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staygold-ponyboycurtis · 3 years

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A Semester Early

request: Pony goes on a winter walk, revisiting his hometown a year after college. He is happier now.

I loved this prompt, and wish I had someone to credit it for, but it was sent anonymously. it was so much fun to write! of course, a one-shot about Ponyboy can’t be written without some angst in there, right? ;)

ENJOY. let me know what you think!!!

There’s something to be said for the feeling of outgrowing a place. I decided that was it. That was the feeling I’ve felt ever since returning home from college. I hadn’t been home for this long since I was eighteen years old. After graduating a semester early a few weeks ago, Darry managed to talk me into coming home for a few months. I hemmed and hawed about it - living in a city like New York has a way of liberating you in the same way that a small town in Oklahoma can make you feel too small - but finally conceded defeat and agreed to move back in with him and Soda before I found a job.

It wasn’t the idea of seeing them that deterred me from returning home. Lord knows my arm doesn’t need to be twisted to find an excuse to see Sodapop, Darry, and the gang. It was the idea of not wanting to leave again. Of getting too comfortable for my own good, I guess.

Before I could dwell too long on the irrational doom I’ve felt since I walked in the door, I had to admit that it was good to be back home. Where I was just Ponyboy. Where everyone knew embarrassing stories about me and knew how I liked my eggs cooked and I never had to remind them of anything about myself. I didn’t have to make myself look cool or nuanced in their presence. They knew who I was. They loved me for who I was.

Darry has all the Christmas decorations sitting in boxes scattered on the floor when I walk in. Him and Soda had refused to decorate without me the past few years. It was something we did together and a tradition that meant even more for him to continue since mom and dad were gone.

Our mother loved Christmas. I try my best not to tear up when I notice that Darry has her Loretta Lynn Christmas album sitting on top of the record player, waiting for us to play it and sit in bittersweet silence like we’ve done every year. Decorating for Christmas reminds me of her the most, I’ve decided.

I couldn’t believe this was almost the tenth Christmas without them. It feels like a lifetime.

When I set foot into my childhood bedroom, I was overwhelmed with nostalgia, like I always am. Nothing changes. Not that I expected it to, but it was like walking through a museum. Back at school, I felt like a nomad. I never really had a place to call my own in New York. I was in a different apartment every few months, and none of them were satisfactory, but I had learned to regard it as charm. Perhaps Sodapop knew this, because he always made sure to leave everything as I had it from the last time I had been there.

“I didn’t want to move anything,” Soda said, slinging an arm over my shoulder sweetly, though my height had finally crept beyond his. “I wanted to make sure you’d recognize the place when you finally came back.”

“I guess you guys really do love me,” I said with a chuckle.

“Always, kiddo,” he said, messing with my hair.

The gang - or what’s left of it - piles in our small kitchen for “family dinner”, as Two-Bit lovingly referred to it. Darry made us spaghetti - another favorite of mine. He had improved his cooking tenfold since I’ve been gone, I remark.

“It’s that girl of his,” Sodapop says with a sly smirk. I blush. Darry was secretive about his love life. More secretive than me, which was saying something. “She’s taught him a thing or two.”

“And not just in the kitchen,” Two-Bit adds with an immature, clownish smile on his face, never missing an opportunity for an impish euphemism.

Darry shoots him a look that conveys pure annoyance and deadly threat. I knew that look all too well. I’m pretty sure Darry invented that look for me.

“What?” Two-Bit asks innocently. “She taught him how to clean, too.”

We all break into laughter. “Asshole,” Darry says under his breath.

“You didn’t tell me you had a girlfriend,” I say.

“Don’t sweat it, Pone,” Soda says. “He didn’t tell me either. I picked up the phone one day when she called about a date with him. I just about dropped dead right then and there.”

I blush, sheepish at the thought of Darry caring about anyone else other than us. As charismatic as he is, Darry is sometimes more shy than I am about girls.

We fall into our normal rhythm of camaraderie quickly at dinner. It never takes long for me to fall back in line with the gang, catching up on their stories and mine from the last time we were together. Though Tulsa no longer feels the way it used to for me, the gang has. I know they’re the only reason I’d ever come back to this place.

“Gee, Pony,” Two-Bit says while we’re cleaning up the table. “Every time you visit, you seem smarter.”

“Smarter?” I ask.

“‘Ya know… cooler. Different, in a good way.”

“I think the word he’s looking for is ’sophisticated’,” Darry says, slinging the dish towel over his shoulder. “A college scholar.” He smiles at me proudly.

“Thanks,” I say almost inaudibly. It’s surely a compliment, but it makes chills run up my spine. I’m not sure why.

Before we begin decorating, I head towards the door, grabbing my coat.

“Hey, I think I’m gonna go for a walk,” I say, reaching for the door knob. “To… clear my head.”

“You okay, kiddo?” Darry asks, puzzled. “It’s 8 o’clock at night.”

“I’m okay,” I say. “Just trying to take it all in.”

He looks at Sodapop, confused. “Do you want me to go with you, buddy?” Sodapop asks.

I shake my head vehemently. “I’m fine, really,” I say. “I just want to walk around like I used to.”

Darry shrugs. “Don’t be gone for too long. Soda can barely wait to put up the stockings.”

I chuckle, a bit emptily. “Roger that.”

The cold air fills my warm lungs with a shock. New York winters are much more brutal than in Oklahoma. The snow piles high, and it isn’t as picturesque as you see in the movies, either. Just a lot of brown and grey slush. One year, a few of my friends and I went Upstate to go skiing, and that was really nice, though.

I make my way down the sidewalk, not really believing that I’m actually home. I mean, I’ve been home multiple times before now. But it feels different now, because another stage of my life is finished, another chapter closed. And I didn’t think I would be living with my brothers forever or cooped up in Tulsa for the rest of my life, but I’m finally realizing that life is changing. I just can’t realize why I’m bothered so much by it. I think I realize things too late.

I make my way around the block, lost in thought. I notice some of our neighbors have hung Christmas decorations outside their houses. They decorate the same exact way every year, as Darry does, and it makes me feel a bit nostalgic. Dad used to drive us around in his old truck to look at all the lights in our neighborhood. We never really had money to spend on visiting the light displays on the better side of town, but we wouldn’t have ever known it. This was just as fun.

I realize that the perpetual feeling of a broken heart during Christmastime doesn’t do much for my sadness right now.

I stop at a forelorn house at the end of our street, on the corner. It’s a small yellow house, a bit less dilapidated than ours. Typically adorned with all types of big, ceramic lights this time of year, the house sits solemnly, vacant and dark. I stare at it a bit, the writer in me trying to make a metaphor out of its image.

“Mrs. Friedman died two months ago,” I hear a voice behind me. “Her house has been empty ever since.”

“You followed me,” I say, more as a statement than a question.

“I could tell something was bothering you,” Sodapop says.

I laugh, a little curtly. “You can always tell.”

“Of course I can,” he smiles. "And I didn’t want you to be out here alone.”

“You didn’t tell me Mrs. Friedman died,” I say, a bit offended. “She cooked us meals every week after mom and dad died. She always gave us her son’s old clothes, too, remember?”

“I know,” Soda says. “Darry and I didn’t want to upset you.”

“You thought I’d be upset?”

Soda looks at me. “You’re a little bit more sentimental than the rest of us.”

I scoff. “She was our neighbor for years. Did you go to her funeral?”

“Of course,” Sodapop says. “'Woulda been silly for you to come all the way home for a 100-year-old woman’s funeral, though. Don’tcha think?”

“I guess."

We sit in silence for a few moments, and I focus on our breath in the air. It’s white, like cigarette smoke. I laugh a bit in my mind, reminiscing on the period of time where I couldn’t go more than fifteen minutes without smoking. It’s been nearly three years since I’ve quit.

“What’s up, Pone?” Soda finally asks. “What’s wrong?" I give him a look.

“What?” he says. “I can see right through you.”

I pause for a moment, trying to figure out what exactly it is.

“It’s just… I always had an excuse. I had New York. I had college. I knew I was leaving, but I always knew I would come back. And four years seemed so far away,” I say. “Now I’m not sure there’s a place for me here anymore. Do you understand what I mean?”

“Well… no,” Soda says. “Because that’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard you say, Pone. There’s always gonna be a place for you here. This is your home. Don’t you know that?”

I roll my eyes. “I mean, it’s never going to be like it was. We’re never going to be living under the same roof as one another. Hell, I don’t even know where I’m going next. But it’ll never just be all of us together again. I feel like we’re losing another part of the gang for good, but that part is me. And it feels like….”

“It feels like Dal and Johnny all over again.”

“Kinda.”

Sodapop pauses for a moment, thinking about this. Though he isn’t the most articulate, he’s certainly the most insightful.

“Wanna know how I see it?” Sodapop asks.

I nod. “Of course.”

“You’re twenty-two years old. You graduated college at the top of your class. You have job offers all over the country. That’s something to be proud of, Pone. That doesn’t happen for just anyone. Hell, it didn’t happen for me and Darry. It won’t happen for Steve or Two-Bit. It didn’t happen for Dally or Johnny. You should be grateful you are where you are.”

“Oh, come on…” I say. “I didn’t mean it like that-"

“No, listen,” Sodapop says. "You think you should be feelin’ guilty about leaving, but you shouldn’t be. Me, Darry, the gang, even mom and dad would want you getting the hell out of this pokey ‘ol town,” he says with a laugh. “It’s all we’ve ever wanted for you.”

“I know that. I’m thankful for that.”

“Hell of a way of showin’ it,” Soda says jokingly.

“I guess I never thought of it that way,” I say. “I always figured you and Darry would think I left you guys behind or somethin’. I never wanted you to think that.”

“C’mon, Pone. We’d never think that. We’ve worked so hard to help you make somethin’ of yourself. We’re real proud.”

“Thanks,” I say. “Thanks for knocking some sense into me.”

“You know, you’re afraid of changin’, but that’s one thing that will never change about you,” he says as we begin to walk back to the house. “You’ll always need your big brothers to help you see what’s right in front of you.”

“You’re right about that,” I say.

“And don’t think you’ll never come back here to visit the gang,” he says. “We’ll drag you back here if it’s the last thing we do. You’ll know where to find us.”

“You’re right,” I say. “I’ll never be able to get away from you guys."

“Exactly,” he says. “Now, can we go back and decorate for Christmas? Please? I’m freezing my ass off out here.”

“Yeah,” I say with a chuckle. “Let’s go."

I really could’ve written this conversation forever, but I wanted to keep it short and sweet. Let me know what you think!!!

P.S. if you have any one-shot requests, my ask is always open. I love when you all send in your ideas :)

P.P.S. if you’d like to write a review, this one-shot (along with my other writing) is also posted to my fanfiction.net account, which is linked here 🖤

#the outsiders #the outsiders imagines #the outsiders writing #the outsiders one shot #the outsiders book #the outsiders movie #the outsiders fanfiction #the outsiders ponyboy #Ponyboy curtis #ponyboy #sodapop curtis #Darry curtis #curtis brothers #Two-Bit Mathews #Steve Randle #Dallas Winston #dally winston #Johnny Cade #my writing

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cvrnelivs · 4 years

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— ( harry styles, cismale, he/him ) &. * — meet ( cornelius ‘ oliver ’ edwards ) ! ( he ) is ( twenty five ) years old and has lived in st. helens for ( two ) years . when they’re not helping the town prepare for halloween , they work as a ( baker ) . around here, they’re known to be ( idealistic ) & ( intuitive ) yet ( unpredictable ) & ( destructive ) and apparently their favorite fall activity is ( visiting the farmer’s market ) . safe to say it really wouldn’t be halloweentown without them !

hiya! i am kt &+ underneath the read more is a LOT of info about my bb, cornelius/oliver. ** insert clown emoji but make ‘em yee-haw ** if you’d like to plot you can reach me on here or at space cowboy#8536 on discord !! <33 v excited to interact with y’all and your bbs !!

( DISCLAIMER : THIS IS LONG - WOW !!! just felt a lot of muse !!! apologies !! )

𝖘𝖙𝖆𝖙𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖎𝖈𝖘

name: cornelius oliver edwards.

nicknames: ollie, ol, lee !! literally whatever - “hey, you” dkjfgn

gender: cismale. pronouns: he, him.

age: twenty-five.

birthday: june 27th.

zodiac: cancer !!

orientation: pansexual / panromantic.

occupation: baker // aspiring filmmaker.

languages spoken: english & french.

𝖎𝖓𝖘𝖕𝖎𝖗𝖆𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓

- PINTEREST - featuring his wardrobe, his home, his aesthetic, some character inspo and olive, his german shepard pup !!

- SPOTIFY PLAYLIST - what oliver is currently listening to !!

personality type: INFJ-T / THE ADVOCATE

moral alignment: chaotic good

style-wise: oliver is v stylish, but isn’t overly flashy by any means. he’s intuitive in the sense of what works and what doesn’t. willing to explore the latest wardrobe craze, but also just likes what he likes and likely won’t venture out unless pressed by another to do so. post coming soon for his wardrobe !!! they say that the cancer man’s clothing is selected to reflect “ sophistication over flash “ but kdgjn i’ll let ya’ll be the judge of that. he’s v much harry inspired clothing wardrobe, but also tones it down with some casual looks, especially with being in the bakery and getting his hands dirty in creative aspects !!

𝖇𝖆𝖈𝖐𝖌𝖗𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖉

oliver was born in kent, england. he’s the youngest in his family of three, having an older brother and sister w/ two loving parents. when he was nine, his family packed up and moved to southern california, where they resided until oliver left for college on the east coast - his family trading off between living back in england and on the west coast throughout the year. upon moving to a new country at a young age, oliver truly found himself via escaping into various books and movies. often attempting to write his own and would force encourage his siblings to act his skits/plays out for his parents enjoyment. growing up, oliver also enjoyed playing all types of sports ( his parents kind of threw him in hoping he’d make friends ), but when it came down to it, athletic abilities-wise, there truly wasn’t anything that he wasn’t ‘ good ‘ at, and that’s simply because he’s always been such a competitive individual / as well as a perfectionist. that competitive/perfectionist energy caused him to go home and practice a skill or trick for hours in order to be able to come back the next day and whoop everyone’s asses. throughout highschool ; oliver was a v dedicated student. although he’s a bit reckless and loved to goof off, he was always acing classes and applying himself. he genuinely cares for others, you could’ve seen his ass volunteering at a soup kitchen with his mom on sundays and what not, as well as take part in various clubs and sports ! just SOFT and sportythings.

post-high school, oliver attended NYU double majoring in film & television and dramatic writing. despite his extensive and well received portfolio, oliver has always been a perfectionist and overcritical of his work, unwilling to share his projects with anyone until he deems them to be ~ perfect ~ himself. after graduating, he spent a year traveling, trying to find a bit of inspiration around him and taking up odd jobs to get some $$ of his own, dog walking, attempting his best at being a handy man, etc !! he moved back home to socal, and eventually made his way up to st.helen’s after he was sent a job posting for the bakery in town !! although he knows he doesn’t want to pursue a career in baking forever, he’s enjoying his time while trying to find a bit more muse for his future film&writing career.

overall, oliver can come off as a bit reserved, and distant whether that be a result of his untrusting nature of others, or simply unfamiliarity. it takes a bit of time before he feels comfortable to share his true opinion / commentary / only doing so when he feels secure to do so. he’s not necessarily unfriendly, just a bit distant / lost in his thoughts. which varies, as with most ppl ofc, upon person to person and his level of comfortability among them. despite his often lack of conversation, he abhors an uncomfortable silence to settle and will fill it with nonsense to simply avoid the feeling altogether. so, if you ever want to catch him rambling, just making him uncomfortable dkjfngdf. he definitely approaches most things with a bit of ‘ tough love ‘ . he doesn’t mind getting into a quarrel or two if he knows its worth the outcome he’s envisioned. oliver will tell others when they are fucking up, and if they are throwing a punch as a result - catch him leaning into it, which explains his bout of reckless antics. he can come off as a know it all, when it comes to advice giving, but more so because he thinks he’s really good at analyzing others and situations they are in, not necessarily because he’s lived through them himself, he’s just rather intuitive and able to empathize quite easily with others despite his verbal admittance of it. when it comes down to this binches reckless bits, he just feels so intensely that he ends up numbing himself in the aftermath of it all ( especially bc he’s definitely not sharing those feelings with the people around him ), therefore he’s willing to put himself into harms way in order to get a bit of that - happiness / pain, it doesn’t matter to him as long as he no longer feels overwhelmed by numbness. so, if ya see him with some scrapes and stitches ~ mind ya business. but he’ll likely try to drag somebody else into it, and make it seem like it was their idea. but if he is truly comfortable with somebody, he walks a fine line of won’t stop talking, especially if it’s an interest of his, and comfortable silence.

