#my dad made this joke and told me to post it online to make people laugh | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

winndycakes · 2 months

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I did not wish to make this, I do not wish to bring bad light to others, so I am doing everything I can in this statement to keep it as vague as possible to grant others the same privacy I should have. But because my privacy was not respected I have no choice but to come forward with this.

If you know what I am talking about, then this is my side of things. If you don't know what I am talking about, then please move on.

(Also to note, I realize what day I am posting this on. This is absolutely NOT a joke.)

To preface this. My dad died suddenly Feb 26th. I cannot begin to detail what it feels like to lose him, after I've lost many others, to try and handle my emotions and grief while also handling the logistics of his belongings and estate, all this while having to write this on top of it. If I come across as intense, this is why.

I was in a discord server when it first opened. I dedicated a lot of time, energy, art and passion to it. I was even a mod at one point but stepped down due to my own reasons.

While there, we had an anonymous survey posted to gather information from the community about the server, what we could do to improve, what was liked and so on. Instead, some used it as a means to anonymously complain about members. I was a target of these complaints.

A quick note. This server was made within a community that has suffered MANY hardships due to anons. Keep this in mind.

One of the rules is that if you have a personal grievance with another member, to try to resolve it through DMs before coming to a mod or to even send in a ticket.

I must be clear; I was NEVER DMed by anyone how I made them uncomfortable. Not once. Nor were these complaints directly messaged to the mods. This was all through the survey (I will touch up more on this later).

I and other staff/mods that used to be on the team suggested we remove the anonymity. It's too risky for it to be abused, because as noted earlier, this community has suffered a lot through abuse from anons. This suggestion was ignored.

Now, I suppose I should say what the complaints were about. I was told I made others uncomfortable due to, and I am paraphrasing here; "talking over others, redirecting conversations back to myself and my ocs, and making too many jokes and insults about characters."

I will also say. I am autistic. What was mentioned are signs of someone with autism. My dad was autistic. I do not bring this up to deflect or excuse anything, merely to give further context.

I want to explain a bit of my process when I interact with others, in this case especially pertaining to an online space.

When I am talking with someone, anyone, I try to be as inclusive and welcoming as I can be. Saying hello, how they’re doing, that sort of thing. But a conversation is a two way street. If I don’t get a reply or any sort of means to keep the conversation going, I move on. That’s just… how talking goes. I can get very passionate in talking to folks, especially friends and things in line with my interests. It’s hard for me to notice if folks are uncomfortable in person, online it is impossible to tell. I need people to tell me directly if I am doing something uncomfortable and what it is, and if I can fix it.

My process for ocs is this: I see someone talking about their oc, they say something that reminds me of one of mine, then I share my oc. This is not to direct the conversation to me, but to share in it, it is in conjunction. I want to learn more of yours and I do that best by sharing mine. I cannot know if this isn't what you want if I am not told. And I wasn't.

I like to make jokes about characters, analyze them, critique them. I try to do this in a way that makes it clear this isn't an insult to those who like the character(s). But again, I need to be told directly by someone if I need to stop or tone it down. I would only be told sparingly by folks, and when I would, of course I'd stop, do my best to tone it down. But again, I was rarely told directly by people.

What is being described as my crimes are simply the experience of being autistic.

I cannot control it. I cannot stop it. I try to be as inclusive, warm and welcoming to all I come across. You do not HAVE to like me. But if you don't, just ignore me. You HAVE to learn to ignore people who you just… don't like. You have to learn to ignore pet peeves or to reasonably talk to the person. That's life.

So, when I received the above message, I was furious. I was at my dad’s apartment, cleaning out his stuff, and dealing with some harrowing emotions when I got this. I responded that getting this was extremely poor timing and yes, I was angry. But the one who sent this KNEW my dad died. They had seen me post about it, they acknowledged it, and still decided to message me. Who wouldn’t be angry?

Because of what I had been messaged, and the timing, I had decided to go to the owner of the server. I did not feel like it was appropriate for a mod, any mod, to message me about something that is a personal issue that folks should have messaged me themselves (and again, it is listed in the rules that things SHOULD be talked out privately between members before a mod gets involved), in a time that has been hell on earth for me.

I explained to the server owner what all happened with my feelings on the matter. I said that regardless, I would leave the server, because this was something that no one, absolutely no one, should experience. I requested for anything I contributed to the server to be removed, for I no longer felt comfortable for folks to use my art who could be the very same ones pettily using an anonymous survey to speak ill of me. So I sent my message, waited, and got a response.

I do not have anything against the server owner, but there are a few things that I must address with their response as well, because some are factually incorrect. There is full admittance to the complaints received through the anonymous survey, most recently at that. This goes counter to the rules stated that members should resolve private disputes amongst themselves first. (Again please note the screenshots of the rules.)

While perhaps not all of the mods knew of my dad’s passing, but enough DID that they should have known better. I posted briefly in the server in a slow thread so it could be better seen by people, including the mods. I had posted on tumblr as well. But the claim is no one saw it.

Again. This is just not true. Look to the above screenshots.

I do not have a screenshot of when I had sent the message initially in the server of my dad’s passing (I apologize for this), but the point being is that people knew. Another member messaged me in DMs to give their condolences. While I am and have been open about his passing, I also tried my best to not talk too much about it in the server as to bring down the mood, and I sought out the server and talked there as a source of comfort. Saying this was not clear to anyone, is false.

Now, I am sorry that I made people uncomfortable, it was never my intention to, and I will take fault in that. That isn’t what I mean to address in all this. The issue is; if people were uncomfortable, they needed to follow the rules and come to me DIRECTLY stating such, NOT give these complaints through an anonymous survey. And that I should NOT have been told during such an awful period. How can I take this at face value when I am not offered the same?

I wish to point out as well, why I kept bringing up the anonymous survey, and to bring back a note I made earlier.

There is a great deal of falsehood in using an anonymous survey to gather information, when this community has experienced a lot of hardship from anons. I have seen many people torn down and even chased out of this community and others because of people hiding behind anon. Creators, fans, and yes members, mods and even the server owner have all been victim to negativity from anons.

Now, I also must bring attention to this.

This is a screenshot I was sent of another mod posting, after I left. This is ABSOLUTELY NOT OKAY. This is why I feel the need to make this statement. Giving details like this is completely unnecessary, and with this said after I left is unacceptable.

I am sorry to be redundant, but I truly am sorry if I ever did make people uncomfortable. All I wanted to do was to make friends and share in the joy in creating art and characters with others. To share space in a community with something I truly found enjoyable. It’s why I’d get enthusiastic whenever OC’s were brought up and I’d share mine. I also wanted to share joy in the topic of the server, and yes some of that for me IS making jokes about characters or even giving critique.

I am not saying any of this to bad mouth or slander anyone. I say all of this to express my side of things. Someone who is grieving the loss of their dad, and so many others who came before him that are making me remember now because of his passing.

#winndy serious

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thrudgelmir2333 · 3 months

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"No Saints in Peace Times" - The Continuity of Sanctuary in Masami Kurumada's Writing

When you ask the question "Are there Saints in Sanctuary when there is no Holy War?" are you really asking just that? This is another Reddit-inspired post. I like doing these. Sometimes people actually do ask interesting questions about the Saint Seiya franchise that I like musing on, I just don't put all my thoughts into a response there cause Reddit in general isn't the best platform for essays. I also often get the feeling that this kind of 'overthinking' is frowned upon in that site. Recently someone was very surprised that I made a pot joke in response to a post about a weirdly colored frame of a character, like they expect me to write essays about the most minute things. I can only imagine because, to a lot of people, answering questions online is about posturing and signaling allegiences and not really having human thoughts about something that interests you. Someone asked on R/SaintSeiya if there are Saints operating in Sanctuary between Holy Wars. You know, if they stick around during those 240-year-long periods when Hades is sealed up and the "cameras are off". And I think it is an interesting question because, again, it's one of those lost world-building opportunities that Kurumada just kind of let the other authors who made the spin-off mangas answer for him. At least in story-telling, you know? As opposed to when he has one of those interviews where he thoughtlessly 'expands' on his story's lore, like when he told people that "Cosmos makes you have eternal youth" or that Gold Saint Cosmos had midlochlorians (or maybe that's just some kind of trauma memory from something else just as stupid he has suggested about his own characters)

This post is sort of going to be about all of that. Get ready for it to be long btw. (don't worry, I threw in a couple of images)

Fertility in World-Building

When people have asked me why I chose to write in Saint Seiya when I have such nasty things to say about it, I always say the same thing.

