#i love reading skips like these as fucking bedtime stories its so nice
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shoutout to dr vanth 6392 she was sooo real for that
#listening 2 the call of the void ...#its a really sweet song !! glad she found herself in the perfect skip to heed its call#slow and sweet annihilation :] aww#foundationposting#i love reading skips like these as fucking bedtime stories its so nice#yayyyyyyy oblivion snork mimimimi
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honey and glass ~ spencer reid
i am in love with spencer reid but he only has eyes for jennifer jareau
spencer reid x reader angst + hurt/comfort (sorta, it’s all in first person but with no names/no specific descrptions)
song fic inspired by ‘honey and glass’ by peyton cardoza
word count: 4.8k
disclaimer: i do not ship jeid or think they had any chemistry but it’s a good opportunity for angst x
you know those kinds of girls who look like they're made
of honey and glass like sticky sweet ash
it’s a summers night in california and i’m on the beach at sunset.
the sand is rough under my toes and a warm, gentle breeze blows a strand of my hair across my face; he lifts his hand to brush it away. tucking it behind my ear he stares down at me and the sun hits his face at a perfect angle, illuminating his hazel eyes like pools of honey. he leans in and i-
“ow!” i yelp, as morgan launches the volleyball at my head, “what was that for?”
“come and play,” he laughs, waving me over to where he stands with emily and hotch.
i shake my head, “no, i don’t feel like it,” i mumble, massaging my left temple where the ball bounced off my skull.
morgan rolls his eyes and jogs past where i’m sitting to collect the ball, “what’s up with you then?” he teases.
i shrug, “nothing. I’m just tired,” i say feigning an unconvincing yawn, “ask one of them to play.”
i motion with my head towards spencer and jj, they’re down by the edge of the waves and she throws her head back and laughs at something he says. her sheets of blonde hair ripple through the wind and he looks at her in pure awe and amazement as she giggles at something he said.
“nah, don’t wanna interrupt the kid when he’s trying to make a move,” morgan shrugs, “come play with us, we need an extra person.”
an extra person.
right.
because what else am i but another body to fill the space?
“i don’t want to,” i say, forcing myself to tear my eyes away from jj and spencer as i stand up, “hotch said the jet is leaving first thing tomorrow, i’m gonna head back to the hotel and get some sleep.”
morgan says something, but i don’t register it as i allow myself one last glance at spencer and jj. she is trying to convince him to paddle in the waves with her, he shakes his head but when she takes his hand in hers i can tell he’s melting inside as he follows her into the water.
and i just know that he’d follow her so far out to sea that his head was underwater as long as she kept their hands intertwined.
i turn away from morgan so he doesn’t see the tears burning in my eyes.
and you can't get the taste off your tongue
burnt sugar and a little bit of rum
we’re in a dimly lit bar somewhere.
hotch left hours ago, he wanted to take advantage of one of the rare nights he would be there to read jack a bedtime story.
rossi is at a table in the corner, sitting with a woman who has not-so-subtly draped her leg over him.
derek is out of my line of sight and i’m thankful for that.
emily, garcia, and jj are dancing.
i sit at the table with spencer, he’s drunk.
more tipsy than drunk i think, but he so rarely drinks anything that the sight of him swaying along to the music was an anomaly. i can’t ignore the fact that his eyes are firmly fixed on jj as she dances, and i grip my wine glass so tightly i half expect it to shatter in my hand.
he leans across to me and my heart skips a beat as i inhale the alcohol on his breath, “i’m in love with her, y’know,” he slurs.
“i know, spencer,” i smile sadly and down the rest of my wine.
he doesn’t even notice when i grab my coat from behind him and shuffle towards the door.
and she dances in the rain with her clothes on drenched to the bone
never knows when she's all gone, she's the life of the party
spencer and i are watching the big bang theory.
neither of us particularly like it, but there aren’t many channels on our hotel room tv and spencer enjoys the physics references at least. i watch his face light up as a character mentions something about quantum theory that i cant understand, and spencer launches into a rant about the universe and the stars.
i don’t have the knowledge to keep up with him or the heart to tell him to stop so i sit and listen, admiring the way his eyes sparkle and his hands gesticulate when no one interrupts him with a deprecating comment.
we sit there like that for the rest of the night, in our respective twin beds with him telling me the secrets of the universe and me wondering how on earth i will ever get over him.
and deep down I know that nobody flinches when
she takes off her clothes
“anything you like?” emily asks me through the dressing room curtain.
“i’m not sure…” i mumble in response, biting down on my lip as i stare at myself in the mirror, “i-i don’t think this is my colour.”
the dress looked so beautiful on the hanger, but now that it’s on my body the fabric bunches up in all the wrong places and i can’t recall a time that i’ve looked worse.
the lights are just washing you out, i tell myself.
you’re having a bad hair day, it would look better with your hair down, i tell myself.
you just need some lipstick, i tell myself.
but when jj announces she has found the perfect dress and i stick my head out of the curtain to see her, i am slapped in the face with the realisation that it isn’t the lighting or my lack of makeup it’s just me.
because jj looks beautiful as always, her dress hugs her waist and the skirt fans out around her as emily demands she gives us a spin. she isn’t wearing makeup, her hair is in a ponytail too, the lights don’t wash her out because she is radiant and flawless, and the lights aren’t the problem.
i am.
i cry in my car as i drive home from the mall, and when i get home i tear everything out of my fridge and fling it into the trashcan. i vow to go to the store and stock up on salad and chicken.
i go to the store but i don’t buy salad.
and I wonder what it's like to be one of those girls
to sit in the sun and look at the world
and never think, "wow, am i enough?"
‘cause life is easy when you know
that you're the main character
i’m in hotch’s office as he grills me about a stupid mistake i made in the field. i can hardly focus on his words as i shrink back in the chair, counting all the reasons that i don’t deserve to be in this job.
i’m not as smart or fast or strong as the others. i don’t have an eidetic memory or hacker skills and i can’t even maintain myself as a solid average agent because i keep fucking up.
“i’m not going to write you up,” he says, and my heart soars a little in my chest, “but i need you to understand that if you do something like that again i won’t have any choice, you were lucky no one got hurt today.”
i nod silently and blink back the tears that threaten to spill over.
“go home, get some rest,” he says and i don’t hang around for a second longer, darting out of his office i crash headfirst into a tall frame.
“wow, slow down,” he chuckles, resting a hand on my shoulder to steady me.
“spencer,” i gasp, looking up at his sympathetic smile, “what are you still doing here? we landed hours ago….”
he shrugs, “i waited for you.”
my heart skips a beat.
“you didn’t have to do that.”
he shakes his head, “you’re my best friend, i wanted to. plus i thought you might need someone after being in there with hotch.”
i swallow and offer him a slightly forced smile.
best friend.
“thanks, spence, that means a lot.”
he looks at me quizzically.
“what’s wrong?”
“nothing, just only jj calls me spence…anyways” he holds out his arm for me, “shall we go?”
i have to restrain myself from seizing his arm, and settle for tentatively wrapping my own around it, “thanks spencer…you’re such a good friend.”
he smiles down at me and its almost enough to melt away the icy feeling in my heart as i call him a friend. the coldness in my chest in my chest is a feeling i’ve grown accustomed to but when i’m with him everything is warm and bright again.
he feels like yellow.
and i feel like maybe i am enough.
and I'm sitting here thinking this is not fair
i feel like blue.
i’m alone in my apartment flicking through tv channels, trying to find something that isn’t a medical or crime drama. because after my day at work i can’t look at any more blood or dead bodies, even if its as fake as the pep in my voice when jj calls to ask if i’m okay.
“hotch grilled you pretty bad, huh? you sure you’re okay?”
“yeah, spence – spencer – waited for me and we went to get milkshakes after.”
“aww that’s so nice, you know i think he has a soft spot for you,” she teases.
something acidic bubbles in my throat, but i can’t tell her that i know she’s wrong because he spent half the night telling me how much he loves her. i have to gather the strength to respond without the venom in my heart poisoning my voice.