𝖕𝖊𝖗𝖘𝖔𝖓𝖆𝖑𝖎𝖙𝖞 & 𝖍𝖆𝖇𝖎𝖙𝖘

he is a CANCER, therefore in this essay i will..... kidding but here’s some fun cancer info i saw that applies to my bb !! at first he appears to be wistful, sarcastic ( maybe a lil crabby ) , shy, distant and mysterious. this personality remains if he isn’t completely comfortable around somebody. but overall, that’s just his facade, his ‘smokescreen’ of sorts to scare off the world from his outwards persona. underneath that layer ( makes me think of shrek metaphor with onions // don’t mind me ), BUT he’s gentle, kind and affectionate ( if you manage to make it to that level * bell dings * ) !!! overall, oliver is a sensitive soul, a bit emotional although he’d rather d*e than show that to others. likely will internalize anything that can hurt his feelings / a low blow and will do something chaotic as a result later on bc of it. very polite, and a little worldly, he is truly the epitome of old-school gentlemanly manners. chivalry coming as a second nature to him !!

that was getting ramble-y, so continuing HERE. but when it comes to romance, as per the cancer man, the concept of love is a mystery, one that oliver is trying to attain. however, his shyness and innate distrust of others make it difficult for him to allow himself to fall in love. his guard is always up when it comes to his emotions, and it’ll take a bit of prodding before he’s willing to speak up on what’s desired from him. he’s v picky when it comes to finding the “ partner of his dreams “ - but he’s def willing to throw himself into the romance of the situation, i.e. buying flowers, riding white horses, and slaying metaphorical dragons. the traditional side means that he will shower his partner with thoughtful gifts, wine and dine them in the best restaurants, and try to grant their every wish. he will take the garbage out, fix that wobbly shelf, navigate on road trips, and kill more so trap and release bugs for his partner, and most important of all he will do it all without being asked. his loyalty and keen attention to the needs and wants of his potential partner. so basically, more so willing to showcase through actions than speak on it. it’s the little things, right ??!?!?! he def cherishes not just the act of being in a relationship, but what it means to become one with another person in mind, body, and soul.

prides himself on being able to make a mean cup of coffee, likely the worst person to watch a movie with bc he knows exactly how it’s going to end after only watching five minutes of it, he has a godawful sense of direction, will walk in circles for fifteen minutes before even raising a question about it/noticing ( but he refuses to acknowledge it. )

his house, car, workspace, junk drawer, closet….you name it - it’s organized, practically sparkling. often times arranged by color, and / or style. nothing is ever out of place, and if it is - there’s trouble brewing. but, more than anything, if he’s visiting somebody’s place and it’s messy, he will spend a solid thirty minutes picking everything up before doing whatever it is that was intended.

likes : reading, flowers, handwritten notes/letters, deep cleaning, baking, curating soundtracks for his film projects, watching the history channel and true crime docs and playing / watching hockey !!

dislikes : artichoke, clutter, sandals ( fkjgh ), unrealistic plotlines in movies &+ burnt coffee.

habits : smoking cigarettes - although he’s been meaning to quit. likely has a severe caffeine addiction, although he’s now normalized having six cups of coffee throughout his day. he’s an early riser, no matter how little the amount of sleep he’s received, he’s always the first to rise - for his early morning runs !!

strengths: creative, insightful, inspiring, convincing, determined and passionate, decisive, altruistic, intuitive !!

weaknesses: sensitive, extremely private, perfectionist, low-key always needs to have a cause / purpose, can burn out easily !!

overall : oliver truly strives to be kind, and genuinely wants for everyone to get along. treat people with kindness and the like. he has the best of intentions, but often times that can get a bit muddled with the way he goes about things due to his bit of chaotic energy / as well as his often points of getting lost in his thoughts. he won’t realize he’s been quiet for the last three hours unless it’s mentioned to him. he will do anything to lighten a dark mood, and will sacrifice / throw himself under the bus if its needed. however, he also is the type to cause the dark mood depending on the day. wahoo! his more reckless antics increase when he’s feeling a bit emotional !! but he’ll likely try and convince somebody to propose the idea so it’s not on him.

𝖗𝖆𝖓𝖉𝖔𝖒 𝖍𝖊𝖆𝖉 𝖈𝖆𝖓𝖔𝖓𝖘

in an attempt to throw himself into the town’s traditions and what not, after moving to st. helen’s oliver decided it was upon himself to put on a very spooo0ooky haunted house! so, catch him converting his home into a haunted house for the month of october !!! nothing cheesy either !! it’s more a psychological scare dkjgn with some gore elements !! EnTeR iF yOu DaRe !!!

he bounced around playing sports growing up, but favored ice hockey and field lacrosse out of them all.

HE WANTS TO JOIN A BOOKCLUB PLEASE !!!!!!!! or at least have some casual moments of silence with another reading. plz and tysm.

he is a vegetarian ! he has been since his freshman year of high school and has no plans on eating seafood/meat ever again.

he loves fancy wine ~ he’s cultured. visits seb’s winery v often !!!

he can play the drums !!

he collects vintage matchbooks and the stickers off of various fruits ( he puts them in a little notebook - can be found on his bookshelf ).

saves handwritten notes and letters from pals.

he loves to garden !!!! he has a specified rose shearing hat.

to make things a bit simple, he has all of harry’s tattoos !! might add more along the way !! stay tuned, folks !!

𝖜𝖆𝖓𝖙𝖊𝖉 𝖈𝖔𝖓𝖓𝖊𝖈𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓𝖘

honestly, i am so up for anything !!! please accept this ramble of ideas thrown below. if you have any other ideas, lmk !!!! <3333 :’-)

( 2 / 2 ) - BFFZ : the z for an added emphasis dkfjgnd. somebody who likely has a key to oliver’s house, they can enjoy one anothers company as well as the bouts of comfortable silence. you know how best friends are but kdjfngd still !! whether they are likeminded or polar opposites that just flow ~~ down for anything !! even a trio of sorts ?!

( 0 / ?? ) - MUSE(S) : somebody that he often strikes inspo from for his short films and what not !! or has starred/he plans to have them star in his future compilations of sorts !! can be simply from their own ideals, their look / ~vibe~ dkfjgn // whatever !!

( 1 / 1 ) - RIDE OR DIE / CHAOTIC COMPANION : it would be wrong to say one is the more likely the bad influence over the other, although oliver may just be. these two find themselves bounding into, well hell, ( i guess??? ) together. playing on one anothers impulsiveness and if one ends up in the back of a police car, the other is handcuffed to them. and yet despite the length of their potential injuries, they find themselves thinking of something crazier to subject them to the next time around.

( 1 / 1 ) - GUARDIAN ANGEL / GOOD INFLUENCE : with ollie being a bit chaotic in nature, he needs somebody that is likely going to steer him clear from all the ideas that’ll bring him to the brink of disaster. he’s impulsive and in that desperate attempt to feel again, he’s very likely to bring a bit of mayhem upon himself. so while they may be worrying and attempting to talk his ideas down, he’s trying to get them to go along with his plan. it may be rare that he actually takes their advice, but when he does it seems to be for the best.

( 0 / 1 ) - PARTY FRIEND : these two know how to have a good time together. despite the amount of alcohol they are throwing back and the shenanigans they find themselves in as a result, this is a time where they also find themselves confiding in one another. if you look at their camera rolls, it’s likely they have tons of embarrassing and unflattering videos and pics of one another, in between their sob-worthy confessionals and venting/rants. these two trust one another, and although they love getting wreckT together, they find themselves discussing very raw and personal details. likely the only person oliver confides in, simply bc he’s completely plastered.

( 1 / 1 ) - SIBLING-LIKE RELATIONSHIP : these two have a love/hate relationship, very sibling like filled with pranks, competition, teasing and playful banter. however, when it comes down to it they have so much love and respect for one another. they know that no matter what happens they will always have one anothers back and be supportive of the other. truly a pure content filled relationship.

okay quick mention, ENEMY PLOTS ?!?!?!?!?!? i would live for one. i can’t imagine oliver being hardcore nasty, but i’d like to see whatever version comes out for this. so let’s get it djfngjakdfg maybe they just hold different viewpoints on the world and what not and clash, anything really !!! v open !!

( 1 / 1 ) - MENTOR - oliver needs a bit of structured or unstructured guidance, all depending on what their deemed mentor is wanting to impart on him, a bit of wisdom or slight chaos. kdjfgn he’ll take anything !! life advice in any and all aspects. maybe they come into the bakery, or maybe they help him with his garden. who knows, i certainly don’t know how they met, but we’ll figure it out ?!?!

RANDOM LITTLE IDEAS : maybe they’ve heard of one another in town, but haven’t quite met yet! or maybe they see each other around all the time, but have yet to introduce themselves to one another but low-key maybe in some online forum for the town together ?! who knows some fun things kdjnfg i AM OPEN !

ooh maybe a slowburn of sorts ?! something spicy to wreck ollie’s and my life with. dkfjgn we can base this off of chemistry !!! :’-)

#( ❛ ᴏʟɪᴠᴇʀ ᴇᴅᴡᴀʀᴅꜱ | ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ . )#htintro #excited to plot with y'all <3333 :)

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gigslifetimeofstudentdebt-blog · 6 years

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Comparative analysis of Homer and Atwood’s Penelope

When discussing Homer’s, The Odyssey and Margaret Atwood’s novella The Penelopiad, a retelling of Homer’s myth, it is easy to fall into the trap of giving more thought to the considerable differences, of which there are undoubtedly many, than to what may be similar. There are thousands of years seperating Homer’s epic and Atwood’s retelling. The Odyssey is written in verse while The Penelopiad is mostly written in prose. Further, there is also much to examine when considering the feminist undertones of The Penelopiad compared to The Odyssey. This paper will explore the concepts of feminism within these texts by investigating differences and continuities between the texts. This paper will first examine the differences between the characterisation of Odysseus and the dichotomies of luck - which this paper will interpret as divine intervention - and skill, between the depictions of Odysseus’s journey back to Ithaca within The Odyssey and The Penelopiad. This paper will then explore the characterisation of Penelope and argue that the Penelope of The Odyssey can be read as a feminist figure and is as wily and cunning as her characterisation in Atwood’s The Penelopiad. However, this paper will ultimately argue that Homer’s Penelope is constructed to be “a stick used to beat other women with” (Atwood 2). Finally, this paper will examine the largest difference between the texts, Atwood’s increased focus upon the hanged maids, exploring how Atwood uses the maids as a metaphor for female power, while providing the closest stylistic connection to the tradition of Homer’s myth. Much discussion has taken place around Atwood’s shift of the narrative focus away from the male perspective of Odysseus and onto the female voices and perspectives within the narrative, namely Penelope. While it is irrefutable that The Odyssey is a male-centric and dominated narrative, there are female figures who play a pivotal role within the story. Namely, one of the most recognised figures of female power in western cannon, the goddess Athena. Having the literal goddess of wisdom and crafts, arguably the strongest representation of feminine power, function as a guiding hand ensuring the safety of Odysseus for merely admiring his wits (Sommor et al. 2) can certainly be read as a feminist portrayal. However, there are elements within The Odyssey that diminish Athena’s feminine power. Most tellingly Athena only presents herself to the male characters of Odysseus and Telemachus, making a strong female presence a bystander in a man’s narrative. Another example of Athena’s femininity being reduced is when she is needed as an integral agent in the plot to return Odysseus to his home in Ithaca. In order to be taken seriously by Odysseus’s son Telemachus she must appear to him as a man (Sommor et al. 5). It could also be argued that when acting as mentor to Telemachus, Athena imparts lessons and virtues that are traditionally viewed as ‘feminine’ such as, hope, sense and adeptness (Sommor et al. 5). In one instance, it can be read that Athena acts as the societal archetype of the female nag when she dissuades Telemachus’ from nonsensical activities, reminding him to be mindful of what truly matters (Sommor et al. 8). In Atwood’s The Penelopiad, no such power is given to divinity, rather divinity is given little mention at all within the narrative. By shifting the narrative focus away from Odysseus and onto Penelope, Atwood removes many of fantastical elements of Odysseus’s journey and elevates the mundane. By sapping the recognisable supernatural mythic elements – cyclopes and sirens amongst other examples – Atwood is also able to reduce Odysseus’s mythic status, diminishing Odysseus’s exploits with monsters and gods to mere rumor and gossip (Howells 9) “Odysseus had been in a fight with a giant one-eyed Cyclops, said some; no it was a one-eyed tavern keeper, said another” (Atwood 83). As Atwood shifted the perspective of the narrative to Penelope she has also played a role in shifting how the character Penelope is perceived. In her novella, Atwood characterises Penelope as shrewd, cunning and caustically self-aware of her own canonised image as the perfect, virtuous woman. This characterisation is in part created through Penelope’s reaction to Odysseus’s return and her relationship to Helen. A widely-cited difference between Atwood’s and Homer’s Penelope is the notion of when Penelope is aware of Odysseus’s return. The Penelopiad makes it clear that Penelope is not fooled by Odysseus’s ruse “His disguise was well enough done…but as soon as I saw the barrel chest and those short legs I had a deep suspicion, which became a certainty when I heard he’d broken the neck of a belligerent fellow panhandler.” (Atwood 136). This early recognition is often held up as an example of Atwood’s Penelope being a more cunning figure then the Penelope of The Odyssey, however, it should be acknowledged that Homer’s Penelope is also cited for her cleverness due to her shroud deception. There are some academics however, who argue that due to early scholar’s misinterpretation of the word ‘stranger’ in the scene where Penelope encounters a disguised Odysseus (Vlahous 2) led to a wide-spread belief that Penelope does not recognise her husband; when there is evidence of Penelope’s early recognition. A common understanding of Penelope’s early recognition comes in book 19 as the disguised Odysseus is able to answer Penelope’s questions about the clothes and jewelry Odysseus was wearing when he first departed Ithaca in great detail (Vlahous 6). It is argued that from this exchange Penelope is able to devise a test that only Odysseus could complete, leading to the ‘bed test’ of book 23 that cements Penelope’s certainty that Odysseus has returned (Vlahous 6). This shows that that Homer’s Penelope displays a cleverness and shrewdness that goes beyond her shroud trick. Another argument made for a more sophisticated reading of Homer’s Penelope is her relationship to her cousin Helen. Though a relatively minor character in The Odyssey, Helen looms large in The Penelopiad. Throughout the novella, Penelope is unabashedly unkind towards Helen, titling a chapter “Helen Ruins My Life” (Atwood 71) and expressing dismay that Helen never faced any punishment over her transgressions when others face death by drowning, sea serpent and arrow for what Penelope considers to be lesser crimes (Atwood 22). Academic Gabrielle Neethling asserts that Atwood has constructed this antagonistic relationship between the cousins for Helen to serve as a shadow figure to Penelope, a mirror reflecting the things that Penelope knows, yet dislikes about herself and the injustice of being held up as a paradigm of the perfect woman when she knows she is guilty of transgressing in similar ways to Helen (Neethling 119-122). As mentioned throughout this paper Homer’s Penelope has been used as a high watermark for the archetype of an idealised faithful wife, however, there are readings of the character that are in keeping with Atwood’s portrait of a far more complicated woman. Academic Keri Ames posits that Homer’s Penelope is also concerned with the concept of transgression, as evidenced through her avid support of Helen, her adultery and abandonment of home (136). Ames goes on to contend that this defense of Helen is a reaction to Penelope being fearful that she to is likely to commit the same transgression and that it is only through the mercy of the gods that she has been able to remain faithful to her own marriage (136). In The Penelopiad, Atwood makes it clear that Penelope has a deeply complicated relationship to her own image as an ideal, faithful wife who is perceived to be rewarded for duplicitous acts because they enacted for the good of her family, “Why couldn’t they be as considerate, as trustworthy, as all-suffering as I had been?” (Atwood 2). This self-awareness and serious consideration of her perception is where these two versions of Penelope diverge. Academic Sarah Bolmarcich provides an interesting reading, suggesting that perhaps by elevating her status Homer has knowingly created a strong female character, similar to Atwood’s. Bolmarcich suggests that Odysseus’s speech Nausicaa “there is nothing better or finer then when two people of one heart and mind keep house as man and wife, a grief to their enemies and a joy to their friends” (Homer 80) situates Penelope into a position of power afforded to no other woman in The Odyssey (Bolmarcich 205). Bolmarcich highlights Homer’s use of a Greek word within the passage above describing Odysseus’s marriage to Penelope that translates to a relationship between male comrades (211). This passage acts as a treatise into what Homer considers to be an ideal marriage and more importantly how a woman should act within her marriage (Bolmarcich 206-207). It could be argued that Penelope’s elevation to a position that is the same as a man’s, in tandem with the high regard that such relationships were held during the time of Homer’s writing shows that Penelope is intended to be held up as a strong woman (Bolmarcich 211). However, it is the view of this paper that for Penelope to be seen as a good and trustworthy partner she must have her femininity diminished and act in more masculine ways; whereas women, such as Helen who act in traditionally feminine ways are relegated to the archetype of bad wife (Bolmarcich 213) proves that Homer’s Penelope is constructed to be the “stick to beat other woman with” (Atwood 2) that Atwood’s Penelope understands her image to be. As discussed above two of greatest differences between The Odyssey and The Penelopiad is Atwood’s increased focus on the murdered maids and the vast differences in form. The Penelopiad is largely written in modern prose, from the perspective of Penelope, from the underworld, where she uses anachronistic language. All of these elements serve to distance Atwood’s Penelope from the male dominated narrative of The Odyssey. However, sprinkled throughout The Penelopiad are short asides, including sea shanties, laments and a anthropology lecture are given by the maids; who are given no voice in The Odyssey. Interestingly Atwood’s use of the maids provides the closest stylistic relationship to Homer’s narrative. Academic Hilde Staels argues that Atwood’s use of the maids ‘chorus line’ asides serve as the Greek chorus, commenting upon the story from an outside perspective (Staels 104). Staels goes on to argue that Atwood’s use of the maids provides her narrative with the mythic elements that she strips from Odysseus’s story. By having Odysseus murder the maids, maids that Staels believes act as twelve manifestations of the moon goddess Artemis, a goddess associated with womanhood, that Atwood is enacting a vegetation myth (104). As the maids, figures of female power die, the rebirth of Penelope can occur, allowing for the narrative to be taken from the men of The Odyssey and become the story of and the reclamation of the power of the women of The Penelopiad (Staels 104). There are many clear differences between The Odyssey and The Penelopiad, however, there are also many continuities between the texts. By engaging with close readings of these texts the reader is able to find a more feminist understanding of the male-centric Odyssey and a more traditional mythic understanding of the radically modern Penelopiad; such readings are only a matter of interpretation.

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paraclete0407 · 3 years

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BlackPink the KJI turn of K-wave, literally walk away. I don’t like to reprise my condescending voice from the past with phrases like ‘complete retard’ and ‘s-s---k Tory-toff’ but there were some brain-damaged individuals on 4chan KPG who really loved Rose from BP - three times love, tragically like... I was at Boy Scout camp at 13 learning to sail a ‘Sunfish,’ Camp Wakpominee, this kid couldn’t stop singing ‘You are my sunshine.’ Cram-school kids singing commercial jingles(?!). One of the best or the most ‘enriching’ of experiences in my life was learning Latin and sacred music in high school after an MS career of patronizing pedo empowerment-palaver but still it might’ve been better just to hang in with the United Methodist Church despite allowing women to teach and being clannish and political and [I don’t want to say] - it’s not really that but the desire for intellectual independence

I had a speech-impediment till HS and learned to pronounce things through singing; have come to think much of SLP (speech language pathology) was a predatory or dummy industry though I don’t really know - dept. of how do you utter real / authentic words to a fake face. Campaign to destroy authenticity / ‘let us now lay burdens on our children we are unwilling to share’ although it could be JFK RFK MLK assassinations, 1970s ennui / malaise, Carter telling everyone ‘you’re bad and sad’ but having no real plan, urgency, intensity, passion and sundry knife-fights had inflicted clinical depression on the Boomers first of all

I tried to make sense of ‘crucify with spiritual weapons’ but came back now to what’s the worst thing that happened to me but fretted I would invent something that didn’t happen or flatter my vanity with ‘career patient war-stories.’ I’ve been hazed again and again and still not ‘washed.’ Maybe the fault was all mine for a superiority complex or maybe for going out. Public school / Democrat or perhaps popular democracy philosophy of 2 wrongs make right, our wrongs make right, the more wrongs the better, ‘Pieta’ Tammy Baldwin.