It's because it's a pretty damn fertile world.

Yes, it's fertilisers comes straight out of Masami Kurumada's ass, but hey, produce is produce.

Again, you don't come up with 2.1 million words (so far) to say about it without there being something special about what Kurumada has done. However, I want to draw an important distinction between that being the merit of his work or the merit of his lack of it. It's not so much that this incredible tree of ideas has been planted in it, but more so that it covers so much fucking ground in terms of creative landscapes, that it can't help BUT be fertile.

Think about it for a second; in Saint Seiya, just conceptually, there is Greek mythology, alchemy, weird Muvian people, Shinto and Buddhist influences from Kurumada's martial artist background (one of his few helpful contributions), Japanese corporatism, mistreated orphans, bizarre technology, power suits and an overall fusion of east and west that is found in the best world-built stories like One Piece.

And this without getting to the astrology.

Right! This is so my dad, I swear!

Wait, what? But that's the same as...

I have friends that love astrology. I have friends that call themselves astrologists. Proudly, so. I myself have a bit of a fascination with it.

But holy shit, is there a bigger field for personal speculation than astrology? This topic is so abstract, based on symbolism and subject to cultural backgrounds that it is the backbone of countless conspiracy theories, religions and lores. Not to mention a synonym for that horrible news-channel commentary-segment culture that now plagues everything from sports to politics.

Which is to say you can basically make up shit about any constellation and chances are people will just accept what you say. You can take astrology and pretty much say anything you want about what it means for Mars to be shining brighter and everyone even remotely interested will take you for your word.

In writing, astrology is the perfect vehicle to create a sense of instant spiritual meaning to your characters' designs and actions. It's like salt; you add just enough of it to the pot and even the most horrible cooking will suddenly seem 'ok'.

And this is all because astrology ultimately has a paradox inherent to it; that its simultaneously the most powerful force in the universe, capable of controlling our destinies all across the distant reaches of the universe, while also being the subtlest and most imperceptible one. My chances of winning the lottery are virtually zero, but that's okay, because it's the month of my Zodiac, so my 'luck' is unusually high. I am BOUND to get something. Right? Good luck proving me wrong.

It's religious thinking. It inflames the senses and gives us a sense that there is order to the chaos, all while making itself unfalsifiable. It's no surprise Saint Seiya is especially popular in societies still culturally tied to their religious rituals, even if abstractly, like Brazil and France.

So when you combine it with all those other elements I mentioned, it makes it so that the world of Saint Seiya has this unusually high potential. You can tell stories about technology, society, struggles between genders, the battle of what beauty means and epic accounts of wars against the Gods, all in one setting. So long as you have the right creative person at the helm.

Right.

What all these elements show is that there is no mystery to Saint Seiya's success. It had all the right ingredients after all. It just needed to be stirred right by someone in the position to do so. But once you capture that initial success, then comes the time to invest on it, to see it to term.

Kurumada, the Idea

So, to answer this question, let's talk about the writer for a moment (or two). Masami Kurumada is sort of a fascinating example of a mangaka. I'm a bit obsessed with the guy. He's one of those creatives that have birthed an enrapturing world out of their minds, like Athena sprung out of Zeus' head, and then just catastrophically failed to understand its meaning, implications or potential, like George Lucas or the Wizard Lady. But Kurumada is also one of the most confounding examples of it, because, as is typical of mangakas, not much is known or understood in the West of what kind of guy he is, or even what kind of creative person. This is just a reality about understanding the people who write and draw mangakas because, not only do they live in a pretty quiet society, socially speaking, usually with their own local social medias to boot, but they themselves typically are the quieter type of people. You know, the artists and the nerds.

So on top of the interpretative ambiguity that goofy characters like George Lucas inspire, there is this added layer of fog around Kurumada, especially in the West. You can make up all sorts of shit about what he might have said or done and chances are you will have reasonable plausability to believe it, or find it a positive or negative.

As a result, if you look up Kurumada and his career, at least through English sources, you'll find that a lot of the writing done about it is by fans. And as a result, it looks unprofessional at best and hegiographic at worst. Conversation about his life in social media dedicated to Saint Seiya carries this weird casual fanboy tone to it, describing his art style in an odd, opinionated way that doesn't exactly scream objectivity.

This, I know, is because to the eyes of people unimpressed by Kurumada, he's not worth writing about, which leaves the fans a bit of a monopoly in the practice of documenting the guy.

Why, just relatively recently, someone circulated a story on R/SaintSeiya that Kurumada not only got into a lot of fights, but pretty much badgered his way into Shueisha to get him his job. The post paints it as an act of badassery, like Kurumada was this confident guy who refused to accept that he got the boot from destiny, much like Seiya and many of his other protagonists when they affront their gods with their heroic defiance. The story is based on a blogpost celebrating Kurumada's 50th birthday with a thorough account of his life that is arguably better than anything in wikipedia, but still very flattering (more on that below) Here's the source paragraph for the Reddit thread's statements:

A sober account of events

You could read this very normal account as the story of Kurumada imposing himself into the mangaka industry with his sheer chadness, as the Redditer did.

OR, you could read it more as an editor feeling sorry for a very passionate artist and giving him a starting shot at the studio. Something he didn't even earn, if the aforementioned contest results are to be believed. Which is far more realistic, but less flattering to the 'idea of Kurumada'.

Ah, the ancient times! When animators could just force their way into animation and comic book studios, sleep at their desks and just be allowed to keep working for these companies! Or accost Walt Disney in the street and demand a job after shoving your dossier of animations in their faces. Or in Kurumada's case, 'showing your gumption'.

This is why you should always be very careful reading accounts of people's lives, especially in 'commemorative' pieces, and especially if they're done by fans. These things are usually more akin to publicity stunts than they are to legitimate documentation. More often than not they are vague and inform their tone with their pre-existing intentions.

However, this sort of lame deitification isn't limited to random social media posts. Here's an example talking about the way Kurumada draws from Wikipedia, the wiki everyone can edit. And yes, this was actually written in a site that is supposed to be about objective documentation:

Transcript of Kurumada Fanboying, found in the Wiki everyone can edit.

I want to make clear that despite my cynicism, whoever edited this page obviously had good intentions in mind. I'm sure they are wonderful people. It takes gumption to volunteer to do this sort of stuff, to borrow a term.

But this is just shit wiki work. I don't need to tell you that describing someone's artstyle as "sometimes can seem rough, but his improvement can be seen when comparing old works to new" isn't so much an objective description of the facts, but more so a subjective, insecure evaluation from someone clearly acting as a lawyer to Kurumada's work. On what's supposed to be the world's biggest online reference book. Hence the "citation needed". And some wonder why the franchise's wikis are equally filled with personal commentary on the show and its characters. People don't just put those up to annoy rival wikipedia editors, it's to point out they've done a shit research compilation in what's supposed to be a reliable source of information about someone. And discussion about Kurumada, not just his wikipedia page, is usually riddled with hegiographic tones, where he's described as someone "who has influenced the greatest names in manga today" or "once competed with the greatest". But it doesn't end there.

Seen above; paragraph of barely-conceiled speculation in Wikipedia, the wiki anyone can edit

I don't know about you, but half this stuff feels like a loose collection of 'impressions' of what's going on, based on uncited sources and a wonky timeline of events. It sounds less like a careful description of events, and more of an opinionated online article about the rise and fall of an industry artist's works.

This is, again, because a lot of the talking about Kurumada in the West is done by the fans of the height of his career. You're not going to find the name of a man born in the 50s who drew cartoons in the 70s and 80s in the mouths of people who acquired their taste in media in the 2000s. And that's okay. But if you care so much about it, you know, do a bit of a better job filtering what's factual from what isn't. It's not that hard!

