Are Donald Trump and Coriulanus Snow the same?

An essay (or smth) comparing Donald Trump and Coriolanus "Coryo" Snow

Bc I only got one lesson and very specific conditions, so i couldn't really write what I wanted to.

(Just a warning if necessary; this essay contains spoilers for The Hunger Games series, including A Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes)

I think you have seen the memes and posts comparing President Trump with the president from The hunger games that has been circling around the Internet over the past year. Like, the twitter post by @hurncamille that went viral about Rue's death and the riots in district 11, as a response to the controversy surrounding the Black Lives Matter movement. You must at least have seen all the post similar to "were you on the capitols side when [similar thing] happened in The Hunger Games?"

As someone who was a pretty big fan a while back, and has gained new interest after the new book, I thought I could go over it.

Let’s start from the election and go backwards. Trump handled losing pretty badly, I think we could all agree on that. Going to Snow, we don’t know if he actually ever lost an election. In The ballad of songbirds and snakes it seems like the country was somewhat democratic for the people in the capitol. The general feeling about the few comments made about the president and the cabinet was that they were democratically elected, though people did not seem very politically active. They do not seem to have a congress. 

There is no way of knowing if there actually were any courts, though I would guess not. Since the arrest and execution of Sejanus Plinth as far as we know was handled by the peacekeepers, it could mean there never was any. Although, it could be argued that since it was about an escape, and therefor maybe a potential rebellion, it was a job for peacekeepers rather than a court for "normal" crimes. But on the other hand, the peacekeepers are the police force and they take care of the prisoners, so having them take care of the entire process could just be the most efficient. It seemed like the school was mainly taking care of the things that went down in the games, since Sejanus and Coryo still were students.

So where was I going with that? Well, the way the US government is built, the Supreme Court can stop laws from happening, meaning that they can stop laws that are making the country go further towards a dictatorship (tho tbh the new judge would probably support a Trump-dictatorship). And also, the congress can stop a president from being president with the process of impeachment. What this means is that it is very hard for someone to gain full dictatorship over the USA. Panem is far less democracy, and does not have anything to really protect the country from a full-on dictator. This means that even if Trump would try his best to become the sole leader of the country, it would be very hard and he would like not live long enough to finish the process. 

But let’s play with the thought that he could. We can see how he has done this far in an attempt to keep the power. He accused Biden and the Democrats for voter fraud, which made twitter put warnings on almost every single one of his twitter posts, telling people to not believe it. On the contrary, when Finnick Odair was asked to make propaganda for the rebellion, he started telling a story about poison. According to the rumours Finnick had heard, Snow gave the enemy a poisoned drink and to not wake suspicion he would drink it himself as well. Because of the medicine not always working perfectly, he would always carry roses and use a lot of perfume. In the movie we see a scene like that, but we also know that he killed dean Highbottom using morphine, and the former game leader was forced to eat nightingale berries -- though he chose a different, unspecified way of suicide. Other than that, Katniss mentions that he always smells like a combination of something sweet and metal, further proving the rumours to be true. 

Moving on, there was a scandal a while back where Trump used the campaign money to buy a lot of copies of his own book, meaning he used donated campaign money to give himself more. There has also been a lot of things about him trying to sue people for criticism about his wealth (and other stuff). And then there is also the small amount of taxes he has paid during his presidency. This does point at money being the driving factor of the things he does, contrary to it being power. 

This is something that could possibly be argued about Snow as well, since he in a ballad of songbirds and snakes was very poor due to the family’s factories being in district 13, which had been destroyed completely. The thing about this is that he hides it by simply saying what others want to hear, and lying of course. He also tries to become an officer among the peacekeepers, which gives more power. Although, it’s probably better payed as well. 

In the main book series, Snow seem more concerned with keeping the power, and he tries to scare Katniss into obeying him. Personally, I think it would've been more effective to give her money, since she never wanted to be the face of the rebellion (I could probably write an entirely new essay on how Katniss never really did anything to save anyone besides herself and the people closest to her and somehow is praised like a hero, and Mare Barrow from Red Queen always tried to do what’s best for everyone but is always met with scepticism). Allthough, he was probably scared that the money would fund them, whether directly or indirectly. And if he lost his position of power he would probably lose the money aswell. He would die, obviously, but that might not be the case with his granddaughter.

On the other hand, he is only really seen caring for her in the movie, and part of his character development in ABOSAS is that he doesn’t allow himself to get attached to anyone, which is the reason he marries Livia Cardew. So, he might not actually love her. And therefor, since he was close to death, didn’t care to much anymore.

Lastly, my personal opinion. I HATE Trump, and I can’t say i like Snow either, but there is a difference. A lot of the things I read in A ballad of songbirds and snakes made me respect him. He was at the absolute bottom, but he became the most powerful person in the entire country. I obviously do not respect his morals, but his dedication and intelligence. But just to be clear, I would not have liked him if I actually lived in Panem. Trump on the other hand, does not seem to have ever worked for anything. He got the buissness empire from his dad, and the only reason why he won the election is because he somehow is charming enough to have collected a bunch of stans (and people disliked Hillary Clinton too).

We dont know if Suzanne Collins had Trump in mind when writing The hunger games series, and i find it unlikely. On the other hand, you can absolutley use it against him! I would not advice it though, because at this point it’s probably more of a compliment.

TL:DR; Trump is a stupid piece of shit, and Snow is an intellegent piece of shit.

You wrote about it in Harborage but now I want to know all the details: what went down during the great midterm fiasco of 1985? (In both timelines). Loving your fic, btw!

LOL, I figured that little moment might stick out and prompt questions. Glad you're enjoying the fic!

Some context for others: I headcanon Marty with ADHD & that Doc is the first one to put the pieces together regarding it. In my fic, during a conversation, Doc and Marty make reference to "The Midterm Fiasco of January 1985", which isn't elaborated on but is basically implied as being the event that prompts Doc to have a conversation with Marty regarding his suspicions.

Now, some details for you, anon. (I do have a whole backstory on it because I wrote a one-shot a while back that was similar-ish in concept, but I never posted it and probably won't at this point. So...here!) LONG post ahead...

Marty's staring down the barrel of midterm week, and he prepares accordingly by telling Doc he won't be by the garage for a while because he's going to be going straight home to study.

Doc is like, "Great, let me know if you need help," and when he doesn't see of hear from Marty, he assumes it means all is going well.

Until Marty comes flying through the garage door at full speed the weekend before his exams start, in a complete panic. He's all disheveled, and he drops his half open backpack to the ground and just sort of gives Doc this wide-eyed, deer-in-the-headlights look.

Doc figures Marty is overwhelmed or burnt out, so he assures his friend he can help and asks what subject Marty wants to focus on.

And Marty just stands there a moment and goes, "All of them." Which makes Doc go "????" because Marty's supposedly been at home studying all week, so he asks, hesitantly, if Marty has studied at all yet even though he knows the answer to that.

"Marty...what have you been doing all week??" Cue a distressed shrug from Marty and, "I DON'T KNOW."

No, really. Marty has no clue how he managed to somehow waste away the whole week, feeling stressed out of his mind but unable to open up a book. He kept telling himself he had time until oops, he's got less than two days before the tests and has done nothing.

Doc, of course, has seen this scenario before (albeit on a smaller scale with other assignments) so he calms things down first and then asks if he can take a look at Marty's exam schedule, his notes/study guides, etc.

Except...um...Marty doesn't have any of those things. He dumps out his backpack, which is pretty much just a mess of wrinkled papers, a hundred pencils, food wrappers, and probably a few things he thought he had lost a while back. Exam schedule? It's somewhere in his room. Maybe. Notes? They're sparse, and a lot of what he does have is disorganized or illegible. Study guide? HA!

After a nice, nutritious fast food meal and some time to regroup (and a trip to the McFly house so Marty can find his schedule), Doc helps him form a game plan and attempt to sort through what notes he does have, as well as zero in on the specific topics he most needs to focus on.

There's only so much Doc can do though, because Marty is attempting to cram like, 4 months worth of material into his brain at once which just...doesn't work. So, it's a very tumultuous week that Marty spends panic-studying at the garage and barely sleeping. And, as Marty is prone to do, he gets all caught up in the self-blame spiral, which does nothing to aid in his motivation.

Doc keeps helping to get him back on track, but he also kind of paces the garage, doing some work/small tasks and thinking through the whole situation. He's well aware of this familiar pattern of procrastination and last minute scrambling, as well as many of Marty's other tendencies and general quirks. The impulsiveness, the time blindness, distractibility, executive functioning issues, etc.

Doc had come across some literature on ADD a while back (which is what it was referred to as then. It was changed to ADHD in 1987) and he became fascinated with the topic, as well as the clear connection he saw to Marty. He'd kept the information to himself though, never quite sure if he should bring it up for fear of upsetting his friend and also the chance he could be wrong.

But as he stands by, listening to Marty complain and drown in stress, Doc is like, Okay, yeah, we're not doing this anymore, and sits Marty down for a chat.

He says that there could be an explanation for what's going on and slowly wades into the topic, explaining all the things he'd read and his own observations. Marty's heard of ADD, but at this point in the 80s, it's still regarded by many people as not even existing, and most cases that are acknowledged/treated are the most severe ones, primarily made up of really young kids (almost exclusively boys) who are "completely out of control" and have significant discipline problems. So, Marty sort of brushes him off at first, but as Doc continues to list facts and refer to his research, Marty can't deny that he identifies with most of the things he's hearing. Plus, he trusts that Doc wouldn't just toss something like this out there without having genuine reason to.

They talk for a really long time, and lightbulbs are just going off everywhere above Marty's head as he takes things in and is like, OH. Well...now what??

Unfortunately, because of the limited understanding of the condition by most people (and even professionals), lack of resources, and Marty's less than involved parents in the original timeline, there aren't a whole lot of viable options. So Doc turns the focus to strategies they can implement in order to help with those day to day tasks that are most difficult. But more than anything, Doc makes it clear to Marty that it doesn't make him "a slacker", that being differently wired isn't bad, and that he's incredibly bright and capable.

The conversation is a lot to take in, but it's a beneficial one. Marty is still very much Marty, and a lot of things stay the same, but feeling fully understood helps a lot. The fact that Doc is open about his own eccentricities and differences is an added bonus.

When all is said and done, Marty makes it through the whirlwind of a week with his sanity mostly intact. His grades aren't spectacular or anything, but he manages to pass every exam, and the week is soon fondly dubbed "The Midterm Fiasco of January 1985" by the both of them.

The end

Thanks for the ask!

And other question: “Tell us a little bit about yourself”. It's always interesting to know more about your favorite author) Thanks a lot🖤

First of all, thank you!  Being one of someone’s favorite authors is a huge compliment and very humbling.  I appreciate your interest in both me and my stories!

To start (*avoids eye contact* *lowers voice*), I’m American.  I know we all look like lunatics right now, but I swear, I’m normal.  I live in the Pacific Northwest.  I’ve spent most of my life paying tuition and sitting in lecture halls.  After nine years of school, I finally graduated with my terminal degree.  Now I’m an oncology pharmacist who works for a healthcare system with inpatient services and several ambulatory clinics.  I work with brilliant people.  I love my coworkers.  I’ve finally been able to travel the world and see the amazing sites I only dreamed about growing up and in school.  I have a cat, dog, and husband.

When it comes to writing, I’ve written stories for as long as I can remember.  When I learned how to spell “Hi,” I wrote a story with crayon animals saying “hi” to each other on each page.  I kept a wad of notebook-page stories in my nightstand from first grade through high school.  I never planned to be a professional writer, since that wasn’t a “responsible” career route.  Instead I went into science and medicine.  Throughout my years at the university, my writing became less and less, and by the time I entered graduate school, I had put it away completely.  

It probably would have stayed that way if I hadn’t become disillusioned with my career.  I was always the A+ student.  It was part of my identity.  When I graduated, I assumed my career would be this grand thing.  I’d be valued for what I brought to the organization.  I’d go above and beyond, and it would matter in some small way.  As it turned out, medicine is very corporate.  

I became a cog in the wheel.  I got tired of management telling my team, “Go ahead and quit.  It’s easier for us to replace you, than it is for you to find a new job.”  The whole “Get off the bus if you don’t like it” mantra was something I heard at least every other week, not necessarily said directly to me as an individual, but to my coworkers as a group.  I saw how other exceptional employees were treated.  I saw how my efforts never went anywhere.  I had no individual worth to management or administration.  If I was so replaceable then even the higher calling of patient care didn’t really matter.  If whether it was me or some random person off the street sitting in that seat, it didn’t make a difference to administration, then my individual contribution to patient care was obviously generic and relatively insignificant.

I was inhibited improving programs or providing education, advancing anything, problem solving for efficiency, and all my extra work either got me in trouble in some weird round-about way or simply was wasted effort.  For instance, I was really excited about developing a dose-rounding policy for the outpatient clinic.  I had read recent guidelines issued by NCCN/HOPA.  I talked to my boss.  She patted me on the head and said sure.  I drafted a policy, complied sources, worked hard on documents and presentation material for the physicians.  Then it emailed it to my boss.  Month after month, I’d ask her, “Have you brought that to the doctors?”  Month after month, she’d forget.  Finally, I stopped asking.  A year and half later, one of the doctors brought up dosing rounding in a meeting.  My boss didn’t even remember I’d worked on it.  She told the MD it was such a good idea and assigned one of my coworkers to work on it and create a policy to present.  Going above and beyond only lead to frustration and hurt.

To me, what mattered was getting the job done well and having a harmonious, good working relationship with co-workers.  That’s not what mattered to my boss.  I got tired of being told I was a good clinician, but I didn’t smile enough.  I got in trouble if I didn’t come to her office to “hi” to her in the morning.  She was put out I hadn’t told her my grandma died but told a coworker.  How I did my job clinically didn’t matter.  

I discovered administration just wanted someone to clock in, clock out, do the factory conveyer-type work of daily duties and do nothing else.  I not only couldn’t share an opinion, I had to not have one at all.  I could leave, but staying near my family was important. I stayed, but I realized: my career had to be a job.  It couldn’t be a part of my identity.  I would never feel accomplished or have a sense of individual worth or achievement from my paycheck job.

That’s when I turned back to writing.  I tried a few original novels that went nowhere.  After playing ME, I lacked closure and wrote an ending for myself.  It turned into 300 k words, and my sister encouraged me to try posting it on a website.  From there, I found FFN and eventually AO3.  I’ve written ME fanfiction ever since.  I enjoy it.  It gives me something to do that brings me more joy than my actual job.  I’ve been studying self-publishing and maybe one day I’ll take the leap.  I don’t intend to leave my day job, since I spent 9 years and $100,000 getting my degree, but at least, I have an area of my life where I feel like I matter as an individual.  I achieve something I can be proud of.  

It’s been a few years since I posted my first ME fanfiction, and I have met several amazing people.  I’ve made good friends.  We get excited over each other’s story and share interests.  I’m so thankful for them.  Plus, I’ve read some amazing fanfic and enjoyed being part of a community.  Everything someone writes is worthwhile and appreciated by someone.  We improve and encourage each other.  No one’s better than anyone else.  We’re skilled in different areas and have our own spin when it comes to writing.  Some people are primarily readers and make a fanfic writer’s day by enjoying their story.  It’s all worthwhile.  It’s fun to be in a group where you’re worth comes from being yourself, not a voice-box-less automaton who smiles and says “hi” and “good bye” every morning and every evening.  

As for the future, I’ve been able to join professional writers’ facebook groups and read books about self-publishing and marketing.  I’ll keep with my day job, but now I feel less frustrated and listless.  I’m just there for the paycheck and for the enjoyment of my immediate coworkers, who again, I’ll say, are brilliant human beings.  I’m lucky to work with them.  With writing, though, I can achieve something and advance myself.  I focus on the people in my life for real satisfaction and have a hobby where I can progress myself and feel proud of what I achieve.

That’s my story.  Not very exciting, but that’s my path to writing fanfic in a nutshell.  I think it’s important that everyone has an area in their life where they find joy in accomplishing something for themself.

Thank you for the ask!  I’m sure that was more than you were expecting to get an answer.  All my short stories turn into long fics, even this one.  Lol!  Again, I appreciate your interest very much!

‘All that’s best of dark and bright’ - a Draco x Hermione x Theo story

Summary:

Hermione returns to Hogwarts for her 'eighth' year without Harry and Ron, with the horrors of the war still fresh in her mind, but determined to start anew. Malfoy seems subdued, altered by the events of the past year or so, though he's not without his acerbic tongue. Assigned Theodore Nott as her patrol partner for their prefect duties, she finally has the time to get to know the two Slytherins, and discovers that there's a whole lot more to them than the prejudice of their past and the snake on their house badge.

Slow-burn Draco x Theo x Hermione, endgame happy trio with lots of fluff and smut. Title taken from 'She walks in beauty' by Byron. Also posted to my Ao3.

___

Chapter One - A fresh start

She didn't mean to flinch.  