‘MinjuSchizo’ (me) tried to bypass Rose-tard since xer had a ‘Gay and Melancholy Sound’ + could be a schtick but IDK. Bad people still want good things like Snoop having a diamonds are no longer good. IDK why I have been this student of the pathetic. ‘And it may that in 2221 they’ll say in 2021 Man once again feared his best dept. of Nelson Mandela ‘we fear we are strong.’ ‘Itching ears.’ I don’t like talking poetically about clear and present threats to well-being tho b/c it makes it seem like Broadway. ‘This is a God that is like us’.... am I missing the mark?

‘Converging and coalescing’ - Hayao Miyazaki anime was a mistake, 100% pedophilia; BlackPink, 100% obliteration. The best anime film arguably as Whisper of the Heart b/c it’s about wanting to be an adult but the guy who made it blew hiw own health out permanently (karoshi?), made ultimate animated motion picture, perished on 1st film. Asian adoption also pedophilia, Latin American dictator pedophilia. I’m ot even gonna say b/c Koreans discovered Freudian psychology like Freud’s read of Lear a bit too late and Freudianism makes some people in to demon-children. I’m put in mind if Spider Eaters and The Vagrants where at the end of the CultRev it as, ‘Nope! Red Guards got too mentally ill - time to blow them all away with general infantry.’ I kept telling my parents Maoism just leads back to old-fashioned hierarchy, authority, defined roles. This MO silences a lot of people; in KR saintly leaders got tortured, sat on death-row to make something better. In America they wanna dismantle everything or contract everyone or I really don’t even know.. No honest military police in ‘Waukee just go-getting careerists who joined up for pay. Another former president of the ROK said his mom refused to let him take pay for serving neighbors - my only mistake was asking anything lately..

But I don’t know what will happen one hour from now..

I was only following Yuna Kim and Taeyeon on IG b/c I don’t understand social media then my old friends who never quite included me started tracking me again IDK if it is just AI making them do it; I reduced from 2 to just Taeyeon... IDK if I should say this but her lower legs gave me a feeling, new flowers every day but IDK, I used to think of her as this celebrity whom my scholarly genius could surround but I sincerely wish she’d pull an Elizabeth Taylor or Christina Aguilera; I still remember ‘the Most Beautiful Journey’ though in retrospect; anyway I know guys from all over this world are sending her presents 24-7-365 but I bet she’s more sophisticated than me in retrospect or all celebrity-culture is ‘stupidly simple’ (Daul Kim) and female-fetishization / Goddess-worship really is just mother-fear or Fear of Men or ev1 really was just hoping to avoid Holiness and masculinity. Still listening to that wave-song I am like, ‘I know who you are,’ unlike my literal parents, and nearly ev voice in Milwaukee is just totally fake voice - I do not mean phony or what but just like, there was this Do As Infinity song ‘kimi wa dare, boku wa dare.... no yoru lose yourself’ - Night Falls Over Milwaukee, beyond respecting lies like KJI said ‘I raped and trafficked 11-year-olds to get nukes’ - that is kind of sincere’ I guess but being beyond whether a lie is a lie or not even neway I do still think a lot about ‘In Sunlight and in Shadow’ as ell and wanted to cast either SJH or Cha Yeryun (ultra-underrated) in the Korean version...

I guess ‘not care lie or truth’ alas is part o the condition of ‘fiction’ which puts me back with my cousins and the doll-house, endless make-believe and RPG’s..

My other ‘sacred possession’ in the past was SNSD’s ‘Sonyeo Tokyo’ photobook that I used to make poems for; Seohyun was my favorite when they kicked out and bullied her again and again. For a time I had a little ‘consolation-prize’ gesture I would tell myself which was ‘walking out of dinner party hand-grenade over left shoulder on to middle of munchies table cuz you guys are wife-bought-me-sex-slave-CCP-naked-sushi human trash’ - I also don’t know what they mean + it’s ancient history. The dream was not a dream / the style was not a style / love passed through here a while / and... that picture of the Japanese sea with its particular mercury but at times liquid gold; there are times as Blaise Pascal might put it to say ‘Sea of Japan’ as well as ‘East Sea’

When I taught at [Beauty School] my fav song was BTBAL with its repeated syntax ‘The reason’ like ‘The reason why the wind shines / the flower falls / night surrounds you’ - but that whole self-regard-system might be going out the window dep. on your reading of Isaiah and ‘ladylike’ ~ as back then I wrote giant lists about Seohyun, EA-A / teenagers, stress-management; now everyone’s just stealing my words. At times I feel I see their souls are just dangling them down through their spine with no real [avidity?] but I guess it’s getting better of late(?) ~ I took the escalator at Whole Foods and keep thinking of last ultimate love-rejection and how retard at HS was like ‘Teacher I don’t like your sock’ - Me, ‘IDC’ - but this was poor-in-spirit who probably knew exactly what he needs to know whilst I am like 9-gifted fortunate son and I can’t totally lock in if I believe my sister’s suitcase-nuke prophecy or its a joke-metaphor abt my fanfics and stuff on my drives / that I had a private life

+ also these beautiful disabled or simple people and communism is like leave none behind - like no Uighur to tell what happened or Khmer Rouge killing like 25% of pop, emptying the hospitals, glasses-wearers die, they still think Santa Mao is going to pull the homeless of the street; ‘Humana Vitae’ predicted this all so did GnR’s ‘It’s So Easy’ but guess what about ev1 pleasing you

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roncosby7 · 3 years

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February 25th, 2021

I write blogs on Tumblr. You may or may not know this, but it is a thing I do and I receive very much deserved respect from it. I have friends because of this, high statuses because of this, lovers because of this. So many gifts have been gifted to me because of these blogs. Gifts that I cherish and embrace everyday, just as the gifts to do to me. Every morning I wake up and a new light has entered my eyes. The planet can now spin. Birds can now fly. Society can now start functioning as a whole for Grady Henderson has risen and he writes Tumblr blogs. I got 2 hours of sleep, but I feel great about this. Because I spent all night up writing another masterful blog that will be seen by all of my millions of followers on this morning. All of them will read it and be amazed by the satisfying structure, the poetic wording, the genius sense of philosophy and human perception. They will learn so much about life, others, themselves and philosophically dance with their own minds as their pupils dilate and tears fall down their faces. This happens every morning, and all of my followers do it at the same time. Every single one. They collectively exhale a breath of warm air as they experience pure euphoria and I feel it flow past me. This peaceful gust of wind that passes through me when I open my bedroom window and watch the day begin. I don’t need break feast, for my stomach is full of ideas. I do drink coffee, though. Because I am a writer. I exit my house and watch the sunlight reflect off of my black clothes, simply because it is too nervous to let me be absorbed by it. The wind stands still, the grass turns away, all animals stop what they’re doing to honor me. I have caused pure natural peace, because I write Tumblr blogs. The sun reflects off of me so much that I am now I a walking oval of light. I walk down the street this way. My light shines through neighborhoods and people recognize me. They say “Good morning Grady! Today’s blog was dazzlingly profound!” and I respond by nodding my head and taking a sip of coffee, visibly insecure. With a secret. I’m hiding something. Behind all of this light and these black clothes, there is a hidden diamond that will never be shown to anyone. With that thought in mind, I levitate to school and feel the ground vibrate beneath me. I watch 2 deer bound toward the horizon as I commence forth. “That will be us one day”, I profoundly whisper to myself

People exit their homes and congratulate me for saying something as profound as “That will be us one day”. How will the human brain ever be able to comprehend all the intricate meanings in the phrase “That will be us one day”? What a fucking genius. The light fades away as I step down from my levitation, for I have just arrived at school. All of the students greet me with thunderous applause. Each member of the school staff walks up to me and shakes my hand individually, sharing their thoughts and feelings about my latest blog and how it affected them as people. A kid runs up to me in tears and gives me a large hug, telling me that I saved his life. Then a group of well respected young women push him out of the way to consult and comfort me for being a life saver. I am not attracted to these well respected woman for what they look like for I am not a monster, I am attracted to them for the people that they are, which are people I respect. (they are beautiful, though). I all of a sudden have a bunch of brilliant thoughts rush through my head, as I always do, and I blurt out amongst the crowd. “What if we all wore yellow sunglasses?” and everyone in the school simultaneously gasps and grasps for air for they have just been hit with the intelligence of gods! This man’s understanding of the human race is unmeasurable! Multiple upon multiple tears are shed and everyone starts chanting my name, in tears. It sounds pathetic yet beautiful. Everyone ought to get to class so they all pick me up and carry me their triumphantly. I humbly reject their gratification in a sophisticated way.

When I get to class I say “All this for merely existing?” and everyone laughs loudly while also understanding the sheer amount of thought that went into that phrase. Everyone understands me. They understand who I am and what all of my intentions are, and they respect me because of it. They don’t disrespect me or resent me for being different, instead they PRAISE me for it. They PRAISE me as if I have just slayed a demon in the center of a massive Colosseum. Except the demon is uniformity!

Because I write Tumblr blogs

Yes. I am a human being that types things on to Tumblr and posts them for the world to see. This is something I do. And therefore I sit in Spanish class and do nothing. For the school system understands that Grady Henderson will not grow up to be in a position where he must talk to people that can’t speak the same language as him! Grady Henderson won’t have time for this, he’ll have stories to write! And so I sit in the back of the classroom and work on my next project of writing and gaze at the turned heads of all the normal students in front of me. Every now and then the students will turn around to look at me, just to be reminded of how brilliant and sophisticated humans can be. Just so they can put a bit more light into their dark, uneventful lives. Heh. what a bunch of Garfields. If I said that out loud 3 people in this classroom would likely have a brain seizure. I do not say it out loud, though, because I think I’ve caused enough completely worth it catastrophes in this school this morning. The multitude of tears that built up after “What if we all wore yellow sunglasses?” has made the school hallway slipperier than something that is extremely slippery. Students are slipping and falling and sliding all over the place. One struggles to walk more than 2 steps without nearly collapsing, simply because of the extremely large amount of tears that were shed. Look at all of these teenagers. Falling and wailing around in the effects of their own emotions. I write that down in my notepad, which I keep in my pocket because I’m a writer

As I’m walking to my next class, I don’t slip at all, for I am a perfect human being and this is true. I hear a feminine voice yelling my name behind me. I turn my head and see one of the well respected women from earlier sliding towards me at a very fast speed. I could’ve easily let her run into the wall, but I do not, for I respect this woman. for who she is, not because of what she looks like. (although she is beautiful). I catch her. She desperately stares into my eyes and asks “Grady Henderson! Grady Henderson! Did you stay up until 5 AM last night?” I answer honestly “Yes, I believe I did” she says “God. That is so fucking cool. Nobody else in the universe stays up that late, I can tell you that for sure! How do you manage to be this special of a human being?” I say “I’m actually very insecure about the lazy and ignorant decisions I make and therefore am deeply disappointed in myself most of the time” she says “God. That’s so fucking cool. The fact that you’re able to admit that about yourself? I honestly don’t think you should feel that way, but what do I know? Jesus, you’re amazing. Hey, you’re going out with friends tonight to throw cheese at people’s cars to metaphorically spit in the face of uniformity, correct?” I nod. she says “Well I was wondering if maybe I could tag along. At some point. With you.” I tell her I’ll think about it and then compare this situation to a Garfield strip. She faints from the overwhelming brilliance and lands in my arms. She wakes up shortly after and realizes the situation. “Oh! I must’ve been too amazed by your interpretation of Garfield! Anyway, I have to get to class. Oh shit, I can’t believe I don’t have this in the first place but what’s your Snap?” I tell her “I don’t use social media. I don’t have an undying need for attention like every student in this building”. She faints again and this time I don’t catch her, because I have to get to class. I’m really sorry about this and I hope she can forgive me.

As the day moves on, all students get called to the gym for an assembly. As I’m walking down there in the circle that the slipping crowd has formed for me, a kid accidentally bumps into me before being tackled, beaten into a pulp, getting the words “You deserve this” carved on his stomach with a knife, becoming drenched in gasoline, and being burned alive. It takes every student about 40 minutes to get to the gym because of all the chaotic slipping and falling that’s happening due to the tears but when everyone gets there, the principal walks to the center of the gym seemingly very anxious. What will he say? Something about the small drug cartel that has formed in this school? No. Fuck that. You must’ve forgotten about the fact that I write Tumblr blogs. The principal yells “Fuck it! Fuck you guys! School’s out for the rest of the day! Grady Henderson writes blogs on Tumblr!”

Everyone starts wildly cheering and screaming. Fireworks are lit in this high school gym. They rented a band. A band starts playing intense and celebrational rock music. Confetti is fucking everywhere, people are slipping all over the god damn place, and as soon as a chant of my name begins I head out. Because I don’t need attention. I don’t need to be loved, it’s just an accessory. I need to levitate home and write another Tumblr blog. I do this. I get home and greet the silence. I make more coffee and light candles. I look deep into the crevices of my soul to find the most mind bogglingly genius themes and ideas. I gather these ideas and express them through my fingers. Every time I type a letter into this laptop, a dog gets cured of cancer. People are rallying outside my house to not only thank me for the day off school but thank me for existing. Also to beg for another blog. I humbly reject all of this praise and close my blinds. Sometimes I have to turn on the sprinklers to get then to fuck off. I did that during winter once and this man stayed. In fact, he froze. Jesus. the lengths people will go to praise me. It gets fucking annoying. Don’t they understand that by constantly informing me of their obsession with my writing, they’re interrupting my writing? Holy fuck, these people. The entirety of this day consists of me writing while intermittently meditating or taking a sip of coffee. My thoughts evaporate from my brain and into the atmosphere, forming into an eagle made of pure light and energy. It flies around my house, leaving trails of light behind it. Of course it lands after a while but never truly stops. For the eagle will always fly, and so will I. God, I’m such a fucking genius. The eagle just fell into the ocean, what the fuck? The eagle was supposed to fly forever, why did that happen. Well shit. Now I don’t have a reason to write, which is good because now it is nighttime. And at nighttime, Grady Henderson must explore the natural ground of his town to discover things about everything. Tonight, he will do it with other people. He will throw cheese in the face of uniformity, something that he does a lot. He will not watch people dance, that’s fucking cringe. Fuck you. What do you know about me? You’re gonna think that I’m gonna go to a school dance and experience THAT when I can experience ACTUAL fun? You must be insane. I will not abide by the expectations given to me by my culture. I will throw cheese on people’s cars. They will see the cheese on their cars and faint, knowing that they have been defeated. Defeated by the long arm of Grady Henderson, who writes Tumblr blogs. Did you know that? Did you know that I write Tumblr blogs? You didn’t. You didn’t and now you do and you have nothing but respect to give me for it. Many people respect me for thi-

I suddenly get a phone call. It’s a voice that sounds all to familiar that sternly says “Grady, I think you’re stalling to prevent something.” What the fuck does this person know about me? Holy shit. How disrespectful that I get these phone calls from people. People that assume things, Mother of Christ. I am the equivalent of the Mother of Christ, for I birth a savior while remaining innocent. This savior of course being Tumblr blogs. Yes, these Tumblr blogs have saved many people. These blogs have made people realize that they should not kill other people and themselves, that everyone must be alive. These blogs keep people alive. These blogs are the savior of all humanity-

I get a phone call again, it is the same voice. “Grady, just get in the car. You can’t prevent it, just let it happen.” I say Fuck you to this person and hang up. Who does this person think they are? calling me and telling me things that aren’t true? I could sue this person for lying.

I get in my friend’s car.

A light immediately shines in the boring lives of everyone in this car. A smile is put on everyone’s faces for Grady Henderson is here and he writes Tumblr blogs. We laugh and tell personal stories. We laugh until the interior of the car nearly implodes. We laugh until we cannot breathe, mostly because of my stories though, because my stories are fucking hilarious. And the second I bring up Garfield, laughter shoots up like rockets amongst the stars. We throw cheese. We throw so much cheese. It slaps on buildings, it slaps on sidewalks, it slaps onto cars, it slaps onto people. There is so much solidified dairy sporadically spewed amongst this town that you can almost call it littering. You take one little look at any area of this town and you can point out nearly 100 pieces of cheese. People will wake up the next morning and not know what the fuck is going on. We revolutionized cheese warfare against uniformity! Correct! There is cheese fucking all over the place! If God’s sperm was yellow and he decided to cum all over his creation (like a narcissist) I guarantee it would look like this. Look at God’s yellow cum plastered all over this fucking place. It’s beautiful. Our town combined with this sperm is concepting a godlike being of creation and pride, and his name is Grady Henderson.

I get another phone call and chuck my phone out the window

Look at this field. This field is a metaphor for all the people that will one day plant fields. They’re all the same, they’re all bland. Me, on the other hand, I am not! I am colorful! I am unique! For I am a writer and I write Tumblr blogs and this is why I’m here, isn’t it? Because I write Tumblr blogs? Yes. This is true. This is rightfully and justifiably true. I wonder why we’re in between fields. I notice we’re driving down a pitch black country road.