Cause otherwise you get weirdos on Reddit who legitimately think that the only reason Saint Seiya isn't more successful is because 'It got screwed by the network' or that Kurumada is some kind of chad for basically pulling ahead of a bunch of other artists that did better work than he did. And then whine about why he can't compete in people's minds with Dragon Ball.

Usually, if you want accurate, unbiased information on what kind of guy Kurumada is, you need to go straight to the source; the man himself. Funnily enough, the only stuff you can find cited in Wikipedia about Kurumada is stuff describing things he's said in interviews or statements about organisations he's worked under, etc

Now, Kurumada is an award-winning mangaka. There's no doubt about his success and impact. Most of us will never seen even one percent of the triumph in life he has acquired, and that means something. The guy is referenced throughout anime, his characters have been used as templates for other great mangakas works (see my post about how Ikki may have influenced characters like Byakuya in Bleach) and many have cited him as an inspiration for their own careers in art, from mangas to cinema.

Poster Kurumada has made for the 2010 Movie "Clash of the Titans". Kurumada was contacted by Warner Brothers at the time to collaborate with Louis Leterrier's movie remake. Louis himself has stated Kurumada was an influence in his work

I mean, you don't get at least 4 other mangakas to write stories set in your world if you don't have some kind of talent, right? Look at all the people whose minds Kurumada has impacted! Perhaps the hegiographic descriptions are a bit much, but there's a root to why they are written?

This world that Kurumada has conceived must be wonderful to delve into, if it has seen so much success and praise. Surely when we dive into the matter, we will find depthful characters, a personal story of a hero Kurumada wanted to talk about and a setting where characters have multiple dimensions to them? We will surely find an answer to "Are there Saints in Sanctuary when there's no Holy War?"

Yeah...

Well, it's complicated.

The Writing of Kurumada

For those of you who don't know me very well, I write.

I'm not saying that as some kind of statement as to why my opinion is more valid, just to explain why this topic might be important to me.

I'm also not saying that I love writing. As someone once said:

So wise. Someone should put this in hyeroglyphs or something, seriously.

So what do I care about writing if I hate it? Well, this is because there is a difference between you loving something, and something being important to you. You can revolve your life about something that is important to you and still... ----ing... hate doing it. And how limited it is to conveying your thoughts and feelings.

That being said, it does put me in the weird position where I don't really respect any kind of laziness in writing and world-building, because if I was able to spend the last decade of my life writing 2.1 Million words for a franchise I don't even respect,... then someone else not even bothering to do proper world-building and yet being in some kind of position of authority over commenting on it does drive me a bit up the wall.

And, twist, Kurumada's 'world building' drives me up the fucking Wailing Wall. I can see Elysium from how high he drives me.

And no, I don't mean just the recent stuff.

On that topic, for those of you who don't know, Masami Kurumada, in the style of such respectable peers as George Lucas and the Wizard Lady, has spent the last 20-30 years of his life simultaneously not giving a shit about their Magnum Opus and interfering with it in the dumbest ways possible. From revealing that Saga has always just secretly been a "Force Baby" in the same manner as Anakin Skywalker, to stating that the reason Shion lives so long is because "Cosmos is just that convenient that it gives you a long life", Kuru seems to be on a mission to ruin the depth of his world with these milktoast, pandering concepts.

In my opinion, however, the problem stems from much further back, right to the early days of Saint Seiya. Could the signs of his lack-of-shit-given be there from the start? Let's investigate.

And what better place to start than the 50th anniversary account that the earlier Reddit post mentioned? It was so thorough, after all. And it's bound to portray him in a positive light.

Oh.

So the whole thing was an act of spite?

Don't worry, it gets worse.

Uh-uh... okay...

Wait, lol, what?

So... he just recycled a bunch of his own old ideas together?

It shouldn't? Why not?! lol

OH, so it's not laziness, because the people he's selling these old ideas to haven't read them in his other works??? W O W

So, what you could conclude from this, and allow me to influence your conclusion with my own (just like the commemorative piece above tried to), is that Saint Seiya wasn't conceived because Kurumada wanted to tell a story with rich characters that evolve in a dephful world.

It's because he was MAD his previous ideas didn't work with the public and so he manufactured them all into a friendlier, lazier package. One that he could sell to this dumb-fuck public that didn't like his stories.

And he made his whole success out of it.

Yes, this is the origin of Saint Seiya and its writing. The foundational spirit of the story millions of people love to this day (and that I spent half my life obsessing over). A guy sitting at his desk, conceiving characters for a mangaka he didn't want to make, all to chase an idea of success after basically giving up on his personal projects.

If you're the type, like me, that occasionaly peruses the fandom for stuff to talk about, do me a favor; from now on, if you ever see someone whine on the internet about why Saint Seiya can't compete with modern storytelling, just show them these wonderful nuggets. Show them how petty and selfish the foundational spirit of this tale was, how Kurumada didn't even make personal decisions on who should win the galaxian tournament rounds. How he left it to reader surveys, because to him, it didn't matter who won, so long as it was the most popular choice.

There was never any message, any curiosity about this world he was creating, any interest in exploring or discovering things in it. It was just a sad, spiteful, last-ditch attempt at success by a mangaka that didnt even earn his spot at Shueisha being gradually pushed out of the market to make it big during an era of relatively low creative competition.

Kurumada: "Oh, they want trash?! I'll give them trash!! I'll give them all the trash they wa- Oh, it's selling how much? I mean, this is a rich world, filled with wonderful characters! Like Saga! Btw, did you know Saga came from space?"

If you're wondering why this franchise has landed in the hands of people who don't care about anything but selling merch, this is it. It's because even the supposed guardian of the story's integrity didn't give a damn. And the worst part of it is that most of the sources detailing all of this treat it like an inspiring story. Because to them, it doesn't mean anything, because Saint Seiya's narrative value, it's depth in writing, is already decided upon by a combination of its success, nostalgia and how shiny the armors look.

Okay, Thrud, what does this have to do with anything? "Are there Saints in Sanctuary when there's no Holy War?" or not?

Don't rush me! I'm getting to it!

The Price for lack of vision

Hopefully now you understand why I started this post with two sections basically dumping on Kurumada's whole career. It's to make the point that he's far, far, far from being the right person to fully capitalise on these successful elements Saint Seiya has in its soup in the long term. Kurumada is a jock that happens to know how to draw, and the anime injected enough catholic fantasy into their adaptation to ensure Latin America would always be a viable market. Masami didn't even have enough confidence in Saint Seiya to pick by his own vision which characters should advance in the story during the first arc of his epic tale!

So imagine trusting someone like that to write compelling, rich story arcs.

Or understand the differences between Dante's Inferno and the Greek myths of hell, or how they collide in storytelling.

Or taking a comment about how Shun is an LGBT symbol without doing something spiteful in return, like giving him a two-chapter girlfriend named after the interviewer's magazine?

Or imagining what Sanctuary is like for its characters when there isn't a Holy War going on?

And speaking of characters, to pull another Reddit post that annoyed me (mostly from how utterly dumb and caveman-spirited it is), some meme-manufacturing dummy only interested in farming karma made the shallow comparison that Shiori's Lost Canvas Gold Saint characters would be a good replacement for Kurumada's characters in his story.

Moments like this make me wish I was Palpatine falling down the well.

There's a lot wrong with this suggestion of swapping the Sanctuary Arc's characters with Lost Canvas, the worst being that Deathmask, of all the characters in Sanctuary Arc, should be replaced by Manigoldo. I'm not going to go in-depth about how terribly that would work, but I just want to show how the person who made the meme is signalling to a culture of people who thinks the quality of characters is measured not by their utility and effectiveness to story arcs, but by weather or not they are 'badass'. In their minds, all Manigoldo really has over Deathmask is that A) he was an antagonist instead of a villain and B) he briefly fought Thanatos, the Death God (and lost). And that's enough for them to be a 'better character'.