“Granger,” Malfoy said curtly as he sat down beside her in their first Advanced Arithmancy Studies of the new term. His usual sneer and bravado were somewhat lacklustre though, like the colours of a tapestry bleached and robbed of their vibrancy by the power of the sun.  

Still, she really didn’t mean to flinch. After all, she’d seen him once or twice since that last battle - the now infamous ‘Battle of Hogwarts’ - so it shouldn’t have been so jarring to see him back in his ordinary school robes, with an ordinary Slytherin tie on and an ordinary white school shirt; a quill in his hand instead of a wand brandished…  

But it really was jarring.  

He was a young man in a schoolboy’s uniform and it was frankly ridiculous. It felt somehow like they were trying to pretend as if nothing had happened; like there weren’t huge gaping holes in friendship groups and families, even if the masonry of Hogwarts castle had been restored almost without blemish. The word gouged into her left arm burned dully beneath her blouse. It was ridiculous to pretend; none of them would ever forget what they’d endured in the past two years.  

Malfoy looked older than he should have done at eighteen, and there was something serious, even dolorous, about the set of his brows and his hard, grey eyes. She’d grown so used to seeing him stalking around the halls and corridors of Hogwarts like a spectre; dressed from head to toe in severe black, accentuating the white-blond of his hair and rendering the silver of his eyes colder, the shadows beneath them deeper. His once gold-tinged blond hair had faded to completely, starry white now, and it even had a slight wave to it, which actually went some way towards softening him a little around the edges. He’d apparently realised that an overabundance of hair oil did nothing to ease the slimy impression he gave, and she surprised herself as she snuck a quick glance at him in the classroom to find that she thought the softer look rather suited him.

What little colour there had been in him to begin with, though, had faded to ink and paper monochrome. 

Now, as Malfoy turned away from her to glare at the front of the classroom and slouch across the desk, resting his sharp chin in a graceful, long-fingered hand, she shot another sidelong look at him and weighed him anew.  

The last time she’d seen him before the start of school had been at his trial. He’d looked truly awful then - worse even than in that dreadful pause during the battle, that holding of breath before the final screams began, when they’d all believed Harry dead and Voldemort victorious. Malfoy had looked like a standing corpse in the empty embrace of Voldemort.  

Gaunt and haunted in the Ministry courtroom docks, it was obvious that he’d been held in the cells in Azkaban for nearly a month before being brought to London. He’d turned eighteen in those cells, no doubt alone. That particular thought made her chest ache. No one deserved to come of age in utter isolation in Azkaban; and certainly not Malfoy of all people. He’d saved their lives in the end, and she’d testified to that in person. He’d refused to identify Harry at the Manor, even though it had been painfully obvious to anyone who’d seen Harry even once who he was, and he’d surrendered his wand to Harry after their brief skirmish. The protest he’d put up had been so farcically thin, it was a miracle that no one had seen right through it. Even in the midst of chaos, he’d done what he could to make it right. The Ministry had said she could make a written statement for them to read out, but Gryffindors didn’t flinch away from difficult situations, and so she’d spoken her testimony aloud in front of everyone.  

Malfoy had stared at her the whole time with those lifeless, ice-grey eyes. His gaunt face was a porcelain mask behind the rune-inlaid bars of the magic-resistant cage which they’d locked him in like an animal while his mother had wept and Hermione had been cross-examined almost to tears herself. They’d made her feel like she was the one in the dock for daring to state the truth about how he and his mother had saved them all. Then again, to have a mudblood defend a family like the Malfoys might have been one stretch too far for most.  

He’d clawed back a bit of weight again in the months before school started up again, but he was still on the leaner side of slim. He still had dark shadows under his eyes too, and the lids looked heavy and almost bruised. His profile, as she now saw it in the classroom, was all sharp angles and hard plains. His jaw was set and a tendon in his neck jutted like a guy-rope, pulled taut and thrumming with the ever-present tension in his body. It seemed to be the only thing holding him together. Even his shoulders were hunched and solid. He looked caught between expecting a blow to the back of the head and being half a second away from drawing his wand. In short, he still looked terrible.  

She stared too long.  

“Waiting for me to bare my arm and cast the Dark Mark above the castle, Granger?” he sneered sidelong at her under his breath. “I think I’ll have to disappoint you.” She thought she heard him mutter something else under his breath, but she didn’t catch it.

Closing her eyes briefly, she looked away without responding. He was just lashing out and she wasn’t going to rise to it. A seventh year in the row in front had gasped at his words, and began a hushed and scandalised whispering with her neighbour, but Hermione remained silent, staring unseeing at her open textbook. No one really knew what it had been like for any of them - the ones at the core of it all - regardless of the side they’d been on.  

What had McGonagall said in her welcome speech in the Great Hall the night before? “Hogwarts is entering a new age of openness and tolerance, of compassion and companionship, where walls must be torn down and old grudges laid to rest if we are to heal and move forward as a whole - as a unified community -  in both school and society at large.” She wasn’t wrong. If Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy could sit side by side in a classroom without disrupting the space-time continuum, there was hope for everyone, she mused, allowing a tiny smile to play across her lips.  

A moment later, someone slid into the lecture hall benches on Malfoy’s other side and she caught a glimpse of Theodore Nott, before Professor Vector swept in amid a billow of robes, and the class of mixed seventh and ‘eighth’ years fell quiet. The movement of his silver-blond head told her that Malfoy had been staring at her since his little outburst and had only just looked away.

The room was not overly full, and she had been a little surprised to find that Malfoy was taking Arithmancy this year as one of his N.E.W.T. subjects. His strengths had always lain in the practical rather than the theoretical. Not that he wasn’t smart in either field; he’d matched her almost grade-for-grade in nearly every subject they’d taken together since first year. Nott, however, she wasn’t at all surprised to see there. He was the only one who’d ever beaten her test scores - though admittedly only once back in third year when things had been somewhat more… hectic for her. Between the three of them, they probably made up the brightest minds in the student body at that moment.

Nott leaned forward as Vector began her introductory spiel, and ducked his gaze beneath Malfoy’s chin to sneak a look at her. When Hermione’s eye was drawn by the movement, he met her gaze and flashed her a grin that brought dimples to his cheeks. He was then promptly and unceremoniously shoved back against the classroom bench by the flat of Malfoy’s palm. His back connected with a soft ‘oof’ and he laughed under his breath before falling silent under Vector’s dark glare.  

Hermione frowned, but quickly lost herself in the beautiful and relative complexities of higher level Arithmancy.  

At the end of the class, she packed up her belongings and filed out of classroom 7A alone, heading for the Great Hall and lunch with a growling stomach and a strange knot of tension in her chest. It showed no signs of loosening all day. It felt odd to be walking the halls alone, without Ron on one side and Harry on the other to share a joke or a worry on their way to the next fixture. She ached at their absence, and wrote them each a short letter over her lunch break to tell them how her first morning had gone. She left out her musings over Malfoy, however, and concentrated on the work and how the castle had been restored almost perfectly to its condition prior to the takeover, save for the memorial to the fallen in the courtyard.  

Long after supper that evening, having completed her first Arithmancy assignment already, she headed up to the newly-repurposed Prefects’ Common Room for their first meeting with Headmistress McGonagall. That ball of tension in her chest had gnarled itself tighter and tighter around her heart and lungs, but it wasn't until a first year actually squeaked that she finally realised why people had been shying away from her all afternoon in the corridors and in the Gryffindor common room. Her scowl had become as fierce as a basilisk’s stare. She almost snorted at the idea, especially since her route to the common room had taken her past the girls’ bathrooms, where all the chamber of secrets chaos had found its focus. Famed war heroine Hermione Granger, the brains of the Golden Trio, was glowering like a thunderhead, and people veered away as if she might start spewing acid.  

“Ah, Miss Granger,” McGonagall’s lilting voice called as she finally reached the prefects’ common room at about a minute to nine. “Wonderful. Now we’re just missing Mister Nott, and then we can begin.”

“Nott’s a prefect?” Hermione hissed at Ginny, and the head girl nodded. “Since when? He wasn’t one before…” All anyone had to do was impose a certain inflection on the word ‘before’ and all the implications were well understood.  

“He was given Malfoy’s badge,” she whispered back. “Can’t very well have that Death Eater ferret stalking the halls at night, can we? McGonagall picked Nott to fill out the Slytherin numbers since Pansy Parkinson and most of the others didn’t return this year.”

“Ex-Death Eater ferret,” Hermione murmured pointedly, recalling his subdued glower in the classroom that morning, and Ginny pulled a face as she conceded the truth.  

“Still a bloody ferret though,” she huffed. “And he’s here on probation don’t forget. If he fucks up, he’s going straight to Azkaban to join his father.”

Mulling it over, Hermione fell silent, and a moment later the door opened again and Nott stepped inside.  

She’d never really taken the time to look at him before; he had been a part of Malfoy and Pansy’s little gaggle of Slytherins since the beginning, apparently having known Malfoy since early childhood, but she’d not known him to take part in many of Malfoy’s petty cruelties. He seemed rather bookish, but definitely not shy; aloof but not arrogant. If he hadn’t aligned himself with the Malfoys, he might perhaps have been someone with whom she could have got along. Intellectually, of course. He was still a Slytherin and the son of a convicted Death Eater…  

Now as he stepped into the cosy little room and apologised for his tardiness to the headmistress, and also to Ginny with a quick flash of his eyes, Hermione took stock of his high cheekbones dusted with a plethora of freckles, his sapphire blue eyes that noticed everything and revealed almost nothing, his floppy, dark brown hair that curled attractively in a somewhat old-fashioned and timeless manner and glimmered with gentle highlights in the dancing flames of the fireplace. He was tall too at almost six foot - taller than Malfoy by a good few inches - and a fraction broader at the shoulder. Gone was the skinny, lanky, coltish boy whose robes had hung off him like he was no more than a wire coat-hanger. Merlin, she thought, he’s actually quite handsome now.  

A second later, he caught her staring at him and her cheeks flushed unexpectedly hot.  

Still oddly flustered, she looked away and focused on McGonagall as she began to inform the newer prefects of the duties and expectations of the role, before going on to assign patrol partners. Even in the flickering warmth of the fire, the headmistress looked tired and drained. No doubt the most recent toll on her had been the immense effort of readying the blasted and battered castle for the start of term after the Battle of Hogwarts.  

“In the interests of continuing and promoting congenial inter-house relations, I’m going to be splitting the patrols up. You will no longer be patrolling by house. You will meet in the entrance hall and begin your patrols from there. Now, Padma, you will pair with Hannah; Ernest with Anthony; Cho with Michael; Hermione with Theodore; the rest of you will find your pairs on the rota, and of course the heads of school will patrol together. Any questions?”

Hermione glanced across the room and found Nott staring at her with a strange quirk to his mouth that was almost a smile. He was leaning against the carved masonry of the door frame, ankles and arms casually crossed - the very picture of nonchalance. She raised one eyebrow at him, and his expression blossomed into a full grin, all white teeth and dimples. Rolling her eyes, she looked away, hearing a very low, faint chuckle.  

“The rota will be posted here in the prefects’ common room, along with the upcoming password for the door,” McGonagall went on. “Anyone found abusing their position, or caught docking or awarding points gratuitously, will be permanently and immediately removed of all privileges. Thank you, and goodnight.” With a flourish, she sent the parchment with the rota fluttering across the room to pin itself to the cork board, and left.  

The younger prefects huddled around it, keen to see which nights they were on duty and someone called, “Granger, Nott! You’re up first!”

“Wonderful,” Nott purred suddenly standing at her elbow. “I didn’t get a chance to say hello properly earlier.”  

Good Godric, he really was tall, she realised as she turned slowly to regard him and tilted her chin up. “I don’t think we’ve ever actually spoken,” she said carefully.  

“I don’t believe we have,” he returned with an easy, genuine smile. He had all the politeness and poise of a pureblood, trained from birth to schmooze and glide his way through social situations, and she reminded herself not to be charmed by it. He was still a Slytherin, and his father was a notorious and sadistic Death Eater, even if Theodore had mostly stayed out of it himself. He held out his right hand and she stared at it. He had ink stains on his thumb and first two fingers, just like she did. “Theodore Nott,” he grinned. “Call me Theo.”

With another roll of her eyes, she acquiesced to his playful little farce and shook his hand as if they’d just met. “Hermione Granger.”

“Everyone knows who you are,” Ginny snorted, sidling up and digging her in the ribs, the gesture making her yelp and lurch towards Nott. He steadied her with a hand on her upper arm and smiled. Ginny glared at him and he let go, still chuckling. “If you fuck around with her, Nott,” Ginny glowered, her face darkening.  

“Ginny,” Hermione said softly, turning to her. “It’s fine. Besides, it’s not as if I don’t know how to take care of myself anyway…”

“I know that!” Ginny countered hotly. The red in her cheeks eclipsed her freckles for a moment before she took a deep breath. “The same goes for everyone else,” she snarled as she sensed they had an audience. “If anyone pisses around or puts a single bloody toe out of line, I will hex it off, McGonagall will hear of it, and you will be out of here. Got it?”

Her outburst was met with a mixture of nods and snickers, and with that, she left.  

“Come on,” Hermione said with a quick, awkward laugh. “Let’s get going.”

“Eager, Granger?” he chuckled, holding the door open and ushering her through first. The gesture didn’t seem facetious, and she nodded curtly at him in thanks as she stepped out into the corridor. “I assume, since you’re an old hand at this whole prefect thing, that you know the routes and the hot spots better than anyone. Lead the way…”

“Why did you get made a prefect?” she wondered aloud instead of responding. “You’ve never shown any interest in anything relating to school spirit before.”

“That’s not fair,” he countered easily, striding to catch up with her after softly closing the door behind him. “I watch Draco play quidditch on a regular basis. Have done for years.”

“Watching sports doesn’t count towards the wellbeing of the whole school, Nott,” she sniffed dismissively, turning left at a portrait of a white haired old witch who appeared to be having a discussion about astronomy with her kneazel, and hopping onto a staircase before it decided to move.  

He sprang after her easily enough. He might not have had seeker reflexes, but he certainly wasn’t clumsy either. “Of course it does,” he said. “If no one showed up, morale would plummet faster than a dropped quaffle and you know it. But you’re right; I haven’t shown much interest other than that… No time like the present,�� he added a little breathily.  

“Indeed. I heard Malfoy is trying out for seeker of the Slytherin team this year. Ginny says he’s good.”  

“Mmm.”

“You’ll be able to bolster your already admirable school spirit then by being a prefect as well as continuing to support him from the stands then,” she said sarcastically.  

Nott only laughed lightly and strode along beside her, but after a while he cleared his throat and said, “Listen, about earlier in Arithmancy… Draco told me what happened… what he said…” He scratched his jawline and grimaced. “Don’t mind him…” he faltered. It sounded like he was aiming for a light tone, but he missed a mile. “He doesn’t really mean it when he says things…” he didn’t finish his sentence, but he didn’t have to.

“I know,” she said, pausing to listen at the end of a shadowy corridor. As she glanced up at him, she witnessed a flicker of surprise in Nott’s dark blue eyes. “Malfoy’s always lashed out like that when he’s feeling defensive. And it’s no wonder he had a go at me today - it must be hell for him being back here with everyone staring and whispering.” She sighed. “Better than the alternatives, I’m sure, but still. It’s brave of him to come back to Hogwarts.”  

Theodore blinked twice, and then a slow, dazzling smile dawned on his handsome face.  

Merlin, had he always been that good looking? She refused to let that of all things become a problem on their first patrol, and so, fighting to keep a blush off her cheeks, she marched off down another corridor before he could say another word.

It was true, although it had taken her actually speaking the words aloud to realise it. Malfoy had always had some pithy, nasty, venomous comeback whenever he was cornered, his words designed to inflict enough showy, hurtful damage to allow him to escape. In a world where he’d been rendered all but helpless by others, buffeted this way and that by more powerful players, and with impossible choices forced on him, his sharp tongue and hard, silver glare had been some of his only defences.  

He really is like a snake, she thought wryly: beautiful, quick, and deadly, but… perhaps largely harmless if left un-threatened.  

To her surprise, it took Nott a brief moment to catch up with her. 

___

Part Two

If you enjoyed, please reblog and share! I’m new to the fandom on here and appreciate all the help I can get!

___

writing masterlist | Ao3

Legal Bug

Hey there, this is a one-shot I wrote today as it refused to leave me alone!  I’m not too happy with the end of it but my sleep deprived brain wanted me to post it before it got lost on my harddrive!  Hope you enjoy it!

Marinette knew that her classmate's thought that her only interest was in fashion. She also knew that they didn't think she was very smart. What they didn't know was that she was the youngest student in the class, having skipped two years. While it was true that her primary passion lay in fashion, over the years she had developed a passion for the law as well. It had started when she had seen how Adrian was treated by his father and had been nurtured by sheer necessity after becoming Ladybug.