“oh, i don’t think so,” i laugh, “anyways, i should go – my movie is about to start.”
jj tells me to have a good night before she hangs up, and i switch off the tv. at this time there’s noting but romcoms and i don’t want to sit through hours of pining when its on replay every day at the office.
i watch my own reflection in the blank tv screen as sobs wrack my body.
but her smile makes it hard to be mad
it's not her fault that I'm so fucking sad
jj holds me in her arms as i cry into her chest, “it’s okay, you’re gonna be okay,” she coos, rubbing soft circles on my back.
i sniffle against her and i just know that my eyes are puffy and red but i can’t switch off the floods of tears that fall from them.
“do you want to tell me what’s wrong?” she asks.
i shake my head against her because how could i tell her?
how could I tell her that the man i love is in love with her?
and that i want to resent her for it but i can’t because she’s such a good fucking friend that she’s sitting here with me, unknowingly wiping the tears that i can’t stop shedding because i can’t be her.
she gives me one of those heart warming smiles that could bring peace to a dying man, and in that moment i am reminded again of why he loves her. there are worse people to love, i suppose. if spencer is going to cut out his heart and give it to someone it might as well be someone like her.
but that doesn’t make it hurt any less.
and i hate myself for the part of me that hates her. she’s done nothing wrong. it’s not her fault that that spencer loves her, and its not her fault that she doesn’t realise.
so I'll sit here and look at these girls in the sun
dancing in the rain and just having their fun
i hate alaska.
my teeth chatter as we trudge through the snow filled field, and i pull the cuffs of my coat over my glove cladded hands. i hate the cold. i hate alaska. i hate the serial killer who dragged us all out here. i hate the impending snowstorm that was keeping the jet grounded for another night.
“should we even be out here?” i groan, “i mean if it’s not safe for the plane, then surely its not safe for us.”
“we aren’t 50,000 feet up in the sky though,” morgan says and i roll my eyes at him.
“it’s cold enough to make me feel like we are,” i huff.
spencer nods sympathetically at me, “i don’t like the cold either, not much snow in vegas.”
“i think we should have two behavioural analysis units,” i begin, “one to catch serial killers in cold climates, and the other in hot ones.”
he laughs, “i’d like that, but i think it’d just be us and garcia on the hot team.”
“we’d get by.”
he’s grinning at me, his messy brown curls are squashed down under his bobble hat but a few of them still manage to peak out. he’s wearing a multicoloured striped scarf and mismatched gloves.
a snowflake lands on his eyelash and i reach out to brush it off.
“thanks.”
“anytime.”
morgan launches a snowball at us, and it hits me in the back of the head, “hey! what is it with you and throwing things?” i snap.
morgan roars with laughter.
“not funny derek!”
he resumes his snowball fight with emily and jj and i draw my arms across my chest. i watch as they prance about in the snow, falling to avoid the snowballs launched by the others and laughing when they get hit. the sun is just starting to set, and it’s rays catch jj’s hair at the perfect angle, bouncing off the golden blonde strands as she dances around morgan. her and emily have joined forces to pelt him with snowballs.
i look up at spencer to see him starting at her in awe. his nose and cheeks are flushed from the cold, and the sun reflects against his own face, illuminating his eyes. they’re beautiful. like honey and glass.
“guys! come join us!” jj calls.
i shake my head, “there’s not enough money in the world.”
she pouts at me, “spence, please,” she says sweetly and before i know it he’s by her side and scooping up snow.
i watch from the side-lines.
spencer roars with laughter when emily hits morgan square in the face with a snowball, he wraps an arm around jj as she nearly collapses from laughter, something twinges in my stomach.
but he looks so happy, and that melts my glacier heart slightly.
maybe alaska wasn’t so bad after all.
and maybe one day, i can forget the past
and be one of those girls of honey and glass
“nice to meet you, agent,” agent fitz says, holding out his hand, “we’ve heard good things about you up in the new york office.”
“really?” i say, shaking his hand and i can’t fight the smile that creeps across my face.
“really. give me a call if you ever fancy a change of scenery.”
“i’ll keep that in mind, agent fitz,” i give him a nod and a smile as he walks away.
new york was cold in the winter, but it didn’t seem like the worst place in the world.
but I think that it's hard for people to see
that I love all these girls, and honestly
it doesn't matter what you look like or how much you weigh
i wondered once how i’d ever get over my love for spencer reid, and now as he sits and sobs on my couch i realise that i don’t want to. it hurts me to love him, and something stabs my heart every time i catch him staring at her, but he deserves someone to love him like he loves her.
“i guess i’m just starting to realise that she’ll never love me back, and i don’t know why or what’s wrong with me,” he says and looks up at me, his eyes filled with tears and his face blotchy and red.
“there’s nothing wrong with you,” i say, wrapping an arm around him and wiping his tears, “sometimes the people you love just don’t love you back, but that’s not a reflection of you or your self-worth,” i reiterate to him the mantra i say in my mirror every morning.
he whimpers and my heart breaks for him.
“it doesn’t feel that way, it feels like i’m dying inside every time she talks about him or tells me about their dates, and i try to be a good friend but-”
his voice cracks and another sob escapes his chest and i tighten my grip around him; heartbreak doesn’t seem to get easier with age, because here we are, two fbi agents in our late twenties crying over our crushes like we are in junior high.
because before i know it the tears are flowing down my face faster than his and when he breaks away from our embrace to ask me why i’m crying, i can’t tell him it’s because i am feeling everything he is.
“i just don’t like seeing you like this,” is all i can muster up.
it's just that these girls know they're okay
there's a beauty in knowing your place in the world
in loving yourself and knowing your worth
“hey!” spencer greets me as he steps into the elevator with me.
“hi,” i mumble back, taking another sip of coffee from my travel cup.
we’ve been called in on a case, but i’ve barely had any sleep and i’m struggling to keep my eyes open.
“you look tired, are you okay?”
you look tired.
so the bags under my eyes were obvious then.
“yeah,” i say, swallowing the lump in my throat, “just a late night, y’know.”
“oh…oh! is that your way of saying your date went well?” he says with a coy grin.
“what?”
oh! something clicks in my brain and i understand what he means.
“no! not like that no…actually it didn’t go well at all, he turned out to be a total misogynistic creep,” i say with a bitter laugh.
“oh, i’m sorry….”
i shrug and take another swig of coffee, “it’s okay, you didn’t know. to be honest i’ll probably end up calling him again anyways.”
spencer stares at me, confused, “why would you do that?”
“well, i don’t exactly have guys falling over themselves for me, do i?”
spencer frowns and i can see his brain working overtime behind his eyes, “so you’re just going to settle for less than you deserve?”
“i don’t have many other options do i?”
he reaches out an arm to place a comforting hand on my shoulder, “don’t worry, you’ll find the right guy for you soon. it’s only a matter of time, you’re worth more than a misogynistic creep,” he squeezes my shoulder and before i know it we’ve already reached our floor and he’s gone.
you’ll meet the right guy for you soon.
what if i already have?
you don't have to be perfect or never get sad
that's not what it means to be honey and glass
it’s late and i sit at my desk, sorting through piles of paperwork.
my eyes blur as i enter the gruesome details of our latest case, from fatigue or tears i can’t tell. i think emily and hotch are still hanging around the office somewhere, but the others had gone to dinner as soon as we landed, promising that they would do their paperwork tomorrow.
i knew i would have no appetite sitting across a table from spencer and jj so i had sat silently in the back of the suv as hotch drove us back to the office.
a singular tear rolls down my cheek and splatters on my page, smudging the not-quite-dry-yet ink. i let out a shaky breath and wipe my eyes, i don’t know why i’m crying really.
no one had necessarily done anything wrong. only when we were in the field and the unsub had detonated the bomb, spencer chose to push jj out of the way instead of me. i was lucky that one of the s.w.a.t agents had grabbed my arm in time and pulled me back to safety.
it had been hours and my ears were still ringing from the explosion.
maybe spencer thought he was closer to jj, that he had a better chance of saving her, we are trained to make difficult choices based on survival odds, i told myself.
only spencer hadn’t been closer to jj, and she was surrounded by three s.w.a.t agents whilst i only had one next to me. but no one had really done anything wrong, no one died, no one even broke a bone. and it pains me to admit to myself but had i been in spencer’s position and had to chose between saving him or morgan, i know that would pull spencer out of the way every single time.
i jump as emily creeps up behind me, “hey, you okay?”
i don’t even try and disguise my puffy, red eyes or tear tracks as i look up at her, “no. but i think that’s okay.”
and everyone has their highs and their lows
the nights you spend crying, believe me, I know
it’s roslyn’s birthday.
i don’t think anyone else in the team knows because they keep exchanging looks whenever jj snaps at one of them and i can see the annoyance in their eyes.
when jj barks at spencer and snaps her pencil within the space of five minutes i drag her into a storage closet and wrap my arms around her.