But while the post is just something the author thoughtlessly created for the purpose of making a number of community approval go up, it also points towards the fact that there is a generalised insatisfaction in a lot of Saint Seiya fans about its characters. I would posit that a lot of the reason so many gravitate to Lost Canvas (even though Saintia Sho is better imo) as a comparison of "Saint Seiya being done well" is because it was the first to show that Saint Seiya could be capitalised on to create a story a bit more character-driven.

Which is to say Lost Canvas isn't great, just that it's better than what we had at that point.

The truth is, people are passionate about Saint Seiya and they want to see its potential realised, even if for silly, Dragon-Ball-fans-dunked-on-me ways. They want to see their enjoyment of it validated, elevated to cultural relevance. Some of my most popular posts online about Saint Seiya are posts that... accidentally make Saint Seiya seem smarter than it is.

So, when you ask the question "Are there Saints in Sanctuary when there's no Holy War?" are you really asking just that?

Writing-in-Depth

That's a warfare pun.

See, defense-in-depth was a style of battle ordering where you deliberately arranged the outer layers of your army to be weak, so as to lure your enemy to attack deeply into your center, allowing you to surround them from your stronger positions and....

Oh, whatever. You don't care about that.

When people talk about 'hidden depths' in a character, usually they refer to discovering that a seemingly superficial character actually has a compelling motive for their seemingly superficial actions. You observe a character, see them doing something strange routinely, don't pay any attention to it, and then you discover its because someone once told them it made their spouse smile, or something. My favorite example is Senor Pink, from One Piece.

Senor Pink in his natural state, surrounded by fangirls

Senor Pink is a wild character. He dresses like a baby, has a baby suckler, wears sunglasses, works for one of the most ruthless villains in all of One Piece and has a Devil Fruit that lets him swim through land. And he's 100% serious about all of those things. This is not a gag he's pulling. This dude is dedicated to this shtick and god help you if you laugh at it.

He's also one of the most surprising and beloved side characters in all of One Piece, a story celebrated for its character twists and turns.

I'd advise you to read up on him, but not only is the picture above worth a thousand words, but you'd risk spoiling yourself a pretty neat surprise about why Senor Pink is the way he is. I will offer a hint in the image below, though.

One of the few female characters in One Piece that doesn't totally look like either Nami or Robin

The Senor Pink backstory was a pleasant surprise to a lot of people. Many already liked him for his outrageous design and attitude to his job, but it was also unexpected that such a touching story would be told about a guy inserted into one of the most villainous crews in One Piece. All his coworkers and friends are sadists, liars, manipulators, murderers, torturers, bullies and tyrants, but Senor Pink transcended his context as a character and showed a depth no one expected in him, to the point it was almost surprising a guy like him still worked for Donquixote Doflamingo.

This doesn't mean that in order to have depth in your characters you need to trick your audience. It just means that you have to show they are about something a little bit more than just their names and their jobs. We, the audience, assumed limitations on Senor Pink based on superficial context, and then discovered he had the depths of a human being worried about daily life, loved ones and loved things.

That, in turn, helps paint a grander picture that we could potentially expect that out of any character in One Piece, even the most unassuming ones. Eichiro Oda demonstrated that there is no reason to think there haven't been 1000 Senor Pinks throughout the story. Through the depth of its characters, the world building is given depth. Meanwhile;

Saint Seiya characters in the wild, doing their mating call

You wanna know what they're weeping so hard about? You really wanna know? They're crying that they have to go kill Athena during the Hades Arc. See, Hades ressurrected them and... it's a long story okay? What matters is that they are invading Sanctuary as Specters, hereby becoming traitors to their honor as Gold Saints. The honor of their jobs.

They don't even know Saori that well, btw. That guy on the right? His name is Camus. He's never even MET Saori. He doesn't know what she's like, or the speeches of motivation she's given or even who her favorite boy to whip is (Saint Seiya joke, Im sorry if you don't get it).

He just knows she is Athena. So he cries. Which is to say Camus cries because he's a Gold Saint and so he's supposed to. Not because Saori means something special to him personally. Camus has never stated anything about himself that indicates he gives two shits about anything other than moralising Hyoga for...

...for crying about his mom? Wait, what? Isn't that sort of what he's doing here?

Wait, what's going on here?! Why is Kurumada's writing like this?!

This, my friends, is where we get to the point of this Thrumblr post.

Are there Saints in Sanctuary during Peace?

So, "are there Saints in Sanctuary outside of Holy Wars?"

What I believe the reddit poster was asking, in a small way, was if there is a world beyond what we are shown in the cartoon that Kurumada has envisioned? Does the writing of Saint Seiya, or even of its spin offs, thread towards an unseen dimension, a hidden world-building depth, that we can all be confident in?

Does the story of these characters continue once the curtain closes on Saga's reign, or Julian Solo's rampage? Or does it all blink into the next conflict?

This question speaks to matters of temporal permanence of ideas in a story, of course, of consistency. In a way it's a test to wether or not its worth looking into the story a bit deeper for greater meaning, or a personal message from the author. Is the story smarter than it looks? Does this imaginary world keep on spinning after the camera cuts to black? I'm afraid to say, no. It doesn't.

Not in the minds of its writers anyway.

Obviously there is continuity the technical way, because it makes sense to be, but it doesn't exist in any imagined or thought-out sense, which is the most important. It all just passes by like Harry Potter's summers at the Dursleys.

This is because the world of Saint Seiya doesn't know what its characters are other than action pieces IN holy wars. They are power rangers, going from episode to episode, battle to battle, uninterrupted. While the occasional moment of break exists, there is no 'living' in piece. We aren't shown what these characters are or what lives they've lived when they're not, because they were imagined by someone who never intended to 'create a world'.

Tragically, even Shiryu, the best character in the franchise, only has a simple farmer life with Shunrei in rural china to look forward to. Not that we're shown a whole lot of it, of course. This, obviously, before he gets called back to do his duty.

Go to her, Shiryu! Go to "Sunrei", whoever she is! Leave this shit-show behind!

In One Piece, we can imagine what happens in the entire world while Luffy and his crew battle Kaido in Wano for a year. We picture gears turning and characters moving because, countless times, Oda, who is passionate about his world, has shown us in side stories and catch-up chapters what they have been up to, and the impact it all had in the main characters without them even realising it. Meanwhile, Kurumada had an entire storyline of Shun being Hades' vessel and ikki failing to rescue him, and neither character got to exchange a serious conversation of confrontation later when met with Hades personally. It's like it didn't even matter to them, or that it didn't happen, because the whole thing was just a temporary fancy in the author's head.

There's no continuity to things, no permanence of objects. Things happen, but they then don't continue or matter. Characters rise and fall like the passing of the tides, barely making a dent in our memory.

At the end of every arc, when Saori and her Saints pose to the camera and it all fades to black, the world ceases to, indeed, exist. Sanctuary dies. It disappears from the imagination and lives no life until the curtains reopen. An absent of war in the characters lives means an absence of meaning, of pertinence, of life and character and depth.

There are no Saints in peace times.

Thrudgelmir2333

Post Scriptum

Now, there could come the day that someone could pose this question to Kurumada. "Kurumada-sensei, are there Saints in Sanctuary between Holy Wars?"

You can already imagine what the answer might be. "Why, yes, of course, and they also hold wrestling tournaments in the style of the greco-romans. Also, have I mentioned that Gold Saints are pre-destined to become so and Aiolia was struck by a Thunderbolt of Zeus when he was a child? What? No, I don't remember who June is."

#saint seiya #masami kurumada #sanctuary #world building #writers on tumblr #character depth

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nemirutami · 1 year

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hi i was curious what fic you were refering to in your minato/akechi art :>??

It's a fic i've been writing on and off for a year now but i havent posted it anywhere yet haha.... unless?