After seeing one too many people becoming Akumatized due to fear while being trapped in Abusive relationships, Marinette knew that she needed to be able to help them. As Marinette, she couldn't do anything. As ladybug, she was able to find out where they lived and was able to guide them to the right lawyers that would happily take on pro-bono cases. When Lila had joined her class she knew that she wasn't looking at a girl who wanted attention, she was looking at an undiagnosed psychopath with a heavy dose of narcissism thrown in. She also knew that Lila was a pathological liar and that despite what Adrian had to say, taking the high road would not help them in the long run. Marinette knew that with so many enablers in her class she would have to work hard to get out as soon as she could. With this in mind, she threw herself into her studies. She was still Ladybug and she still did her duties as class president to the best of her abilities but she stopped doing all the extra things she had done for the class. Seeing how Adrian had refused to stand up for himself against Lila had made her realise that he would never stand up to his father either and had killed her crush on him faster than anything else could have. When Lila had pushed for her to be ousted as class president, Marinette had simply cancelled any plans she had made for the class, withdrew the money she had set aside out of her own pocket for any outings and dumped all the paperwork on Alya as Lila had said she couldn't run as president. She had then approached the student council and joined that instead as she knew that, while it was unlikely any prospective employer would care about it being on her resume, she wanted the experience. Her duties on the council were slightly less time consuming than the class president duties and she had used that time to push ahead in her studies. By the end of the year, she was a grade and a half ahead of the rest of her class. To hide how far ahead she was, she had asked Mr Damocles not to change her class but to rather let her teachers know that she was much further ahead than the rest of her class and to assign her work appropriately. He had readily agreed however it seemed Ms Bustier didn't read the memo. As a result, she handed all her work into Ms Mendeleiev instead. Ms Bustier got handed copies of her older assignments and any marks received from her were ignored by the school board. Ironically it was having to do this that brought Ms Bustier up in front of the school board for incompetence shortly after Marinette had graduated when Ms Bustier had tried to report Marinette for truancy. It was then that Lila's lies started to unravel but the grip she had on Marinette's old class was so tight that they didn't even notice when things were going wrong anymore. Less then a month after she had officially graduated from high school she had figured out who Hawkmoth was. She knew after the first time Chat had reacted negatively to the idea that Gabriel Agreste could be Hawkmoth, that he wouldn't be able to help her in the upcoming fight against him. So she went to master Fu with an idea. Make her parents temporary holders of the fox and turtle. Her father's build would provide the intimidation factor that they needed to scare Hawkmoth, while her mother could create decoys to distract Mayura. The key part of the plan would be to wait for Hawkmoth to Akumatize someone, then while chat distracts the Akuma, Ladybug, Tartaruga and Hú bù wǔ (Foxtrot) would head to the Agreste mansion to deal with Hawkmoth and Mayura. The took Master Fu as Serpens with them to collect and important documents that pertained to the miraculous as they didn't want to leave those in Gabriel's possession any longer than they had to. It didn't take long to convince her parents to be temporary holders, though neither Fu nor Marinette revealed that it was Marinette asking them for the favour and not Ladybug. They didn't have to wait too long to act on their plan either. Thankfully the Akuma that was sent out was a rather benign one that simply made anyone it hit speak what they were really thinking and while Chat had to work hard not to get hit, it wasn't causing any true damage. Hawkmoth went down relatively fast, to Ladybug's relief but Chat was still hissing angrily when she arrived a full hour later to the Akuma. One lucky charm later and the Akuma was defeated, however, Chat decided to let her know exactly how angry he was at being left to deal with it alone for so long. Marinette, as Ladybug, looked at Chat the whole time he was berating her, not giving her a chance to talk. Eventually, he seemed to run out of steam when Alya showed up for an interview and started to ask questions of her own. Ladybug had put a hand on her hip in annoyance by this stage and when she answered her voice was sharp. “Well, Chat if you had let me speak earlier you wouldn't be left looking like a fool now! To answer your question, the reason I was late is I had a lead on who Hawkmoth and Mayura were and I was acting on it.” Alya was the one to pick up on her word choice. “Were?” She asked. “Yes. Were. While Chat was keeping the Akuma occupied Tartaruga, Hú bù wǔ, Serpens and I were dealing with Hawkmoth and Mayura. They have been defeated and will no longer be attacking Paris. This is the last Akuma Paris will ever see.” Alya and Chat's jaws dropped. “But-” Chat didn't get the chance to continue as Serpens slipped behind him and removed his ring. Soon Adrian was standing where Chat had been just moments before. Alya instantly rounded on him asking questions by the dozen and Ladybug and Serpens slipped away unnoticed. They both dropped their transformation then she looked at Master Fu for a moment. “Master” he held up a hand then removed the snake miraculous and placed it in the box. “I am old Marinette,” he said sadly. “It's time I passed on the duties of Guardian as I will no longer be able to fulfil them. You may be young but you are wise and more importantly, you are ready. I hereby name you as Guardian of the miraculous.” As soon as he finished speaking a soft glow covered both of them. Master Fu smiled at her. “I have ten minutes before the memory erasure takes hold. Please stay safe Marinette, you have been a blessing to teach and I love you like a grandchild.” With that Marinette was left alone in the ally with the bag that held what felt like the weight of the world. When the news reached her a week later that he had died she insisted on being the one to arrange his funeral, getting help from Wayzz on what he'd have wanted. It was as Marinette was trying to decide what she wanted to study that she came across her first big stumbling block. What did she want to study more? Fashion or Law? She debated with herself for almost a week before Tikki, in a fit of frustration, had asked her why she didn't just study both. To Marinette, it was as though her path was suddenly clear. So she submitted her application to ESMOD with the plan to finish her fashion major there before heading to Harvard in the USA. To make sure she could get into Harvard when she finished at ESMOD, Marinette sent her application in at the same time as she sent her applications in at the same time, though she sent a letter with the one that went off to Harvard and was surprised to see she had been accepted into both. The committee at Harvard had been so impressed that she had planned so far ahead that they were holding a spot for her and she wouldn't have to re-apply when she had finished her other degree. Her time at ESMOD flew by with several of her teachers trying to get her to agree to go to work in a fashion house as soon as she graduated but Marinette stuck to her plan. She was using the money from her commissions to pay her way through her courses and for her transfer to America so she had taken to working at a coffee shop whenever she could, in order to have a little extra, just in case! She had also taken up dancing in her spare time, though she knew that that would always only be a hobby. Her time in Harvard got off to a rocky start. So rocky in fact that she reminded a number of the staff of Elle Woods. Marinette didn't let the rest of the student body know that they were getting to her however the staff saw it and decided to intervene. They contacted Elle and got her to come in for a guest lecture. They told her about Marinette and when Elle saw how similar they were she knew she had to help. It was then that a case dropped in her lap that she knew she would need help with. So she went to the Harvard board with an idea, let her take 4 students on to help her with the research and they would get to see how it really was in court as well as gain some real-world experience. The board loved her idea and soon the other lecturers had managed to get all of their first years students to apply. Marinette hadn't placed much hope in getting a position but had read up on the case anyway and she had several questions about what she had read. Soon the shortlist was posted on the announcements board and the news quickly spread around the campus. Marinette had been in a dance class so when she hears that she had been one of the ones chosen, she quickly went to double-check. She didn't want to show up only to find out it wasn't true after all. She was thrilled to see that she had been chosen and

ran to her dorm to make sure all of her notes where in order. The Kwami's all danced around her in celebration and helped get everything ready. Duusu went through Marinette's wardrobe to make sure she had the perfect outfit ready for her which had Marinette smiling happily. When she arrived at the meeting room she was nervous, but she relaxed slightly when given the brief. They were defending a man accused of killing his boyfriend when he had left him for someone else. Marinette had frowned when she heard that, something Elle noticed straight away. “What's wrong, Marinette?” Elle asked. “I'm not sure,” she answered, which made the other three laugh at her. “Probably doesn't understand the case as it doesn't involve fashion.” One said derisively. “It's not the case I don't understand. There's just something that doesn't fit with the police reports.” Marinette's voice was thoughtful and she had yet to look up from the file in front of her to judge any of their reactions. Her classmates were scoffing at Marinette's logic but Elle had a small smile on her face. Marinette had good instincts and Elle couldn't wait to see how Marinette would prove that their client was innocent. “Right Marinette seems to have a lead she would want to follow, what about you three? What's your take on this? If this was your case what would you want to know?” Elle asked. They didn't answer, how could they answer when they hadn't even looked at the case, they thought that they would just be watching the process not that they would be participating. “Ms Woods?” Marinette's timid voice startled them. “Yes, Ms Dupain-Cheng?” “Just Marinette, please. Anyway if our client was going to kill his boyfriend why was there no history of violence? Something doesn't add up here. From cases I saw in France if one partner was going to kill the other, there was generally several warning signs. I mean sure they could have come home one day and snapped but from our client's statement, it was an amicable break up with no hard feelings. Sure our client still loved the deceased but there is nothing that would indicate he could go into a murderous rage. In fact, if I look at his company log here our client was still at work when the crime happened. This company is infamous for having cameras everywhere because they have several high profile people that work with them, was any video footage pulled at any stage?” “Good! That is the type of thinking one would need when taking this case. Did you notice anything else?” Marinette frowned, there was something else but she just couldn't place it. It was only as she was sitting in court behind Elle that the thing that had been bugging her for weeks hit her. She waited for a recess before she said anything. “Ms Woods?” She started hesitantly. “Yes, Marinette?” “The shirt that was found that had the blood splatter on it was polyester, right? The type the new boyfriend wears.” “Yes, the prosecution said it was left behind by our client. Why?” “Well, I've noticed that our client only ever wears silk, linin or cotton designer shirts. Never polyester, so why would he have been wearing a polyester shirt that day? Is it possible that our client is allergic to polyester?” Elle looked at Marinette and smiled. “Why didn't I see that? They're not even the same size! Our client is at least 10 pounds heavier than the new boyfriend!” Marinette nodded then added, “Even if he had been wearing the shirt, it would sit differently on him causing the blood splatter pattern to be different. I know he doesn't have an alibi that can be proven and that this is a long shot but can we please check?” Elle agreed quickly and soon it was proven to have been impossible for their client to have done it. Something more caught Marinette's attention when the man, the new boyfriend, muttered something in French while still on the stand. The judge noticed Marinette's head shoot up with wide eye's and saw Marinette frantically write something down on her notepad and hand it to Elle. “Councillor Woods, your student seems to have something to add would you let her do so?” The Judge asked. Elle nodded and brought Marinette forward. The judge looked at Marinette and motioned for Marinette to speak. Marinette took a deep breath, “I'm sure you didn't mean for the mike to pick up what you just muttered in French but would you please repeat it so that the court can hear it?” The man narrowed his eyes but repeated his sentence quite calmly, he was relaxed as he thought that no-one in the room could French. His confidence took a hit however when Marinette smiled. “If it may please the court, what he just said translates to: 'This worked before, why did it fail this time?' I know you might not believe me but as everything is being recorded I beg of you to confirm my translation with other people who speak french.” The judge looked at her thoughtfully, then spoke: “How do you understand French?” Marinette was confused, “I thought my accent would have given that away, your honour. I am French. I grew up in France speaking French.” At her innocent statement, the witness exploded. “Why the hell he even come home that day the ex was meant to fetching some stupid MDC brand clothes that would never have suited me but that my boyfriend insisted we give back. He wasn't even meant to be home!” The court fell silent, then everyone started speaking all at once. The case got thrown out in much the same way Elle's first case had been and the other three students were stunned. “How did you know?” They demanded, rounding on Marinette as soon as they entered the room that they had all been using. Even Elle was a little curious she had to admit.” “What do you mean? If you talking about the allergy to polyester it was in one of the courses I took for my fashion degree that designers have to be careful to take textile allergies into account when designing.” Elle looked at her. “I knew you studied fashion, but so did I before I attended Harvard and that wasn't in any of my classes.” “I studied to be a fashion designer at ESMOD before I came here. I aim to be able to represent people in abusive relationships to help them get out of those situations. If I want to do that pro-bono I needed to have something else that I could do in order to support myself financially.” Her voice was innocent and honest but they could see the passion in her eyes as she spoke. “Why that area?” Marinette smiled again but this time it was a sad smile. “I grew up in Paris while a man called Hawkmoth was terrorising everyone to the point that people were locking away their feeling simply to stay safe. I saw several people get targetted simply because they were afraid of their partner for one reason or another. Sometimes they were able to get help to get out, but sometimes they weren't. Some of those that weren't couldn't get out because of not being able to afford a lawyer and I want to be able to help those that fall into that category.” For the first time since they met her, her classmates were quiet. They had thought she was there to get the attention of a rich guy who would support her. Elle smiled at Marinette's reason for studying law too then a thought hit her. “Wait, Marinette Dupain-Cheng, MDC, you're MDC aren't you?” Marinette laughed and nodded before answering. “Yes, I am but I wanted to be treated like an equal so I didn't advertise that fact.” Again her three classmates were stunned. This clumsy girl was a world-famous designer? How had they missed that? Elle seemed to get a little more flustered with each moment that passed. “But that means... And you know...” “Ms Woods, are you alright?” Marinette said quietly. “I'm still the same person you thought I was a moment ago. I'm still clumsy and prone to having anxiety attacks if I'm not careful. I'm human just like everyone else.” Technically she wasn't 100% human anymore due to being a miraculous wielder but no-one needed to know that. Eventually, Elle calmed down and thanked them for their help during the case. Their professors would be getting a copy of her reports on how they did as soon as she was finished them. She also promised that she would leave what she know knew about Marinette out of her report. She also wouldn't let that knowledge influence her report in any way. Eventually, Marinette graduated from Harvard, however before going back to France to set up her practice she decided to visit her long term pen-pal in Achu. Ali had been delighted when she arrived and soon Marinette had changed her mind about where she would set up her practice, deciding to stay in Achu full time. Her practice soon flourished as did her design business. However, the thing that flourished most of all was her relationship with Ali. What had started as a friendship and continued when they had agreed to email each other had grown into love without either of them noticing it. They kept their growing relationship out of the news and when they had decided to get married they made sure that news was kept silent too. It was on a rather warm Friday morning that Marinette got an email that she wasn't sure she wanted to answer. She had been invited to her 15-year school reunion. She spoke to Ali and they decided she would schedule a photo shoot in France that week and he would deal with several appointments there too and they would attend. She knew that she would be able to leave at any time so she wasn't too worried about that, however, she was 4 months pregnant, and she wanted to be careful. The photoshoots went well and it was finally the day of the reunion. Marinette decided to wear one of her designs, a simple navy-blue jumpsuit with a mandarin collar, embroidered with a geometric design in shades of blue that made the suit shimmer beautifully as she walked. She paired it with kitten heels, glad that her pregnancy wasn't showing

or affecting her balance in any way yet. Tikki had said that that was normal for all miraculous holders but Marinette still tended to err on the side of caution. When she arrived she saw that it wasn't just her old class that was there, which she was happy about. She had instantly gone to talk to Marc as she didn't want to deal with Alya or any of the others. This strategy had worked until Lila spotted her and decided to make a big scene about her being there. “I was invited Lila, I can pull up the email if you want me to and I can show you a printed copy if you still doubt me.” Marinette's voice was calm as she spoke. “Why would we want you here?” Alya spat. “She's allowed to go where ever she likes Alya, she's an adult.” Marinette turned to the sound of the male voice that had spoken. “Adrian,” she said calmly, giving him a nod of greeting. He was about to say more but Marinette's phone suddenly went off. She frowned then answered it appearing confused. She kept her conversation brief however in the time she was of the phone Lila had spun yet more lies about her. “It looks like somethings never change,” she said with a sigh. “What would a whore like you know?” Alya demanded. “Firstly, my wife isn't a whore. Secondly, as a major name in the fashion industry you'd think you would know better as any time she is seen out and about her name ends up plastered all over the papers.” Marinette leaned back into Ali's arms as he spoke, having felt him come to stand behind her earlier. “Ali,” she heard Rose gasp “But, Lila said...” “I do not know any Lila.” Ali interrupted sternly. “I don't know what she told you but I'd never even heard of her before you emailed me full of stories about her. Stories that a simple google search would and did disprove. It is due to those that I cut contact with you and blocked any further attempts you made to contact me.” Having said his bit, he looked down at Marinette who nodded. They ignored the shouting match that erupted behind them, opting to simply go back to their hotel room. Life would carry on either way and they knew they had a life with their growing family to look forward to.

The True Story of How I Became a Sex Educator and Researcher

Our professional biographies tend to serve as a “highlight reel”—they only say the great things we’ve accomplished and don’t reveal the struggles, challenges, and uncertainties that went into building a career. To lift back the curtain on this, the Society for Personality and Social Psychology (SPSP) recently asked a number of scholars to submit their official bios along with their “unofficial bios” that reveal an extremely different version of the story with more twists and turns.

