become anything but grief. The way old neighborhoods are torn to the ground and new ones sprout from that same ground, it feels, most days, like my grief is simply being rebuilt and restructured along my own interior landscape. There is not enough distance between tragedies for my sadness to mature into anything else but another new monument obscuring the last new monument. When the interviewers asked Buster Douglas what his plan was in 1990, days before the fight, he responded I'll just hit him, I guess. And trust, I have dragged myself back to the walls of my fears and thrown my fists into them, hoping a crack might open for the sunlight to gallop through. But it turns out I'm not the fighter I once was, and I was never much of a fighter in the first place. It turns out all of my fears have become immovable.

I am afraid not of death itself, but of the unknown that comes after. I am afraid not of leaving, but of being forgotten. I am in love today but am afraid that I might not be tomorrow. And that is to say nothing of the bullets, the bombs, the waters rising, and the potential for an apocalypse. People ask me to offer them hope, but I'd rather offer them honesty. Black people get asked to perform hope when white people are afraid, but it doesn't always serve reality. Hope is the small hole cut into the honest machinery. The milk crate is still a milk crate, but with the right opening, a basketball can make its way through. If I am going to be afraid, I might as well do it honest. Arm in arm with everyone I love, adorned in blood and bruises, singing jokes on our way to a grave. (Fear: A Crown, pp. 248-49)

***

August 2016

Young Thug is wearing a dress on the cover of his mixtape Jeffery and the Internet wants to argue about what it all means for the future of masculinity and I need a haircut tomorrow but I'm not going to the shop to hear them talk about this shit and I go because it's the only shop in town but I hate their politics but I gotta stay fly because I don't feel like myself without a fresh cut. Let me try this again. I don't feel like myself without something that makes me desirable to people I don't know, and to know this is to know that the future of masculinity is probably not in the shape people want it to be. But Young Thug is wearing an expensive dress on the cover of his mixtape, and on the Internet, there are people insisting that this will be the thing that pushes the conversation forward. Someone shares a video of Young Thug flashing guns and this is the juxtaposition: You can still be hard and wear a dress is the sentiment. I scroll through comments and see variations on this theme, but I don't see anyone mention the idea that perhaps one problem is the public's concept that the masculine antithesis to wearing a dress is showing that you are willing to enact violence. Within an hour of the cover art's release, outlets write about it, labeling the art as controversial. No one suggests that the very idea of gender norms themselves are controversial, or that any binary aggressively enforcing itself through rigid definitions is controversial. Young Thug wore a dress on the cover for a mixtape that had some good songs about that same shit Thug had been rapping about forever and no one I know really listened to it all that much because the talk about the dress eclipsed all else. About a month later, a man walked out of the train station near my apartment wearing a crop top, a full face of makeup, and tight jeans that flared wide at the bottom. The papers say he was chased by another group of men until they caught him on a corner two blocks from where I lived. He was beaten bloody by one man while the others stood over him, mocking the way he curled up in a ball while being kicked. This story made the last five minutes of the local news. I wonder what clothing masculinity could cloak itself in that might drive it further away from an obsession with dominance through violence. I don't get my hair cut for three weeks. (On the Performance of Softness, pp. 252-53)

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