In summary: It's about Akechi finding new work at a company called R.E.I (reliable, experienced, innovative) where Minato is the CEO (and widower) with a child Akechi comes to know as Rei (yep Minato named the company after his daughter). The fic focuses on all 3 influencing each other and helping each other cope/grow from their traumas but is also my biggest excuse to write cute scenes where Akechi gets to have an adopted daughter and be the dad he never got to be (he's terrible at it). If you're wondering "why would Minato hire Akechi" then don't worry. He has a very good reason. Minato hired Akechi because Akechi gave him shitty customer service and Minato took one look at him and said "I can adjust his attitude." now Akechi works for Minato bc he's an idiot. Most the fic is also me writing them comedically stupid and sad and very stupid. Oh, and I guess they kiss maybe. But really it's about broken people building a family w/o knowing. I made the fic as a joke and that's why it can't be named anything other than "Is it wrong to hit on my boss?" I've made a ton of art for it (some which I guess i've already posted alluding to the fic). I did make a cover sketch for it tho! There's a bunch of foreshadowing in the items on display (but it's too sketchy to make out I'm sure).

The 100k part of this fic is already up on patreon but I'm writing/editing the other 100K. So like, uh... 200+ pages of text and 29 chapters so far. In theory, the fic is already finished/has an ending, but I just need to fill in the gaps and tie plot points together.

If you're interested, I'll add the prelude/first chapter below the cut lmfao. It pretty much sets up the premise as tightly as possible in under 2K words. It has not been edited at all so take this abhorrently constructed first draft with no shame. You can judge my noodle words all you want but remember if you say a mean thing I will die.

Title: Is it wrong to hit on my boss?

Pair: Minake

Ch 1: That's not how this was supposed to go.

10 AM on the dot, to no one's surprise, he was flawlessly punctual as usual. Today was too important for missteps, and Akechi had carefully calculated each and every word he was going to use to land this job opportunity with one of Japan's biggest corporations in web development and online advertisement. Having worked at a low paying job for the most part (one with a boss that relentlessly attacked him and tried to convince him that he would amount to nothing, no less) didn’t prepare him for the call he received from R.E.I's founder about a new job opportunity.

Cocky with confidence, he quit his job before the interview.

After all, if this founder somehow went out of his way to request him, he must have done so with good reason.

With his hair tied back neatly into a ponytail and his shirt tucked beneath a more-than-a-little expensive looking business suit, he walked into the lobby, checked in, and got told to take the elevator up to the 3rd floor. He cocked his head curiously at the attendant before turning his gaze towards the elevator. Next to the elevator was a fire extinguisher for emergencies, and a metal plate outlining over 100 floors for the building. Naturally, there had to be some mistake. Floor 1 was considered the lobby, floor 2 was a storage for supplies and spare parts, and floor 3 was where their call center started. Their web developers were a fair bit higher up in the company, which made his directions only more confusing. What was a web developer supposed to do at a call center? While the thought of not having to fake a smile over the phone was comforting, the very image of having to do customer support 7 hours a day for the rest of his life put the fear of God in him.

"Pardon my rudeness, but there m-" Must be some mistake. The old lady at the counter was one step ahead of him and delivered her message with a sharp tone that left Akechi speechless.

"The founder's office is on the third floor," she interrupted her sentence with a huff, "-treat yourself to the coffee upstairs, you're gonna need it." and punctuated it with a dismissive wave of her hand. If more people hadn't entered the building and tried to take care of their own business, Akechi would have asked her to elaborate. But since he now for sure knew he was going to meet the founder, he decided not to make a scene.

"I… see. Thank you for the offer, but I must decline. I'm sure everything will go smoothly." But if they put him in a call center to provide customer support around the clock he was prepared to personally wire that black coffee maker into a homemade bomb and take down the whole building with him. While that thought crossed his mind, he smiled politely at the woman and took the elevator ride up.

Never in his life had he been so confused by a layout. He was aware of the building's size, but this was beyond ridiculous. The hallways almost looked like a maze, with paintings scribbled from wall to wall. Upon closer inspection, they looked like kids drawings. Either this was part of some PR stunt, or the founder was really into bright neon colors. If Akechi didn't hear the man on the other line himself and came here looking for a job, he'd expect to find a kindergarten at the other side of the many doors down the hall. His confidence was dwindling more and more with each step.

Once he reached the door he assumed would take him into the workplace where the founder was seated, he grasped at the handle only to find it locked. He blinked, and twisted the doorknob again, hoping it would open the door. When it didn't, he pulled a little harder until he heard a click from the other side, and noticed that the plate beneath the handle had the word "push" written in caps. Without thinking, he put far too much swing into his movement, and ended up smacking the poor sap on the other side that kindly unlocked the door for him, and the man's coffee poured right onto his suit and onto the floor in a loud mess.

"Ah, sorry!" He would have stayed and apologized properly if he wasn't at risk of running late. "If you give me a minute, I'll be right back and help you clean up!" and he was gone. He could have stayed and helped but chose to prioritize the meeting. In the end, that guy was out one cup of coffee and still had a stable income, whereas missing out on this interview might cost Akechi not only his career, but his livelihood. If this went south, he could wind up homeless. Unless he begged for his old job back.

No, the chill of winter would be less humiliating than going back on his hands and knees to the boss that not only demeaned him, but continuously plagiarized his work for his own benefit.

"Hewoo," In the midst of his early mid-twenties crisis, a soft voice spoke to him, but the only people he spotted were already head-deep in work. Another faint cry, this one, a bit more shy.

"Heo…" he turned his head down, and spotted a tiny girl hiding beneath a desk with her fist against her lips and her knees up to her chest. She looked about four years old, short curly hair with a clip-on to keep her bangs out of her eyes. Really, if she hadn't called out to him, he never would have spotted her in those shadows. He stared at her stupidly before turning his head up and asking if anyone brought their daughter to work. The girl shushed him, and got his attention once again.

"M, hidin…"

"Ah," It was too early for a break, but he supposed someone might have taken some time off to call a responsible adult to come pick up their child from work. Still, he couldn't help but smile and crouch next to her, putting one finger over his lips with a whisper. "It's ok, I won't tell anyone." The little girl smiled so wide she was practically squinting.

"Who r u…" He cocked his head slightly. Did she know most of the people on this floor? She spoke as if she knew he was a stranger. He shrugged it off. That can't be right. Must have been childish curiosity.

"I'm Akechi Goro, and you?"

"Ake...ak...e...Aket…" She struggled and fumbled over her words, before she furrowed her brows with confidence and looked upset she couldn't yet pronounce his name.

"Gowo." He couldn't hold back a smile, and the little girl, now forgetting she's supposed to be hiding, shouts at him.

"Don't laff! That's mean!"

"Sorry!" His words said sorry, but his smile told her differently. At least, until his phone began beeping. It was now exactly 10 am.

"Sh-!" Too much in a hurry, he rushed to stand up quickly, and banged the back of his head against the table. He fell to his knees again, pushed down by the tabletop, and grabbed the back of his neck. The little girl, to no fault of her own, laughed at him without a shred of sympathy. Before he could get up on his feet, an arm patted him on the back.

"Hey, you ok?" He couldn't tell with his eyes closed, but the little girl mimicked the man's movements and reached her tiny hand out to pat Akechi's knee as if to comfort him. Before he could respond, he heard the man say "There you are!" followed by a tiny high pitched scream that honest to God was only giving Akechi a headache.

Still better than his old job, despite the abuse and trauma he's had to endure thus far.

When he opened his eyes, he saw the man that he accidentally slammed into squishing the little girl's cheeks, possibly as punishment.

"What did I tell you? You can't win."

"Mmmrmmmrrrr"

"Do you give up?" The child stubbornly stared him in the eye and only repeated her mumbling louder. The man sighed, but with the hint of a smile.

"Alright, go hide again." The joy in that little girl's eyes could part the skies on a cloudy day. She beamed and quickly ran off to hide elsewhere while the man covered his eyes and began counting. As soon as she was gone and he no longer heard the tip tap of feet, he got up and extended his hand towards Akechi.

"You look lost. Do you need any help?" This was humiliating. A kid laughing at him, he could handle, but a future coworker extending him his aid this early in their partnership was shameful. Especially since this was the same guy he left high and dry just moments ago.

"No, no, I'll be alr-" His voice was now much less sympathetic.

"Just take my hand." So much for debate. He didn't appreciate how everyone in this company cut him off mid-sentence, but took the other man's hand to get back up on his feet. As soon as he did, he got looked over rather thoroughly, a little too intensely to his liking.