“shhh,” i say soothingly, “it’s okay, you’re gonna be okay.”
jj shakes her head, “i don’t think so, i thought this day would get easier with time but it’s just getting worse,” she sniffles.
i stroke her hair, “i know, i know its horrible and you deserve to cry as much as you want to. but you are so strong, and i know you can get through this-”
“i’m not,” jj shakes her head, “i’m not strong or brave or anything that you all think i am, i’m not like you I-”
“like me?” i question.
“you always hold yourself together, whenever there’s a case with a kid i’m falling to pieces but you keep it together. i mean i’m the one crying in a storage closet….”
i stare at her in disbelief, because jj is the strongest woman i know and i don’t understand how she can’t see that.
“i don’t have a sister who killed herself jj,” i say slowly, “you have survived 100% of the bad things that have happened to you because you’re a fighter, that makes you strong.”
she shakes her head and clings to me, “but i’ve lost pieces of myself, i’m not the same person i could’ve been if life had been kinder to me and that makes me sad. my sister is dead and that makes me sad, everyone thinks i’m this strong and perfect person and that makes me feel guilty because i can’t be that person.”
in a turn of events, she is crying into my chest, her hair is greasy, and her mascara runs and i realise that my best friend was never truly on the pedestal i placed her on. and i realise i am part of the problem, treating jj like she is the be all and all of perfection and unattainablity when i should just be treating her like a friend.
spencer loves her and that kills me but it’s not what’s important right now. i’ve spent too long inside my own head, struggling to view her as my best friend or the other woman but now i see that she is someone that needs my help.
i know what it’s like to cry myself to sleep so i don’t want jj to go through something like that alone. so i vow there and then, to push my own feelings aside and be whatever she needs me to be.
i don't want to be these girls for beauty or fame
but for the confidence they have in their own damn name
“smile!” garcia says as she appears with a camera.
emily, jj, and morgan turn to face her and pose but i duck out of the frame. garcia pouts and morgan grabs onto my forearm to pull me back into shot. i wish that i had the self-confidence to let him, to fall in next to him and make a silly pose at the camera and not worry if my hair was sitting nicely or if i was breathing in enough.
“come on! i need pictures for my scrapbook and you’ve been dodging me all night!” she whines.
i stare down at my feet, “garcia i’m not photoshoot ready like these guys,” i say, trying to make my voice light and floaty but it just sounds like im choking back tears.
“come on, just one picture,” jj says kindly, waving for me to come and stand next to her.
i shake my head again and wring my hands. the last thing i need is another photograph of jj and i to compare myself to every time i’m feeling extra low and self-destructive.
i try and remember the vow i made, to be there for my friend despite my own feelings. but she isn’t sad anymore, she’s happy and smiling and drinking wine, me squeezing in between her and emily for a stupid photograph isn’t going to make or break her.
it’s just a stupid photograph.
“no thanks,” i choke, “i’m going to get another drink,” i scurry away to the kitchen before anyone can object.
i shut the door quickly behind me and press my back up against it, taking a deep breath. i can’t quite believe i was successful in escaping garcia again.
“are you avoid garcia and her camera too?”
“spencer!” i laugh shrilly, “i didn’t even see you there.”
“yeah, i’ve been hiding in here for a half hour,” he smiles sadly, “i hate having my picture taken, especially next to morgan. he makes me look even lankier if possible.”
i frown, spencer had no reason to feel insecure.
“why don’t we get garcia to take a picture of just us two?” i suggest nervously, “you won’t have any reason to feel insecure next to me….”
he looks at me quizzically, “what do you mean?”
i wring my hands again, “just that you’ll automatically look even better if i’m next to you…cos’ i’m…well y’know,” i say awkwardly motioning to my face and body.
he cocks his head to the side, “are you trying to tell me you think you’re ugly, so i’ll look better by comparison?”
i shrug.
“well, i think you look beautiful.”
so I'll sit here and look at these girls in the sun
dancing in the rain and just having their fun
we’re on the plane journey home.
spencer and jj sit next to each other, their arms pressed together as they share the arm rest. spencer is reading a book; his eyes scan down the pages at lightening speed and i know he’ll be finished soon.
i am on the opposite side of the plane, i sit by myself, i like the space.
i keep my eye on them throughout the flight; just as i predicted, it doesn’t take long for spencer to finish his book and he places it down on the table in front of him. jj picks it up and teases him for the long-winded title, i don’t catch what she says, something about astrophysics.
he starts to ramble, and she interrupts him with another teasing remark, he flushes when she gently nudges his chest. i turn my head to stare out of the window, biting my lip.
they aren’t even doing anything, jj is just being friendly. and i still can’t handle it. i lie my head back against the headrest as i gaze out of the window, admiring the new york skyline as it fades into the distance.
a nervous chuckle from spencer snaps me out of my trance, and i look back over to see him and jj giggling secretively as she whispers something into his ear.
“where are you going?” emily grumbles, she’s half asleep with her legs splayed out across two chairs when i accidently bump her foot.
“bathroom,” i say quietly with a forced smile as i shuffle past jj and spencer, my heart seizing in my chest as she teases him about how long his hair is getting, brushing her hand through the curls.
i’m already silently sobbing in the bathroom so i miss the pitiful look that emily and morgan exchange.
and I know it doesn't make sense to forget the past
but I promise, one day, you'll be honey and glass
“agent fitz?” i say, clutching my phone tight in my hand.
“ahh, i’ve been wondering when i’d be hearing from you.”
i laugh quietly, “yes, well i’ve been thinking about what you said, and i think i could do with that change of scenery now.”
i wrote this in a couple hours and didnt proof read so apologies for an errors :))
part 2
#spencer reid#spencer reid imagine#spencer reid x reader#criminal minds#criminal minds imagines#jennifer jareau#jj#emily prentiss#derek morgan#aaron hotchner#David Rossi#Penelope garcia#the bau#angst#hurt and comfort#spencer reid imagine hurt
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Hogwarts is my home...
Snapes child reader
Description: after Voldemort was defeated and Y/N’s mother was sent to Azkaban, Severus snape had become a single father and kept his child at Hogwarts with him.
Writers note: I got very carried away on this so I’m sorry if it’s boring but I just thought this would be a good idea :)
You was only young at the time when that day occurred. You was just a sweet innocent child. It was a crisp cold night, you was wrapped up in blankets and cradled in your mother’s arms. Her long chocolate brown hair blowing in the wind, twirling and whipping around occasionally hitting your face. ‘STUPEFY!’ You heard a deep voice say and your mother hit the ground you doing so as well. However your mother wasn’t going to give up easily, she fought magnificently. To protect her child and to protect herself I am not leaving my child while I’m locked up in Azkaban she thought. This thought helping her persevere through this fight. Throwing spells in every direction as you lay on the floor crying. But your mothers efforts to win the fight were stopped and she was wrapped up in thick ropes. A man to the left of her walked towards you with two wands in his hand. You guessed the second was your mothers. ‘What we going to do with the child?’ The man questioned with a sad look on his face. ‘Don’t fucking touch her’ your mother yelled her anger boiling to the top. ‘We can’t leave her here miss’ said another voice this one much deeper than the other mans. ‘Take her to Snape, Severus Snape. It’s her father’ she said breathing heavily. And with that they did as they was told. As they dragged you both in opposite directions you heard your mother weeping and yelling ‘I love you so much Y/N! I’ll come back for you one day baby.’ And that was the last time you saw your mother.