You can read some of the examples here. Although I didn’t participate in it, I thought it would be fun to do something similar on the blog. So here goes—I’ll start with my official bio, followed by the real, behind-the-scenes story.  

Official Bio of Dr. Justin J. Lehmiller 

Dr. Justin Lehmiller received his Ph.D. in Social Psychology from Purdue University. He is a Research Fellow at The Kinsey Institute and author of the book Tell Me What You Want: The Science of Sexual Desire and How It Can Help You Improve Your Sex Life. Dr. Lehmiller is an award-winning educator, having been honored three times with the Certificate of Teaching Excellence from Harvard University, where he taught for several years. He is also a prolific researcher and scholar who has published more than 50 academic works to date, including a textbook titled The Psychology of Human Sexuality (now in its second edition) that is used in college classrooms around the world. Dr. Lehmiller's studies have appeared in all of the leading journals on human sexuality, including the Journal of Sex Research, Archives of Sexual Behavior, and The Journal of Sexual Medicine. 

Dr. Lehmiller has run the popular blog Sex and Psychology since 2011. It receives millions of page views per year and is rated among the top sex blogs on the internet. In 2019, he launched the Sex and Psychology Podcast. It ranks among the top sexuality podcasts in several countries and has been named one of “11 sex podcasts that will help you get better in bed” by Men’s Health. 

Dr. Lehmiller has been interviewed by numerous media outlets, including The Wall Street Journal, The New York Times, The Chicago Tribune, The Boston Globe, CNN, The Atlantic, The Globe and Mail, and The Sunday Times. He has been named one of 5 "Sexperts" You Need to Follow on Twitter by Men's Health and one of the "modern-day masters of sex" by Nerve. Dr. Lehmiller has appeared on the Netflix series Sex, Explained, he has been on several episodes of the television program Taboo on the National Geographic Channel, and he has been a guest on Dr. Phil. Dr. Lehmiller has also appeared on numerous podcasts and radio shows, including the Savage Lovecast, the BBC’s Up All Night, and several NPR programs (1A, Radio Times, and Airtalk). 

He is a popular freelance writer, penning columns and op-eds for major publications, including The Washington Post, Playboy, USA Today, VICE, Psychology Today, Men’s Health, Politico, and New York Magazine. He has also interviewed several prominent authors, journalists, and psychologists about their work for his blog and podcast, including Dr. Sanjay Gupta, Lisa Ling, Drs. John and Julie Gottman, and bestselling authors Christopher Ryan (Sex at Dawn) and Lisa Taddeo (Three Women). 

Unofficial Bio of Dr. Justin J. Lehmiller

When Justin’s parents asked him what he wanted to study in college, he said “psychology.” He had taken a couple of psychology courses in high school that he found to be absolutely fascinating; however, his parents discouraged him from this because getting into a PhD program was tough and uncertain and, if that didn’t work out, they didn’t see much potential in a Bachelor’s degree in psychology. They encouraged him to pursue a career in occupational therapy (OT) instead because a family friend said “they needed more men in the field,” and also because his parents saw it as a path to job security with a pretty good paycheck.

He applied to a 5-year combined Bachelor’s/Master’s program in OT at Gannon University and was admitted. Incidentally, he was one of two men in the entire program. He spent a year and a half in it and made straight As in every course, including biochemistry and physics—but he wasn’t happy. He recognized the importance of OT to society, but it wasn’t his passion. After showing his parents that he was taking college seriously and earning good grades, they allowed him to switch his major to psychology.

Upon completing his Bachelor’s degree, he only applied to Master’s programs in psychology because he didn’t think he had the chops to get into a PhD program right away. The inferiority complex was strong in this one, so he didn’t even try. He applied and was accepted to Villanova University’s Master’s program in experimental psychology. He was not competitive enough of a candidate to receive an assistantship initially, although he eventually received one after another student dropped out.  

He really wanted to study social psychology at Villanova, but there was only one social psychologist on staff at the time and several interested students. The only option for him was to beg one of the clinical psychologists to let him do a social psychology study for his Master’s thesis. 

As he began looking for PhD programs to apply to, he met Dr. Chris Agnew at a meeting of the American Psychological Association. Chris was studying romantic relationships and Justin thought that sounded like a fun thing to spend his life doing. Plus, Chris was a super cool guy who seemed like a fantastic mentor. He applied and was admitted to Purdue’s social psychology program, although he was initially waitlisted (and rejected from all but one other program). Justin’s plan was to get his doctorate and become a college professor. Teaching and research sounded like things he could probably do.

Justin was assigned to teach a Health Psychology course at Purdue during his first year. He had never taught a class before and quickly realized that he was very uncomfortable with public speaking. The class was a disaster. Attendance dropped 60-70% within the first couple of weeks. He had no idea what he was doing and dreaded going to class each day—and he received poor evaluations in the end.  

Around the same time, Justin submitted his first academic paper to a journal, it was promptly rejected and came with this review: “This manuscript is fatally flawed and of marginal utility, which is a shame because potentially interesting questions could have been asked given the topic and timing of the research. The tone of this manuscript represents the worst in scientific misconstrual, particularly because the claims are silly, wrong, or not warranted by the data.” Justin clearly sucked at both teaching and research—and if he couldn’t do those things well, how would he ever become a college professor? 

He also started hearing horror stories from advanced students in his program who couldn’t find jobs and were sticking around for 6 or 7 years in the hope of eventually landing a job—any job. All of this led Justin to question what the hell he was doing with his life. Maybe he should have listened to his parents after all? Chris encouraged Justin to stick with it, though, as did his friends and mentors. 

The next year, Justin got assigned to be a teaching assistant for a human sexuality course taught by Dr. Janice Kelly. It changed his life. He had to lead weekly discussion sections with students and answer their sex questions (a subject he knew next to nothing about, having attended Catholic schools most of his life). He read about sex extensively and instantly knew he had found what he really wanted to do with his career. He saw it as something fun and interesting—but also a way that he could make a real difference. He realized how little most people actually know about sex, and how education can correct so many harmful myths and misconceptions. 

An opportunity to teach his own human sexuality class opened up the following year, and he took it. This time around, teaching was different—he was passionate about the subject and the students were, too. He had no problems with attendance. He ended up teaching this course six times before he graduated and eventually received a teaching award for it. He found that he loved being a sex educator. 

He also found a solution to his public speaking anxiety: he started taking a beta-blocker (propranolol) on public speaking days, which removed physiological symptoms of anxiety. This allowed him to feel like himself in front of a crowd and, after just a few months, he no longer needed to take the medication—the anxiety had gone away completely. 

He started conducting his own sex research, too, including a series of studies with Dr. Kelly on friends with benefits. His research skills improved and his studies started getting accepted instead of rejected.   

He eventually landed a job at Colorado State University as an assistant professor, where he stayed for three years and continued his work as a sex educator and researcher. His partner couldn’t get a job in the area and had just taken a job in Boston, so Justin applied for every academic job within two hours of Boston. He was turned down for all of them. As a last-ditch effort, he applied for a teaching position at Harvard but had absolutely no confidence in it. He almost didn’t submit the application, but his partner encouraged him to do so. Justin had applied to Harvard’s PhD program previously and was rejected—if they didn’t want him as a student, why the heck would they want him as a teacher? 

To his great surprise, he got the job at Harvard, where he stayed for three years. However, he had given up his tenure-track job in Colorado for a teaching position in Boston with no job security. So he decided to reinvent himself just in case things didn’t work out. In his spare time, he started a blog, wrote a human sexuality textbook, and became a freelance media writer. Communicating about sex science to the public became his hobby and was going to be his backup career in case the college professor thing didn’t work out. 

Eventually, Justin’s partner wanted to move to Indianapolis for a job opportunity, so they left Boston. But Justin didn’t have a job at first and his backup plan wasn’t yet enough to be a full-time job. He knew the Kinsey Institute was nearby, so he drafted a letter to the director in the hope of establishing a connection, but he never sent it. He had a severe case of imposter syndrome and did not feel accomplished or experienced enough to have anything to do with what he saw as the premier hub for sex research in the world.

Much to his surprise, the associate director of the Institute reached out to him after he moved to Indiana to explore opportunities for working together. It was actually his hobby/backup plan that caught their eye—they were interested in working together to disseminate sex science to the public and were impressed with what he had done with his blog and social media.

Justin affiliated with Kinsey, but also jumped back on the tenure track with a job as the Director of the Social Psychology Program at Ball State University, which fortuitously opened up about 4 months after he moved to Indianapolis. After 3.5 years, he decided to leave full-time academics and do his own thing. His science communication hobby had managed to grow into a full-time job and it was no longer feasible to do that and academics. Plus, he found that the science communication work was really where his passion was. So, the backup plan officially became “the plan.” 

Justin now spends every day finding new ways to help educate and inform the public about the science of sex. He’s still not sure how things ended up this way, but wouldn’t trade his current job for anything. 

Want to learn more about Sex and Psychology? Click here for more from the blog or here to listen to the podcast. Follow Sex and Psychology on Facebook, Twitter (@JustinLehmiller), or Reddit to receive updates. You can also follow Dr. Lehmiller on YouTube and Instagram.

Image Source: 123RF

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We spend a lot of time appreciating you as an amazing writer, but even just from online interactions, it's obvious that you're also a great teacher. If you feel like sharing: any good teaching stories that made you feel great about undergraduate teaching / reminded you of why your work is important?

at the end of my first semester, a student, i’ll call her jessica, sent me an email saying how much she enjoyed the class and how she was planning to be a teacher some day, and she wanted to be a teacher like me. i printed the email out and put it in my journal. it was the first kind email a student had sent me, and i read it over and over.

a couple months later, at the beginning of the next semester, just an hour before i met my new students, i found out that jessica had died over break. it was alcohol and drugs, a party where she left and no one followed her back to her dorm to make sure she was okay. she was nineteen. i looked at her instagram, where her final post was a selfie with two friends, and the caption read, “i love college!” 

it’s hard to say exactly how her death affected me, but i think about her all the time. i think about how fragile life is, and about the toxicity of college culture, and all the pressures and expectations put on students, and how they’ll graduate with mounds of debt that will take decades to pay off. i think about how hard and hopeless it is to be a young person today. i think about the surprised, grateful faces i get when i show students the smallest shred of kindness or empathy.

this is my fourth year teaching and i’ve now had around 300 students. i have yet to meet a bad one. i’ve met students who have been pushed to their limits, who are exhausted, who are in the wrong place and have no idea, who have unchecked trauma, who are utterly terrified, who are lonely, sad, overworked, or just plain overwhelmed. 

once, i did a Q&A for a practicum of new creative writing teachers. i’d given them my syllabus prior to the class. they were surprised to read my lax policies, and one of them asked what i do when a student does the bare minimum, or maybe even less. creative writing is an “easy” class. inevitably you get the “lazy” students who sit in the back and work on homework for other classes, and hand in five dr. seuss sounding poems at the end of the semester.

to that i said, any student who doesn’t want to write is either overworked, afraid, or both. being overworked can’t be helped. college students are working to master their time management skills in an environment that doesn’t allow them to fail. but fear can be faced and conquered. i base my entire class around fear. they have one major assignment: write your biggest risk. i firmly believe your biggest creative risk ends up being your greatest reward. sometimes students aren’t up to the task, but if you build an environment in which they’re eager to show you the dark, ugly parts of themselves because they know you will receive them eagerly and openly, they tend to make amazing things.

i start each semester with probably over half my students utterly apathetic or even flat-out disgusted by the idea of creative writing, and i end the semester with a stack of self-assessments and evaluations talking about how much the class helped them not only see their own creative potential, but also to be less afraid to take creative risks in other environments. 

i had a student, we’ll call him alex, in my composition course last year. admittedly i put less effort into comp than creative writing, mostly because it’s not my curriculum or my primary field of study. alex sat at the back of class the entire semester, asleep, on his laptop, or talking to the people nearest him. he did not participate. he did not do the reading. he did not turn in his homework. he didn’t even know my name. on the second to last day of the semester, he turned in several assignments at once, and came to me before class started saying he’d done most the work, and could he come to office hours so i could get him caught up on the rest?

no, i said. i was too busy working with students who had been seeking my help throughout the semester. he took it well, and said thanks anyway, and in the end scraped by with a B-, mostly due to my lack of a late policy. if i’d had one, he would have failed.

i was surprised the next semester to see him on my roster for creative writing. it was clear he didn’t like or appreciate my comp class. on the first day of spring semester, he came to class high. at the end of class, i have all of my students fill out a notecard with their name and other pertinent information, and on the back i have them draw a picture. when alex turned in his card, he had only scrawled his name across the front, and on the back he drew a bird smoking a giant blunt.

the next class, i announced that anyone who came to class drunk or high would be asked to leave and they would lose their attendance for the day. i didn’t want to call him out directly. honestly, i didn’t know how to handle the situation. my mentor told me to deal with it head-on, but i didn’t heed her advice, and i wish i had. 

alex kept coming to class high. he didn’t do the reading. he didn’t participate in small or large group discussion. he didn’t do the prompt-fills or turn in any assignments. when he’d behaved this way in comp, i wasn’t bothered by it. nobody really likes comp. but this was creative writing, a class i put 200% of myself into and which i expected students to appreciate in kind (and for the most part they really do). 

midway through the semester, i ask students to schedule a one-on-one conference with me. it’s required. they get a grade for showing up, and another for doing a write-up of what we talked about. alex, like the prior semester, did not show up for his conference, or even write a risk draft for me to comment on. he sent me an email an hour later apologizing and asking if we could reschedule. the kicker: he began the email “liz.” i ask my students to call me by first name. i tell them at the beginning of the semester and again in week 5 when they inevitably forget. so alex had now been through 4 of my “the name you need to call me” lectures. and he still called me liz. and he had the audacity not to show up for his conference with no notice, wasting a half hour of my time, and then ask to reschedule.

my mentor was right. i should have dealt with it sooner. i shouldn’t have let myself get as angry as i did. but i replied to his email with a laundry list of things he’d done wrong, and i told him he was out of chances. i wasn’t rude, but i was very firm, and expected him to forward the email to his parents and the department and try to get me fired.

instead, a couple hours later when i arrived in class, he was sitting in the back of the room with his hood over his head. i was surprised to see him. it was the last day to drop classes and i expected him to be gone. he approached me as i was getting set up, and he was weeping. like blubbery, snot-nosed weeping. my first thought was that he was manipulating me somehow. boys who don’t get their way do desperate things sometimes. he told me he turned in all the assignments, and did the reading, and he’d do better from them on, he promised, and could he come to office hours? would i give him one more chance, please?

i told him to see me after class. during discussion, to my surprise, he raised his hand for every question. he was extremely off-base on most of his comments but i appreciated the courage it took not only to show up to class a weepy, tear-filled wreck, but to actually participate through it. after class, he apologized for having lost his shit earlier. he asked how he could make everything up. i told him i’d give partial credit for what he’d turned in, but he needed to come to a conference.

a couple days later he showed up at my office. i asked if he had a rough draft for me to look at and he said he didn’t, not because he didn’t try but because he didn’t know what his biggest risk was. i asked him to write an essay about how he’s struggling in college, and to use it as an opportunity for self-reflection.

up to this point, alex had been a bad bullshitter. before, when i’d confronted him about not doing the reading, he said he couldn’t because he hurt his knee. i asked what a knee injury had to do with reading, and he blubbered through an answer. he even feigned a limp, but later that day i saw him walking normally to another class. he had ridiculous excuses for everything. so when he sent me his essay, i was expecting more of the same.

what he wrote was not bullshit, but a blunt and honest account of all the problems he was having, sans whining or pity-seeking. the boldest statement he made was that he was extremely lonely. i searched between the lines for ways he was trying to manipulate my sympathy but found none. he was flat-out admitting the truth: he felt like college wasn’t right for him, he was far away from home, he thought he would make friends but he hadn’t made any, and his girlfriend was still a senior in high school and he missed her a lot. 

“it feels weird not having a happy ending,” he told me. “i kept wanting to find a positive note to end on.”

“sometimes things just suck. an essay doesn’t have to answer the questions it poses,” i said.

suddenly i got a different picture of alex’s life: he was depressed and alone, self-medicating with weed and who knew what else, and slipping through the cracks of all his other classes, where he had professors who, like me the prior semester, paid no attention to him. 

he told me he really liked the class, and liked me as a teacher, and he would spend the rest of the semester trying to be better. i’d had students say similar things just to placate me and then didn’t follow through, but alex did for the most part. he still struggled with due dates, but he kept an open line of communication with me, and owned up to his failures. he did all the reading and participated in every class. by the end of the semester, he was a different person. he told me his girlfriend had gotten into our school and that she was coming to visit him soon. he revised his essay several times, got an A in the class, and gave me a hug at the end of the semester and thanked me for my patience and understanding.

i think this story stuck with me so much because it’s about my own failure. i do my best to reach out to struggling students, but most of the time if you lend a hand, they don’t take it, and there’s not much you can do. i should have tried to help alex sooner, or be more firm with him earlier on like he apparently needed. i need to learn to be more comfortable with confrontation and own my authority in the classroom. but mostly it reaffirmed my belief that everyone is hurting, and “bad behavior” is nearly always the result of a bigger picture that sometimes we can’t see. 