"Doesn't look like you're bleeding, but if you're feeling dizzy, there's a nurse just two doors down to the left. She can examine you in case you've suffered any severe damage." His concern was flattering but unnecessary and sadly a waste of time.

"Haha, no worries. Actually... I need to get to the founder's office. Do you know where that is?"

"Yes, but I wouldn't worry about t- Rei, don't climb the bookshelf! Junpei, will you-"

"Aye, aye, boss! Come here you trouble bunny! How about you hop hop into bed and take a long looong nap? Man, uncle Junpei could use one too. I'll show you how it's done, like a pro!"

"Iori, sleep on the job and you're fired."

"Come on Philei, your dad is scary when he's talking to people that are not you!"

So much happened in the span of just a couple of seconds.

"...Rei?" He felt his blood run cold. "Her name is… Rei?" The man, somewhat confused that he was still standing there with a dumb look on his face, spoke as if this was basic knowledge Akechi should have known before stepping into the building.

"Of course, that's my daughter," he holds out his hand again, this time, expecting Akechi to shake it. "-and I'm the founder, Minato Arisato. And you are?"

Absolutely screwed.

#I hope you like the first flavor of nyake :3/#tnt answers #fic #minake

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victims-of · 1 year

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Tumblr is Unsafe for Women

This post includes details about stalking and harassment

I started using this website when I was a teen girl. Almost immediately, I was followed by a man who started stalking me. He had already been on tumblr and part of it’s community, before I even joined and had already established stalking other women as well including 16 year old girls.

He post images of kids on his tumblr account, and images that were directed at us (the kids he was stalking.) He also had a youtube channel, and a twitter account where he made nasty jokes about us or jokes referencing sexual assault, jokes like “you’re fine - but how old is your little sister?”

I didn’t realize at first what was happening. It took time for me especially as a kid to recognize what was going on. One day on Facebook, one of my dad’s friends posted one of this man’s youtube videos. After that, I was no longer just being stalked by this older man on Tumblr, but also by more men twice my age that I knew in real life. At the same time, the pedophile on tumblr, he posted a bizarre rant one day. He started his post off by making a joke about masturbating to his ex-wife. He said he was stalking her and that he found her living in another country. He said he was mad that he dumped her and she moved on with her life. He was mad that even though he dumped her, she still had to be basically property to him. He started talking about how he was going to “travel”

After that heis tumblr account went silent. A week passed and one of the other young people he was stalking online, made a tumblr post about a strange man that tried to roofy them. A week passed, and another person he was stalking posted about a strange man waiting outside her apartments for her. The strange man told her “Don’t be scared. Let’s smoke weed together” but she was terrified.

I lived in fear during this time that he was traveling and looking for the group of kids he was stalking. I was constantly paranoid and ready to call the policed if I saw anything weird at all. I decided to block this man stalking me on tumblr. I deleted my tumblr account that he was following. I tried to make it so that he couldn’t stalk me anymore.

What happened after that, is the worst thing that’s ever happened to me in my life. The cruelty that I experienced is unbelievable and so disgusting. I tried to live anonymously online so he culdn’t find me. So no one could stalk me anymore. I was being harassed by a group of men twice my age at this point. It was this man stalking me on tumblr, who had definitely been in contact with men twice my age that were “friends of my family.” Basically creepy uncles.

But trying to get away from him pissed him off. He found my Facebook account, he found my anonymous tumblr account anyways. He started messaging anyone I followed on tumblr. Anyone I reblogged. Any page I liked on Facebook. He would tell these people to harass me for him, AND THEY WOULD DO IT.

I was a teen girl and this man was much older than me. They would join in and harass me anyways. Suddenly I was fully immersed in a wide scale harassment campaign. Everywhere I went online, I was being harassed for this pedophile. I know that employees that worked for Tumblr were part of it. On Tumblr, everyone called themselves “feminists” yet they still would harass and blame me for a man much older than me stalking me. They used homophobic cliches. They said that because I’m not straight, I’m the creepy one and I’m the problem and not the pedophile stalking me and other teen girls. It was the most homophobic hate campaign I’ve ever been through in my life.

On tumblr, they drew an MS Paint picture of me being sexually assaulted and reblogged it with each other to laugh about it and they purposely reblog it so I would have to look at it. Every day I was being harassed by mobs of people online everywhere I went. I was being sexually harassed by them, and just harassed in general. Everyone just acted like it was funny, while still calling themselves “feminists.” I was just a teen girl, and I was contemplating suicide just to get away from the harassment. Eventually I had to stop using the internet all together. For a year I never looked at social media. I refused. It was all harassment.

I think because I removed myself from social media, that pissed off everyone harassing me and group-stalking me that they decided to dox me at my job.

I had creepy men showing up at my job and harassing me at my job. They talked to my coworkers, so my coworkers started harassing me to. I had to stop going to that job. And the harassment only continued to get worse after that

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wigglesforsquiggles · 2 years

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1-10 >:]

this is the second time i've had to type this bc as i finished tbis it got DELETED ;-;

1. what are 3 things you'd say shaped you into who you are?

uhh one is definilty when i discovered you tube for the first time and promptly got sent down a medical rabbit hole, leading to my intense fear of rabies, seeing a dedication video to a dead child by their parents who were convinced he was jesus incarnated (as in, actual jesus, not a metaphor for being an angel), and the little part of my brain that diagnoses me with every disease i learn about

another would be kneeling on the landing next to my sibling late at night, watching my parents watch tv. you could just about see into the living room from there, and we often snuck down the first set of stairs to watch tv once we were sent up to bed bc we were bored children and didn't want to sleep. i always felt to proud whenever we heard my dad stand up (he has knees that click like a horse) and ran upstairs giggling before he could catch us out of bed. looking back we obviously made a lot of noise and were definitely not as subtle as we thought

lastly i'll say getting lost in this museum when i was like 5. there was this mini gift shop half way through the museum and i got distracted with an etch-a-sketch (it was the first time i had seen one) and fiddled with it for a while (i was trying to figure out how it made lines), and then i looked up and i was alone in a massive room. i must have cried a little, but i stayed where i was and waited for my parents to find me (despite wanting to go further into the museum to find them), and eventually they came back for me :D i can't remember if i went to an employee and told them i was lost or not but it was very scary at the time

I just remembered what i put originally for one of the paragraphs so u get an extra one. one time i read the part of the huger games where Rue dies 3 times a day for a week to make myself cry just to prove i could. i can't tell you a reason past i would still do this today if i used my kindle more

2. show us a picture of your handwriting?

3. 3 films you could watch for the rest of your life and not get bored of?

i must confess i almost never rewatch anything - my ability to watch films ourside a cinema is almost non existent anyways lmao

the only time ive rewatched any film is The Old Guard where i needed to show it to all my friends but could only hang out w them on different days, leading me to watch the film 5 times over 2 weeks.

maybe i'll say the mama mia films bc ive only watched them w friends and it's just fun to sing along

4. what's an inside joke you have with your family or friends?

ok, do not question me with this but "arson" being a code word for incest

i will not explain more than telling you lockdown was a weird time and a conversation that starting with immortal fairies having dna lead to this

it's very funny thoigh when i randomly hear the word and this specific firend and i make eye contact, trying not to laugh at a joke only we know

5. what made you start your blog?

i saw so many tumblr posts screenshotted in instsgram, and i finally caved and got in on the action :D

6. what's the best and worst part of being online/a creator?

best - making friends :D i love being able to talk to people all over the world and just ask how they are and see their opinions. @ ing ppl on posts that make me think of them is an unmatched joy :D

worst - the discourse. i get upset rly easily and also am still working on my critical thinking skills so it's easy for me to get caught up in drama and let it affect me emotionally. i only rly. price it when im offline for a few days and go: wow i feel so normal

7. what scares you the most and why?

death, mostly. i used to stay up late at night and cry silently because i was so scared about not existing anymore. simply my mind being gone and not being able to do anything about it. but i just don't think about it anymore and it's all good :D

8. any reoccurring dreams?

like 30% of my dreams are reoccurring actually. all my dreams are incredibly vivid and nonsensical (more random plot points being put together like a game of madlibs more than anything else)

i guess i'll say the one about being stuck in a water parkour course in a pair, (with the aesthetic of fire bot and water girl) and finally climbing up a vine with my partner after being faster than everyone else, and getting to attend a lesson on how to have lesbian sex - in a room like my local gym (and worrying bc i wasn't out in this dream)

9. tell a story about your childhood

i got to play moshi monsters for the first time on my mums red laptop on the island counter at age 9 i think - but i had to stand up because my foot was in a blue container filled with salt water because there was a splinter the length and width of my pinky stuck in the bottom of it

i later went to a&e to get it taken out after a day because it took that long to convince me to go to the hospital (i was terrified of pain and medicine and wouldn't let anyone touch it). the doctor that saw me was very nice and used numbing spray (very cold) and got it out in under 5 seconds. to this day the only time ive been in hospital bar being a baby.