Growing up in the castle was great, you lost your mother when you was very young so the castle was all you knew. You formed great bonds with each teacher and could flutter about the castle however you pleased but of course mustn’t leave the grounds. And absolutely not enter the forbidden forest. You would sit through classes with other students and by the age of 7 you had the knowledge of a 6th year. Potions was your favourite, probably taking after your father. you’d often show off in class as you could do many potions easily without the instructions your father put up on the board. When your father would praise you you would look around the room with a very smug look on your face. At meal times you’d sit at the teachers table, you wasn’t old enough to get sorted so you didn’t belong in any of the houses just yet. Everyone at Hogwarts knew you, many calling you the princess of Hogwarts. Unlike your father you had a very bubbly attitude your father assumed it was because you would hang around with the Weasleys and other bubbly students. Bill and Charlie were your favourite people at Hogwarts and when George and Fred came to Hogwarts you loved them too. You loved Percy but he wasn’t as fun as the others. You and the Weasley twins where a troublesome match, you knew every nook and cranny of the castle along with the passwords to every door and passage while they had knowledge of pranks and tricks. A chaotic match. You got into a lot of trouble being friends with the red headed twins but you didn’t seem to mind. Being so close with the Weasleys made it so you spent a week at the burrow each summer and when Fred and George where in their first year you even spent a Christmas with them. Molly and Arthur also treated you like you was apart of the family and would knit you an infamous jumper or scarf at Christmas time. Many other students would try to teach you curse words when you was young and if your father found out who it was he’d give them a hard(er) time in class. Once you learned a word you knew you wasn’t allowed to say you seemed to say it even more. You’d be heard skipping down corridors and shouting the words with students laughing and pointing as they watched.
Professor McGonagall was like a mother to you. A very strict mother. She treated you like any other student and it made you feel included. You spent countless hours sat in her office drinking tea while telling her about your day.
Dumbledore would let you into his office whenever you wanted he would tell you stories or babble about random stuff to you. He’d show you the penseive and you would become obsessed with it, wanting to look at every memory he had stored in his cupboards. You fell asleep in his office countless night either sat in his lap or lied on his desk and each time he would carry you or use magic to take you to bed.
You tried to stay away from Professor Trelawny because like Harry Potter she predicted your death countless times. It scared you the first couple of times but as you got older you realised she was probably just an old fraud.
Spending time with professor sprout was a lot of fun she’d show you all kids of plants in the greenhouses and would often invite you to come to lessons she thought would be very exciting.
You loved playing in the kitchens and talking to all the house elves. You’d often convince them to let you help prepare the feast so after all these years you became an excellent cook.
Your father may act cold and horrible to the students of Hogwarts but he was an absolute softie when it came to you. He’d read you a bedtime story most nights (when you wasn’t with Dumbledore) and every morning when he’d go to wake you he’d bring you a different flower each day. Rose one day and Lilly the next and so on. Snape was very proud of you for being so intelligent and you’d ofter hear him bragging about your abilities to students and staff. When you was only young he’d have to rock you in his arms as he taught a class to get you to settle down after a toddler temper tantrum. Many students that watched this thought it was strange to see this side of him and they stared in awe glancing looks as if to be talking to each other telepathically. Your father didn’t speak about your mother but if you had a question he would try his best to answer it. Snape didn’t love your mother since he had always loved Lilly potter he had told you this when you was older. Your parents never married and only knew each other because of them being very close to Voldemort. Knowing this information didn’t bother you, it was quite funny to you that you was clearly an accident and you didn’t let it bother you.
Every teacher in Hogwarts seemed like your parents and you had one giant family. Even without your mother you was still happy but you still longed to be able to see her again one day.
When it was your year to be sorted you was put into Y/H/N and no matter the house your father was proud. He was even happier if you was put into his own house. You was in the same year as Harry Potter, Ron Weasley and Hermione granger and you also became friends with them. The whole school loved you and you had many friends in your year from Neville Longbottom to Draco Malfoy. You’d ofter comfort Neville after a bad lesson where your father was very horrible. You had many arguments over how your father treated your friends but he was a stubborn man and didn’t like you trying to change him. ‘Your a good person dad I know you are you just need to show it!’ You’d shout at the end of lesson. ‘I’m not having this conversation Y/N! Now run along or you’ll be late for charms’ he said not moving his eyes from his desk. You shook your head and left.
Being friends with so many different people made people question you on why you was friends with certain people. The Gryffindors would question you on your friendship with Draco and the Slytherins and Draco and the rest of Slytherin house would do the same to the Gryffindors. You would always respond with the same answer ‘you can’t judge a book by its cover.’ As cliche as it sounds it was true. No one knew how nice Draco was behind closed doors and Draco couldn’t see past his ideas of blood status. You didn’t even try and get them to like each other it was clear it wouldn’t happen if only you alone tried.
Thanks for reading :)
#blaise x reader#blaise zabini fluff#draco malfoy#draco malfoy fluff#golden trio era#blaise zabini#george wealsey x reader#draco x y/n#rupaul's drag race#the office#snape#severus snape#fred weasley#severus snape x reader#harry potter fandom#harry potter#hermione granger#ron weasley x reader#neville longbottom x y/n#neville longbottom#death eaters#hogwarts#hogwarts is my home
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Christmas 2019: Day 9 - The Christmas Hope (2009)
On the ninth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me...
Nine months of gestation!
On reflection, I can see that the past two entries on this years list have been a bit of a downer. Far too centered in talk of mental illness, depression and the like. Let’s perk things up a bit with...*checks notes*...shit.
Right now millions of people across the planet (or galaxy as it were) are enjoying/not enjoying the end to a very different cinematic trilogy. Me? I have a long overdue wrap up to attend to that started many moons ago thanks to a certain little film about a certain pair of shoes based on a certain song. Quite why I’m doing this know I don’t know. I can only suspect that I’ve seen one too many reflective social media posts now that we’re reaching both the end of a year and decade, perhaps I’m subconsciously wanted to sort out unfinished business, hence looking at stuff like this, Christmas Story Live and the Christmas Carol Musical.
The movie starts with Traci here recording herself singing a song before commenting ‘American Idol here I come!’. The camera pans all through her house looking at pictures of her daughter, soppy picture frames with ‘I LOVE YOU MOMMY’ written on them and no sign of a boyfriend/husband so she has the basis for a feel good story if she does make it on. Might need to jazz it up somewhere along the line if we’re to really tug at the audiences heartstrings but it’s a start. This actress would go on to play Vicky in the live action Fairly Odd Parents movies so that’s another tie in to a previous entry. Apparently there’s a third one of those and I’m not sure if I’ve seen it.
She literally runs into a couple on her way to work, knocking their teddy bear to the floor which they graciously give to her when she mentions that her daughter would love it. This is Nathan and Megan from The Christmas Blessing, sadly both recast. Actually, maybe that’s a good thing. Not sure I’d be able to take NPH seriously after all those H&K movies recently. Nathan is a bit more of a ginger this time around, rather than the dirty blonde thing NPH has going on. Megan is expecting and they have about a bajillion teddies so they don’t mind passing one along. Hey, someone probably got you that as a gift. Be grateful!
Meanwhile, the police arrest a drug dealer and find she has a malnourished baby in her apartment so in swoop child services to save the day.
Mr. T feels your pain.
I hope you weren’t getting too attached to Traci by the way because about fifteen minutes into the film, shortly after making a heartfelt promise to her daughter that they were going to decorate the Christmas tree once she got home from work and that she had a very special present for her this year, she promptly gets run over.
Have you ever crossed the road, and looked the wrong way? A car's nearly on you? So what do you do? Something very silly; you freeze. Your life doesn't flash before you, cause you're too fucking scared to think, you just freeze and pull a stupid face.