Fathers’ Day, Familiarity and Faith | #38 | June 2020

If my COVID-19 experiences were a Netflix Original Series, I feel someone could title it, "The Groundskeeper."

Synopsis: Returned Peace Corps Volunteer from Mongolia, now back in Nevada, learns a thing or two about hedge trimming and much more about life living.

The inspirational hit series stars award-winning memoirist Daniel Lindbergh Lang, director and editor. “Please support the official release.”

Quirky thoughts keep me sane. More on these later, of course. 

The U.S. celebrated Father’s Day 2020 on June 21, so I commemorate it with reflections from being my father’s son. 

The adventures follow both my Mothers’ Day reflections (#36) and Easter in America stories (#35). I focus now on continued COVID-19 adventures in yard work, sorting and reminiscing. 

Chronologically, we pick up from my stateside Week 11 (May 15-21), when my sisters came home from their unis’ spring semesters. With them as collaborators, I continued sorting our family’s memorabilia. After a few weeks’ interlude 'round Memorial Day, big changes occurred Weeks 14 through 16 (June 5-25) through Fathers’ Day.  

I also consider Pentecost and the Spirit. Easter 2020 ended Sunday, May 31, so we’re in a fruitful new time. In fact, I write here results from the smattering of routines I shared before. 

Lastly, to clarify, many assume my dad’s Asian. But that’s untrue. He’s Austrian-American. That’s where I get my “Lang” surname. Ethnically, I’m about half Austrian. Culturally, too, Dad’s family influenced me far more than Mom’s when I grew up. My mom was ethnically full Chinese, hence that half.

Now back to Dad!

Father’s Perspective on My Boyhood 

During my 2020 time home since Peace Corps’ evacuation, Dad often prods me to take on projects he sees around the yard. So, I do yard work. I don’t like desert heat, so I usually work the daily tasks an hour or two at dawn, sometimes dusk. Picture three months this way.

But Dad would tend to demand a certain perfection on many projects, expecting me out there working when there’s work to do. I’d rather let nature do as it pleases. Peace Corps experiences taught me decorated yards generally feel overrated. When I’m older, I feel I’d much rather have my family frequent parks to get our yard fix. Nonetheless, yard work lets me chat with God, who reminds me empathize. 

It is difficult to say, "I serve the Father," if I do not serve my father. 

With this in mind, I consider the patient progress of waiting while working often. 

Dad grew up in rural America’s Midwest from the mid-20th century. Dad’s parents and community were largely Austrian-American Catholics. Dad’s grandfather immigrated with Dad’s great-grandfather because land in Austria was scarce, late-19th century, yet plentiful in Kansas. My dad grew up on a farm as a third-generation Austrian-American. He funded his higher ed. through U.S. military service and numerous side jobs, including those in teaching and sales. 

Through Dad, I’m a fourth-generation Austrian-American—though, only second-generation Chinese-American, through Mom. I wasn’t quite on a farm, having grown up between Midwestern suburbs and an urban West. Still, Dad regularly tasked siblings and I with yard work.

An Energetic Kid, Ages 4-7 

Now this gets interesting!

This mid-May 2020, my younger sister and I unearthed Christmas letters our parents (mostly Dad) had written to Dad’s siblings—my uncles and aunts—since before 2000. Turns out, our mom kept hard copies in the bins beside her desk. From these, Sister and I read pretty enjoyable pieces about our child selves. 

Here I share Dad’s tales from grade school me in Indiana (used with permission): 

2001: "Daniel is 4 years old now and is looking forward to kindergarten.  He likes outdoor activities and he is quite strong for his age.  He can do a lot of sit ups and push ups already.  He likes to walk with [his mom] at the airport, which is nearby." 

2002: "Daniel is five years old.  He is in kindergarten.  He is [...] very competitive.  He is in the same school as [his older brother] and is rapidly learning to read now.  He is good at math, and he studies very hard." 

2003: "Daniel is six years old.  He is very competitive and naughty.  He always keeps track of the books he reads and comes home to tell us how many books he has finished.  His goal is to reach 100 books this year.  He is over 90 already.  Well, he likes to pester [his brother a lot].  He thinks that is fun. [...]"

2004: "Daniel is seven.  He is goal oriented and a 'do'er.  He is good at making all kinds of crafts.  He is our family's talented teacher.  He taught [his younger sister] how to read before she went to kindergarten.  He also gives homework assignments to the others, except [his older brother].  He always pesters [his brother] as usual." 

God graced me with energy as a kid. 

I noticed three themes. For one, I seemed to follow Dad’s lead in filling my time productively. He served in the U.S. Army National Guard and emphasized self-discipline. As a civilian family practitioner, too, he advocated for daily exercises, such as sit-ups, push-ups and walking. I seemed to follow suit.

On the other hand, I was a kiddo with an older brother, and I didn’t mind expending plenty spare energy to bother him. Thankfully I stopped pestering when I grew up with enough self-awareness to know good people don’t intentionally troll. Uni helped. 

Curiously, I noticed the letters seemed to note many of my interests resembling Mom’s. Arts, reading and studying seemed more like Mom’s interests than Dad’s, yet I hadn’t realized my similarities to Mom back then. Of course, Dad values education, too.

Studious Beyond Belief, Ages 13-19

As I went through elementary school, Dad’s military service included deployments overseas to Afghanistan (2005) and Iraq (2007). In 2008, our family moved from southern Indiana to North Las Vegas, Nev., where I started middle school. Since my younger sister and I hadn’t found letters from Dad’s years deployed with the others letter, we figured Mom wrote them. By 2009’s end, Dad retired as a lieutenant colonel. But he continued work elsewhere, including in a dozen nations to indigenous peoples of the Americas. 

Here were Christmas letters from my adolescence on. Coincidentally, I noticed the first couple we found both came from my last years at respective schools. 

2010: “Danny, 13, is finishing at [...] a magnet [middle] school associated with math, science and technology. He [earned last year] a 4.0 [grade-point] average. He received a letter this past week from a magnet high school stating that he was the type of student they were looking for. [I, Dad, think Danny] is also in the National Junior Honor Society [service group]. [...] Danny continues to have to be at the school bus stop at 5:50 in the morning.” 

2014: “Danny is the ultimate study robot, with his inhuman ability to study for hours on end in place of sleep, or other usual activities for high schoolers.  He attended NV Boys State this past June, and he has risen to the rank of Division News Editor within [Kiwanis] Key Club--a HS service group.  Danny and [his younger sister] also attended Key Club activities in CA in Nov. [...] As this is his senior year [...], he should be starting to apply for colleges now, but [...] he has not applied to Yale, which is causing his mother to feel that she is a ‘failure’ if none of her kids get accepted at this prestigious school--it’s used by Chinese mothers as a guilt trip for their kids! [...] He also received an AP with Honors award [from his magnet high school].  He presently is in the ‘top 10’ students in his class ranking.  But if he doesn’t get his applications in, then there is always UNLV [Las Vegas]!” 

2016: “Daniel is now a sophomore at UNR (Reno) in the Honors Program, and is an honors ambassador. He says he has 1 major in journalism with 3 minors at the present time, and he works at the library when time permits. He also completed an internship in publishing during the summer session, when he stayed in Reno and frugally survived during the summer by ‘couch surfing’ at several different locations. Several of us attended his confirmation at Easter in Reno. He also [...] presented at a few [conferences]. Additionally, he is involved in [the Kiwanis] Circle K service group on campus, as well as the Knights of Columbus, and he sings in the choir at the local Newman Center. Based on his Facebook postings, he seems to be enjoying college immensely. [...]” 

I definitely loved service groups—and still do, if Peace Corps counts! 

Seeing these letters in 2020, I feel amused how Dad wrote of my later academic interests with distance. Dad’s 2002 line about 5-year-old me, “[Daniel] studies very hard,” escalated exponentially, noticeable by his 2014 line about 17-year-old me, “Danny is the ultimate study robot, with his inhuman ability to study for hours on end in place of sleep.” I figure my peers were similar, though… 

I feel amused, too, how Dad included Mom’s wanting me to pursue STEM careers. Chinese often expect this of their kids. In some sense, I’m glad Dad let me escape the Asian tendency and Mom’s ideal to have me pursue a Bachelor of Science. Back then, I contended a bachelor’s from the professional School of Journalism would still make me hireable. 

Sure enough, Peace Corps hired! 

Besides, I felt vindicated later when I learned my minors in English literature, Chinese studies and communication studies resembled my late mother’s fields of English literature and international relations... She clearly benefited from Liberal Arts. More on these in previous reflections, though. :)

Back From Mongolia

Snap back to March 2020, when I just returned to America after our COVID-19 evacuation from Mongolia. 

I was really into “Frozen II,” the cathartic film easing me back into the States. My first week back felt very different from those after. Because “Some Things Never Change,” I discerned to do “The Next Right Thing.” Waking to various “Frozen II” numbers of looping in my brain, days began with such thoughts. 

My first days, I often compared experiences to Mom’s when she raised my siblings and me. Despite being at home, I was alone. Dad worked away, plus siblings had school and work. (This preceded American schools canceling or moving online.) So, I felt confused what to do. 

I discerned I could tidy the house, serve where others couldn’t. Whether dishes to wash or rooms to clean, I addressed what I saw. I imagined Mom felt this way when my siblings and I attended school and Dad worked. 

I also considered my living father matters as much as my late mother. So, honoring Dad honors her, too. 

Dad always had yard projects he wanted me doing. I had to weed so much when I first returned. 

I felt insights, at least. I considered, weeds are eternal. Weeds will always grow on spiritual life. Weeds attempt to choke our crops’ life. We must uproot our weeds and prune dead areas to fortify new and better parts of being. The physical and spiritual are one. … Yet, weeds still annoy me. 

Noticeably, my labors seemed to confuse many in my family. They seemed mostly to recall the 2015 me who’d choose studying over chores any day. But I guess most hadn’t factored I’ve experienced plenty in my years away from home, especially during my months living alone cooking for myself in Mongolia. House tasks are necessary parts of life. 

Besides, I’d already been doing these tasks others seemed disinterested in, even back at Christmas 2019, when I sorted Mom’s books, and later during post-evacuation Week 9 (May 1-7), packing up Mom’s desk after three years gathering dust. I felt frustrated others seemed slow to accept I’ve changed since Peace Corps. I pray for grace.

The New Journey

June 6, 2020—just days after Pentecost and coincidentally one month to my 23rd birthday—marked one huge occasion. 

Dad remarried! 

I felt excited.

I also noticed a curious parallel in threes. For, on my family history adventures, I discovered something about Dad’s parents. In 1987, his mother's spouse passed away; on the third year, she married again, in 1990. 30 years later, my dad’s spouse passed away in 2017; on the third year, he married again, in 2020. Coincidences comfort me at times.

That day, I’d also finished revisions to submit my thesis to a different journal for publication. I’d tried before with one in June 2019 and February 2020, but unfortunately my work hadn’t fit within their scope. Still, the editor believed that  I could publish it in the right place! 

College Town Return

That Week 14 (June 5-11), Dad also purchased a house in Reno, Nev., where my kind stepmom may move, too. Dad requested aid moving things in Reno. My younger sister and youngest brother both opted out, so I went instead. I prefer Reno’s weather, anyway. 

In Reno again, I felt parallels to past years. 

Helping my youngest sister and her friend move from a condo and house to the new place, I recalled the many who helped me move between Reno homes during my undergrad. Honestly, I felt weird to think of my dad relocating to Reno, especially since I hadn’t known the area he chose existed during my years studying in town. 

Mongolia returned to mind, too, while I lugged belongings in and out of the condo, up and down stairs. Hard to believe that that was three months ago when Peace Corps evacuated us. Exactly three months before, March 9, 2020, was my first Monday in Nevada again. 

Writing of Mongolia, I also recalled every bellhop who's hauled my 23 kg (50 lbs.) luggage up stairs in Asia. God bless them. 

On the bright side, with helping the sister and friend move, Dad said I got stronger. That felt good. When he asked how many push-ups I could do, I said 50—my new personal record met just days before. When I started working out the month and a half prior, I could only do half that. 

Thanks to the lifting and yard work tasking me in Reno, I paused my fitness routines. I realized, I’ve enough strength and endurance for what I’d want to do. So now, having met the goals, I still work out, just less concerned about gains.

Tests of Faith

Back to that ‘groundskeeping.’

With Reno versus Vegas, I prefer hedges to palm trees. Hedges are more fun and less merciless. They leave my body less bloody than palm trees, too. Reno’s weather also keeps cooler. 

As you’d expect, yard work leaves plenty time to reflect, chat with God. In earlier days these chats opened with lamentations about the heat and constant tasks. But God graces peace.

Ultimately, Dad’s tasks need someone to do them. He’s busy working full-time out-of-town, and siblings still have activities they must or would rather do. So I volunteer. 

On the other side, Dad at times says he’ll compensate me once the bills are paid. There always seem bills to me, though. Since it’s been three months now, I try to think of this like the Kingdom. Whether or not I see rewards, I try to persevere. I must trust the Father to provide in time, no matter the wait. It’s a spiritual exercise. 

Pa says he’s glad I’m financially stable, too—My scholarships, grants and work study graduated me debt-free. Those seem good, I guess. 

So, spiritually exercising while laboring, I consider parables of workers in the field and masters. Christ spoke of such. Parables about fields and wages seem more nuanced after feeling comparable questions. 

I think, too, to re-education labor camps sometimes. During China’s Cultural Revolution, my mom’s parents—both teachers—were sent to those. So, my ‘toiling’ in Dad’s backyards are surely nothing compared to what my grandparents involuntarily endured. I can bear my ‘shackles.’ 

These bring me to privilege.

At the day’s end, I have places to stay, food to eat and stable internet. Many Americans and people worldwide face greater turmoil than these, perhaps including you, my reader. So, I try acknowledging my ‘hardships’ hardly compare. I try to focus prayers for the needier. Faith helps me through.

On a happy note, I just reached the Diamond League on Duolingo! So, life could definitely be worse...

The Climb

One day during Week 15 (June 12-18), after Dad came home at dusk from work, he asked me to get out the ladder to climb the backyard tree. I thought that was wistful thinking! 

Well, I had the time and realized he wanted me to climb after all. The tree had a fallen limb he wanted me to saw off, since I weigh less than him. I insisted I’d only climb with him around.

Well, he came around. 

I ascended and sawed four limbs! Before the climb, we thought I only had to address a single one. But as I climbed for it, I found more. Thankfully, these were thin limbs. Dad gave some advice from below, handed me our hand saw then left me while he took care of other tasks around the yard. I climbed higher, wedged my feet in semi-stable positions and got to work.

Atop, the wind blew, so the tree rocked. I clung high in a swaying tree. Good Lord. 

But I felt amazed, handling my saw even with my off-hand. I’d cling with one arm and saw with the other. When branches got stuck, I had to grab them, push and jerk them away from other sections to send them down. Dad had me call out, “Timber!” With the final branch out, I let the saw fall. 

Success felt like redemption from that random tree I climbed the first culture-shocked day I returned to Vegas from Mongolia. This time I’d such control. My safety depended on it! Plus, I only grazed the back of my hand, as opposed to gashing my palm like the last time I left a tree. Less bleeding is better. 

By the end, my arms and legs trembled, not from worry but from muscle fatigue. Still, I felt empowered. Throughout my childhood, I could never climb a tree. Now I passed the physical I hadn’t expected a month and a half prior. 

All told, my climb took just half an hour.

Staying the Course 

In a week and a half, I turn 23! So I’ll be one (1) 23-year-old, hehe. Look forward to new reflections on how I’ve grown and changed. 

As an extension of my paternal family history projects, I started writing memorable quotes from Dad. My siblings and I wound up adapting these and more into our Fathers’ Day 2020 gift! Dad enjoyed our “Book of the Father” we printed. 

Meanwhile, America begins to slightly reopen amid COVID-19 conditions, and the post-solstice summer’s begun. So, I encourage us to, whenever possible, still #StayHome more than usual, wear our face masks, maintain physical distance and of course wash our hands. We’ll get through this.

And I hear some are struggling with loneliness, too—If you need someone to talk to, you can always count on me. It’s among the most challenging feelings, given we humans are social beings staying physically apart. Writing, phoning and video calls help me, at least. Feel free to reach out. I keep you and loved ones in my prayers.

Best wishes, and till we chat again.