“We are are driving down this road right now”, says Friend A. the only Identity this man has is Friends A. “We don’t have to”, says Jonas. You guessed it, he’s kind of a cunt, but he sells us cocaine. “What the fuck are you talking about?”, says Friends A. “We don’t have to go forward. We could go back and throw cheese forever. enough to make earth shine like the sun.”, I gotta say, I’m kinda leaning towards Jonas, here. But- “What the fuck would be the point of that? Think about all the other times that we’ve done that. Where do we end up? We end up right here, don’t we? We end up right here driving down this dark road. It wasn’t different the second time and it wasn’t different the time after and the time after and the time after, it’s not gonna be different this time.”, says Friend A. I’m starting to see this guy’s point of view but I really don’t want to. Friend B(2) chimes in “What the fuck are you guys talking about?” “Shut the fuck up!” says Jonas. “Fuck you! You only exist as a replacement for someone we thought we could save but can’t and never will be able to!” “See what I mean?”, says Friend A “You know what I’m saying is true, you just don’t wanna see the despair of her forehead agai-” “Alright.” Jonas says “I think we should let Grady Henderson decide what we should do” “That’s fair”, agrees Friend A “He writes Tumblr blogs and therefore we should always listen to him”

They stop. They’re waiting for me to respond. My mind is blank. For once in the history of the universe, there is nothing going on in the brain of Grady Henderson. They want me to say something, but I don’t think I will. Instead I just look out the window all all these stalks of corn. I watch each and every one of them pass by. I realize they’re not the same. They form sort of an inconsistent wave. Over and over and over is just corn stalks rise and falling and rising and falling. There’s no progression, they never learn anything. Every single one of those cornstalks is a led in their own story and every single one of them is repetitive and boring. I watch this for minutes They really want me to respond, I really want to think of a response but I simply cannot. I am too fixated on the cornstalks. All of a sudden, I do want to say something. I receive a surge of energy, I want to yell at the top of my lungs but I don’t because I’m respectful. Instead I just say “Let’s sleep on it” and we pass another car the second after I say that. Friend A slams on his brakes and says “That’s them!”. Jonas starts saying the word no over and over again. This doesn’t matter, because the reason we stopped is because we noticed the car that passed us. That car is full of well respected females. We must get out of our car and interact with these respected females because we are teenage males. It’s what we do! We have to do it! We simply have to! There is nothing in existence stopping us from talking to these well respected women. This is not for their physical attraction, though. It might be for my good friends but for me, of course, it is because of the people that they are. (Although you know they are extremely, dazzlingly, extraordinarily, astonishingly breathtakingly beautiful)

We get out of our car, they get out of theirs. They all say hi in various ways, dependent on how confident all of them are. They start talking to us. Not flirting with us. Talking with us. Jonas, for some reason, turns his back and nearly falls to the floor to vomit. The well respected women are all not phased by this because they’re all focused on me and how much of a genius I am. Expect for one. Yes. I notice one well respected women does not care about my genius at all, because she doesn’t seem to care at all after I tell her I’m working on my next blog. She tells me “You next blog? What is that? Why should I care?” Everyone looks at her, shocked. As do I. This doesn’t make sense. How can a human not know what my blog is? Why must a human ask if they should care about what my blog is? What the fuck is happening? I then notice that this is the same well respected woman that spoke to me today. The same woman that I let fall on the floor head first. This must be why she has a giant bruise on her forehead! This also must be why she is suffering terrible memory loss because she has obviously forgotten about my blog!

“Have you not heard of my blog?” I ask “We were talking about it earlier today.” She says “I’m gonna be honest with you, I’ve never seen you before in my life”. Oh my god. I can’t let nature get away with this. I can’t let her get away with this! I need this to be stopped! Everyone needs to love me! I can’t live without everyone PRAISING me! She needs to love me! I need to refresh her memory, that’s what I need to do. I need to make her realize how much of a genius I am, to maker her remember. This is what I do. I ask her “You wanna go for a ride?” (this is creepy, why are you so creepy. You’re not creepy! You’re a genius! You write Tumblr blogs for fuck sake!) She accepts because she has to and I lead her to my car. Some of the other well respected women emotionlessly ask me where I’m going. I tell them I’m going to space. As I step on the gas, I hear Jonas collapse on the floor, for I believe he was using this car as a way to hold himself up. I step on the breaks after Friend A screams my name. He tells me “Please end up happy this time. Please.”

His eyes are red. I wink at him and drive out into the unknown.

I’m driving like a bullet straight into the darkness, with a well respected women in the passenger seat beside me. She asks me what we’re doing or where we’re going about 7 times but the only response I have is “We’re going to space”. I start to think that maybe she’s not the villain, I am. But I’m not, because I’m a genius. Jesus CHRIST! What is happening to me? I’m seemingly forgetting how intelligent I am! Well, I’m gonna remind myself. And I’m gonna remind her. We drive further and further into the abyss that is the Nebraskan country roads. Deeper and deeper into this dark tunnel. I don’t exactly know where I’m going, except I do! I’m going right here right now! I stop the car. For a moment I experience pure inner and atmospheric peace. When I look over at the well respected women and my heart sinks. I stare at all of her beauty. Her imperfect hair rests upon her head like a feather resting upon the land, flowing and waving naturally through the wind. Below it are 2 eyes that when looked at could bring a feeling of peace that could end any war. And it’s pretty fucking hard to focus on that with that giant bruise on her head. She lays on top of the car with me. I play every song on my main playlist. Our hearts move to the music, our hands interlock. Our eyes are completely engulfed by the universe above us. This is what I show her. I show her my symphonies, my perspective, my passion, my views, my craft, I show her everything. Therefore I unveil this mask she has been wearing all her life and introduce her to a sunrise. I show her her purpose. the one reason she was put on this earth, and that is to honor Grady Henderson. I show her the beginning, the middle, and the end. Not only of the playlist, not only of this moment, but of the universe. All of existence is defined by this moment and she understands every bit of that. She looks at me, eyes and all, and asks “What’s your Tumblr username?”

She understands. She respects. She remembers. As we drive home, the streetlights of this town become more visible. Forget that beautiful, wretched land. We are here. I look at her and barely recognize the bruise. She looks at me and barely recognizes the person she saw step out of that car. I drop her off at her house. She thanks me, and says she looks forward to reading my blogs. She has no idea what she’s getting into. I have brought light and meaning into yet another soul today. I go home and finish writing tomorrow’s blog

I write about how fucking pathetic I am. I write about how arrogant and narcissistic and disrespectful I am. I write paragraphs and paragraphs about how much I feel like Jon Arbuckle every day. I write about how alone I feel. I write about how unsatisfied I feel. I write about my repulsive face and my repulsive legs. I write about how the only reason I wanted her to like was because I’m an attention seeking piece of shit that only saw value in her because of her physical appearance. I write about how creepy I am for being so descriptive about her. I write about the friends that I hurt and abandoned and how I don’t even know if they made it home or not. Because I don’t care about anyone else, I only care about Grady Henderson. I write about this lazy, pathetic, repulsive person named Grady Henderson. I post it at 5 AM and go to sleep.

I wake up 2 hours later. I look out my window and watch another Friday morning begin. I once again feel the gust of wind of all my followers expressing their emotions about my latest blog through exhalation. I feel disgusted. And yet, I still rise above nature’s ground and levitate to school. Because I have to.

My name is Grady Henderson, and I write Tumblr blogs. I don’t receive any respect because of this and rightfully so.

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seliphtheriolu · 6 years

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Here we go (again)

So after ages of friends bugging me to make one of these I finally did it. Here I am on tumblr, making my debut. I’ve actually had this account for a while and never bothered to make a blog. But I’ve gone and done it. I decided not to associate with any fandom. This is just going to be my space where I ramble about things and post them for all the world to see. So let’s skip the fluff, which you can find in my handy dandy About me / Rules page (you did read that right?) and get right down to it.

Tonight I’m going to talk about kids’ television. I was having a conversation the other night with a good friend about what her younger brother was watching on Nick. It was a show called Henry Danger or something. I haven’t watched it. My friend was complaining about how the show’s villain was portrayed as a gay stereotype, and that she wasn’t surprised such a thing would be in a show created by Dan Schneider. I haven’t watched Nick religiously in years, though Schneider’s name is one I recognize from shows such as Drake and Josh and iCarly. These were both shows from my youth that I remember fondly, but they do have their flaws, especially the latter. I’m not going to go into the controversies surrounding the show as that’s not what I remember it for. I remember it for something I enjoyed watching even after I was older than the target audience just because it had some good jokes in it. Though looking back I can notice it began Scheider’s trend of dressing teenage girls in outfits they’re too young to be wearing.

We started talking about how a lot of children's’ television these days are garbage, especially compared to the great shows of our youth. Nickelodeon isn’t the only network to sink to this level. Cartoon Network, a channel I adored even more than Nick as a child now likes to spend its time putting on seven-hour marathons of “everyone’s favorite show” Teen Titans Go, while shafting gems (metaphorically and literally) like Steven Universe. Meanwhile Nick doesn’t seem to care that they stuck comedy gold with The Loud House and aren’t giving it the publicity it deserves.

Why are these networks, which put out such great shows in the 90s and early 2000s so down in the dumps? Unsurprisingly it comes to money. There was an era in the early 2010s when Cartoon Network, Nick and Hub went through a renaissance of sorts, and was making kids’ shows that were also entertaining to adults. But the glory days of Adventure Time, The Legend of Korra, Regular Show and My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic (I’m a brony and I still love the show, but it’s not quite the same as it was) are behind us. And what happened to those amazing action shows of our childhood? Again, money. DCAU, Ben 10, and Avatar all cost a lot to produce. Commercial revenue wasn’t enough to make them worthwhile from the corporate perspective. A major source of income for shows like these was toy sales. Capitalist it is, but it allowed for these gems (figurative only this time) to exist. Shows like Dexter’s Laboratory, Kids Next Door, Rugrats, Spongebob, and yes even Adventure Time and Steven Universe cost significantly less to produce. But wait! Kids don’t care about effort. If it has bright colors and poop jokes kids will watch it without question, being entertained by Uncle TV while Mom does housework. The aforementioned Teen Titans Go and Henry Danger really aren’t for a sophisticated audience. They’re for young children

Why? Because older kids, teenagers and young adults don’t watch TV anymore. Cable is expensive, and it’s something us millennials often don’t want to, or can’t pay for. Especially when streaming services like Netflix and Amazon offer extensive libraries of shows and movies for significantly less. Many shows have decided to simply stream themselves without bothering with network television. And these are the shows like Bojack Horseman, like Star Trek: Discovery, that have an older audience in mind.

So now we’re at that lame joke “blame the millennials.” In all truth, blame us. We don’t want to watch network TV anymore. We do watch our shows online. But it’s the natural progression of technology and culture, adapting to new innovations. When television gained popularity through the 1940s the great radio dramas of the previous era either adapted themselves to TV or died off. (Fun fact: radio dramas are actually making a comeback in the form of podcasts. Check out Welcome to Night Vale.) The move to streaming services is just another change in trends with new technology available. Nick and CN have both experimented with streaming services, but both of them have faltered on it.

Before I end this essay I would like to talk about another network that has gone in a (somewhat) different direction: Disney. Disney Channel is still chugging along, pumping out its silly preteen sitcoms. But the company is also producing what they’re beloved for: animation. The DuckTales reboot is good. Really really good. In some ways even better than the original series. It’s also available on Amazon. Disney isn’t trying to fight the changing tides. They’re sailing with them. And their TV animation department might manage to stay afloat because of that.

So that’s my take on what’s happening to our beloved childhood TV networks. Thanks for reading this. I plan to write more essays where I ramble about various things, some well-known, others obscure. There won’t be a schedule. I’ll just pump them out when I feel like it. Do you have an opinion on the direction TV and streaming is going? Share it below.

#introductory post #television #radio #netflix #nickelodeon #cartoon network

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imagine-that-one-thing · 7 years

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Dripping In Diamonds. || 2

Authors Note: Hey everyone! This is part two to ‘Dripping in Diamonds,’ it is something new I am currently playing around with and I hope you guys enjoy reading it. Thank you if you decide to read! Previous Chapters, Dripping In Diamonds. Harry Masterlist found HERE If you’d like to send me feedback feel free to send me an Ask. It sometimes helps to see what the reader feels and thinnks. :) xx

I’m the kind of woman that acknowledges what she desires and when she desires it. I’m a woman of various means and fortunes, but I️ concede the prying eyes of people on the outside to judge me and ridicule me. I️ allow them to understate me, merely because it gives me extra dynamism over their weakened, obnoxious, ignorant individuals. I’m associated with several conditions, wealth, fortune, diamonds, Nate, but what the outsiders peering in fail to notice is the contempt lathered on the walls of the house or bogus words written between the lines of business and a wedding certificate. One could suppose that I️ enjoy playing with fire for the quality of the ache and the burn or because I️ prefer to play with fire instead of putting it out. It’s more of a thrill.

“Eleanor, darling,” Nathan’s voice is a rich sounding melody that reverberates the metaphorically abandoned hallways, his footsteps inching closer and closer to our lavishing bedroom before he’s stepping in and granting me a petite smirk.

I️ glance up at him from my position at the end of the bed, my leg crossed over the other as I️ watch him take his suit jacket off— sliding it leisurely down his arms. I️ smile at him, more so admiring his charming good appearances and the body that thrives beneath the clothes, “Nathan,” I️ greet as I perpetually do. From the way he’s grinning at me I️ can only assume he requires something from me. He doesn’t smile lovingly at me anymore, he hasn’t since our honeymoon ceased. “Would you mind accompanying me tonight?” “Do I️ have to?” I️ question as his fingers begin to unfasten his button up. I can’t help but lick my lips subtly at his exposed skin. He has a magnificent physique, he always has. Intriguing, very intriguing— he always has been. Nathan provides me with a small exhalation and nods, “it’s business, Eleanor. It would look wrong not to have you by my side,” his voice is more firm than it was previously and he’s doing his best not to appear like a dick. Something he has the tendency to do. “I’m going to need more convincing,” I️ respond as he lowers his shirt to the flooring of the bedroom and he moves closer to me. “How much more?” He murmurs before his lips graze against my own, “because I️ only have five minutes,” his voice is muffled and faint before he kisses me considerately. I️ hold back my own chuckle and the rolling of my eyes, “that’s all it takes.” “Ouch, that’s harsh Eleanor,” Nathan mutters as he extracts away with a heavy exhalation. I️ give him a shrug as I️ press my hands behind me on the bed and lean back, purposely making it easier to toy with him. “Jus’ the truth, Nathan.” His eyes dip from my own and scan me up and down, “Nice dress,” he utters before sauntering his way to the extensive wardrobe that holds more clothes than I️ could have ever envisioned. After a few moments of silence, he steps out and is launching a new button up on, “where’d the chauffeur take you yesterday? What’s his name, Henry?” Nathan questions with a weary tone, his eyes becoming darker as I️ take note of the exhaustion that is settling into him. “I️ don’t know a Henry.” Nathan rolls his eyes at me, “I️ forgot his name,” “That’s because you’re too stuck up to remember any of the names of those who serve around here,” I️ bluntly inform him with a smirk and he huffs, well aware that I’m undividedly correct with my statement. He doesn’t make an effort with the ‘help’, if it wasn’t for me he would forget to pay them half the time. It isn’t uniquely his liability, he doesn’t know any better and sometimes forgets that not everyone is, well, rich. “I’m working on it,” Nathan grunts, “His name is Harry by the way, and your assistant’s name is Brooke, the name you called out during sex one time.” I️ smile widely, my eyes observing the way his jaw clenches at the sound of her name leaving my lips. I️ can’t honestly help but bring it up for entertainment. “It was two years ago, I️ told ye I️ was sorry. Are you going to tell me where you went?” “Mmm, no. But I️ am going to change my dress,” I️ acquaint him as he repeatedly huffs, but this time for my defiance. “The theme is black and white,” “Excellent, I’ll wear red.” I️ overhear him grumble something under his breath before he speaks up, “Eleanor,” Nathan’s voice laments. I️ love when his voice comes off as more of a plea and a beg, particularly when my name is attached to the imploring tone. “Nathan,” I️ mimic his pitch of voice as I️ glance over my shoulder to observe him staring at me. “Woman, you’re going to put me in an early grave.” “That’s the plan,” I️ wink with a grin plastered across my lips. I️ abruptly feel his hands on my waists and he lures me into him as I️ tilt my neck to the side, his lips caressing against the bare skin. “Quit toying with me,” He whispers against the tender skin of my neck and I️ giggle as he lets me go, knowing very well and good he has to leave in a few minutes, despite what he craves. “I️ have to go, I’ll see you in a bit?” I️ turn to face him, my hands now touching against his chest, “Mhm,” I️ hum, “wearing red, of course.” “Please, don’t.” “Going to need more than that to change my mind.” “Fuckin’ hell, you’re definitely something-“ he shakes his head, “behave, don’t wear red for Christ’s sake. Black or white.” He commands substantially while doing his best to read my intentions and my eyes. He can’t determine if I️ am bluffing or not and I️ love it. It’s driving him nuts. Poor fella, he’ll have to wait and see. He kisses the corner of my mouth, “goodbye, be there at seven, sharp. I️ mean it.” Nathan keeps a steady voice with me and I️ nod.

I’ll see him some time at around seven, maybe eight. I make my way down the extravagant staircase, my palm caressed to the bannister as it glides down supremely and effortlessly. I beam as I notice Harry at the bottom of the stairs waiting with a bright-eyed smile. He is attired excellently in a plain, collared white dress shirt, a matching black suit jacket and suit pants accompanied by a black tie that has Nathan’s company logo embroidered on it.

There is something about a man in a suit that turns me on. A man in a uniform executes him to resemble a sophisticated and sharp appearance. A black suit and tie presents my head to spin.

He has this representation to him that is engaging and charming, he is easy on the eyes and just someone that constantly has eyes gazing at him, surely there is a Mrs Styles or a soon to be Mrs Styles. It is hard for me to pry my eyes away from such beauty. He possesses these luminous green eyes that have a tinge of grey to them depending on how the sunlight catches them. His lips are this astonishingly addicting tone of pink that are plethoric and probably harbour the richest, delightful taste one could think of.

I reach the last stair of the staircase I put aside my meandering observations that I shouldn’t be holding, but I can’t help it. “Mr.Styles,” I give him a slight grin as he offers his hand to me. I press my hand delicately in his as I step down off the last stair.

“Mrs Archibald,” Harry nods professionally. He leans closer, giving us just enough distance for him to whisper, “you look lovely, Eleanor.”

“Thank you,” … “You look the same as you always do when you pick me up,” I respond softly as I shift a stray piece of hair behind my ear presenting the diamond earrings the dangle.

Harry guides me towards the doors and we walk out into the cool summer breeze that whistles around the two of us on this early July evening.

Something about the breeze exhibits a strangely calming and soothing feel, maybe it is the warmness that whisks past me or maybe it is the man accompanying me towards the car.