10. would you say you're an emotional person?

oh 100% - it's a meme amongst my friends at this point. i was assigned those greyhounds that jenna marbles has that look like they're crying all the time , for reasons you can guess

i also feel things very intensely, happiness anger and fear are all very overwhelming to me and it's only in the past few years ive been able to get them partly under control

#wiggles asks #hi yue :D #ask game: oo numbered questions #this took me like an hour rip.#enjoy the wiggles lore ig.#tell me ur reaction to each story pls i'm curious lmao #i probably should tag wiggles overshare bc wow. rereading tbis and that is a lot of detail no one needs #apologies :(

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bunnypopgal · 3 months

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Hello. It's been a few years since i made this blog and made my first post. I now deleted my first post bc i found it to be cringe and honestly really painful. i have grown a lot in these past years and have seemingly beat my hallucinations for now. i know that will most likely come back prob once i become a mother one day but i feel more prepared to beat them again.

Other than that i dumped and got dump by two partners, made and lost almost all my friends besides one. dont judge by like im sure many of us are im a sucker for the friends turned lovers trope and well ive been dating my best friend for almost going 2 years now. he has been super accepting, a wonderful partner and my biggest support thru it all so far. hes my only support system honestly.

i am deeply scared to make friends again after what my last friend did to me.. for years and i just let her. i cant really blame it on having low self worth either since i honestly really like myself and who i am but more so i didnt know HOW to be treated by others. let me be clear NOT how I treat others, no-no but HOW others SHOULD treat ME. isnt that nuts? you think that would be something we just have inside of us as humans (or otherwise) that we would just KNOW that. i dont FEEL like a doormat either but maybe i am. not with everyone, mind you. just like people ive grown to have developed a trusting bond in with respect packed in there like a mozzie stick, yum, ya know? i love em like chosen family and youre gonna body shame me for not being short for a woman, like what? you think i wouldve picked it out asap that chick SCREAMED pick me but i also saw her good qualities too which is why i wanted to be friends with her... i trusted her a lot. Oh well tho.

As much as it still hurts sometimes the fear is still there. i, as a woman also fear other woman. i know, i know. there is so many other wonderful women out there who would never treat me so badly but my brain is gone broken from so many traumatizing events over and over again. it irrational, i know it. its also isolating. i dont go out much at all but honestly blame the economy for that. i plan to be getting a part time job soon which you can also blame the economy for haha but also i want to meet people and have some kinda structure in my life again. hoping for friends right now is something im maybe not ready for honestly i think ill just start with talking to people again and let that be that. i hope to get some kind of a cleaning job so it will be a little to no talking to people depending on where im set up.

im just kinda scared to open myself up again to other people. online of course is different mainly besides the usual explanation but also for me, the internet is a black hole where NO ONE see the crap i shit out which includes my art i make sadly. i dont really try all like hard to make people see it anyways. i am still scared of people after all.

anyways today i have plans to hang out with my partner before he has to go to work. im hoping we can play palworld together again hehe. Other than that its house chores and back to drawing for me today. i just came out of another depressive episode recently so i have a few great messes to clean up. its a good thing i like cleaning, ya know when i dont feel like i wanna disappear. what can i say, its genetic. thanks, dad haha.

im planning to get back into my old hobbies too like live streaming. ive been live streaming all over the internet off and on since i was maybe 14. im 23 now so 10 years!!! WOWIE!! when i was growing up my family would joke around saying i need my own reality show haha. i do have a huge personality, ig but thats something im very comfortable and like about myself. bold and funny, i think!! streaming is a super relaxing thing to me. i talk to myself anyways and i always have. you dont stay this "sane" without talking to yourself to fight off the loneliness haha.

that reminds me recently my partner told me he found me to be a "increaser of morale, an inspiring person, you're motivating and you make being emotionally positive SO EASY." im still so stunned and very very VERY flattered he told me that! even if its not true im glad he feels that way bc thats a nice way to be. hes very very sweet to me.

well i could write forever right now honestly but i should probably go drink enough water to take out a house fire so i dont die of dehydration.

oh, if only. (JOKING)

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mothidocandart · 7 months

Text

I am a very gullible person.

whatever others tell me, I’ll believe if pushed at least 3 times. My dad once suggested a tuna can could be somehow opened with your teeth, so I energetically tried to do so. Every opinionated post online rapidly shapes my perception of the world. It is so bad that it shapes my opinions on political events. I forget to check links. I forget to check facts.

sometimes I find myself thinking that if I had been pushed just a little bit more, I could have been the most elegant girl you ever saw. I could have been everything my mother wanted and more, the Christian my grandparents expected of me, and a comforting presence to my classmates rather than an oddity. I can see myself as beautiful in the mirror, brimming with confidence and ready to snap up whatever gender roles handed to me the way I will confidently do physical labor for someone I barely know. And yet.

my little 7-year old self, desperate for validation and friendship, who ran on all fours when the group of girls told them to, who believed their mother when she said if I kept mispronouncing “Egyptian” they’d place a curse on me, somehow found the gall to do the exact opposite of what they had been told their entire life and went around, demanding that people call them “Adam” and begging their mother for a haircut. And even as I remained gullible, snapping up whatever lies given to me like a marshmallow in a self-control study, somehow I grew up rebellious. I had classmates tell me I was a girl, had my parents tell me I was a girl (probably), had my grandparents tell me I was a girl, and so on and so on and still kicked and screamed and fought against any attempts by people to classify me as such. I wouldn’t sit at girls tables at lunch in the 4th grade. I refused to step into the girls section at clothing stores for years and years. Wearing dresses made me uncomfortable to the point of distress. I’d proudly tell anyone and everyone that I wasn’t a girl- I didn’t know what I was, but I sure as hell wasn’t that.

the only time I ever tried to convince people otherwise was when I was convinced I had to be a radical feminist (again, under the influence of another person) and thought that maybe you had to be a girl to do that. Not that it changed my mind at all. I just hid it, until I couldn’t stand it.

the other thing I’ve realized, is that I feel nothing for feminity, except on trans people. Something in my mind remains unimpressed by the most fabulous representations of gender roles, like impressive skirts, and idk, being a mother, but the moment someone who isn’t expected to do it, who has been told their entire life NOT to do it, does it, I feel like jumping in the air for joy. Our lives are what we make them! I don’t have half the elegance they do, because what point is elegance if it is not made in rebellion? As a non-binary person growing up in the year of our outrageous disaster 2023, I feel silly trying to explain or ask for my identity to be respected. perhaps this is another example of my gullibility- all the anti-trans rhetoric lately convincing me that somehow my identity is more of a joke or something to be laughed at and not taken seriously than something I’ve been defined by nearly my entire life. I keep asking myself where the rebellion came from, and how I can get it back. I wouldn’t shine brightly as a girl, because I’d jsut be pretending.

#Trans #afab #transgender #idk why I felt the need to write this #Anyways shout to trans people!! You all rock

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damanbeatty · 11 years

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Dr. David Beatty: About My Father and Lewy Body Disease

Original Post Date February 21, 2013

(Above: This is a paired photo set made by Mount Allison fine arts student Nancy Conly Pinkerton at the time Dad and I were at the university together [1999]. She wanted to contrast my father and I as storytellers. I was telling a story about my altercation with a hobo on a Paris subway car, and he was likely talking about Abraham Lincoln or foreign policy.)