You can read more from me here at DanielLang.me :)

part 1: 4, 12, 15, 18, and 19

If you think I’m going to have common sense and not answer all of these in a single post, I have Bad News lmao

4. how did your elementary school teachers describe you? Smart, mostly. “Gifted”. This very much Did Not Last lmaoooo

12. name of your favorite playlist? I literally never make playlists I’m a stupid fuck who uses their spotify premium to skip freely through all my thousands of liked songs on shuffle until I find something I want to listen to lmaooooo (Having said that: Rey and I put together a playlist for some characters we were entering a contest to win last fall which I titled Story and Song after the TAZ arc and also because we wrote Way Too Much for it and I’m Very Proud Of That)

15. favorite book you read as a school assignment? Okay upon reading this I initially genuinely couldn’t remember any of the books I read in school because for the last several years of my schooling I just fuckin Sparknotes and TV Tropes-ed everything lmao... having said that, I do remember enjoying Maus! It was neat having a graphic novel assigned amongst all the “literary classics” that I couldn’t sit through a sitting of without falling asleep, and it may be the furry in me but the depiction of the characters/people as animals was Good :0c See, if all history was depicted with methods like this, I’d maybe actually be able to remember it ghfdjhgjfkdl

18. ideal weather? Depends on the day, but generally: Between like 65-80°F, not humid, not a lot of wind, and either sunny, partly cloudy, or drizzly but not outright storming. Basically decent temperatures without feeling like I’m walking through soup because of the humidity and weather that’s not completely gray and boring. Aka what Maine basically never is lmaoooo

19. sleeping position? I change positions every five minutes I swear to god (don’t take that out of context gfhdjbhvjd). Usually with at least one arm draped over a pillow that is Definitely Not Being Mentally Portrayed As A Character I Like To Supplement The Fact That I Did Not Get Enough Affection To Be A Functional Adult As A Child ghfdjknbhgfjdk

21. obsession from childhood? bold of you to assume i don’t still obsess over nintendo games (and just video games in general tbh)

23. strange habits? OKAY I COULDN’T THINK OF ANYTHING FOR THIS AT FIRST BUT I HAVE ONE NOW: MIDNIGHT FRIES

28. five songs to describe you? Speeding - LightsDaydreaming - ParamoreMusic - Mystery SkullsNo Lullaby - SIAMÉSLonely Dance - Set If Off+Bonus because it came up on Spotify while I was shuffling for songs for this and it’s a Mood: Pineapples Do Not Belong on a Pizza - Vargskelethor

29. best way to bond with you? I don’t know I usually just scream about ocs or video games with people and suddenly it’s been a year??? @riskreyes how has it been a year since we started talking but also how has it only been a year??? Wild bvhfdjkbhvgfjdk

30. places that you find sacred? Lmao I’ve never had anywhere like that really. Need a goddamn lock on my door :p I guess... the woods by my house? As a little kid before things got shitty my neighbor’s cousin or niece or something would go out there wandering around catching frogs and stuff in the spring or almost falling into the frozen streams during winter. When things started to go to shit in my life as a teenager I would hide out there to get away and nobody would find me. I haven’t been recently but the last time I did my friend and I walked along the train tracks and dove off into the woods by the side to avoid the amtrak coming by, it was great lmao. Uhh, other than that... I dunno, Boston and New York and New London all make me feel good to visit. Probably mostly because during those trips I don’t feel trapped in a dying land like Maine feels like bgvhfdjkhvgfjd

31. what outfit do you wear to kick ass and take names? ......my entire wardrobe is my work outfit, excessive graphic tees, and jeans. So uhh... I dunno. I guess my NWTB shirts are pretty rad, I’d kick a dude’s ass wearing Nate’s merch

34. advertisements you have stuck in your head? if i have to see another ad for some fuckin branch of the us military while i’m just out here trying to watch people play video games i swear to god-

40. weirdest thing to ever happen at your school? Oh boy I don’t know how weird these are but do you want a list??? I can give you a list hang on- In 4th grade we had a day of class where we all just had a party and ate chips and salsa and stuff because the pats won the super bowl and our teacher was Obsessed- In middle school my math class started working out of college textbooks, which is a bit much when you’re 11, advanced classes or no. Yet somehow none of the other students had any problems with this- Also in middle school, the school counselor really wasn’t very Good at his job so I usually just ended up playing Rock Band in his office instead of talking out any of my Many, Many Problems. I played the drums, for the record- Also in middle school, one time I straight up fell down a flight of stairs? Like, a full flight of stairs. Fuckin somersaulting down the stairs. The binder I was carrying broke open, papers went everywhere, my arm got cut open somewhere along the way and started bleeding. I get to the bottom, the other students are staring at me in horror, aforementioned counselor fuckin steps out of his office which is, of course, right at the bottom of the stairs, all concerned because what the fuck a kid just fell down the stairs, right? And so I, laying on the floor disoriented and laughing, declare, and I quote: “That was fun, let’s do it again!”- THE MOTHERFUCKING MAC AND CHEESE MUFFINS IN HIGH SCHOOL. Macaroni and cheese baked into the sweet batter of a muffin. I refused to touch the stuff but a friend of my did and it was bad enough he had to go to the trash can and fucking empty his stomach in it.- SAID FRIEND ALSO MANAGED TO GET A CARTON OF MILK THAT EXPIRED A MONTH BEFORE SCHOOL STARTED AT THE START OF ONE OF OUR YEARS IN HIGH SCHOOL and if I didn’t trust cafeteria food before that sealed the deal on me Never Trusting It Again- OH BUT SPEAKING OF CAFETERIA FOOD one time in the old school before the renovation, in like freshman year I think? I laughed so hard a piece of spicy chicken strip flew up my windpipe and got stuck in my nose and it was too big for me to snort out so I had to suck it back down and for the rest of the day all I could smell was burning- ON ANOTHER FOOD RELATED TOPIC down in the library I was on my iPad and 3DS because I had Long Since Given Up On School and some asshole dudes threw a rotting orange at me and it splattered all over the screens of both? So I picked up the remains and chucked it back at them and yelled “Do you wanna fucking NOT?” and they all ran off. The librarian heard me yell and saw me throw the orange back at them and she just didn’t give a fuck lmao- The librarians at my school were cool as shit really during one of our years we had to do x hours of volunteer work so I did some adjustments to the library catalogue for mine but the thing is I was fast enough at it that there really wasn’t enough to fill up my required hours so instead of giving me more to do they just sort of let me and my friends hang out playing Yu-Gi-Oh and called that good lmao. (For the record I only had one starter deck so I let my friend pick half of the cards and I would use the half she didn’t want. I managed to fuckin WRECK her with throwaways it was Iconicque)- OKAY ONE LAST LIBRARY STORY on the last day of finals I was hanging out in one of the smart tv rooms in the library right? My last finals weren’t for a few hours and lord knows I wasn’t gonna study, ADHD ass couldn’t do that and I’d already given up on school lmao. So I fucking... I brought my Wii U to school, hooked it up to the smart tv, and just started playing Splatoon there in the library. One of the librarians walked past to check on everyone, stopped at my room, watched me play for a minute (I noticed her and just sort of nodded and waved like ‘Sup’ so she Knew what was going on), and then just LEFT. Like, she didn’t give a fuck. Shoutout to the librarians, the Chillest- ALRIGHT LAST STORY LAST STORY I straight up never got all the credits I needed to graduate lmao. I was missing half a credit but they let me go anyway and to this day I cite the reason as being my high scores on the SAT/PSAT? I was the first student at the school in like, a decade, to have gotten an award from the National Merit Scholarship Corporation for my performance on them, and I guess they must have thought that me failing to graduate on time would look bad on them because, uh, yeah, it would, if people found out their teachers couldn’t handle a ~smart kid~ to the point that they did poorly enough to not even graduate with the rest of their class nobody would be willing to send their kids there lmao. And that’s the story of how I graduated when I wasn’t technically supposed to!!!

50. what made you laugh the hardest you ever have? That’s a good fuckin question hey shit memory what was that thing that made us laugh so hard we couldn’t breathe again?...Don’t remember? Yeah I thought so lmaoI dunno, probably a joke in some let’s play? Or... god. Now that I think about it was probably the Slicer of T’pire Weir Isles moment actually. Holy shit, that was good.

68. worst flavor of any food or drink you’ve ever tried? That I’ve ever tried? Jesus, I dunno, I have issues with texture more than flavor. I Refuse to eat my mother’s stuffing because it’s literally just soggy ass bread. In terms of pure flavor alone? Her shepherds pie. It’s just... there is no flavor. It’s like eating cardboard. I’m begging you, De, use seasoning. If I ever have to eat shepherds pie that just tastes like tin from canned peas and vague hints of unseasoned beef again I’m going to go on a murderous rampage.That said? F in the chat to Cameron for that mac and cheese muffin. Rest in pieces

73. favorite weird flavor combo? GVFHDJBVDN JUST GONNA MAKE ME SHARE THE DILL PICKLE/CHOCOLATE PUDDING PACK COMBO FOR ALL THE WORLD TO SEE HUH

93. nicknames? Gar, Garn, Lane, Bill, Master, Pants, Shortpants. The first three are self-explanatory, first two are shortenings of my name and then my masc/surname. The latter four come from usernames of mine - Bill from Bill Ciforce (If you stack a Bill Cipher on top of two other Bill Ciphers, you get the Ciforce), Master, Pants, and Shortpants from MasterShortpants in reference to one of Link’s nicknames in Skyward Sword

95. favorite app on your phone? Does the internet app count? No? Lmao. Spotify I guess :p Need me some Tunes

Headlines

Trump Plans to Suspend Immigration to U.S. (NYT) President Trump said on Monday evening that he intended to close the United States to people trying to immigrate into the country to live and work, a drastic move that he said would protect American workers from foreign competition once the nation’s economy began to recover from the shutdown caused by the coronavirus outbreak. “In light of the attack from the Invisible Enemy, as well as the need to protect the jobs of our GREAT American Citizens,” Mr. Trump wrote on Twitter, “I will be signing an Executive Order to temporarily suspend immigration into the United States!” The president’s late-night announcement on Monday signals his most wide-ranging attempt yet to seal off the country from the rest of the world. A formal order temporarily barring the provision of new green cards and work visas could come as early as the next few days, according to several people familiar with the plan.

“I just can’t do this.” Harried parents forgo home school (AP) Frustration is mounting as more families across the U.S. enter their second or even third week of distance learning—and some overwhelmed parents say it will be their last. Amid the barrage of learning apps, video meet-ups and e-mailed assignments that pass as pandemic home school, some frustrated and exhausted parents are choosing to disconnect entirely for the rest of the academic year. Others are cramming all their children’s school work into the weekend or taking days off work to help their kids with a week’s worth of assignments in one day. That stress is only compounded for families with multiple children in different grades, or when parents work long hours outside the home. In some cases, older siblings must watch younger ones during the day, leaving no time for school work.

A century later, victory gardens connect Americans again (AP) During World War I, posters proclaiming “Food will win the war” encouraged Americans to grow victory gardens. A century later, home gardeners are returning to that idea in the fight against a global pandemic. Backyard gardeners are coming together, mostly virtually, to learn and share stories on how to grow vegetables, fruits and flowers as the novel coronavirus raises fears about disruptions in food supplies and the cost of food in a down economy. “World War I, to me, is a pretty stark parallel,” said Rose Hayden-Smith, a historian and author of “Sowing the Seeds of Victory: American Gardening Programs of World War I.” “Not only was there a war, but there was an influenza pandemic.” Now, gardeners new and old are getting online and on social media to post pictures of freshly tilled backyards, raised garden beds, seeds germinating under grow lights or flocks of chickens. Some of these gardeners are newly unemployed, or working parents stuck at home with bored kids. Others are gardening enthusiasts who never had the time before to delve deep into the hobby. Urban community gardeners are ramping up production to feed families who have lost income and kids who no longer get meals at school.

Mexico’s president praises inmate amnesty as ‘humanitarian act’ (Reuters) A prisoner amnesty law in Mexico aimed at releasing non-violent inmates as a coronavirus containment measure won praise from President Andres Manuel Lopez Obrador on Tuesday, coming as health authorities expect the virus to spread faster in the days ahead. The Mexican Congress passed the amnesty late on Monday. It will allow for the release of low-level offenders, including those convicted of robbery and small-scale drug possession, as well women jailed on abortion charges. It will also apply to indigenous convicts who did not receive an adequate defense due to language barriers and those who were coerced to work with criminal gangs.

British tabloids: ‘Distorted, false, or invasive beyond reason’ (CJR) Prince Harry and Meghan Markle have written to the British tabloids promising never to work with them again. The couple, who moved abroad and ended official royal duties last month, sent the letter to four of the main British tabloids—The Sun, Daily Mail, Daily Express and Daily Mirror—on Sunday evening. The former royals said they were implementing a new media-relations policy toward the outlets after the publication of what they believed were distorted and invasive stories. “It is gravely concerning that an influential slice of the media, over many years, has sought to insulate themselves from taking accountability for what they say or print—even when they know it to be distorted, false, or invasive beyond reason,” the couple said.

Normal influenza cases all but vanish in Europe (Reuters) Influenza, which each year kills hundreds of thousands of people worldwide, all but vanished in Europe last month as coronavirus lockdowns slowed transmission, according to EU data and scientists. The northern hemisphere’s winter flu outbreak normally runs from October until mid-May and in some seasons has claimed lives on the scale of COVID-19, despite the existence of a vaccine. Influenza killed 152,000 people in Europe in the 2017-18 winter. So far, COVID-19 has taken nearly 100,000 lives across the continent, albeit in a shorter period of time.

Virus forces cancellation of iconic events like Oktoberfest (AP) Spain canceled the Running of the Bulls in July, the U.S. scrapped the national spelling bee in June and Germany even called off Oktoberfest, making it clear Tuesday that the effort to beat back the coronavirus and return to normal could be a long and dispiriting process.

India’s migrant workers start heading home (Reuters) In one of the biggest mass movements of people in the country since the partition of India and Pakistan in 1947, after the shutdown, the cities themselves began to empty. Dayaram Kushwaha and his family were among the first to move. As the days went on, and the situation became more desperate, hundreds of thousands of migrants emerged from factories and workplaces in search of a way home. Indian officials say the shutdown is necessary to beat coronavirus in the densely populated country of 1.3 billion people, with a health infrastructure that can ill afford a widespread outbreak. But for Dayaram and many of India’s estimated 140 million migrant laborers, the epidemic is much more than a threat to their health—it endangers their very economic survival.

Assertive China (Reuters) As the coronavirus crisis eases in China and rages elsewhere around the world, it is becoming increasingly assertive in the region. In a significant strike against democracy activists in Chinese-ruled Hong Kong, police in the city arrested 15 people on Saturday, just days after a senior Beijing official called for the local government to introduce national security legislation “as soon as possible.” China has also been flying regular fighter patrols near Chinese-claimed Taiwan and has sent a survey ship flanked by coast guard and other vessels into the South China Sea.

Netanyahu’s Power Is Extended as Rival Accepts Israel Unity Government (NYT) Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu of Israel and his former challenger, Benny Gantz, agreed Monday night to establish a unity government, a deal that finally breaks a yearlong political impasse and keeps Mr. Netanyahu in office as he faces trial on corruption charges. After three inconclusive elections in the past year, the creation of the new government forestalls what had appeared to be an inevitable fourth election and offers a deeply divided Israel a chance for national healing as it battles the coronavirus pandemic. For Mr. Netanyahu, the agreement buys him time to try to resolve two contentious issues central to his legacy: to sidestep his prosecution or at least prevent it from driving him from power, and to extend Israeli sovereignty over occupied Palestinian territory.

I get that a lot of people on this site are a half-generation or even a full generation younger than I am and only think of them as beat-up books that spontaneously appeared in libraries with the covers already cracking and the corners already worn round (or that many of you are a generation or two older than I am and this was just the big trend with the kids for a few years) but I get the feeling some of you don’t quite grok how huge the Goosebumps series was in its heyday. These books were coming out every month and every time the Scholastic fliers were sent out every kid in class every kid had to have a copy of the new Goosebumps book. My fourth-grade teacher had to give a lesson about plagiarism and copyright after 80% of my class wrote Goosebumps stories for their creative writing project. (I didn’t see what the big deal was, I wrote some story about kids dealing with ghosts but it wasn’t based on any book, in particular, it was just in the style of R. L. Stine, but apparently, some kid followed the plot of one of the books fairly closely. Fanfiction existed in the 90s, but my teacher didn’t want us writing it for school. Unless that was the assignment where I wrote about a teenage girl who was locked in a medieval dungeon and writing a diary in her own blood describing how vile her situation was and how she didn’t think she belonged in the dungeon. If I recall correctly, there were like twelve or so one paragraph “chapters” that looked longer on lined paper than typed up and in chapter six or so she was like “They’re just keeping me here because I worship old gods and this is medieval Europe so the church is a Big Deal.” and the in chapter nine she added “Also I killed that guy.”)

Anyway, I didn’t really make this post to talk about how popular Goosebumps was when I was a kid, I made this post to rant about Slappy.