Harry opens the door and I slide into the vehicle with ease before he closes it behind me and resumes to his position in the driver’s seat.

I take a deep breath as I incline against the comfort of the leather seats. It has become a habit that Nathan and I show up to functions separately, half the time it is strictly due to him being too busy to meet me, the other half has an unexplained purpose. It is rare for us to show up coincidentally and to be honest, I considerably love it like this. I cherish having the drive to the varied locations to myself and without Nate speaking business with me.

I lean forward slightly, my dress feeling uncomfortable and I attempt to adjust it before abruptly recognising what the issue is.

Great, just great.

I️ break Harry’s attention and the silence that has swept over us since we left the house. “Harry, would you mind helping me?” “With what, Love?” Harry challenges as I️ adjust my dress and wiggle around slightly, endeavouring to arrange it to better fit my body. “I️ need you to pull over and help me,” “Eleanor, we don’t have time. You’d be late.” I️ raise a brow, somewhat humoured by Harry’s sense of punctuality, he apparently doesn’t know how I️ appreciate irritating my husband and not satisfying his every demand and expectation. “Harold, do you like the paycheck you receive?” “Yes. Ma’am.” “Good, then I’d recommend you pull over. I️ have a wardrobe malfunction.” I️ instruct with authority, not granting him any room to dispute me. I️ grasp the reins when it comes to him when we are alone. Nathan has no damn say in this moment. Harry nods and pulls over rather instantly. He turns to glance at me and I️ give an innocent smile. “My bra strap unclipped, can you please help?” “Uh… hum yes…, no…. I️…um,” he stutters, “I️ don’t think I should.” Harry shakes his head. “Harry, I��m sure you have seen bras and you’re aware most females wear them. Please, just clip it back in.” I️ mutter, positioning myself so my back is facing him. I️ hear him clear his throat before the rustling of his body moving against the leather seats of the car sounds. The stroke of his hand on my bare shoulder transfers shivers down my spine and I️ can’t help but clamp down on my lip.

There is something about his touch that ignites something that I don’t think I have felt before. I can’t put my finger on what it is, nor can I discover the words to desribe it. After a few hushed moments, Harry manages to clip the bra strap before he transfers my hair back over my shoulder. I️ turn around and give him a petite smile as he stares at me for a brief moment.

Did he feel that same unexpected spark? “Thank you,” I️ manifest my appreciation as he shifts around and goes back to driving, taking me by surprise when he grows withdrawn. “Harry, is there a reason why you’re suddenly quiet?” “Eleanor, you are married,” Harry’s voice is thick as the words escape the delicate lips that I desperately desire to latch onto and taste every desiring of them. I roll my eyes and scoff to myself, paying him of no attention despite the fact I can regard him staring at me through the rearview mirror as we are stopped at a red light. “You know, I can still see you roll your eyes at me.” “I didn’t intend to hide it from you, Harry,” I respond swiftly as I cross my leg over the other, adjusting my dress for it rest at my knee modestly. As much as I’d love for it to be bundled up my thigh with a pair of torturous, brazen hands sliding against them, I don’t think that’ll be happening, sadly. I apprehend a heavy breath leave Harry’s lips as we grow soundless and he focuses on driving. It’s not for a brief moment before he again states the obvious, “you’re married and I️ just clipped your bra and—” he trails off. What a sweetheart. Guilty for touching my bra strap. Oh, if only he would touch so much more than just the strap. “Oh, Harold,” I chuckle, observing how his brows furrow into a small frown as he continues to stay concentrated on the road, “my dear, you’re incredibly sweet and naive.” “Ms.Eleanor, I’m not naive. Are you talking down to me?” “No, I am not. But, yes I am married… but only by paper.” “What do you mean by that?” I divert my eyes to rest on my dress, doing my best to avoid any sort of eye contact with Harold, “Again with the innocents,” I breathe while I shake my head subtly to myself. Considering the fact he works for myself and my husband, I would have assumed he grasped by now that marriage is a binding contract that doesn’t necessarily imply it consists of Love. “Harry, my marriage is nothing but a piece of paper scribbled with my initials.” The truth is, I️ doubt there’s any tender devotion left in the marriage, it burned out like an old flame. “I’m not quite sure I understand… so you’re not in love with him?” “Perhaps not,” I lift my shoulders into a shrug, not desiring to deliver the response undeviatingly. I desire to stay vague when it comes to several circumstances and I’m not positive on where Harry’s allegiance lies, with me or Nathan. “Why do you stay with him?” Harry’s voice is effortless as he asks the question that I had anticipated. “Because my vows were until death do us part… neither of us are six feet under, yet,” I respond with honesty as the car proceeds to come to a halt. Harry has successfully driven me to Nate’s obligation— his business function where I️ will be settled on display— similar to a necklace of diamonds.

#Harry styles imagines #harry styles prompt #harry styles prompts #imagine harry styles #harry styles blurbs #harry styles blurb #harry styles fluff #harry styles preference #harry styles preferences #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfics #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfictions #harry styles writing

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exxar1 · 4 years

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Episode 4: Waking Up

11/14/2020

Good morning, folks. As I write this, I’m sitting in my living room, listening to an Apple music channel of classic Christmas carols, while late morning sunshine streams through my front window. I have just finished putting laundry in the dryer and washing the few dishes in the sink that piled up during the week. My McDonald’s iced coffee is almost gone, and I’m feeling ready to face the day.

I have a couple hours before I have to start getting ready for work, so there’s not a lot of time to hammer out this blog entry. I don’t have a lot to say for this episode, but I have been feeling somewhat strange for the last couple weeks. Not ‘strange’ in the physical sense, but ‘strange’ as in ‘there’s something happening with me that I can’t quite explain’.

And now I’m going to try to explain what I’m talking about.

Per my usual work routine, I spend 5 ½ hours every morning, Monday through Friday, in the lobby of Walmart, greeting customers and making sure everyone is wearing their face mask. And, as usual, I have nothing but my own thoughts and the occasional conversation with co-workers to keep me company. But mostly just my own thoughts. And boy, my brain lately will just not shut down – or even go into standby mode. It seems that all I can do lately is just think, think, think. Here’s a sample of what tumbles through my head from morning until night every day:

· Is the ballot recounts for the national election close to being done? Will Trump retain his presidency (I hope), or will America finally get its first female president? (Yes, you read that correctly.)

· Spencer Klavan of the “Young Heretics” podcast so damn good looking, and the fact that he’s also a “Super Mario Bros” fan in addition to being ivy league educated and possessing near-savant level human intelligence has forced me to finally admit that I have had a massive crush on him for almost four months now. (I just wish he wasn’t such an avid gym rat. That’s such a turnoff. Well, that, and the fact he already has a boyfriend.)

· I need to start working on the story ideas that came to me a few weeks ago. There’s two really good ones that I know would make excellent short stories, or, at the very least, novellas. One’s about a superhero called The Red Mask, and the other is about cats and dogs that are created with a sophisticated AI that allows them to look, feel and behave exactly like real animals but without all the maintenance and mess that pet owners have to put up with (such as feeding them, combing them, bathing them, walking them, training them, cleaning up their poop, etc.).

· Oh! A circuit court judge in Georgia just ordered a bunch of ballots to be thrown out in that state’s recount!

· Spencer Klavan liked one of my tweets about Young Heretics!!!!

· Should I have McDonald’s for lunch or the apple I brought with me? The apple. Definitely the apple. Need to stay healthy.

· I can’t believe all the idiots on social media that not only voted for Biden/Harris but actually think that he will make a good president. What the hell is wrong with them???? Anyone with half a brain can easily recognize what Trump has done for this country, and it scares the shit out of me that the radical left (capital ‘R’, capital ‘L’) just might get their foot in the door of the White House. What the fuck is wrong with half of America right now??? It’s all that “white fragility”, “systemic racism”, “white privilege”, “black lives matter” bullshit!!! How the fuck did that horseshit gain such powerful traction in this country????Robin Deanglo and Ibram X Kendi and all their pathetic followers are so full of shit they ought to open their own manure factory!!!!

· Yay! The 2021 “Super Mario Bros” and “Star Trek” wall calendars I ordered on Amazon have shipped! They’ll be here Tuesday!

· And that reminds me, I need to start working on the photo calendars that I give to my family every year for Christmas. Maybe I should do that this Saturday morning before my shift at Check City.

· Oh. Time for my break. Yay! Coffee!

And…repeat. That. All of that. Over and over all day long – creative story thoughts, political thoughts, work thoughts, checking my phone three times an hour to review the latest posts on Facebook, Twitter and Instagram to stay on top of all the latest news and current events that serve to fuel my new woke self. Texting friends and family about this and that. On and on and on...

Hhmmm. My new woke self.

The other day, as this new thought occurred to me, I mentally reviewed everything that’s happened to me this year, everything that I wrote about in that first blog episode. I also thought about my recent self-examination of my whole life up to this point, the stuff I covered in episodes 2 and 3 of this blog. Then I thought back over the last two weeks: the sudden and unexpected passing of Aaron; his memorial service that I made an emergency trip home to Idaho to attend; and, finally, this new, strange…’wokeness’, for lack of a better term, that I now find myself in.

I honestly don’t know how to precisely describe it. I’ve been trying all this week to come up with apt, specific words and/or phrases, and then, finally, I thought of something. I’m a huge fan of the reboot of “Battlestar: Galactica” that was done by Ronald D Moore on the SyFy channel in 2004. It’s been a few years since I last binged all 4 seasons of that terrific show, but I was thinking about it the other day as my mind wandered, and it suddenly occurred to me what this new ‘woke’ state that I’m in feels like: the Cylon sleeper agents (who looked and acted like real humans) that were suddenly awakened to their true nature.

Yeah, I’m not kidding. Yes, I know how that sounds, but let me explain. I really feel like that, somewhere deep in the core of my brain, a metaphorical ‘switch’ was flipped from ‘off’ to ‘on’ along about late August or early September of this year. The world around me did not change, but my perception of it – as well as my perception of my place in it – did fundamentally change. I realized this week that for pretty much all my life I’ve been coasting through it. Everything that I’ve done and accomplished took no real effort or sacrifice on my part. Everything after high school pretty much just happened naturally. I decided to join the Army on a whim. When that didn’t work out, I came back home and enrolled in college. I spent 4 ½ years doing what I loved – reading, writing, discussing reading and writing – and I came out with a Bachelor’s in English. Again, no real effort. I coasted through on my natural talents. The only real work was in the core classes that I needed for my degree, like math or biology. But those were few. And then, after college, instead of putting my degree to use, I just settled for a day job in retail and then, later, in an elementary school. And then, in 2012, on a whim, I quit my job and moved to Las Vegas. Once again, I found a cushy day job where I make really good money, and…then 2020 happened.

In other words, I’ve never been an active participant in my own life. I just kinda let everything happen and went with the flow. I even had this same attitude in high school and it drove my parents and teachers absolutely mad. I didn’t care about being valedictorian or captain of the sports teams or even being the best damn piano player this side of the Rockies. All that mattered was hanging out with my friends and making sure the VCR was set each week to record the newest episodes of “Star Trek: DS9” and “Star Trek: Voyager”. And, without consciously realizing it, that’s been my attitude for my whole damn life. I’ve never cared about the world beyond my own front door. If it didn’t affect my life directly, I never paid it any attention. That’s especially true for politics. No matter who sat in the White House, my life never changed. So I figured, why bother? I’m perfectly content to live a quiet, solitary existence, and the rest of the world can do its own thing.

Except that now I’m no longer content with my quiet, solitary existence. Something within me fundamentally changed this year, and there’s no going back.

I am awake. (But, unlike the Cylons, I’m not about to start murdering humans.) I’m certain that it was God’s hand that reached down to flip that invisible switch in my brain, but now that I have rejected my former sleeper state, I don’t know exactly what to do. For the last couple weeks, I have felt nervous; anxious; excited; jittery; like a live wire that’s been cut and is now flopping on the ground, shooting sparks and energy. I have to constantly resist the urge to grab total strangers off the street and shout at them to “Wake up!” The world around us is changing, and we can’t live as sleeper agents in our own lives. Everything that’s happened in 2020 is going to shape the future of this country and the lives of everyone in it, and no one can afford to not care and just keep living their quiet, solitary lives.

This is why I scream on social media about the stupid mask mandates, and the ‘lamestream’ media, and politics, and everything else that I’ve been ranting and raving about for nine months. And yes, I’m sure some of my friends think I’ve gone crazy, and more than a few have probably unfollowed me. I don’t mean to alienate folks, but I have to put this energy somewhere or I’ll go crazy.

One of biggest changes that I have noted is that I no longer have a desire to park in front of the TV in my time off. I still have a few regular shows that I watch each week, but my passion has turned to reading and podcasts. I renewed my Audible.com membership a few months ago, and I have started stockpiling audiobooks on various subjects: biographies of the Founding Fathers of America, non-fiction books on artificial intelligence and other new forms of technology, books on world history, western literature and Greek philosophy. (I recently began listening to a series of lectures from Boston University on Plato’s “Republic”). And, of course, the highlight of my week is a new episode of “Young Heretics” every Tuesday. (And no, it’s not just because of my crush on Spencer Klavan.) I also have started carving out an hour here and there each day to grab my laptop and write a few paragraphs of new stories or just jot notes for upcoming stories.

I really, honestly feel as if something is coming. I don’t know what, I don’t know when, but God woke me up for a reason. He’s got something planned for me, and I need to be ready for it. I’m pretty certain the world is not coming to an end anytime soon, and I’m sure 2021 will be a better year for our nation than 2020, no matter who’s sitting in the White House. And yes, Lord willing, this stupid “pandemic” will also be over sometime soon. For me, personally, 2020 was the year that changed me and got me ready for whatever is coming. A fire’s been lit under my ass, but I’m not sure where yet where I’m supposed to be jumping up and running to.

I am sure, however, that It’s time to be an active participant in my own life.

Hey mom and dad, I really do care now, and I really, truly want to do my best. I want only top grades and to be the captain of…something. It only took twenty-six? Twenty-seven years? But now I’m going to be that grade-A student that you and Mrs. Tutty and Mrs. Jones and Mr. Walker always knew I could be.

Better late than never, eh?

#life #Christian #gay #politics #truth #woke

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galeadair-blog · 6 years

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PERSONALITY:

Equal parts logical and emotional, pragmatic and wild, cold but incredibly soft beneath the ice – Gale is a walking study in contradictions. Her head and her heart are constantly at war. From a distance, she’ll approach any problem she’s given with cool, clear logic. But catch her on the spot, in the heat of a moment? She’s prone to acting before her head can fully catch up to her, all fire and adrenaline. Gale calls it trusting her gut when it works out, and letting her emotions get the best of her when it doesn’t. Whip-smart and determined, she lacks the silvery veneer of the other Adairs and prefers blunt, straightforward communication that’s as efficient as the computers she spends so many hours with. She knows she’s the smartest person in almost any given room, even among the highbrow politicians her parents keep company with, and she enjoys watching other people squirm, scrutinizing and picking them apart because she’s never felt it was her job to make other people feel comfortable. Suffocated in a giant house where she was ignored no matter how large she made herself, Gale holds herself to an even higher standard than her brother because it’s the only way to prove she’s better, even though that still falls on deaf ears. Part of her thinks she owes much of her success to her family, as much as she begrudges them for it: it’s spite, after all, that has driven her all these years. Spite and the knowledge that she must look out for herself above all else, because no one else is going to do that for her. At least, that’s what she tells herself. At her core, however, is nothing more than the overwhelming desire to be accepted and loved, but she’s learned to bury her softness under sharp edges, used to being disregarded now matter how much she does to prove herself. She just isn’t sure who she’s even trying to prove something to, anymore.

HEADCANONS:

i. As if she wasn’t already suffocated enough in a home where her sole function was to be a glaring reminder of Sophie’s only mistake – homeschooling kept Gale even further confined, separated from other kids her age. Her parents told her it was because she was so advanced; she’d be miserable sitting in a classroom with kids years above her, girls in training bras and boy sprouting facial hair while she stood feet shorter. They were probably right. Gale always preferred the solitude of her room and speaking to people through a computer screen as opposed to face-to-face interactions. But it didn’t matter that they were right. What mattered that their reasoning was a lie. Gale was something to hide as her mom’s political career was taking off, a mistake swept under the rug for as long as possible until they knew she and Charles could both be trusted not to spill the family’s secret. Until they couldn’t keep them under their roof any longer, more like. With a high school diploma and a slew of AP scores under her belt at 16, Gale left for college only two years after her half-brother (and determined to graduate at the same time). Stanford was the obvious choice; one of the nation’s top schools in both computer science and mathematics, it was also the farthest Gale could get from D.C. without leaving the country.

It was hardly a surprise when she found herself thrust into a boys’ club, the smallest and the youngest and the low man on the totem pole. But this wasn’t like her home. Here, Gale couldn’t be ignored, not when she so easily surpassed everyone else in her classes, when she was the first to answer questions or provide a sarcastic response whenever a classmate or a professor got something wrong. She quickly realized that she didn’t mind being resented so long as she was being acknowledged., and in no time at all she was thriving at school, all her free time spent hunkered down in her dorm room working on a code of her own development and ignoring her roommate’s requests that she please stop typing until 4 am.

ii. It was during those late nights in her room that Gale stumbled upon the thing that would make her truly Great. It started as a project for a coding class, something she might simply have abandoned after receiving perfect marks had her professor not told her he believed she was on to something. So it was that she started to pour herself into Walkie-Talkie, a messaging app that allows users to send a voice message as easily as a text. She threw in all the capabilities of other popular messaging apps and an option for highly sophisticated encryption, and suddenly she had a hit on her hands. With a bit of hard work and marketing, Talkie (as it’s commonly referred to by end users) blew up, and Gale brought on a team to help manage its success and look to the future. She didn’t want to be limited by one app, to be a one-hit wonder that faded off to the background. That wasn’t enough, at least not enough for her mother to take notice. So she kept working. She built up an entire tech company, making money off data aggregation and predictive analytics along with marketing and advertising. She created a dating app that build off of Talkie. She leads philanthropic efforts to help connect villages in third-world countries to the Internet. Three years after graduating Stanford and she’s a millionaire on her own merit, and Knot47 is a contender in the tech market right alongside Alphabet and Apple.