I know I shouldn’t be surprised given this is one of those melodramatic, Hallmark movies and this whole series has been overly morbid up to this point but it still kinda threw me. Here we are all nice and happy, Traci’s going about her day and there’s a nice Christian, soft rock Christmas ballad playing in the background and then BOOM, SUV to the face.
Then it cuts to her daughter, Emily, going through the Christmas decorations before settling on a angel which she ponders on for a moment before looking to the heavens as she’s having this moment of intuition.
But when child services pop their head in again to take her away, they find that all their usual helpers are fully booked for the holidays so what else can they do? One of the workers, Patricia, has no choice but to take her home. It’s not by the book but, damnit, it’s Christmas and we’re going to give this kid some degree of stability. By sheer coincidence, Patricia happens to be the mother of one Sean Addision who was the kid that died following a car accident the start of Christmas Blessing which caused Nathan to have his Dr Cox crisis of confidence moment. These movies are just ridiculous to how everyone's lives are so intertwined.
Like, up to this point, we met Traci who then bumped into Nathan and Megan, before going to work and having a young, troubled teen skip out on his bill but Patricia was in at the same time and tipped really generously to make up for it. That same kid then pretty much steals her bag following accident and also knew Sean who was mentoring him in one of those Big Brother mentoring programs.
Patricia’s husband, Mark, is played by James Remar, he of The Warriors fame and, more pertinent to this blog, he was in the Miracle on 34th Street remake and one of the segments in the Tales from the Darkside movie. Theirs is a very frosty relationship currently owing to the death of Sean, there’s no sense of chemistry between these two and I’m surprised they’re actually as close in age as they are, Remar only 4 years older. Feels like there’s more of like a 10-20 year gap. He gets on very well with Emily though, they have this instant rapport whilst Patricia is more distant which is understandable. She obviously has to keep things professional as she can’t get too attached to these kids and doesn’t want them getting attached to her, plus there’s probably ongoing issues from Sean’s death, maybe she’s not prepared to slip back into that motherly role again. Which you can tell by that dinner she serves; rolls of wafer thin ham, cherry tomatoes, carrot sticks and celery? That’s just what all the kids want.
At least she’ll read Emily a bedtime story, ‘I’ll Love You Forever’ which documents a mother who sings to her song that she’ll love him forever, even when he becomes a rebellious teenager who thinks it’s lame for her to do that. This leads to the very strange visual of him cradiling her in his arms on a rocking chair and singing it to her when she’s old and frail, a mirror image of how she first sang to him when he was a baby. This really hits Patricia in the feels as she felt distant from Sean as he seemed closer to his father, wanting to impress him by picking the sports and classes he thought his father wanted him to take. She even seems to partly blame her husband for their sons death as he switched around his work schedule to come home early for Christmas, which in turn led to Sean coming home early too. If he’d just come home on the day he intended this never would have happened! That seems grossly unfair. Even when she passed along a family heirloom in the form of her fathers watch, he was unimpressed and even managed to break it whilst horsing around with a friend in his room.
The massively tangled web of these characters comes into play again when Megan is going through some things and finds an old Christmas gift which sends Nathan into some sort of Nam flashback. Turns out Sean was holding it as he was wheeled into the hospital and Nathan had taken it upon himself to make sure it found its way to its intended destination but he just forgot about it over the years. I actually went back to check this and ,yeah, that is in the previous movie. I had this whole thing pegged as just a series of independent stories with loose connections throughout but no, apparently they had whole plot points planned out in advance.
Nathan and Patricia do interact several times as she takes the crack baby to the hospital to be checked up. There’s this strange level of frustration akin to An American Tail where Nathan keeps getting little flashbacks in his head but he’s never quite able to connect the dots.
But of course he eventually does and the present turns out to be, say it with me now, the broken watch! Perhaps more meaningful though is the accompanying note which reveals Sean intended to study social work at college because he wanted to help kids just like his mom. This seems to serve as a form of closure for her but I feel like you could already start drawing that sort of conclusion. I mean, the guy was already in that Big Brother program so you were clearly already having some sort of influence on him.
Strike two of the big overly emotional finale comes when it’s suggested Emily puts the angel atop the tree which promptly makes her bolt out of the room. Everyone is left thinking they’ve upset her but she comes back clutching a picture which she wedges onto the tree, a picture not of her mother as I had suspected but of Sean. She says he is her angel and she feels like whenever she’s felt all alone, he’s been there to help here. Awww.
The big showstopper though is the troubled kid finally coming good and, after realising who everyone is in this story, returns Traci’s bag to the Addison home. Inside was her camera and on that camera was the video from the very start of the movie. Turns out she wrote that song as a Christmas gift for Emily.
Though, I feel the writers fell short of a grand slam here. Near the end, Nathan shares the story with Megan about giving the gift to Sean’s parents and how it gave him his own little bit of closure after how much Sean’s death affected him back then. Megan goes into labour shortly afterwards and I was fully expecting them to decide to call the baby Sean but no such luck.
Christmas Blessing was lacking a little bit in the big emotional ending so it feels like this one is making up for that and then some. It’s not as cheesy as that song from Christmas Shoes but still delivers that overly sentimental feeling. Again, it’s something I am loathed to admit but it got to me a little bit. This whole movie has that same morbid energy as the other two but in a slightly different way, the first two felt like you spent the entire movie watching people who were on deaths door before something happened at the end to soften the blow. Here they just give you the death right up front and everyone is left to cope with the aftermath and reflect on how deal with it. It’s like an encapsulation of everything that Nathan has gone through over these movies, facing death in his personal and professional life but coming to terms with it.
You know what’s bullshit though? No sign of the eponymous Christmas Shoes anywhere. They’re even in the box of stuff that Megan finds the old Christmas present in. How can you make this your big conclusion and not bring them back? You brought them back the last one, you couldn’t have Megan tag along and give them to Emily at the end as some sort of passing of the torch? It was her destiny, Nathan got them for his dead mother, Charlie got them for his dead mother, those shoes have been robbed of their purpose in life.
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Happy Holidays, you Rebel scum!
To @bjamesjr & @apopple
Its that time of year where I’m forced to be nice or I might not get that new game I want. And if I’m going to be nice, it makes sense that I’d start with you lot, yeah? Alright so, I’m not saying you guys are Han and Leia but I thought of you when Is aw this, so take it however you want to! I figured you guys were probably due for a bit of a break too, so a little wine should help that along. Just make sure the kids are asleep first! And I have no idea how these things work but they’re apparently fucking magic - you can cook a whole roast beef dinner in forty minutes, or something absurd like that. I thought it might help out a little since your hands are so full these days!
And for the little lads, of course, some Star Wars treats. Pajamas, naturally, because it’s that time of year. The collector’s edition Little Golden Books - I know they can’t read, but I figured BJ could make himself useful and cover bedtime stories for a bit!
Anyway, I hope you’re all having a brilliant holiday. Merry Christmas!
Uncle Rahul.
To @clrholt
I’m going to warn you up front, I’m not the best gift buyer in the land, but I wanted to get you a few things for Christmas - it seemed like a good time to properly thank you for letting me lie to people about our ‘sexual’ relationship! I’m kidding, I really do hope you’re having a wonderful first Christmas in Bayview and I might be a little happy you decided to make your way there in the first place.
So let’s get to the good stuff, shall we? I know wrapping up the show has been a bit bittersweet for you and I thought this might be a good place to store a few trinkets that remind you of that overly handsome lot you’ve been working with so that any time you’re feeling a little down about missing them, you can just sneak a peek and be right back there, for the moment at least. My mum told me you always get a woman chocolate, so there’s chocolate for you. If you’re like allergic or something, please blame my mum! And since you’re so far from home, I thought I nice little reminder that you could wear around with you might be in order. And lastly, but again since you’re so far from home, something to keep that pretty little head (and fingers) warm for the winter.
Thanks for putting up with me, I don’t know how you do it, but I’m going to assume this is my first Christmas miracle. Merry Christmas Claire!
Rahul.