Slappy the Dummy is the face of the Goosebumps series, and unlike most baddies, he’s appeared in several Goosebumps books. I don’t know why he kept being brought back, especially since he was (is this a spoiler? Is there anyone who hasn’t read Night of the Living Dummy who actually wants to, and moreover; are they on tumblr?) a red herring in the first book. I never found him as scary or interesting as the other stories, (My favourite books were Be Careful What You Wish For and Curse of the Werecat. Not half so merchandised.) and I still don’t. If anything, I feel like Slappy was as popular as he was because the cover illustration for Night of the Living Dummy was one of the more unsettling covers. I say this with some certainty as I joined the Goosebumps book club and one of the non-book “gifts” was a cardboard picture stand-up of the illustration with a printed wooden frame and I left this set up where the light from the doorway hit it and frightened my mother. Which of course, is the goal if you’re a child who wants to join the Goosebumps fanclub. (And that’s how I learned you actually need to cancel a fan club subscription, at age ten I was afraid to write a stranger and assumed that if you stopped paying for something they stop sending you things, aaaand that was not the case.)

I suppose with the amount of extra information in here I’d better reiterate what the point of this post was, which is Slappy is not the most interesting Goosebumps character. Then again most of the stories that really stuck with me weren’t “monster” stories, but frightening situations like Night in Terror Tower and you can’t really merchandise memory loss.

My recent experience with depression, anxiety, and ADHD

I figured I would make a post about this, because I know that at least a few of my mutuals are dealing with some or all of these things themselves and might find this helpful.  Who knows?  Very long, very personal, but mostly positive post under the cut.  Like, really, more information than you probably ever wanted to know about me and my problems.  Proceed, if you feel so inclined.

First, a brief history, for context.  Throughout elementary and high school, I consistently scored in the 99th percentile on standardized tests.  Then, I almost flunked out of high school, barely got my diploma, took a year off, and started art school college for an animation English degree.  I was going to write novels.  After a year or two of that, I decided I could write without a degree, so I dropped out.  What followed was a decade of several strangely varied and unrelated jobs and no novel writing. Working a stable corporate gig while not accomplishing (or even pursuing) any of my personal creative goals was DESTROYING MY SOUL.  So, I quit my job to become a full-time student and finish my degree, because at least that was kind of in the same universe as actually being creative.  And now, a year or two later, here I am, 32 and a few semesters away from finally finishing that English degree.  Clearly brains won’t get you everywhere kids.

I was diagnosed with ADHD at age 7 and was on some form of medication until sometime in high school, when I decided I didn’t want to take it anymore, for reasons I won’t bother getting into.  It never occurred to me to even consider medication again until this semester, when everything fell apart.

ADHD can impact a person in a multitude of ways.  For me, the biggest impact is probably executive function issues.  I can wander through the garden of my ideas all day long.  I cannot make myself sit down and do work, no matter how much I may want to.  For personal goals, that means a literal solid decade of zero accomplishment.  For school, that means procrastinating papers until the night before or morning of or sometimes even two weeks late, on the night before the professor has to turn in their grades.  And the level of personal effort it took to make myself write that two-week-late paper was herculean in measure, when it really should not have been.

I’ve since learned that many professionals suspect this very common procrastination habit of ADHD folks is actually a kind of self-medicating by way of adrenaline via stress response.  Which sounds entirely plausible to me, because every semester since I’ve been back at school, I’ve found myself pushing the risky boundaries of procrastination further and further, like a drug addict needing a higher dose to get a fix.  A very unsustainable and unhappy process all around.

Which brings me to this semester, when the wheels finally fell off the car, and one of the campus psychologists found me crying on a bench outside the counseling center because they were closed for lunch and meetings, and I didn’t know where else to go.  I couldn’t do any of my homework, was crying every day, and having panic attacks.  To put it simply, I was a fucking mess.

I made more appointments at the counseling center, I spoke with my professors about what I was going through (hello more panic attacks), and for the first time in over a decade, I remembered that there are medications I should maybe try, and I made an appointment to see the psychiatrist at the campus medical clinic.  (Also, guys, if any of you are students, look into your campus resources.  There’s support for everything at my school.  There’s even an office that’s only there to help guide students to all the other support options.  Seriously, mental health, child care, food, housing, you name it.  Get the help you need.)

When I explained everything I had been going through, the very nice psychiatrist at the clinic told me, with an unsettling degree of alarm in her voice, that I was “deeply depressed”. Which, I knew, but she really sounded shockingly concerned.  And it’s like, jeeze, I maybe didn’t realize just how bad things had gotten, because I was just living with this shit every day, so it was kind of ‘normal’ for me.

Anyway, she agreed to start me on meds for my ADHD.  The one I’ve been taking is called Vyvanse.  I started on the lowest dose and have been gradually increasing.  A month in, I’m at a dose where I can clearly tell a difference, and it’s having a noticeable impact.  I wrote a meta yesterday.  I was thinking the thoughts, and just sat down and wrote it.  This morning, I got up and wrote some more, just notes for future things to do, but I did it.  Fuck, I’m writing this fucking thing right now.

I thought that maybe I should write this shit out, and it took a little while sitting and getting my momentum going, but now I’ve written 800 1300 1650 words.  And I’m sitting here actually crying as I type this paragraph, because this small little thing is like the biggest fucking thing in my life.

I don’t have any way to accurately explain what a big deal it is for me to have actively decided to write something and then to have actually actively produced content of my own volition and design, that wasn’t assigned to me and didn’t have a due date or a grade attached.  And, that I’ve done it repeatedly now…

OVER TEN YEARS.  Over ten years I went, writing almost nothing. Might as well have been zero words. Guys, I’ve been walking around with a trilogy of speculative fiction novels in my head for over ten years, I’ve been planning another unrelated novel for the last two.  I’ve been planning something like 30 fanfics, across two fandoms, and another 20 metas for the past year.  Part of me probably assumed feared that none of that would ever see the light of day. But now, it suddenly feels like maybe I’ll actually manage to write some of it.  And I’m hoping like fuck that it’s not just a fluke.

Now, the ADHD meds aren’t the only thing I’ve been doing to contribute to this ‘good place’ I’m in currently.  I’ve been going to counseling.  Apparently, I have a lot of negative feelings about myself and my inability to accomplish jack shit for a whole decade.  Who would’ve guessed?  I also have weekly sessions with the disabilities accessibility team at my university to work on external methods for dealing with my executive function issues. (Again, if you’re a student, utilize your university resources.  You’re already paying for them with tuition.)  And, this is obviously not an option for everyone, but even before I started the ADHD meds, I took advantage of the fact that I live in a state where certain botanical products are easily and legally available and found a brand of gummies that really help with my anxiety and panic attacks.  (They’re high cbd, low thc, so calming and don’t make you high.)

So far, the meds aren’t 100% sunshine and rainbows.  With the dose I’m at right now, where I’ve been Getting Things Done, I can actively feel the drug, which is… not the greatest.  I feel jittery, vaguely anxious, like I’ve drank way too much coffee but worse.  And, the decreased appetite is something I really have to be vigilant about, because I don’t have any room to lose weight.  These were both known possible side effects of stimulant meds, so I wasn’t surprised, and perhaps the doctor and I will be able to fine tune the dosing or try another med or something.  But right now, I think I’m really leaning toward, I’ll put up with the side effects, because holy shit, I can finally actually do what I want to do.  Also, I think (and Nice Doctor Lady thinks) the new higher dose is having a positive, stabilizing impact on my mood.

I guess my reason for writing all of this, other than pure catharsis, is to say, if you’re dealing with shit like this, try to be willing to consider all your options.  For whatever reason, I didn’t think about trying medication for my condition.  It wasn’t even like I was anti-meds or something.  I just didn’t even think about it.  Not until a few months back, when I sent a random ask to an ADHD blog on here, asking how they managed to make themselves write, and they responded with I had to get medication.  Suddenly, it was like… why have I not been considering this option?  So, this story is for anyone else out there that maybe also hadn’t thought to consider this option.

And really, not just the medication.  I’m a hide behind walls, overly independent, do things on my own, never ask for help sort of person.  But, I guess I finally reached a level of desperation where I was like, Clearly, doing this by myself, my way, has not gotten me the results I want.  So, fuck it, I’m going to ask for help from every professional available to me.  Which, I’m very lucky, and currently have ready access to multiple resources in a way not everyone does, but being open to getting this much assistance is very new territory for me.

I’m not really sure how best to wrap this up.  If anyone actually read all of this, I’m astonished and… Hi, I guess?  You really know quite a bit about me now.  Hopefully, I haven’t scared anyone off.  And, if anybody has further questions about any of this or you want to talk about your own issues, I’m sincerely available for that. I think the world we live in today makes it too easy to feel completely alone, even when you’re surrounded by people, and I’m here for chats, if you need it.

New Post has been published on https://techcrunchapp.com/more-parents-seek-adhd-diagnosis-and-drugs-for-kids-to-manage-remote-learning/

More parents seek ADHD diagnosis and drugs for kids to manage remote learning

Susan McLaughlin’s 12-year-old daughter, Isabela, was a straight-A student before the pandemic. Isabela, who lives in a suburb of Columbus, Ohio, excelled at science and math and was already getting high school credit for algebra.

But when her school shut down in March and classes shifted to Zoom, Isabela’s grades took a nosedive. She signed on for her virtual class from a desk piled high with books, papers and stuffed animals and then spent hours trying to clean her room instead of focusing on schoolwork. She found herself “paralyzed” by assignments, McLaughlin said, but she wouldn’t tell the teacher over email that she was struggling, as she would have done in person.

“It was meltdown after meltdown after meltdown,” said McLaughlin, 53, a mother of three from Delaware, Ohio, who works in a high school with chronically truant children.

McLaughlin recalls one time in April when Isabela, who was already diagnosed with severe anxiety, was given a language arts assignment and “fell to pieces.”

“She was crying and screaming and hyperventilating and started to get some tics, moving her head and flapping her arms. She had never had them before. That’s when we started to consider that it might be ADHD.”

McLaughlin spent months trying to bring more structure to Isabela’s day by writing lists, schedules, timelines and checkboxes. But as someone who was diagnosed with attention deficit hyperactivity disorder herself a decade ago, McLaughlin realized that she was seeing the same behaviors in Isabela. She thought, “I’ve got to nip this in the bud.”

Isabela is being evaluated by a psychiatrist, a process that takes several hours and requires her teachers to fill out questionnaires about her behavior. McLaughlin hopes that with an ADHD diagnosis, Isabela will be able to get a prescription for a stimulant medication — such as Ritalin, Adderall or Vyvanse — to alleviate her symptoms.

“I know it’s super controversial sometimes. But I’ve been medicated for a long time, and I can’t function without taking it,” McLaughlin said. “If I don’t take my medication, I see an immediate difference in my ability to manage complex tasks, clean the house, get up and cook dinner. So I’m hoping it will have the same effect on her.”

Susan McLaughlin and Isabela Burgeson do schoolwork.Maddie McGarvey

Growing problems

McLaughlin isn’t alone in seeking an ADHD assessment for her child during the pandemic. Two dozen children, pediatricians, psychiatrists, psychologists and researchers all described a crisis among children suffering from inattention and tanking school performance.

Data from specialists involved with diagnosing and treating ADHD show just how much parents are struggling to get help: They are flooding an ADHD support line with questions, and ADHD diagnoses and prescriptions for related medications have soared.

“Covid has been a tipping point that has pushed some families to get help,” said Dr. Melvin Oatis of the American Academy of Child and Adolescent Psychiatry, who said the stress of the pandemic, the shift to remote learning and social isolation have created “anxiety-provoking” conditions that affect students’ attention.

Experts warn that children who appear to have symptoms of ADHD should have thorough evaluations to rule out other conditions or stresses related to the pandemic before they seek medication.

“Our concern is that pediatricians and families be very careful to not simply list the symptoms of ADHD, but to look at the child’s history and use differential diagnosis to make sure we have the best possible explanation for the symptoms,” said Dr. Arthur Lavin, a Cleveland-based pediatrician who has served on several national committees of the American Academy of Pediatrics.

Related

In the meantime, parents are seeking any help they can find. The number of parents calling a help line set up by CHADD (Children and Adults with Attention-Deficit/Hyperactivity Disorder), a nonprofit that supports people with ADHD, rose by 62 percent since the pandemic started, the organization said. Traffic to its website last year grew by 77 percent compared to 2019.

“We’re getting a lot of calls from caregivers who are working at home alongside their children and starting to see more issues with their behavior than they did before,” said April Gower-Getz, CHADD’s chief operating officer.

They’re certainly trying to get their children evaluated more frequently. The Child Mind Institute, a New York-based nonprofit that helps children with mental health disorders and their families, recorded a 20 percent increase in the number of appointments to discuss medication last year compared to 2019. The “lion’s share” of the appointments were to discuss medication for ADHD, said Dr. Harold Koplewicz, the institute’s founder.

And more parents are getting their children diagnosed and treated with medication for ADHD.

Athenahealth, a technology company that creates practice management software for health care providers, published research in May, drawing on data from its customers, that showed an increase in patients ages 13 to 17 who received new diagnoses of ADHD. From the week of March 9 to the week of March 30, the proportion of visits by teenagers that involved first-time ADHD diagnoses rose by 67 percent. There was a similar spike among teenagers — particularly boys — who received prescriptions for ADHD medicines for the first time.

The cases also seem to have picked up in recent months, said psychologist Keith Sutton, director of the Bay Area Center for ADD/ADHD. He said he had a “sharp increase” in inquiries during the fall.

“Before the summer, everyone was just trying to get through those months,” Sutton said. “Then, in October, when grades were coming back, parents were thinking we’re in it for the long run, something is going on here and we need help.”

Isabela Burgeson thrives with in-person schooling but has been struggling during virtual learning.Maddie McGarvey / for NBC News

Why now?

Experts attribute the increase in inquiries to a variety of factors, including the loss of structure and accommodations in the classroom setting.

Parents are also seeing their children’s troubles during school hours firsthand. Dr. Devang Patel, a family medicine physician in Illinois who specializes in ADHD, is one of several clinicians who said he is fielding more requests from parents for medication for their children.

“When the problem was in front of the teachers, it wasn’t really the parents’ concern,” Patel said. “But now they are at home trying to make their kid sit still for just half an hour and seeing how difficult that is.”

Children also miss the school environment, which helped ameliorate such issues. Dr. Jenny Radesky, a Michigan-based developmental behavioral pediatrician, said she has started prescribing stimulants for children as young as 5 and 6 this year. Their ADHD symptoms were manageable in supportive classrooms with flexible teachers, sensory tools and clear routines. But when those structures went away in March, their symptoms flared up.

“I’m watching kids who used to love school become unenthused and unmotivated,” said Radesky, who said she was worried about the long-term impact of virtual learning. “They need the social environment at school to learn how to regulate themselves. Without that, they are really struggling.”

Related

Parenting challenges

Sasha Harris-Cronin’s 8-year-old son, Z (he chose his own name when he was 6), who is in the third grade, was diagnosed with ADHD in 2019 but didn’t start medication until last August.

Before the pandemic, Z’s school provided accommodations, like seating him directly in front of the teacher, where he wouldn’t be distracted, and making sure he ran around outside during recess.

Harris-Cronin said the shift to Zoom for Z was “awful.”

“It was so difficult. There were so many tears,” she said. Z missed the structure of school and couldn’t focus on Zoom classes. He would take an hour to write four words of a writing assignment. Days would go by when he got “absolutely nothing” done.

When she and Z realized that they were “looking down the barrel of another year like this,” they visited a psychiatrist, who prescribed Ritalin and Metadate.

“It was mind-blowing,” Harris-Cronin said. “He wrote a poem the first day. It’s not a miracle cure. But boy, is it an effective tool.”

Finding relief

Jahkim Hendrix, 18, of Atherton, California, suspected that he had ADHD for many years. But he didn’t get formally evaluated until late last year, during his senior year of high school. He had been falling behind academically the previous year, and when the schools closed in March, it didn’t take long for him to “give up completely.”

“The teacher would be speaking and I’d go blank,” he said, adding that students objected to putting their cameras on for their teachers, which made them — and him — even less accountable. “I would mute my teacher and go on TikTok and stay there for hours. That’s what sustained my attention.”

He barely passed his junior year of high school, and his grades slid from Ds to Fs as he started his senior year last fall. He and his mom, who was also diagnosed with ADHD as a child, decided it was time to seek help. It took two months to get an appointment with a psychiatrist, who evaluated him for over five hours in mid-December.

In late January, he was diagnosed with ADHD.

“I cried with relief,” he said. “I have always been told I have high potential but low performance, and I didn’t know why. Now I have a name to the thing that I’m facing, as well as tools and resources to help me.”

Worried doctors

Many experts said parents and clinicians need to be extra cautious about diagnosing ADHD during a pandemic because a child might show more signs that meet the criteria for the disorder. A diagnosis simply needs six or more symptoms listed in the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, the book of mental disorders recognized by the American Psychiatric Association. They include making careless mistakes, struggling to stay focused on tasks, having trouble organizing activities, not following through on instructions, avoiding schoolwork, losing items and being easily distracted.