Gale put a lot of thought into the name of her company. It had to be something catchy but not cheesy, something with her stamp on it without just sticking her name on it and making some pun about gale force winds. Not that she necessarily hates that comparison. In fact, Gale prides herself on how much she’s lived up to her name, an unstoppable force that nearly always indicates a storm coming. She took her inspiration from that, from the fact that she and her company are going to take the world by storm. It’s a bit obvious for a metaphor, but Gale’s skill set has always been for numbers and computers, not flowery writing. Still, she wanted it to be something harder to decipher. Something people would have to think about (and hopefully not be able to understand, even then). Thus, Knot47 was born. 47 knots, the strongest gale force wind, and a name that says nothing about what her company does. Because Gale knew she’d make it big enough everyone would simply know.

And she’s done a good job of it. Two years in and she had a corporate headquarters based just outside D.C., in Silver Spring, Maryland. The campus consists of three buildings connected by indoor skywalk, complete with nap rooms, a cafeteria that provides free breakfast, lunch and dinner, game rooms, and state-of-the-art tech. Everything required to keep her employees at work as long as possible. She’s not an easy boss to work for, but Knot47 is a tough company to get a job at, pays extremely well, and looks great on a resume.

iii. As much resentment as she has toward her mother, there’s also some admiration there as well. Sophie Adair has never been one to take no for an answer, never let her gender or the color of her skin define her, and that’s a mindset Gale embraced as well. A feminist who tries her hardest to hire qualified women whenever possible – she now boasts the highest number of women in development and management positions of any tech company, though that percentage still isn’t anywhere near her liking – she prides herself on how far she’s come in her industry. That isn’t to say, however, that she always identifies as a female. It confused her for a long time; weeks or months where she identified strongly as a woman, especially when she found herself surrounded by men who tried to put her down for it. But there were also times where she felt decidedly unfemale. Not male, not female – just other.

Genderfluidity wasn’t something she knew existed until extensive googling at the age of fourteen, and there was a sense of relief at the realization that she wasn’t alone in what she felt. For the most part she prefers feminine pronouns to define herself, if only because she wants the world to see a strong woman making success for herself in a male-dominated field. But she slips easily between identifying as female and agender. She’s not giving anyone the excuse to claim her success in the industry has anything to do with her not being female at all times. Some days she’ll show up to her mother’s events in a nice dress or skirt and makeup; other days she’ll show up plain-faced in dress pants and a button-up, with no qualms over how the inconsistency gets to her parents. If anything, that just makes her enjoy herself more. For the most part, she doesn’t give her gender much thought anymore, not since she figured herself out. She does and dresses what she feels from day to day, and that’s that.

iv. Raised in a household that demanded perfection in all things – from her, if not from Charles – perhaps it’s a wonder Gale didn’t go off to college and seek out the wildest parties she could find. But teenage rebellion was never her MO, and quite frankly the idea of getting within a hundred feet of a room full of drunk, sweaty, horny Ivy League students sounded like something out of a nightmare. No, Gale explored her newfound freedom in the same way she did everything; her own way. Namely, by forgetting everything her parents had ever taught her about healthy eating habits and the dangers of sugar. Where her much older peers indulged in drugs and alcohol, Gale indulged in candy, and its a habit that’s stuck with her. She’s a sugar addict, plain and simple, and it’s just one more way she sets herself apart from her family. With as much going on in her life as Gale has, she lives on coffee, mixed with sugar and cream until it’s so light in color it’s unrecognizable, and then adding a little more just for good measure. There’s an entire drawer in her office her assistant is responsible for keeping stocked with candy bars and gummies, and she always has at least one package of watermelon sour patch kids in her purse. It’s not uncommon to see her munching on them at a press conference, wiping the sugar off her fingers on Charles’s pants.

v. Gale has never dated. Being homeschooled meant few opportunities to meet other kids, and those she did all reminded her too much of Charles: spoiled, pretentious, more obsessed with their images than anything else. No, thank you. She was perfectly happy left to her own devices, focusing on her studies and the various coding and chess competitions she was involved in. Once she got to college it was much of the same. Significantly younger than the rest of her classmates, Gale was hardly in a position to be dating at Stanford and she much preferred to stay dedicated to her classwork and on track to graduate early. And nothing has changed for her. A young professional, she’s much more interested in her work than she is in going on dates. Not to mention – the thought of going on a date with anybody makes her more nervous than she’d like to admit, even to herself. She’s always been better with screens than with people, and she’s perfectly happy to remain that way.

vi. Naturally energetic and with an affinity for sugar, Gale is nearly constantly fidgeting. Tapping her foot or fingers, clicking a pen, fiddling with the ring she wears on her right hand or picking at her nail polish, she’s always been bad at sitting still (perhaps the one area where Charles has always bested her). She’s also almost always got her cellphone in her hand – Android, not Apple – typing away as she shoots off emails and messages to her assistant and employees whenever she’s not at the office. Even when she’s in the middle of a conversation, it’s not uncommon for her to stop talking (or listening) to pull out her phone and type out a quick note for herself, be it something she’s said she wants to remember later, or a new thought she wants to look into further. Her mind is always moving and she’s learned to jot down the significant thoughts if she doesn’t want to lose them later. If it’s not recorded somewhere, it’s not real.

vii. Gale adores brain teasers and strategy games, anything that lets her work her mind and encourages her to think creatively. Chess was perhaps the one activity that bonded her to either of her parents, though she only ever got tips for improvement when she started to beat them, while Charles was praised constantly despite his losses.

viii. Gale technically still lives in her parents’ home for now, as much as she’d prefer not to. It’s not because she needs to save the money. It’s certainly not because she likes it there. But for as much freedom as she has, she knows her parents hate the idea of her living out from under their watchful eyes during the election season. She’s always been the wild card of the family, and the last thing either of her parents need is for Sophie’s dirty little secret getting out. So at home she stays, for now, only because she isn’t finished taking all she can from her last name. It’s the only thing her parents gave her, after all; Gale isn’t above using their connections to further her own success, at least until she gets to the point where she doesn’t need them anymore. But this isn’t to say she’s home frequently. More often than not, Gale can be found crashed over her desk at Knot47 HQ after a late night of work, enough so that she finally put a loft in her office and started leaving some clothes there.

ix. Years of homeschooling and private tutoring left Gale which a handful of extraneous skills. She speaks spanish and french fluently, plays the tuba and the piano, and even has a few (painful) years of ballet and tennis under her belt.

#about #hc #i am garbage at graphics but here u are anyways #more than u ever needed to know about gale

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cmbynreviews · 6 years

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"Call Me by Your Name" review – Gorgeous gay love story seduces and overwhelms

The debt to pleasure is deferred in exquisite style for this ravishingly beautiful movie set in Northern Italy in the early 80s: a coming-of-age love story between a precocious teenage boy and a slightly older man. Their summer romance is saturated with poetic languor and a deeply sophisticated sensuality.

The film is directed by Luca Guadagnino (who made I Am Love and A Bigger Splash) and adapted from the novel by André Aciman by James Ivory, who had originally been slated to co-direct and has a producer credit. Ivory's presence inevitably calls to mind his film version of EM Forster's Maurice, to which this is frankly superior. For me, it brought back Alan Hollinghurst novels such as The Folding Star and The Spell. Call Me by Your Name is an erotic pastoral that culminates in a quite amazing speech by Michael Stuhlbarg, playing the boy's father. It's a compelling dramatic gesture of wisdom, understanding and what I can only call moral goodness.

Stuhlbarg plays Perlman, a middle-aged American professor of classical antiquity living with his stylish wife Annella (Amira Casar), in a handsome Italian house with their son, Elio – a remarkable performance from Timothée Chalamet – who is a very talented musician, spending his time transcribing Schoenberg and composing piano variations on JS Bach. Theirs is a cultured household, in which everyone is proficient in English, French, Italian and, for Annella, German. The family is also Jewish. Elio calls them "Jews of discretion", a sense of otherness that is to serve as a metaphor for concealed sexuality.

Elio slopes and mopes about the huge house as the long hot summer commences, grumpy and moody, not knowing what to do with himself or his directionless sexuality, shooing away flies, frowning over paperbacks, dressed mostly in nothing more than shorts, all shoulder blades and hairless calves. Every year, his dad invites a favoured grad student to spend the summer with the family to help him with research. This year it is the impossibly handsome and statuesque Oliver, played by Armie Hammer, who never wears a pair of long trousers in the entire film. He establishes his academic credentials early on by presuming to correct Perlman's derivation of the word "apricot". Both Elio and Oliver are to have romantic associations with local young women, but it is more than clear where this is heading. And when the main event arrives, Guadagnino's camera wanders tactfully away from their bed, gazing thoughtfully out of the window at the hot summer night.

What is perhaps so incredible is the concept of leisure, a cousin to pleasure, pure gorgeous indolence and sexiness for six whole weeks. No one appears to have very much to do in the way of dreary work, despite the references to typing up pages and cataloguing slides. People sunbathe; they impetuously jump up and go swimming, have unhurried meals al fresco, cycle into town to drink in bars, or play volleyball. The main work-related activity is when Perlman and Oliver go to inspect a sensational discovery: parts of a classical statue recovered from a lake. Hellenic sensuality is resurrected in concert with the not-so-secret sexual tumult emerging all about.

At any one time, nothing is happening, and everything is happening. Elio and Oliver will catch each other's eye in their adjoining bedrooms or downstairs in the hall; they will casually notice each other changing into swimming costumes. Each of these intensely realised, superbly controlled and weighted moments is as gripping as a thriller. Hammer's Oliver is worldlier than Elio, but not a roué or a cynic; in an odd way, Elio is more cosmopolitan than Oliver. The visiting American looks like a mix of Tom Ripley and Dickie Greenleaf.

Chalamet's performance as Elio is outstanding, especially in an unbearably sad sequence, when he has to ring his mum from a payphone and ask to be driven home. (In that scene, Guadagnino contrives to show an old lady fanning herself in the right-hand side of the frame. Was she an actor? A non-professional who just happened to be there? Either way, there is a superb rightness to it.) And then there is Stuhlbarg's speech advising against the impulse to cauterise or forget pain: "We rip out so much of ourselves to be cured of things faster than we should that we go bankrupt by the age of 30." There is such tenderness to this film. I was overwhelmed by it.

PETER BRADSHAW | THE GUARDIAN | 26 Oct 2017

#Call Me by Your Name #Guadagnino #timothee chalamet #armie hammer #andre aciman #james ivory #reviews #CMBYN #Elio #Oliver #Perlman #Chiamami col tuo nome

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taeguboi · 7 years

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Taehyung x Reader Angst / Fluff

Request 1: ‘ Hi! Taehyung Imagine where he finds out that you're self conscious about your body because other people always made fun of you because of certain things like hair and stretch marks? He overhears you saying things like "Why do you have to look like this again today?" To yourself.. sorry if it's too angsty! Can you make it a little longer and the end fluffy? thanks~ ‘

Request 2: ‘ Hi 👋 I just found your tumblr and it's the best thing❤️❤️ Can I please request a scenario with taehyung based on doddie clarck song 6/10 ?’

I combined these requests because the 2nd one I found to be a good prompt to continue and complete the 1st... It’s like over 6k words -- longer than I expected, but I think that’s because I put quite a bit of myself into this one... It actually helped alleviate some stuff on my mind, and express my annoyances with the past, so this time in particular, I find myself thanking you guys rather than the other way round!

UNEASY

Summary: Chaning your point of view proves to be a lot tricker than you thought

Warning: Self hate, quite angsty

Today I’m trying something different.

This is bound to get him.

As I point a foot into the scrunched up material and slide the delicate fabric up my leg, an aura of confidence fills me. He has to notice me this time and realize I’m the most important thing about his day. Don’t many guys spend most of their teen years looking for this content online just wishing they could experience it for real?

I attach the stockings to the suspender belt and stand up to take in my appearance through the mirror. The reflection gives me a promising image as I sport my new blue underwear with a lacy black net layered on top. The bra is actually both the cutest and sexiest thing I have ever bought for myself, really supporting my boobs and giving the eye something to admire, and the belt really changes my look up from just the sad two piece attempt at seducing this guy!... Maybe I should buy more like this and wear them underneath my clothes daily… Confident people always have a secret to give them that edge, right?

Sure, my figure isn’t flawless, 100% toned with a sunkissed glow, but honestly, who in reality actually looks like that? Even models get photoshopped of their cellulite and stretch marks and skin tones… But the store was right; the garments really do know how to flatter and enhance what is there.

I look good.

Better than good.

“Go get ‘em.”

Okay. So it’s like this a lot lately, but I’m determined to make a change today. Sometimes he, and I say this with sarcasm, will be considerate enough to take the time to stare at a screen with me in his arms, but more often than that, he remains slumped on that goddamn computer chair while I lay here looking pretty. The amount of books I’ve managed to read in this room, seriously…

Young love was such a fine thing at the beginning. He, grand and handsome with his bronzed skin, short brown lustrous hair, such a charming personality and that smile… turned into a painfully lazy slob, hair lacklustre in need a of trip to the hairdresser - but chance would be a fine thing; he never steps foot outside the house!

Why do you think I’m sat here in this dive of a room, smudgy, groggy, with clothes strewn all over the floor?

The bedsheets are just about bearable.

I bring myself to my knees on the bed behind the desk at which he sits, the only light illuminating his face being that of the same old screen. I unbutton the top of my red tartan shirt with anticipation, followed by the next, just to give a good enough view, yet leaving plenty to the imagination, for now.

“Hey hun…” I mumble suggestively, checking last minute that everything is in place, pushing up my rather plentiful looking bosom… If I do say so myself…

“Hmm?” is the disinterested response.

“How about…” I begin, leaning over to tap him on the shoulder to catch his attention. “You finish talking and gaming with those online friends for a friend that is… more real… one that you can…. Hmm, I don’t know… feel?”

I don’t believe this. His eyes don’t even leave the screen through any of my words, nor his that follow “Maybe in a minute, sweet. This level is important.”

“More important than…” Time to undo some more buttons… “Little ol’ me?”

Silence.

For a solid five seconds.

“You know what?”

Huh, now he turns around to look at me, as I’m furiously fastening my shirt back up to rid him of the view he clearly doesn’t deserve or need to see.

“Fuck this” I snap, almost literally jumping off the bed as I grab my bag in a hurry. “Go live in your fucking fantasy world and go find one of the chick sprites on there to have an imaginary fuck with.”

“Babe? I --”

“You barely even have any energy to get out of your chair and stop me. So this is me. Walking out. Of your room. And your life. You clearly don’t need me for as long as you have that computer so I clearly don’t need a sad sack like you.”

“Where is this --”

“Go put your dick in your fucking xbox or something because you’re never getting a view like this again.”

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry I’ll --”

“No. Don’t call me.”

Upon storming out of his bedroom with haste, I bump into his brother

“Hey what the --”

“Sorry, I’m outta here” I explain, a little too politely for my liking but I can’t say any of this is or was his fault. But I can afford to be polite. I’m not running away to hide the crying this time. There isn’t even a hint of a sting to my eyes.

I run down the stairs like thunder and I have no idea if I’m being followed because of the noise of my own footsteps, but I’m gonna take an educated guess that he fucking isn’t and has probably stopped to talk to his brother instead, using the timing of his appearance as a lame excuse in his own mind not to fight for me.

I race down the corridor of the hallway and waste no time, simply picking up my shoes and not even bothering to put them on. It’s a good thing (for the family) that it’s a warm day and the door is already open; I feel so empowered right now that had that door been shut, I could have the strength to walk right through it!

Too much?

I close - slam - the gate behind me for the last fucking time.

And I run.

I’m doing it! I’m storming out! And walking away! -- figuratively! (You know, because I am in fact running)

And look! I don’t even care! This isn’t a mask or denial, either; I can’t find it in myself to care!

I! DON’T! CARE!

I don’t care.

Wait; I don’t care....

...When did I stop caring?

I fell out of love…

Well, why and how can I love something that doesn’t give back? For months, it has been like talking to a brick wall, or having that one teddy bear you loved as a child and told all your secrets to but grew out of and just chuck clean clothes on top of because there’s nowhere else to dump them.

The metaphorical teddy bear, clothes, and the room they were in have all been left behind now.

Maybe this has all been a game of my own… A challenge to change a guy, with different difficulty levels on unfreezing the target from the spinning chair of death, to earn XP points and level up on the sad meter.

Turns out I can level up by quitting the game for good.

I have no idea where I’m running to, and I’m probably not even gonna go home just yet, and the soles of my feet are gonna hate me for this, but I can’t stop!

Freedom!

I think uni life is going to suit me just fine. My own place in the town, an already great social life, my circle which can only expand, and I’ve been accepted onto a course in something I’m confident about.

Wanna take any guesses to what I’ve chosen to study?

A mixture of recommended works as well as texts from my own personal reading list, I unload a handful of a pile of books from the trolley - yes, as in a shopping trolley - that I’ve wheeled into here. Okay, I said a place of my own, but it’s a shared house. But I’m sure they won’t mind though, right?

I’ve developed quite a strong mind for literature so there’s quite a big load here… I might just need to buy myself a set of shelves at this rate; knee high piles across one wall, I really could use something more efficient to store them with…

“Hey, what’s with the trolley?” a deep voice questions.

Oh crap, act normal!

“Oh, um hi there! I’m one of the new house mates! I er… I was just unpacking some books and er…. It’ll be gone soon…” I stutter as I lift myself from the floor where I was just peacefully sorting my books and look up at the person addressing me.

Oh, wow. Is this guy one of my house mates? He’s handsome… probably too handsome for the likes of myself, but a girl can dream, right?

I watch him lean gently onto the trolley and I notice many a thing about him. He has a beautiful melanin glow, and very distinct features, each one of them perfect; fringe sweeping over wide chocolate eyes, and in-between those eyes rests his nose which has a cute little mole on the end, and beneath that nose are the fullest pink lips I’ve ever seen on a man… He’s actually tall, dark and handsome… Just my type… Wait, I say a girl can dream, but am I perhaps just dreaming up this fine specimen of a human being?

“No worries!” he grins, and I swear it elicits such a calming effect on me, and I already feel at home when his eyes turn into cute crescents that compliment the smile. The feeling I get is so warm that it’s almost like there isn’t a trolley between us...

Okay girl, snap out of it and just reply to him!