To @signofharryedwardstyles
For my brother from another mother, I’m shite at this okay, so just bear with me. I know you’re going to look at this book and think ‘why is Rahul getting me a romance novel’ but mate, I swear, it’s a cookbook. Just a fairly romantic one and I figured since you do the majority of the cooking at home and you’re about to tie the knot, it would probably come in handy. The hair and body wash is two-fold - anyone with a mane like that must take good care of it, so I thought I’d give you a hand. Secondly though, you’re on the road a lot and one bottle is better than three, right? I also thought you might like this beanie and mitts - totally tech friendly, with bluetooth headphones so you can keep your noggin warm and still rock out while on your runs. Lastly, just a little taste of home, because we’re British and need to remind people of that all the fucking time, yeah?
Merry Christmas, mate, I hope you and your man have an amazing holiday and that 2018 is good to you both!
Rahul
To @yelyahnichole
Merry Christmas Hayley, I hope you’re having a wonderful time with your family. Santa wanted to make sure you got a few things that we thought you might like but also to say thank you for being the awesome person that you.
First up is vegetarian cookbook that according to Santa’s elves is a must have for anyone skipping meat. The next two are devoted to your love of all things Tommy/Peaky Blinders. First a hoodie, because while it’s cool, it’s also practical given Bayview’s weather this time of year. And also a charm bracelet - none of this means anything to me yet (I promise I will watch it soon!) but I’m assuming you’ll know what all the little pieces mean. I - I mean Santa - thought it was both fun and pretty, just like you! Merry Christmas, love!
Rahul.
To @dylobrn @evanpxtrs @driiselba @bviewgron @itsaubrey
I figure the whole lot of you are on Santa’s naughty list this year, so I decided to help you out a little bit and do something charitable on your behalf. Luckily, it’s kind of cool - the winning prize of each card is one of our four basic needs gifts: literacy tools, clean water, nutritious meals or solar energy. The game is the same as a typical scratch off ticket, but you must match icons (instead of numbers). Flip the card over to learn more about the winning donation. Every card is a winner and either gives clean water, solar light, literacy tools or nutritious meals. YOu’re welcome, you wankers! Have a Merry Christmas!
Rahul.
I’m kidding, I love you all. Shhh.
#gifts(to)#bjamesjr#apopple#closet#signofharryedwardstyles#yelyahnichole#dylobrn#evanpxtrs#driiselba#itsaubrey
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A Note on Intelligence
Nadia, will you be smart?
As you grow and develop, as your inclinations and interests begin to shine through the clouds of toddlerhood tantrums and cast light and shadows over your everyday actions, this seems like a very natural question to ask.
Every parent wants their child to end up being “smart,” right? Even Forrest Gump had a vested interest:
But before we run with Forrest’s question, we should ask—is it even the right question?
When I was a teacher, I presented the idea of multiple-intelligences to my students. The concept behind this is that intelligence is not binary. You’re not either “smart” or “dumb” in an absolute sense. Instead, intelligence exists on a wavelength, with peaks and valleys and no average altitude that defines what you’re capable of.
It’s a nice idea. It’s an elevated concept (HAHA). But teaching it and believing it are two different summits to climb.
And maybe I’m still at base camp, but I really think I’m ready to start the trek. I think we all may need to start gazing upward to a place where we can meet at the top.
With this theory of multiple intelligences, there are still head starts. Some people are still going to be inclined (this metaphor is contrived, I know, but I swear I didn’t try to do this one) towards some areas over others. But the beauty of the multiple intelligences theory is that A) if you have weaknesses in one area, you can make it up with strengths in others, and B) You can always improve in every area.
So how’s it looking so far, Nadia?
Verbal-Linguistic Intelligence (Word-Smart)
So, Nadia, you don’t really like books. Like, you tolerate them. We’ve made reading books a part of your bedtime routine, so you accept it as a part of life. But if you have free time and a choice about what you want to do, picking up a book and reading it is never one of your choices.
It makes me, as a parent, and as a former English teacher, feel a little self-conscious. After all, I’ve seen so many other parents post pictures of their kids mangling books with the caption, “OMG, SHE LOVES BOOKS SO MUCH!”
Which can lead to only two conclusions:
1. That kid really likes books.
2. That parent is lying.
Really, the truth of the above is inconsequential. It’s more about the awareness of the parent (Self-Smart reference #1) than it is about the ability of the child.
I want you to love to read...I really do. But it’s not really something that can be forced. Also, Verbal-Linguistic Intelligence is about WAY more than just reading. It’s about vocabulary, memorization, and making up stories. And you can make up a hell of a story with “poop” at every twist and turn.
Logical-Mathematical Intelligence (Number-Smart)
It’s interesting that this intelligence is associated with “numbers.” It makes you think that an accountant, for example, represents the exemplar of this intelligence.
But really, it’s more than that. Sure, you can count to 30, or maybe even 40 (you skip 15 a lot, for some reason). But this isn’t about knowing your numbers--it’s more about using logic to know how one step leads to another step--and then being able to explain the relation between those steps.
A kid that can count isn’t “number smart”--that’s just memorization. (Self-Smart reference #2). But a kid that understands what those numbers mean and can apply them to everyday situations IS. At that point, you’re using logic--not memorization.
You seem to be pretty astute at this, Nadia. You work through little puzzles in your head all the time in order to arrive at the conclusion that it was Daddy’s fault. And you’re usually right.
Spatial Intelligence (Picture-Smart)
I have some high hopes for you here, despite the fact that this may be one of my lowest intelligences.
Of course, there are two sides to the genetic coin--and when you flip it, sometimes you get heads or tails...The coin doesn’t suspend upright on its edge.
I’ll often walk into a room, and your mother will just be staring at nothing. When I ask her what she’s doing, she’ll say: “Visualizing.”
So, this intelligence isn’t necessarily just about being able to draw, paint, sculpt, or whatever--it’s more about being able to picture something that isn’t already there. (Self-Smart reference #3)
When your mom asks me to look at the blank wall that she’s staring at, she’ll say, “What do you see?”
And I’ll say, “I see a fucking wall.”
But to her, she sees frames, and wasted spaces, and opportunities.
I think your ability as a builder might mean that you have some natural talent here. You love using your blocks to build structures that I wouldn’t have ever dreamed of, constructing patterns that just seem to make sense.
Your artwork kind of sucks, to be super honest. But your visualization seems to suggest that you’ve hopefully got some of your mother’s abilities.
Bodily-Kinesthetic Intelligence (Sports-Smart)
I remember when you were barely two, we took you to a park with a soccer ball. We couldn’t believe when you just took off running, dribbling the soccer ball with one foot in stride. You didn’t stumble, and you displayed this natural, untaught ability to keep the ball near your foot as you moved exceptionally fast.
So, logically, we signed you up for soccer at your school.
You hated soccer.
Well, that’s not fair. I don’t think you hated soccer. You loved that freedom of just running and dribbling a ball with no intended goal. What you hated was the rules and discipline that came with soccer.
At your school, soccer isn’t about dribbling, or kicking, or really any ball-related skill. It’s about freezing or sitting on your ball when the coach blows a whistle. Sports, at an early age, are about discipline, rather than the body motions that go along with playing that sport.
I think that also relates to the other sports we’ve signed you up for--dance, gymnastics, and even yoga.
I’m not saying that discipline is a bad thing. I’m just saying this is a mix of intelligences. In order to show that you are good at a sport at a young age, you also have to display some ability to follow directions, which is an entirely different type of intelligence. (Self-Smart reference #4)
So the fact that you don’t want to play soccer doesn’t mean that you won’t be good at soccer. We’ll let you decide.
Musical Intelligence (Music-Smart)
You really don’t have a lot to work with, here. Not genetically.
Not long ago, you were staging a fake birthday party for...I think, a toilet...And you sang “Happy Birthday” to that toilet.
After hearing you sing, I remember remarking, “Awww, Nadia, you sing just like your mother!” This is exactly the kind of snarky-ass, passive aggressive “compliment” that adults give to their unknowing kids. Don’t knock it. It really is one of our only guilty, mostly harmless, pleasures.