“The pandemic has substantially disrupted the routines of every family, and that is going to make a good number of children feel like they can’t pay attention so well,” said Lavin, the Cleveland pediatrician. “ADHD might be one of the explanations, but only one. But the stress of a pandemic may also cause inattention.”

Medical experts say someone with ADHD was very likely to show signs before the pandemic began. Both the American Academy of Pediatrics and the American Academy of Child and Adolescent Psychiatry recommend lengthy evaluations that take in children’s full developmental histories, surveys parents and teachers and compares symptoms to peers their own ages and genders.

A 15-minute office visit with a pediatrician isn’t long enough to rule out other causes of inattention, such as anxiety, depression and problems at home, said Sutton of the Bay Area Center for ADD/ADHD.

Susan McLaughlin and her daughter, Isabela Burgeson.Maddie McGarvey / for NBC News

Lengthy dependence

As many schools remain closed, some experts said they were concerned about the long-term impact of remote learning for young people with ADHD, particularly teenagers.

Maggie Sibley, a psychologist and researcher at the University of Washington and Seattle Children’s Hospital, has written a research paper, accepted by the Journal of Psychiatric Research, showing that symptoms are worsening and stress levels are skyrocketing among adolescents and young adults with ADHD during the pandemic. That has prompted numerous problems, including social isolation and disengagement from class.

“A person with ADHD typically has fewer friends and less social activities in their calendar,” she said. “A lot are getting their only social interactions at school.”

Students with ADHD were at particular risk of depression and dropping out of school, the study concluded.

“If you are in a situation where you are experiencing chronic boredom, getting poor grades in school, socially isolated and stuck in a house, it’s a recipe for depression,” Sibley said. While suicide isn’t an inevitable result, “we have to be vigilant down the road, especially since we know from research that when people with ADHD get depressed, they are more likely to make suicidal gestures because of their impulsivity.”

Susan McLaughlin will find out whether Isabela has ADHD at a follow-up appointment with the psychiatrist on Tuesday. While they wait, Isabela continues to battle with her assignments, particularly on Thursdays and Fridays, when class is entirely self-directed.

“I just want her to be everything she can be, a happy, well-adjusted 12-year-old — or as well-adjusted as anyone can be at this point.”

Shit I Pulled In High School - Part 2

ALL RIGHT YOU ALL ASKED FOR MORE SO HERE WE GO 7th grade - Snuck back inside the school during a fire to rescue my bookbag and avoided getting caught by pretending I was in the baseball field and couldn't hear the alarms ( which was true enough , you couldn't hear shit from out that far , but I was ACTUALLY in the science lab when the alarms went off and just busted ass across campus to my locker and then hid in the baseball field ( bitch I wasn't about to leave my bag in there , I was reading Naruto manga , wasn't gonna let Gaara burn ) - Waged a brutal three day war over the proper pronunciation of Neji Hyuuga's name with my friend , I won when she actually googled it - Got caught drawing kunai knives and shuriken , convinced math teacher they were not in fact pagan Satanic symbols but instead symbols of a noble ancient tradition I was studying ( I mean technically the art of ninjutsu is noble yeah ?) - Got out of most physical activity in PE because I had a severe asthma attack once in front of the coach and she thought I was gonna die right then, so from then on I got babied - Had to put up with a super bitchy teacher in Home Ec who WOULD NOT LET ME WEAR MY GLASSES, she claimed I was being a lazy attention seeker I proceeded to become EXACTLY that just to spite her , and despite my reporting her rude treatment of me ( including constantly making me redo my assignments , making comments on my health , weight, and appearance, and criticizing my voice ???) the school board did nothing. So I became Mrs. Smith's worst nightmare ( because of this bitch my vision got like ten percent worse over two years when before it's only been like half a percent worse ) I would pass in tests with snarky answers , blatantly call her out on her shit ( I was the only kid in class with glasses so she was clearly ostracizing me ) and made a huge nuisance of myself. For 4 years I was a waking nightmare to her , and she had no choice but to pass me or risk another year of my pettiness I stole about 97 pens from her desk over the years and i still have all of them. The worst thing this bitch did was pay a guy to take me to prom my junior year because she thought I was too ugly to get a date Thanks for ruining my prom you bitch 8th Grade - Smuggled food into science class constantly, ran a successful food trade for months with no consequences - Bought cookies from a school club , then resold them for cheap and made bank before I got caught - Ran a thrift store out of my locker , I'd have new stuff to sell each week and I made a decent amount and never got caught -Helped a friend smuggle her dog out of school ( her Pomeranian had hidden in her backpack ) 9th Grade- - Convinced a sub I was the sole heir to the Lithuanian Amber industry and was thus foreign high society, resulting the sub being afraid to upset me or deny my demands " Can we have a pizza party?" " I don't know .. " " That's too bad , my father's company pays well , and I'd gave given you a priceless antique. But if you don't want to buy amber, or have any kind of method of travel through Europe .....I suppose it's up to you . " - Convinced another sub that I was allergic to water from 'unclean sources' and thus was allowed a water bottle of spring water in class - Accidentally convinced a teacher my brother and I were twins ( I call him twin jokingly a lot ) and thus we were referred to as such ( we were the odd twins since my brother is freakishly tall and I'm barely bigger than a hobbit) 10th Grade - Became the 'Anonymous' of my school by writing " The revolution has begun , join us or be undone " in places all over the school ( the inside top of lockers , under bench seats , the auditorium break room , anywhere I was left unsupervised pretty much ) This resulted in a bunch of other kids picking up on the bit and copying it ( I only started it because I read The Schwa Was Here and it was a fun read and in the end this kid starts a graffiti trend and I wanted to try it ) - Got nicknamed " Gaara " because of my temper and the fact I had two siblings similar to his ( but I'm the oldest so I should be Temari but whatever I like Gaara most anyway ) - Bullshitted my way thorough math by googling answers in secret - Avoided driver's ed because I had such severe anxiety and somehow the school never told my dad I wasn't going - Got nicknamed Zuko in drama class because of my tendency to blow up over little things / rant about my father - WAS CALLED NICO IN ENGLISH BECAUSE MY ENGLISH TEACHER THOUGHT WE HAD THE SAME ATTITUDE ( I mean he was right we're both gay depressed angst storms ) 11th grade - Made my U.S. Marine drama coach weep when I performed a monologue I wrote about the loss of my mother and how it shaped my life , he hugged me afterwards and made me swear to someday perform that monologue on Broadway ( oh my god I would love to do that ????) ( I can post it if you want ) - Wrote a story in English class that resulted in the teacher coming up to me and demanding I make a book series with tears in his eyes He wrote in my yearbook " If you never become a published author I will hunt you down and gently slap you with a single cooked spaghetti noodle " -wore pajama pants often enough that teachers just ignored it after awhile and so everyone started doing it - rebell

tl;dr- saints row hawke family au. bethany amell sends fanmail to a rising gang warlord to cope with a shitty personal life, jasper hawke continues searching for a connection to his estranged baby sister

the first postcard arrives shortly after he takes stilwater for the second time, penned in an unsteady cursive slope: “dear mister jasper hawke,” the blue loops eventually align themselves to read, “i have a homework assignment today to write a letter to my hero. i think i am supposed to pick gandhi or my mother, but i picked you instead because it would make both of them mad. how are you? i am annoyed and twelve and will get a c on this because you are a bad influence. don't tell my mom.”

he gives a soft huff of a laugh and sets the card on his desk, on top of a stack of takeout menus, movie ticket stubs, and old post-it reminders. after a couple weeks it’s joined by another card in the same wandering handwriting, “dear mister jasper, are you really as tall as you look on tv? have you always been that tall? i’m almost thirteen and i can still fit my fourth grade clothes. i think if i stood next to you i would only be as tall as your elbow maybe”

on the same schedule, a third. “dear mister jasper, we did family trees today in history. it took the teacher almost the entire class time to figure out i was making everything up. i probably shouldn’t have said that my dad is in witness protection because he witnessed a brutal murder. i got a b though”

“dear mister jasper, i hope you had a nice day today. i wonder if that would involve more explosions than normal for you or less?”

“dear mister jasper, the girl beside me in language arts copied off my test and told the teacher i cheated off of her. i got a 0, so i punched her in the nose the way i saw you do to a reporter in an interview last week. i think you would be proud of me. mom wasn’t” he does, in fact, feel a small swell of pride at this nameless kid standing up for themselves, as he shelves this card with the rest, under a tabloid clipping proclaiming ‘leandra amell’s out-of-control daughter suspended- again! jazz icon refuses to comment on preteen’s violent rampage’

“dear mister jasper, i heard my favorite song on the radio and wondered if my dad was listening to it too”

“dear mister jasper, mom visited the school today and gave a speech about following your dreams, and made me stand up and sing to demonstrate a point. i didn't get swallowed up by the earth, so i can't say i'm following my dreams”

“dear mister jasper, do you ever get scared of things? i have a math test tomorrow and if i get three wrong then my gpa will drop and i won’t get into the college mom wants. i’m also scared of eels. they’re creepy”

only a few days later comes the apparent follow-up, “dear mister jasper, do gangsters accept apprentices like in hogwarts? or maybe interns? i think i could be a good intern even though i don’t know what interns do. my report cards say i’m a fast learner”

“dear mister jasper, it was my birthday today. my roommate gave me fuzzy socks that her cousin sent her for her birthday last month and a card made from notebook paper. mom sent her love. at least i think she did. she didn’t say anything to me”

“dear mister jasper, today i saw a young mom with a baby and i wanted to ask her when she would get bored of it and put it in a boarding school. i couldn’t leave my field trip group though. we were at the art museum. it was nice”

“dear mister jasper, i tried to draw the saints logo. i think i did a good job on the shading. i want you to have it, and only a little bit because i already got in trouble for having a saints t-shirt” he pins the lopsided fleur-de-lis, carefully lined in glittery purple gel pen, to the wall above the desk

“dear mister jasper, my teacher wants us to write a letter to our dads for fathers day. i think you are more fun and would probably be a better dad than whoever my dad is. mom never tells me when i ask”

“dear mister jasper, mom had a party today and made me play a song for everyone. i wrote it myself and they all said it sounded nice. i will tell you a secret though: the lyrics are in italian i learned from the exchange student across the hall and they’re about telling my mom to sit on a cactus. among other things. it makes it easier to smile in front of everyone”

“dear mister jasper, you ran away from your home when you became a saint, right? how did you know where to go? or when to leave? were you afraid? did you pack a lot? the documentary i watched said you only had a dog, a gun and a hundred dollars. i don’t know if i think that is true but i have a stuffed cow, a pair of scissors, and fourteen dollars and seventy-three cents”

“i think i know where this is going and i don’t like it one bit, kid. wish you would put a return address that didn’t come out to some random fast food joint for once...” he mutters into his drink

sure enough, the next postcard comes, “dear mister jasper, i am leaving today to find a new family. i hope yours makes you happy”

he gives a grim sigh and sets it with the others. the next day the gas station newspaper stand shouts to anyone who will look down that bethany amell has been reported missing. ice crystals grow along his ribs and the small part of him that still believes in higher powers prays for more cards to come. it’s a full three weeks before he shuffles through his daily mail to find a familiar looping scrawl,

"dear mister jasper, i wonder if you got scared when new strangers cared more than old family. did you feel guilty, too?"

another several cards come through over time, narrating in brief a journey across half the country that- to his dismay- mirror the one he’d taken himself almost five years earlier. the kid moves in a wide arc around stilwater, though, wandering aimlessly and getting wrapped up in more obscure gangs

at length, ‘the kid’ starts to confirm their identity

"dear mister jasper hawke, she said i abandoned her on tv today. didn't expect that to feel like i got shot again"

he vaguely remembers hearing something like that, possibly from leandra- one of the other saints had an interview on the tv in the other room while he was trying and failing to take a nap. maybe it was her, maybe it was some other woman. either way, he thinks, if he ever meets this kid in person he’s taking custody on the spot

"dear mister jasper hawke, she always told me not to cry about my problems if it doesn't change anything. is it dumb that i keep writing these? i know she's right, but there's no one else to tell"

"dear mister jasper hawke, it's my birthday today. saw on the tv that she has a dog now. she takes it everywhere. i hope it gets taken away"

he distinctly remembers flipping through a checkout-line magazine and passing over a picture of leandra with a purse dog. one of the hairless glorified rats with a toupee of wispy white fur, sticking its head out from under her arm and staring directly into the camera with soulless beady eyes

with every new hint that drops, he doubles down on efforts to pinning down just where bethany is and who she’s running with. it takes months- she’s clever enough to stay out of the spotlight, smarter than he’d been. she wouldn’t be going and getting herself put on a bomb-rigged yacht anytime soon. eventually, though, a heist goes sour, her so-called new family leaves her to take the fall, and she lands herself squarely in the county jail

never one to pass up an opportunity, he pens a letter of his own, one that’s been building up in the back of his mind for almost three years

nothing fancy, there’s no earth-shattering revelations like ‘hey i think you’re my long-lost baby sister’ or ‘you had two dads and two older siblings and a twin and your asshole mother took you away from all of them because she was a selfish bitch’ or ‘if you’ve ever had an inexplicable craving for apple pie on your birthday it’s because our family has always celebrated with pie instead of cake’. just a constructed persona letting her know that she has someone watching out for her. that she’s not nearly as alone as she feels.

it’s a good month before the next postcard arrives. “dear mister jasper, i think i got punk’d by jehova’s witnesses. also state-funded cafeterias are terrible. i’m pretty sure you already knew that though”

he pins that one to the wall after a good laugh and immediately sits down to fire back, “dear miss bethany, i’m not religious. try again”

"dear mister jasper, i am impressed and mildly concerned. did stilwater have a slow week, or did you hire a private detective to read your fan mail"

"dear miss bethany, you’d be surprised how much free time there is at my job. got a lot of underlings, now, who i can just delegate to. besides, detectives charge too much and take too long to do their work"

they trade postcards back and forth for a short bit before a lengthy silence follows his last response. eventually she turns up again, in a new city, flying new colors.

"dear mister jasper, a girl kissed me today. when she asked me if it was okay, i panicked and left without a word"

"dear miss bethany, it happens. i did the same thing. she'll probably be okay with if it you explain to her, or you can leave it and move on. both work" this one he sends in an envelope, with $50 and an extra note- "i know staying on your feet on your own is hard. if you feel like it, come find me someday"

she doesn’t, although they keep talking anyways. it’s another two years before the subject comes up again, this time from bethany, in a scrawled card that reads only,

“think i’ll take you up on that offer soon”

Blog #9

Good afternoon everyone! I hope everyone has had an awesome week so far. I enjoyed both readings assignments for this week. The first reading assignment entitled, “All Writing Is Autobiography by Donald M. Murray was really captivating because it he was so raw and honest with his audience. He openly discussed the topic of death and his perception of growing old. I enjoy talking to older people and listening to their life experiences. I appreciated the honesty of Mr. Donald Murray as he shared how being over sixty had its freedoms with a “deeper appreciation of life” but also “brings with increasing frequency, such terrible responsibilities as sitting with the dying.” It was so interesting to me how I think of life and death often but never really thought about sitting with dying people as a responsibility. My grandmother told me earlier this week her neighbor passed away and nobody knew for over a week. The topic of death was already on my mind because of what she told me and reading this article made me think of it in a different perspective. In many ways, it is our responsibility to be there for our loved ones and sometimes we get busy and forget to be there for them.

In the same reading assignment Murray quoted Don DeLillo'S and wrote "I think after a while, a writer can begin to know himself through his language. He sees someone or something reflected back at him from these constructions.” I strongly believe that statement was true. I have analyzed my writing style more than even before because of this course and see myself in my writing styles. I also noticed a big difference in the way I write compared to others in this course with our blog posts on Tumblr.

The second reading assignment this week was “Taking Flight: Connecting Inner and Outer Realities during Invention” by Susan E. Antlitz. I tried The Two Wings Exercise and the Random Words Exercise. The Random Words Exercise was difficult because thre were words I just could not connect like “litter” and “utilities.” Susan Antlitz offered several creative ideas to help think of topics and issues to address. I was kind of impressed when a stone she collected made her think of a night at a beach with silvery waves. Looking at a rock has never made me think of a beach or anything of the sort. I feel encouraged to slow down, take a closer look at everyday things, and allow myself to be inspired instead of always being on the go 100 mph. The rock moved Susan to PAINT. When was the last time you felt that inspired? For me, the last time I felt inspired to paint anything was before this semester started.

The anxiety portion of the second reading assignment helped too. I laughed a little when the article said, “Staying positive gives you the best chance of doing your best. So, imagine an audience that will be delighted with everything and anything you write.” Inside I’m praying our Professor will be delighted with everything and anything I include in my Invention Journal.

 Best wishes to everyone! Hope everyone has a high grade in this course so far. Have a great weekend! Only one more month... we can do this!