“I uh…”

“You know, we could take this thing for a ride later, if you want…” he interrupts.

I chuckle at this odd comment… It’s just a trolley... “You make it sound like there’s a sophisticated vehicle in front of us…”

“It doesn’t matter what you’ve got in front of you; what matters is how you make use of it” he replies. “I have to unpack a few more things myself, so I better carry on… See you around later though, yeah?”

“Sure” I smile back, watching in admiration the back view of him as he walks away. Even his walk is cool…

I really need to stop letting myself get so carried away; he’s someone I’m going to have to be living with for the next year at the very minimum… He’s also someone who probably already is in a relationship… They usually all are every time.

I internally sigh as I continue unloading the books.

I thank myself for saving so much dollar over the summer.

Freshers week!

Time to probably forget everything about dieting and healthy living…. Actually, time to probably just forget everything, and drink! This is the new beginning I am determined to get right this time. I’ve been wise with money, begun self improvement, lost a few pounds on the way to make up for eating I'm gonna be doing after boozing (which is something I most definitely do; I’m quite the hungry drunk)... Okay, the weight probably needed to go anyway, but that’s another story… And I’m going to step out into that big wide world and fake the confidence until I no longer need to pretend!

So I’ve not been to every single event that’s come to my awareness, but I’m doing pretty good, if I do say so myself. I’ve socialized well, only having stayed in one night this week, I've partied hard and drunk even harder.

This is going to be such a good year, and I’m so hyped for tonight!

As lame as it seems, I don’t get a head start on getting ready, but on my work instead, finishing some research just an hour before leaving the house.

I’m not the best at makeup, but I make do and take advantage of the dim lighting that exists in most of the places I’ve been to so far… Also, just a flick of eyeliner and a dash of lipstick is going to do when everything gets ruined anyways.

The night-life here is already amazing, and this sense of detachment and freedom is exactly what I’ve been looking for. I’m finally ready to put aside all my insecurities and embrace the person I am!

“Hey, you ready?” I hear someone asking me. I managed to click with one of the girls living here almost instantly, so we chose each other to go on these nights out with. It’s easy to make friends when you go out partying and drinking, but it’s even easier with a wing man… er, woman… You get all the extra special benefits when you have a buddy too; the free drinks came to me way more on the second night than they did on the first, alone.

“Almost!” I call back, slipping my feet into my shoes, then giving myself one last look over in the mirror before setting off down the hallway to meet her.

I��m not quite sure why, but a bunch of us ended up out back of this place, playing spin the bottle instead… I think it was deader than expected back there… but my mind is a little unclear at the moment… but it’s nice. I feel so at ease and relaxed and…

“Hey there guys! Can we join?”

Oh no.

No.

NO.

This has got to be a piss take, right? Why the fuck is he here?... Is this on purpose?

I’ve never sobered up faster.

This has to be on purpose. He never so much as steps foot outdoors unless his mum forces him to go shopping or something, but now here he is, at freshers? This has got to be some really bad joke…

“Sure!” one of the people sat around the bottle responds, making room for, ugh, my ex and his friend…

I’m not sure I can do this.

“Uh, I’m gonna go back inside, if that’s okay with you guys… I’m a little cold”

“Are you sure?” asks my house mate

“Stay! I can give you my jacket” offers the guy sat next to me, but I decline and bring myself to my feet.

“Oh good, I just realized it was you…” he retorts… he, because I don’t even wanna speak his name. “But don’t think I’m coming to chase after you, who’d wanna kiss you anyway?”

“Man, please! I’m the one that left you, so you can shut your fat butt up right now!”

That’s it, I’m fucking right off.

But he chases me anyway as I storm back inside, ready to find myself another drink… Perhaps three more drinks.

“Why are you following me?!” I bellow out, scanning the room for a source of drink.

Shots. All lined up on the table. Probably not for me, but, perfect.

“I guess I feel bad after not following through with your little act last time… Do you feel better now that I’ve followed you?... Come on babe, come back to me… It’s not like you’re gonna get anyone else…”

One shot. Picking it up. Downed.

“You want me to come back to you! Just admit it! You’re just some sad sack who knows he can’t do any better and is trying to turn it on me and lower my self-esteem!”

Second shot.

“Well not today, and not ever again! Now get out of here before I do something drastic!”

Third.

“Drastic, yeah?” he questions with a cocky smirk. “Something drastic like kissing me?”

“I think it’s best we leave it there, and you should leave mate” I hear a familiar voice say. I look to see the handsome housemate, whose name, I learned, is Taehyung. I didn’t realize he would be here tonight as well… Perfectly feasible then again; when we left the house earlier, we left it completely empty.

“Whatever. She’ll come crawling back to me” he replies. “She always does!” he shouts as another guy drags him away.

“Are you okay?” asks Taehyung with concern as I feel my knees giving way, and I can’t tell if I’m really nervous as well as angry, or if the shots are kicking in already.

“There always is something to ruin a new start… I’m fine thank you, I just… need to lay down for a moment” I tell him, feeling drowsy all of a sudden, wobbling slightly.

“Well this isn’t exactly the best place to be doing that, so… Jimin, I’ll be back soon, yeah? I’m taking her home”

“Taehyung! I’ll be fine!” I insist. I don’t want to leave so soon after that commotion, no. I can’t have him thinking I left just because he turned up.

He does not control my life.

I can’t sleep.

I hate the fact that he turned up. It’s triggered every thought I used to over-think, highlighted every regret I hold about the past, stirred up all the anguish to blend with all the positivity I’ve been conjuring up lately.

Of course, I gave in to Taehyung’s proposition that he walk me home… I couldn’t say no to him; he was being dead nice to me. But now that I’ve left the party and I sit here solitary, it allows me to think and focus on everything I could have otherwise put off.

Can I even face those people again now that that’s happened? I may have been getting to the point that I could have been off my face, but there were so many faces I recognised from over the past week in lectures and other fresher events… They’re all gonna think I’m weak.

I can pick this back up. I have to. Any time I haven’t spent out tonight means more money left over. Yeah, I’m gonna treat myself and have some retail therapy tomorrow.

You deserve it.

“Hey hun! How do I look?” I asked him, giving him a twirl in my new dress, well proud of the job I did of my hair.

“Sweetheart, you look cute! Especially in that dress; it really makes your tummy pop” he comments with a grin, poking the slightly fatty area of my body.

Yeah, I’ve been meaning to do something about that…

Laying out the pretty undergarments across the bed, I struggle to choose what to wear tonight; the final night of the first week. I lock my bedroom door and close the curtains, allowing my towel to slip off my body. There’s only one way to decide this, and that’s to try them all on.

I don’t know why I bought another blue two piece… too many bad memories of that day I got overlooked, ignored… I guess I shopped with an optimistic mind earlier, thinking that it wouldn’t matter because it is quite cute.. Plus, I ruined the other one with all that running I did -- let’s just say that is not the right kind of bra to be exercising in.... The bra here is simple without detail and accentuates my cleavage, but.... The matching underwear really does no favours in hiding my stretch marks along my thighs… Ugh.

Maybe I could go for the red one… The colour of passion with its bold tone… Nah, I’m not quite feeling it. It’s too raunchy for my mood… I want everything I wear to speak for itself and myself. Why wear something bold when you’re feeling just a tad… quite… unsexy…

I can’t go wrong with black, surely? Okay, nope, I was wrong. You can go wrong. I thought black was supposed to be a slimming colour! But instead it shows off those fucking marks on my breasts as well as my thighs! And my hips!

White. Come on, white. It’s not even any ‘special’ underwear, merely a training bra I bought for my exercise, but it’s better… the light material of the matching panties doesn’t draw attention to the things I don’t like about myself...

I don’t know why I get like this sometimes, but let’s lift myself up from that slight downer and focus on hair. Yeah, let’s make more of an effort tonight.

I half-heartedly smile at myself in the full length mirror as I continue to work on my look for tonight. Every day, or every time, I look in the mirror, I try to tell myself what is good. It’s just one of the many things I picked up after walking away from that imbecile.

“I suppose my eyes do have an extra sparkle to them today” I mutter, combing my hair out of my face, ready to style. But it just won’t go right! Damn you frizz! Come on, you can do this!

Right. Makeup. Good makeup can make any look better, even if I’ve messed up the good hair thing slightly… but goodness, it’s gotten muggy in here, I must open a window or something.

Okay, focus… is what I try to do, but it then turns into a bunch of arguments with myself as I get angrier at my bad co-ordination and certain aspects of my natural features.

“Fuck’s sake! Why don’t my eyes look even!”

“Stupid unsymmetrical face!”

“Ugh, stupid!”

It’ll have to do.

I’m not gonna lie; I do feel kinda plain tonight in comparison to all these pretty girls I can see around here. I guess throughout the week, I hadn’t really been paying attention to anyone other than myself…

… and that’s because I don’t need to! Come on! I know I keep repeating those words, but come on!

“Ha-ha-HA! How wasted am I?!” questions my housemate as she wobbles back over to me.

“Oh dear” I chuckle. Bless her; I must admit, she’s quite the drunk.

“So this is my friend… Uh, you guys should talk for a while… Gotta pee”

Oh. Okay, I guess the social part of tonight might have come to me. That’s alright, I guess.

“Hey there…” he says to me. He’s actually not that bad looking, and he has a kind face… “I’m Namjoon, and you?

Namjoon is a really cool guy. He seems very intelligent, and despite the drinking, he can maintain a steady and intelligent conversation with me… Turns out he’s minoring in Lit so we’ve managed to talk continually for an hour on just a couple of books alone! I feel much better now, almost unsure what my worries were even about earlier.

He smiles back at me with such sincerity and he’s interested in every word I have to say. I even catch him eyeing up different parts of my body when he thinks I’m not looking, which might be seen as perverted to some, but I just think it’s charming!

Honestly, if there was a night on which that bastard of an ex had to show up, I really wish it would have been one night later than when he did. Because right now, there’s something happening between me and this Namjoon, almost chemistry, you might say… enough to give him a strong message at least.

The minute he places a hand on my knee though, this perspective all changes. Suddenly, I find myself anxious at his touch, wishing I’d at least worn tights tonight to cover up the scar… I did it once by accident when shaving, so it’s not like there’s any emotionally painful memories attached to it, but I just don’t like it.

He must think I’m far from feminine right now… My skin was never in the best condition… I’m starting to think that perhaps I’ve been a bit too confident since I left him… Perhaps I need to back down a bit…He seems like a great guy...

You deserve it.

No, I don’t.

I place my shaky hands over the one that rests on my knee and ease it away.

“Oh, hey, I’m sorry if that was too much…” he apologizes.

“Um, no it’s not that, sorry…” I apologize also. “It’s just… Look, you’re an extremely nice guy, but I think I’m trying to move on faster than I’m comfortable with, I’m really sorry if I’ve lead you on, I… I was with someone for a very long time, and I…”

...am not even wearing the right underwear,

...don’t have the right body,

...look too plain,

...aren’t good enough...

“...am sorry, I think I should go home.”

I throw my shoes across the corridor, careless about anyone that could potentially be around at this time. I force the bobble out of my hair and throw it in some other direction, probably never to be seen again. I literally rip my shirt off my useless body, tearing some of the sewing work and causing a few buttons to pop off, and I immediately substitute it for some old thing lying on the couch that I’m not even sure is mine.

I rush over to the mirror that stands in my room, and trying with every ounce of strength not to punch it or damage it in any way. Sometimes, when I see what’s in front of the mirror, I want to throw a punch at the glass so it shatters and I don’t have to see what I don’t like. But life isn’t like that; there’s no running away.

God knows I tried to have a more positive attitude. About life, myself, everything. That’s why instead of staying cooped up at home in despair, I moved out and started uni. That’s why instead of lashing out at my reflection, I would nurture it, tell it something nice. That’s why I decided to become a different person.

But people can’t just change that easily, it seems.

I remember when me and my school mates would rank people in the year group on their looks… Compliments and ratings out of 10 and all the rest...

“I mean, she’s cute, but what she really has is the personality, and that’s what counts.”

That one was about me. And we all know what it means when they highlight the personality… Doesn’t even always mean there is one there, but they feel bad, so they tell you that you’ve got one.

“Ugh, I should have drunken more so I could continue this stupid delusion I’ve been holding on myself!”

The skirt needs to come off. It’s not attractive. Not when I’m wearing it.

In the changing rooms, getting ready for the most dreaded lesson of all time. I hated sports with a passion. Not because of the game itself, no. It was the shared changing rooms.

“I’m actually really jealous of her; she has such full thighs, whereas little ol’ me here is stood with this gap…”

They’d always do it to get to us. They, the popular girls. We, the ‘uncool’ kids. They’d mask their insults as compliments so that if you brought it up with a teacher, they could ‘truthfully’ say they hadn’t provoked us.

But I know what sarcasm and ridicule is. And I know how much I wanted to pin that bitch up against the wall and throttle her.

“I really need to sort my thighs out…”

I mutter as a glance as my backside in the mirror while searching for some shorts�� No, make that pyjama bottoms. And while I’m at it, I might as well go out and buy some ice cream down the road and cry at chick flicks. What other use do I have right now?

His eyes weren’t on me. Not on a screen either actually. We were out, at a restaurant, supposedly on a date.

It didn’t feel like it though.

But I stuck it out.

I had to, right?

She had an astonishing figure, curves in all the right places. I could understand him glancing away from me every now and then. But what he probably couldn’t understand is how I felt about it. About every incident like this one.

Finally finding some pyjama trousers, I put them on, barely registering my presence in the mirror as I pull them up. I look so out of shape, like one big useless blob. Not particularly fat, but just shapeless.

“Why do you have to look like this?”

“Why do you have to talk to yourself like this?”

Huh?

I didn’t realize I had company… I thought I had the house to myself. Fuck, snap out of it!!

“Taehyung… What are you doing here?... I… I thought you were out tonight…”

“I was.” he tells me, leaning against the doorframe of my room. “At the same place you were, actually.”

“So why did you leave?...”

“You seemed to really be hitting it off with that guy. He seemed… not bad looking, and you looked like you were happy… Why did you leave?”

“I was tired” I bluntly lie, knowing that’s probably not gonna cut it. If he saw me leave, then I’m pretty sure he saw I was lively enough to basically brisk walk out of the room… Whether he saw me run home is a different thing, but that was an awful lie. I’m just doing awfully right now. I can’t tell this to a housemate though; I can’t be a burden.

I should continue talking so that maybe he won’t call me out on it. “And I have a lecture tomorrow so…”

“Hmm” he hums. “If you say so… but are you sure it wasn’t anything to do with that little conversation you were having with yourself just then?”

Why does he have to make me sound like a crazy person on top of all these other flaws that are coming to one big nasty ugly head?

“You know, it’s okay not to keep up appearances every single day… If there’s something the matter, please tell me. I know I’m just someone that lives here, but… I can be here to listen”

Wow. Why is he being so nice to me? Probably the usual reason people are nice to me. People are briefly kind to plain people, and then they get uneasy by the anxiety. I just don’t know what to say right now.

The truth is hard. The truth sucks. The truth needs to be covered.

“Do you know what I feel like when I look over there?” I rhetorically ask, my mouth racing way ahead of my thoughts. “A 6.”

“A 6?”

“Yeah, a 6… as in, out of 10. Average. In the middle. Plain Jane. Nothing special. That girl that people don’t take a look at twice because she’s not stunning enough and she doesn’t have any particularly amazing features about her…”

“I looked at you twice.”

“That girl that always gets the odd guy that takes pity on her so he says something nice one time, hoping she doesn’t become too attached…”

“I looked at you more than twice” he interrupts again. I don’t know where he’s going with this… but I want to listen.

“You know… we never did take that trolley out for a ride….” he continues. “How about we go cause some mischief so you can tell me all about it?”

“Tae… I’m in my pyjamas now…”

“Technically, you’re only half in your pyjamas… I was wondering where that shirt I left on the sofa went…”

Oh damn, of course. It’d have to be the shirt of the first person that comes back home.

“Oh damn, I’m sorry, I just had a moment where I…”

“Keep it on… You look… You look cute” he smiles at me.

I could kick myself for the rush of red I feel sweep across my face at his comment. I can’t lie. I’m quite a defensive person nowadays. I don’t need him to know how that comment just made me feel. Fuck you body and your obvious reactions…

For some reason, I remain in my pyjamas as Taehyung pushes me in the trolley which I still left outside the door down the run-down street, illuminated only by the few lights that have managed to keep running through the neglection of this area. I kind like it though. It feels comfortable. They don’t light up my presence completely and they probably feel as lonely as I do in this state of mind.

“So can I ask why you told the guy back there that you hadn’t moved on? Because from what I could see last night, your relationship with him can’t have been a happy one.”

Alright, he doesn’t beat around the bush, does he? Straight to the point… What can I say? There’s something about Taehyung that I already trust, but I don’t want to be so hasty as to tell him everything.

Where Taehyung is fast to get to the point, I don’t quite cut to the chase, instead getting some of the angst off my chest about the less recent past.

“It was… complicated. I really did love him, at the start. I thought I’d found my soulmate, in fact… I know that seems pretty pathetic,”

“Not at all”

“...but I suppose I was young - much younger than now - and I still believed in fairy tale endings, and I believed in getting married and having kids, and… I could have gotten out of it sooner, I must admit…”

“I heard you earlier at the mirror”

I swear if I were the one pushing this trolley, I would have stopped in my tracks. I know for a fact that’s exactly what my heart just seemed to do. Does he mean what I think he means? Ugh, why do I have this stupid tendency to speak my thoughts out loud?! He heard me before going out too, didn’t he?

“‘It doesn’t matter what you have in front of you; what matters is how you make use of it’...” I divert slightly. “I remember you telling me that no so long ago when I was moving in… Well sometimes Tae, it’s hard to make good use of what’s in front of you.”

The trolley actually stops in its tracks this time and I sense Taehyung moving from behind the trolley to come and face me… Probably to give me some bullshit lecture about loving yourself just to shut me up so he doesn’t have to do this again.

“Do you also remember when I told you I looked at you more than twice?”

“Um, yeah…?...”

“That’s because what was in front of me mesmerized me; she didn’t need changing” he tells me, trying to also climb into the trolley, causing me to quietly exclaim his name as he struggles, but succeeds in joining me.

It’s a little cramped in here, but I can’t say I mind as his legs dangle over the sides, surrounding my small mere presence that still huddles into a ball.