And me...well, by now, when you’re reading this, hopefully you’ve gotten to enjoy a number of my “birthday songs” that I’ve written and performed for you.
But you should know a few things:
Writing and performing these songs is HARD for me. It is not something that comes natural for me.
Also, I have no problem admitting that these songs are objectively bad. The key is off, the musical pacing is horrendous, and the final result of putting the voice/instruments together has often been laughably terrible.
But this goes back to an earlier point I tried to make: You CAN improve at something if you really have the desire to--even if it’s something you’re not naturally talented at. In the nature-nurture debate, I’ve always tended to side a little more strongly on the nature side--you’re born, genetically, with a certain set of skills, and those may provide the playdough that shapes the person you ultimately become. But that in no way means you can’t get some dough from another can and see what you can make of it.
Listen--every teenager thinks they’re “music-smart.” We adorn our Myspace accounts (just a super obscure reference for you to look up) with statements like “MUSIC IS LYFE”, as if that means that we could be musicians in a future life.
But liking music and being “good” at it are two different things. Being honest with yourself can lead to how much you decide to pursue something like music (Self-Smart reference #5)
Naturalist Intelligence (Nature-Smart)
This is a fun juxtaposition to the previous section. With music, I made the argument that you can be “bad” at something, but improve at it if you have the interest.
Just know that if you are naturally bad at something, and you also don’t have the interest, it’s okay to just suck at that thing.
That’s where I’m at with this intelligence.
Gardening? Nah. Cooking? That’s what Grubhub was invented for. (Self-Smart reference #6)
But just in case you’re interested in this kind of intelligence, know that your mother is working her ass off to be a guiding example. It’s not something she’s exactly naturally inclined to. I once told your mother that our house is where plants go to die.
And as for something like cooking. You recently told your mother, “Mom, you shouldn’t cook anymore, because you burnt yourself. You should let dad cook.”
But to your mother’s credit, she has continued cooking, and she’s getting a lot better at it, despite some potential genetic deficiencies. I once told her that she had effectively ruined fish for me. But since then, she has made some fish dishes that were absolutely edible.
Hope abounds. And for you--who knows. Maybe even if you don’t feel like working too hard at this, maybe genetics skips a generation and you’ll get your Grampy’s natural ability. You already seem in tune with nature--whether it’s your love for flowers, caterpillars, or animals. Do what you will, my little nature girl.
Interpersonal Intelligence (People-Smart)
Nadia, you’re awkward af. It’s fine, though. You’re only three. These are skills that you can develop over time.
To be real, developing this intelligence makes me a little nervous.
In its best form, high levels of Interpersonal Intelligence leads to people who are great communicators--leaders who use their affability to create positive change.
In its worst form, high levels of Interpersonal Intelligence leads to being a bully: People who can read others and exploit them. People who use charm and affability for nefarious causes.
You have some interesting examples to deal with: Your mom, who is an introverted extrovert: Someone who isn’t naturally gifted at gab, but who is interested in meeting and conversing with people in order to learn more.
And, your dad: An extroverted introvert: Someone who has the natural ability of public speaking and making personal connections, but who would rather stay home and watch stupid-ass sports on TV instead of interacting with anyone. (Self-Smart reference #7)
I’m interested in seeing what happens to you in regards to this intelligence. Despite my nature-based leanings, this ability does seem to be something that can be taught (or, observed, I guess) as as opposed to inherited. Let’s check back in 10 years and see how much time you’re spending in your room.
Intrapersonal Intelligence (Self-Smart)
I saved this intelligence for last, because in my mind, it may be the most crucial of all the intelligences.
As you’ve seen in the references I’ve inserted above, I really feel like this intelligence informs and enables all of the other intelligences.
The other quirky thing about this intelligence is that it presents a paradox:
The more you’re sure you have this intelligence, the less likely that you actually have it.
If you ask people a question like, “How well do you know yourself?”, the people who are quick to yell, “REALLY WELL!” are the people who may not actually be that self-smart.
If you have high levels of Intrapersonal Intelligence, it means that you question yourself daily. You spend a considerable amount of time pondering the decisions that you’ve made and thinking about whether they were the right choices.
It seems like an intelligence that is severely lacking in our world today. And I get it. Constant reflection can be uncomfortable. It’s easier to just move forward and ignore the mirrors, literal and metaphorical, that you inevitably pass in your everyday life.
And the other thing is that of all the intelligences, Intrapersonal Intelligence might be the hardest to measure. You can take IQ tests that measure your Verbal, Logical, and Spatial intelligences. You can be pretty sure whether you’re a good athlete based on the trophies you accumulate, and you can be confident in your musical abilities based on the applause you get after performances. You can judge your natural abilities by the lushness of your garden, or your people abilities by the number of friends you have.
Though the above measures aren’t totally indicative of your ability, they’re at least a glimpse.
But how do you measure whether you’re “Self-Smart?” There isn’t a test for that. There isn’t a reliable metric.
Also, of all the intelligences, it’s unclear how much of a role genetics have in Intrapersonal Intelligence. Is it something you inherit? Or is it something you have to work on?
I’m not sure. I’m really not. But I know that improving how well you know yourself is super important in understanding what you’re capable of--it helps you know what you might want to pursue as you decide to be who you want to be.
So here are some tips:
1. Spend some time reflecting every day. Am I happy with the decisions I made today? Do I regret the way I acted in any moment?
2. Ensure that the ideas and beliefs that you endorse actually conform with your core beliefs as a human. For example, if you support a person that wants to make it harder for disadvantaged people to get ahead in life, does that reflect your core beliefs about helping the poor?
3. If you examine yourself and realize you’ve done something wrong, be willing to address that wrong, OR apologize for your actions. There is no time limit on this...You can apologize days, weeks, or even years later. This is super hard, but it is vital. I had a close friend once apologize for an argument we’d been in years before--he told me he was wrong, and he was sorry. I wasn’t holding this argument against this friend...It had been long forgotten. But the fact that he brought it up said so much about him...It meant he had done some self-reflection, and he wanted to come clean with himself. It wasn’t really so much about our friendship--we would have been friends whether or not he opened up that old, forgotten wound--but it was more about coming to terms with something he regretted.
So, apologize to people, even long after the event. Not for them--but for you.
Now, you can’t obsess over every wrong thing you’ve done in your life. It would drive you crazy. You can’t hunt down every stranger you may have somehow offended to make things right. But you can come to terms with it in your own mind and send unreceived apologies out into the universe, even if it’s for your own sake.
For example...Manager of the Marco’s Pizza, I’m sorry I chewed you out when my online order had been deleted and my pizza wasn’t ready. I should have handled that situation much more elegantly.
Nadia--I hope you aren’t too confused by this post somewhat contradictory message. There’s a bit of cognitive dissonance to try and do these two things at once:
1. Evaluate you on your current progress of these different intelligences at only three years old, and
2. Declare that these intelligences are something that can be learned, gained, and improved upon as you progress through your life.
So, yeah...Your daddy is a jackass. (Self-Smart reference #8)
But what I want you to gain most from this post is to look at yourself, and others, as more than “smart” or “dumb.”
We should all endeavor to start looking at intelligence as something that is a sum of all parts--and even the total sum doesn’t decide your worth.
Instead of labeling people as “smart,” consider calling people “thoughtful, logical, creative, reflective, intuitive, bold, resourceful, and engaging.”
And before calling someone “dumb”...well, take a long, deep look at yourself and think about what makes that person different from you. (Self-Smart reference #9)
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They Call Me Salvation Ch.1
When I was a kid my mom would tell me stories of angels. When I would lay down to sleep the last thing that she told me was that the angels were watching over me as I slept. I remember that terrifying me, the idea of some celestial being just watching me as I slept. It even just sounds creepy.
She was a religious woman and she was in church every time the doors opened. First in and the last out, she was always situated in the front pew. She even taught Sunday school classes for the children of the church.
Needless to say, her life revolved around church, and God and the stories of the Bible.