“Why are you being so nice to me? Did you need something in the kitchen that was mine?” I coldly ask. I can’t help it. I’m convinced that he can’t mean what he’s saying.

“What? No!” he responds in an offended tone. “Look, I know a lot of things are scary and can really make your life just feel like one big downer… I was scared at the beginning of this week too, you know.”

“Scared?” I question, extending my legs and allowing them to rest over his.

“Well, I’m your housemate now… How am I supposed to not make it awkward if I were to tell you that I think you’re perfect? I barely know you, but I’m drawn to you. I want to get to know you more. I want to be the one who makes you feel good about yourself. You deserve it.”

“Taehyung, there’s no such thing as perfect…”

“You’re pretty close, in that case then…” he replies, taking a strand of my messy hair and playing with it through his slender fingers. “See, I’m stringing out a bunch of cliches right now, but I don’t care! However long it took you to leave that guy, whatever he put you through, it’s brought you here. To me.”

“Forgive me if I’m sounding rude, but what’s that supposed to mean?” I enquire, trying not to get lost in the feeling of Taehyung playing with my hair; it’s not a direct bodily touch, but I can still feel it, and a shiver emits down my spine.

“Someone to remind you of how awesome you are… I may not ever be able to take you out on a date because we live together, but it’ll be enough for me if I can be the one to make you smile.”

“Are you sure you know what you’re saying Taehyung? You hardly even know me…” I remind him as he begins to create a small plait with the section of hair he was previously playing with

“I don’t just let anyone wear my clothes, you know…” he informs. He then lets go of the strange little plait so he can look up at me. “Please, can you stop being so defensive for at least a few minutes?”

“It’s not that easy… Not when you look and feel like this…” I shrug, keeping my head down to the ground, the detail of which I can just about make out through the limited view that the basket offers.

“So you have a few stretch marks on your skin, and maybe your hair doesn’t always go the way you perceive to be right… So what? We all have our hang ups! In fact, mine are like yours… I don’t like these silver lines I have around my arms, and I reckon I could lose a few pounds or….”

“No you don’t need to” I tell him. He’s definitely just saying all these things to make me feel better; he’s continued to talk too much now for me not be suspicious that this isn’t real… and how is a boy like this one able to point out so many negativities about himself? Seriously…

“Alright, enough of the self-loathing talks… Here’s an idea. Let’s tell each other one thing we like about the other… Do you want to start?”

I might as well… give him some extra time to come up with something for me… So I look up away from the ground finally and find myself playing along with this game. His intentions, I am unsure of, and the outcome, I’m more unknowing of.

“Alright then” I half smile to him, taking in his handsome features, already knowing my favourite. “That freckle you have on your nose. It’s cute.”

“Really? You think it’s cute?” he grins. “I quite like it to… So do you wanna know my thing?”

“Sure.”

“The thing I like best about you is that you’re here. That you moved in to the same house as me and that you’re odd enough to be sat in a trolley with me right now in the middle of the night and the middle of the street… Bonus feature: and you’re wearing my shirt”

I do really like this old shirt.

5 - 10 requests and I’ll create a part 2 since I do have a few ideas running in my mind as to what could happen next...

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eldritchwyrm · 7 years

Text

what goes around comes around (a fic for the glorious 25th of may)

The first time Lu-Tze learned of the Glorious People’s Republic of Treacle Mine Road was long before Sam Vimes got caught in a thunderstorm and was swept thirty years into the past. In fact, when Lu-Tze was young and light on his feet and had only just moved to Ankh-Morpork for the first time, he took a wrong turn and stumbled upon a narrative temporal phenomenon the likes of which he had never seen in his life.

He was picking up some groceries for Mrs. Cosmopolite, who was graciously allowing him lodging, because was it not written that What Goes Around Comes Around? He was also lost.

He tried asking random passerby for directions, but his attempts were all rebuffed with variants on “up yours, mister” and the slurs that were generally leveled at anyone who looked too foreign for their own good. So instead of turning onto the Pitts as she should have, he missed the intersection and continued straight ahead.

It was the 25th of May. Spring was battling valiantly against the smog and grime of the city, and contrary to all expectation the few shrubs that had survived were putting out green shoots.

Lu-Tze hitched up the bag of groceries and thought the sacred wisdom: My Joints Aren’t What They Used To Be. He was a bit young for that one, he reflected, but was not all wisdom valuable?

He turned onto Treacle Mine Road.

It was noon. Bright and sunny. The street was loud and busy with carts and animals and people, as you’d expect on any weekday. And yet as he walked forward, the sun dimmed. The air cooled. The hustle of the streets became muffled, farther away.

The scent of lilac filled in the air.

The hairs on his arms tingled like a storm was approaching.

He took a good look around, really looked rather than focusing on the unimportant surface bits, like the buildings and the people—and nearly choked on his own tongue.

This—this was—it was a disruption in the space-time continuum so extreme that it was a wonder anyone in the immediate vicinity was still alive. This was a rift so profound that rationally speaking, he should be standing in the equivalent of a smoking crater where a chunk of functional reality used to be.

There were no words to describe the wrongness of this place. You could say that the passage of time in this location was like a length of yarn which had been bundled into a ball and left unattended in a room full of eager-eyed kittens. (It would be blatantly incorrect, but you could definitely say that.)

“Ye gods,” said Lu-Tze, because some words always worked.

He ditched the groceries and started running.

He burst through the door of Mrs. Cosmopolite’s boarding house with a crash. The hostess jumped in surprise and nearly hit him over the head with the plate she was drying, but restrained herself, because that wasn’t Done. Instead she shouted, “Young man, just what do you think you’re doing?”

“No time!”

If he’d stopped to think properly he would have realized how stupid a statement that was, but he was busy racing up the stairs and into his room. He grabbed his emergency supply pack from under the bed and dashed out again.

There were images in his head that didn’t make sense—darkness and rain and a silver cigar case, gleaming on the cobbles, and lilacs blooming in the night, over and over again.

When he returned to Treacle Mine Road he knelt down in the middle of the street, right in the middle of traffic, and the carts moved smoothly around him without a blink, despite their relocation occasionally involved a minor rewriting of the conventional laws of physics. He barely noticed. He found a bare patch of dirt and got to work. He would be hard-pressed to construct a sophisticated detection mandala on such short notice, but he would damn well make do...

The air crackled with energy as he finished the last curve on the mandala. He dusted his hands and waited.

It began to turn.

The patterns shifted, then stilled.

He frowned. “No,” he said. “That can’t be right. Historical imperative? But this is so obviously a narrative disruption. An unfinished story.”

A rift in time that didn’t exist, memories of events that never happened... it had to be a result of an incomplete narrative unable to achieve a single resolution. Something, somewhen, had gone wrong, and a major role had gone unfulfilled, and now the phenomenon was scrabbling for a solution.

“Must be incorrectly set up,” he muttered to himself. “I mean, this thing is telling me there should be a major temporal incident any moment now—”

Unfortunately, the young Lu-Tze had not yet learned some valuable wisdom. For is it not written that You Are So Sharp You'll Cut Yourself?

There was a sound like an elastic band snapping, and the world turned sideways.

He stumbled upright once the universe had returned to something close to normal and scrambled to get his bearings. He was still in the present day, but another time was—how to describe it, how to describe it—layered on top, one moment falling over the other like snow. Fog and wind and darkness swirled in, obscuring the sky, wreathing around the figures in the courtyard before him.

The men were wearing Watch uniforms.

“Okay, lads,” said one of the men. He had an eyepatch and a battered breastplate, and a voice that echoed as if it was coming from very far away. Years ago, thought Lu-Tze. “What we’re going to do is keep the peace. That’s our job...”

If Lu-Tze concentrated, he could still feel the rush of wind from the passing street and hear the sound of the busy city. But here, in a much more real sense, he could see the watchmen shuffling anxiously as they listened to the sergeant-at-arms. He talked about duty and right and wrong, and then he drew a line in the sand, and then the men made their choice.

History struck a chord.

The world shifted.

A barricade climbed into the air, higher and higher, packed with furniture and upturned carts and spare wood, held up by desperate hope and bottomless fear, the rawest emotions of humanity. When sufficiently concentrate, those were capable of twisting time into knots so complex that only a master of the temporal would ever be able to undo them.

And why would they want to? So what if someone thought it was odd that time crawled by while they were under stress, or if it went by instantly during a fun afternoon? That was what made people human.

That sound again, and the world changed again—

A battle was raging around him. Men in battered uniforms, not many, fighting for their lives, wearing the lilac...

...the man with the eyepatch leapt forward, sword a blur in his hands, hacking wildly...

...and across the street, untouched by the carnage, was a little old man in a robe. He was sweeping peacefully at a patch of dust, undisturbed by the blood and guts and destruction whirling around him. It was surreal.

The old man looked up and winked.

Time stood still.

(Well, it didn’t really stand still, but the true answer involved multivariable calculus and besides, it was a useful metaphor and at this moment in time Lu-Tze was not the type to spend valuable effort messing about with the sneaky kind of sums with letters in them.)

The old sweeper carefully plodded across the frozen tableau, ducking under an upraised sword and stepping around the body of a watchman who had not yet hit the ground.

Ah, so another monk was on the problem, then? The young time-traveler stood up straight and tried to act like this was an expected development.

“Hey, kid,” said the sweeper. “You look like you could use a cup of tea.”

* * *

Lu-Tze was convinced that this particular branch of the No Such Monastery did not exist in the present day, which made it quite worrying that it appeared to exist in both the past and the future.

He sipped his tea with yak butter and eyed the old sweeper suspiciously. He distrusted older authority figures on principle.

“So you spotted the incongruity, did you,” said the sweeper. “Historical imperative’s a tricky thing, isn’t it.”

“It’s not historical imperative. It’s narrative causality.”

The sweeper sighed. “You’ve got a lot to learn, kiddo. It’s both. The Glorious People’s Republic of Treacle Mine Road... it didn’t take long for the city to forget, but the story still leaves echoes. It wants to be remembered.”

The young man frowned. “I kept having memories of things that never happened. Deja vu without the original vu.”

“Sounds pretty standard. Lilacs, right? You smelled the lilacs? That’s the anchor. On the Glorious 25th of May, the lilacs are in bloom. They will always be in bloom, forever and ever, for as long as time exists, and whenever the survivors see it, they’ll be brought back here. Even poor sods like you with receptive enough minds will be saddled with this piece of history.”

“But this doesn’t mean anything to me. I don’t understand why a bunch of men would just get themselves killed like that just—just to be heroes.” Lu-Tze knew a dramatic last stand when he saw one.

“Yeah, see, that’s 'cos you’re seventeen and I’m old and wise,” said the sweeper. “Why do we fix time? Is it because we want to be heroic? Is it because we have to? No, we do it because we could just let time curl in on itself and extinguish all the complicated bits like sentient life, but we decide to make fixing this mess our job.”

“But—alright, fine, but there’s still a gigantic rift in reality and I’m standing in it. What are you going to do about it?”

“Nothing.”

“What?”

“You heard me. There’s no reason to muck about with a story that’s looking to be told. This case is unusual, mostly ‘cause it’s a bit under-construction if you know what I mean, but yea, is it not written that There’s A First Time For Everything?”

The young time-traveler sat bolt upright. “You—you’re a follower of the Way? But none of the senior monks—it’s just a thing that I made up so—I mean—”

The sweeper shook his head sadly. “Hoo boy. I really am paying for how much of an idiot back then. I suppose What Goes Around Comes Around.”

The young history monk’s eyes widened, realization dawning. He opened his mouth to speak, but the old man interrupted him. “Now, this is slightly more complicated than a standard closed time loop, since you’re not here in any physical sense. So if I just...”

He slashed his hand through the air. The air began to sing with mounting tension, time itself groaning under the weight, and the world snapped back to the present.

The city streets bustled around him. Lu-Tze's mouth was slack with shock. Had that really been...?

He looked down at the mandala he had scrawled in the dirt. The wind had scrubbed it out.

Overhead, the lilacs were in bloom.

#night watch #gnu terry pratchett #glorious 25th of may #thief of time #lu-tze #discworld

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chesterexchange-blog · 5 years

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How to use Proverbs in Your Composition

Proverbs are phrases that are commonly used and widely understood. They can also be mantras that are passed down for generations. Proverbs can be used to convey advice.

Here’s a common proverb that you may have heard before:

“Practice makes perfect.”

As children, we hear them from our parents and teachers. And as we grow up, we use some of the more common proverbs in our everyday conversations, sometimes without even realizing that the phrase that comes naturally to us is actually a proverb.

“He has tattoos all over his body, but you know what they say, don’t judge a book by its cover.”

“Having started work straight after my diploma to make ends meet, I only fulfilled my dream to pursue further studies after a good ten years in the workforce. But better late than never, for I can now proudly say that I am a degree holder; the first in my family.”

Proverbs can be in the form of a phrase or a sentence, for example, “The early bird catches the worm.” This one is frequently used to encourage the lazy bunch of us to rise or start early because it is believed that those who do so gain an advantage over others.

Another point worth noting about this proverb, and many others, is that it is in the form of a metaphor. Many proverbs use figurative language to personify their meaning. When we say “Don’t put all your eggs in one basket”, we are not literally referring to eggs, but rather the fact that you shouldn’t concentrate all your risks or efforts in one area.

Interestingly, proverbs make it easy and effective to teach your child lessons, or give him words of advice pertaining to concepts that are actually quite sophisticated.

More importantly, for your child, proverbs are a simple yet powerful tool to convey a strong message in his compositions.

Proverbs can be used throughout a composition, whether as an introduction, as a concluding statement, or even in the dialogue between the characters in the composition. The key is to use them moderately or even sparingly. They are like the spices you add to your dishes for additional flavour; whether it is a pinch of cinnamon or a dash of paprika, proverbs are not meant to be ‘spammed’.

Proverbs add spice to your child’s composition.

Use a Proverb in the Introduction

Starting your composition with a proverb immediately captures the reader’s attention. A proverbial introduction can give insight into the gist of your child’s composition in a single line, or it can invoke questions and spur the reader to find out what the story is about. Either way, a proverb is a powerful tool to begin a composition as it leads the reader on to the rest of the story.

Because there are so many different types of proverbs, starting with one not only provides your child a unique introduction to her composition, but it also adds some depth and sophistication to the story that she’s writing.

Of course, the key is to use an appropriate proverb that is related to the crux of the story, or one that “teaches the lesson” in your child’s composition.

Consider this example:

Honesty is truly the best policy. I could not imagine how things would have turned out had I lied instead…

I’ve used this simple proverb combined with a flashback. In two sentences, I have basically told you the lesson I have learnt, about being honest. At the same time, I have hopefully intrigued you enough to read on to find out exactly what situation caused me to learn that lesson.

Use a Proverb in the Conclusion

You could also end your composition with a thought-provoking proverb, to leave a lasting impression on the reader. Instead of explicitly stating the “lessons learnt”, your child can display his maturity by ending with an inspirational proverb.

Consider this example:

I reminisced onthe early days, recalling how everyone was sceptical about the route I was embarking on.

No one truly saw the vision that I saw. Yet now, I sat on the balcony of my penthouse overlooking the sea, soaking up the breeze of freedom, of accomplishment, of success.

The success that I dreamed of, that I willed myself to achieve.

No, it didn’t come easy; I suffered, I endured, but at every juncture where there was a will – the will to overcome any obstacle, the will to keep going – whenever there is a will, there will always be a way.

I’ve used the proverb “Where there’s a will, there’s a way” to show that determination and willpower can overcome all obstacles.

Use a proverb in the dialogue

Using a proverb in a dialogue is another way to boost your child’s language marks. Adding a proverb further showcases your child’s breadth and depth of vocabulary. It also conveys more complicated messages or wisdom that your child may have difficulty expressing in “normal phrases”.

Consider this example:

“Mr. Tan has got to be the most boring Math tutor I’ve ever had!” Peter exclaimed. “I really think we should leave and go to another tuition centre. I’m sure they also have Math tutors there.” “I’m not so sure,” John cautioned. “Better the devil you know than the one you don’t.”

I’ve used the proverb to highlight what John thinks about Peter’s suggestion to leave the tuition centre. Without explicitly saying it, I am able to convey John’s doubt towards Peter’s idea.

Common Proverbs for Your Composition

Here are some proverbs that your child can start using in his compositions to impress his or her teachers in school!

A watched pot never boils.

Waiting for something to happen will make time pass even slower.

Example: John stared out the window at the long winding road, waiting for any sign of a car approaching in the distance. But he knew that a watched pot never boils, and he tried to turn his mind towards the book in front of him again, in a bid to distract himself.

Beggars can’t be choosers.

When you receive help, you have to be content with and accept whatever you get.

Example: Hunger-stricken, I walked up to the first tiny house with their lights turned on and pounded on the door. An old lady with the kindest eyes perused my sorry state before inviting me into her warm living room. My shame was overwhelmed by my starving belly as I blurted, “Do you have anything to eat, please?” The old lady shuffled slowly into the kitchen whilst I sat and watched in anticipation, knees together, arms wrapped around my stomach as if it would help calm down the desperate growls from within. As she returned, cupping a bowl delicately in her hands, I almost lunged out to grab that delicacy. However, I froze when I saw all that she had to spare – a half-filled bowl of plain white rice. Beggars can’t be choosers, I thought, as I wolfed down the rice in seconds.

Don’t count your chickens before they hatch.

Do not be overconfident, or make plans based on something good that you think will happen, before it has actually happened.

Example: Julie was already shopping around for a car as a self-reward for her upcoming promotion, but I told her not to count her chickens before they hatched.

Don’t cry over spilt milk.

Do not be upset over something that has already happened that you cannot change.

Example: Tim was dejected; he had just failed his test. As I patted him on the shoulder I tried to encourage him. “Look, Tim, this test is already done, so don’t cry over spilt milk. There’s still the finals at the end of the year, and I know you can do it.”

Many hands make light work.

This proverb is about teamwork. If everyone works together to help in something, the task is accomplished much quicker.

Example: At first, we were intimidated by the actual area of the wall we had to paint. It was a huge, old bungalow and the paint was practically peeling from every corner of the house – all three levels of it! But everyone was so cooperative, and since many hands made light work, we managed to finish painting the whole house before sunset.

#English learning #online education #online teacher #knowledge #academic

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