This would play an important part in my upbringing. I had been raised in church my entire life, being dragged along by my mother. She didn’t read me fairy tales as bedtime stories. Instead, she read to me the lives of Daniel, Joseph, Ruth and who could forget about the big man himself: Jesus Christ himself. I was constantly reminded that I could go to the Lord with any problem I had. All I needed to do was pray and he would handle it.
As I grew older I found myself praying that she would just leave me alone.
I was a teenager when I began to pull away from her religious way of life. Looking back on it now I guess it was really inevitable. Children with my kind of upbringing typically turn out one of two ways; They either become just like their parents and become hyper-religious or they defect from the church and do what they can to distance themselves from their old lifestyle. I chose the latter.
My teenage years would best be described as a massive trainwreck. I fell in with the rebellious cliques at school. You know the ones. The ones that skip class to hang out behind the gym to smoke and talk shit about the rest of the school body. I spent more time in detention than I did at home and my once exemplary grades had fallen to barely passing at best. I dyed my hair and went behind my mom’s back to get piercings. I snuck out at night to go vandalize cars smoke weed with my so-called friends.
One thing remained constant, however, my mom continued to try to fix me. The more I rebelled the more she doubled down on trying to force me into the church. I lost track of how many times she told me that I needed to stop living such a carnal life if I wanted to get into Heaven. That she wouldn’t stand by and watch her only daughter die a sinner and if I continued on this path that was what was bound to happen. At the time I always blew her off; I would roll my eyes or scoff and walk out the door.
I wish I had listened to her.
As soon as I turned 18 I moved into my girlfriend's apartment. I just wanted to get away from my mom in any way I could and that was the quickest possible way. I packed up my things while she slept and by the time she had woken up any trace of me was erased from that house. I remember her blowing up my phone with texts and calls. She was begging me to come home, threatening to call the police to bring me back, asking what she had done wrong. She said anything that she could that she thought might bring me back to her. Finally, I sent a simple message saying that I was never coming back and wanted absolutely nothing to do with her. She didn’t reply.
I thought I knew everything back then. I thought that I was in control of my own life finally and I was elated. I could do whatever I chose, whenever I chose. What I chose to do was drop out of school. I pulled myself out of school as fast as I could and before I knew it my new life was filled with going to parties with my girlfriend and our friends. My days were drunk away and I became very familiar with the burn of alcohol and things were fun. I was having the time of my life. Life was one big party and I couldn’t be happier. Why wouldn’t I be? I finally had my freedom, I had friends that I thought cared about me and I had a girlfriend that I loved. I had everything I had ever wished for, but I guess I should have been more careful with what I wished for. If I had just listened to my mother and saw what she was trying to teach me then perhaps I would have been graduating from college soon. I would have had a chance to have my own career, my own family, and happy life.
Instead, I shunned her and I paid the price for it: my life.
As a child, I remember being fascinated with stories of Hell and Satan. While other children longed to know more of the eternal paradise of Heaven; what with its streets paved with gold and its reputation as a place of peace and life, I was curious about the Underworld.
My main fascination laid within the fact that despite all of the claims that God loved humanity and wanted the best for them that he would allow his creations to go to such a place. Why would he allow that? The scripture states that Hell was created for the Devil and his angels, not for man. Yet it also states that Hell is enlarging its borders day by day. I never understood why God would let his creations fall so low if he truly loved them so much. However, one thing that stuck with me for life: Hell was a place of fire and suffering. I can assure you that they're wrong, about the fire part anyway. I would know, after all, I've become rather well acquainted will Hell over the last decade.
Hell is cold and calculating. Floored with dull gray slate and crags and boulders as far as the eye can see. Rusted chains and countless hallways filled with rooms but never seem to lead to anywhere in particular. Think of the labyrinth, with its channels and unexpected twists and turn, then add the never-ending soundtrack of screaming and the nauseating smell of sulfur then you've got a better idea of Hell than whoever wrote the Bible. I'm telling you after you die the number of inaccuracies become stunningly obvious. At least that's how it was for me. It's not like I had much else to do other than point everything out as I was being escorted to my very own torture chamber. Gee, I felt honored. How nice of them to give me my own personal room to serve out the after-life sentence that I had been handed by the most corrupt judge of them all.
Something else that you'll notice when you arrive on Satan's doorstep is that demons don't look like demons. They don't have horns and wings and the blood-red skin. They don't even have fangs or anything that humans had thought demons may have looked like. You heard me, all of those renaissance painting are wrong. Demons look like anyone else. Your next-door neighbor, a particularly nasty ex, maybe even a sibling or a complete stranger.
For me, my demon was my very own father.
I hardly knew the man in life, he left my mother and me when I was just ten years old but even then he wasn't particularly active in my life. He was always "busy at work" or being "sent on another business trip by the boss". Looking back on it, if I had known what I know now it should have been obvious that all of those business trips were really to his secretary's house to fuck her into the mattress.
I'd later go on to learn that his affair had been going on for three years before he left. Or maybe it hadn't, who knows. That's the thing about demons, you never know when they're telling you the truth or when they're lying through faces of stone. They're creatures of sin, what use do they have for the truth? When it causes you pain, that's when.
You see, abuse isn't just physical and anyone who tells you that is full of shit. Sure there is the immediate satisfaction of hearing screams of agony and moans of pain. There's a rush in watching scarlet red pour from gashes and slits in the poor soul's flesh and nothing could ever compare to watching someone take their last breath, their chest stilling only for it to resume a moment later for the torture to begin all over again. That all gets boring after a time, however, the best feeling is feeding someone the truths- or lies- they had feared to hear for their entire life. Slowly but surely tearing down every single wall and taking a sledgehammer to any small sliver of resolve that they may have been clinging to. When you see that last glimmer of light fade from their eyes that's when you know you have won because it's always about winning. It's about proving to that soul on your rack that you hold all of the cards in the end and nothing that they feel or think can do anything to change that. A demon would love nothing more than to just pull up a chair with a bucket of popcorn and enjoy your demise as if it was a fine film.
They always make you a deal at the end of every day though. A deal that sounds so beautiful sliding off of their silver tongue, a deal that you would have to be stupid to refuse. In exchange for your quasi-freedom, you must become the torturer. Sacrifice whatever humanity you still had left and let the underworld embrace you to become one of its very own. You're already in hell anyway so what's the point in refusing it.
Over the course of my stay here, I've had a few strong souls come across my rack. The rare few that took it on the chin and no matter how many times you offer them the relief they tell you to go hell(which is redundant in and of itself because I'm already there, thank you. That's how we found ourselves in this situation jack ass) and then they go on to endure for another day. These are the ones that no matter how much pain they are dealt they refuse to buckle, they refuse to choose to inflict pain rather than endure it. From time to time I found myself envying them for I was not one of the strong ones. I won't deny I was weak. If I wasn't then I wouldn't have found myself as a cold-blooded demon with a taste for pain and blood, but hey at least I got some cool powers out of it.
Truth be told I don't know how long I lasted on the rack. The thing about Hell is that you don't know what time is. It isn't as if they have clocks hanging around and you can easily turn your head and think "Oh! It's one o'clock, looks like I only have 23 more hours of torture until tomorrow". That's not how it looks. You lose track of everything when you die. You don't know what time it is, what day it is, all you know is where you are at and that's kind of hard to get wrong. I'm getting sidetracked. I tend to do that a lot.
Anyway, however long I lasted doesn't matter. The only thing that matters is that I didn't last long enough. At some point, something within me snapped and I didn't just climb off that rack, I jumped. I was willing to do anything to end the horror that unleashing that same pain on to someone else seemed so small. It didn't matter that I would be putting someone else in my very position. Nothing mattered other than ending my pain. Funny thing, selfishness had actually been one of my sins that landed me in this place. I was never much one for putting others before myself but selfish is a bit harsh. There's nothing wrong with wanting to get ahead while I could and if I had to cut down a few people in the process then so be it.
That's all it has ever been about and all it will ever be about: Getting ahead and winning this twisted game of cat and mouse that I've found myself in. What game you may ask? Well, you're about to find out.
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