Dr. David Beatty, Professor Emeritus, History, Mount Allison University

Many people know my father as Dr. David Pierce Beatty, a retired history professor at Mount Allison University in Sackville, New Brunswick, Canada. He was born in Williamston, Michigan USA on October 10, 1933. He liked farming and dropped out of college to be a farmer but that didn’t last long. He went back to school, attending Michigan State University where he earned his Masters & Ph.D and moved to Sackville in the 1960s when Mount Allison was recruiting professors from all over.

(Portrait of Dad for his Masters Degree)

He absolutely loved teaching and only retired because he had to at 65. I was lucky enough to attend Mount A at the same time he taught there. The students truly loved him. It was easy to make friends, I’d just say I’m Dr. Beatty’s son. It was quite an experience.

In the Dog House: Campus Life with Dad 1996-2000

Students would stop me on campus to tell me what an incredible lecture he had just delivered, then they’d shake my hand like I had some part in it, which I definitely did not. The creative outlet for my youthful angst at the time was The Argosy Weekly, Mount Allison’s Student Newspaper. I was part of the original team who launched the web version of the paper in 1996. I was also Graphics Editor and every week I published a controversial comic strip called “The Dog Who Went to Mount A.”

(Above: Some random clippings from comics I published in the Argosy Weekly Graphix Section 1996-2000. The guy on the top right threatening the bird is my friend Chief Arlen Dumas. The context of the comic is that the bird, Bobby Crow owes him money for pool. Arlen used to severely kick my ass at pool so it was a bit of an inside joke. I got a scolding from Jack Drover [Head of Athletics] for the bottom one. This was shortly after Mount A got rid of the men’s hockey program.)

Luckily Mount A was a very liberal university and would let us publish just about anything. I took full advantage of that freedom and I’m glad that stuff is no longer available online. My poor mother would be terrified of what I’d publish each week (justifiably) while Dad seemed OK with it. I remember him chuckling at some of the ones I showed him before they went to print.

(Above: More of my cartoons)

Fellow student and Argosy Editor, Marty Patriquin (now a writer for Maclean’s Magazine) once told me he asked Dad privately what he thought about my crazy comics. All Dad said was, “he’s figuring some things out.” Haha!

But sometimes he himself went a little too far with his stories. I do recall one time there were letters to the editor in one single issue complaining about both Dad (for telling a story in his convocation address about campus life in the 1960s involving some fat lady getting stuck in a bathtub) and myself (for the comics). I guess I was a chip off the old block.

Retirement

Dad retired in 1999 and I graduated in 2000, but we both wore gowns at my graduation because he received an honorary Professor Emeritus status from the university that year.

(Above: Dad and I at Mount Allison Convocation 2000 where he received Professor Emeritus status and I received my degree)

(Above: Dad shaking hands with student and varsity football player Colin Burleton at his retirement party in 1999. Notice Burleton is holding a copy of Dad’s second book “Memories of the Forgotten War”. Dad loved football and the players loved him. He never, ever missed a Mount Allison Mounties Football game.)

This God Damned Disease

Dad jogged an average of 10km a day most of his life and always made a point to eat the healthiest foods. I figured he’d live to be 100, but in 2009 he was diagnosed with a degenerative disease called Lewy Body Dementia – the same disease Kelsey Grammar’s character has in “Boss” (really good show). It is like a cross between Alzheimer’s and Parkinson’s disease, but Dad actually does have Parkinson’s too.

It’s been really tough watching Dad slowly lose his battle with this disease. I’m sure he’d still be farming, running, writing more books and visiting with former students if not for this. I know he was upset when I moved back to Vancouver in 2009, and it is difficult being so far away.

Just before Christmas 2012 his condition worsened and he ended up in the Sackville Memorial Hospital. I took a trip home from Vancouver to visit him. Luckily my profession allows me to work remotely. My wife and I spent a week with Dad right in his hospital room.

(Left: Dad and his Christmas buddy Rex the baby penguin. Right: Me working in Dad’s hospital room as he rests.)

Benjamin Franklin was the biggest son of a...

Dad is an amazing storyteller. This is what students loved about him the most. A former student and friend, author Rick Maclean wrote a wonderful 3-part blog post about a visit with my Dad at his summer residence (the Farm) in 2006.

David Beatty, Me and What Do in Life by Rick Maclean: (Part 1), (Part 2), (Part 3).

Rick can really paint pictures with words. I love the way he describes my Dad, it’s so bang on. I’ve added some of my favourite excerpts below along with some related pictures (with captions) from my vast archives:

I was reminded of that story on a recent day when I stopped at Lake’s country store in southern New Brunswick, as I often do on the way here. It’s next to the water and quiet, except when the wind is howling off the Northumberland Strait, as it was that day.

(Lake’s General Store)

The store owner was where he always is – if I’m not buying gas, which he pumped at 113.9 a litre that day. He was sitting in the corner of the crowded store, green ball hat on his head. His wife worked the cash register. An ice cream and a chocolate bar chewed up the better part of a $5 bill.

That kind of money would buy a night’s beer at the pub when I headed to Mount Allison University in the fall of 1975. Time at the pub was a rare treat for a serious-minded science student with ambitions of becoming a doctor, and a girlfriend starting Grade 12 at MVHS back home.

(The Farm, also known as Parkbeg Farm in Murray Corner NB)

Back in the car outside the country store, I chewed on the ice cream and looked up the hill across the road. The battered blue half-ton was there. How long had he had that truck? It was nearly 4:30. Nearly supper time. His family might be there. Best not to stop in.

(Dad’s old 1984 Chevy Truck parked somewhere in Quebec during a camping trip)

But, as Beautiful Daughter is prone to pointing out whenever I try to duck out of something we’ve done year after year, “it’s a tradition.” I’d stopped by around this time of year for the past five years.

The car turned itself left as I pulled out of the parking lot. It turned left again into the green tunnel of trees, complete with foot-high grass growing in the middle of the dirt lane, leading to his house.

David Beatty opened the door.

Dave – Dr. Beatty, Professor Beatty back then – had been a legend at Mount A long before I arrived. His classes in the foreign policy of Canada and the United States were packed and everyone went. Missing a day was rare, even though no attendance was kept.

“Benjamin Franklin was the biggest son of a…”

“You should’ve been there today,” a pitiless classmate crowed the one day I missed Dave’s class that term. “Beatty came in, turned sideways, looked out of the corner of his eye, smirked and that’s how he started: Benjamin Franklin was…”

…

The guy hadn’t taken a note, but he rhymed off the entire lecture. From memory. And I’d missed it.

Dave Beatty was a runner. We started running together while I was a student. He wasn’t fast, but he could go for an hour and talk about foreign policy at the same time. Free lectures on the run.

There’d be no running this visit. He’s 73. He has a bit of limp and stoop, but there’s a bicycle in the corner with a well-used water bottle attached. His hair is a bit thinner and whiter, but just as unruly as ever. His hand serves a comb and by evening the hair is where it is.

Instead of running, we sat in the kitchen of the renovated home he’d bought years ago when it was a junk heap with a rock basement, gyprock ceilings and a wood shed doing its best to fall down. Today the house has been restored to its original beauty. Walls with board two feet wide. Beams across the ceiling.

“You can still see the adze marks,” he points up at a beam. I nod. At home later I look up adze in a dictionary: “An ax-like tool with a curved blade at right angles to the handle, used for shaping wood.”

He has a new book out, The World War I Diaries and Letters of Lieut. Louis Stanley Edgett, edited with Moncton doctor Tom Edgett. Dave pops out of his chair and begins rooting in a desk drawer. Moments later he returns and hands me a copy.

“This is yours.”

…

I didn’t realize it then, but if anyone could understand what I was going through, Dave Beatty could.

Now retired after decades of teaching at Mt. A, he sat in his summer home recently and laughed at the memory of my phone call saying I’d quit yet another career. He raked a hand through his unruly hair, then ran his fingers across the front of his dark green, Michigan State University sweatshirt.

(Dad and his unruly hair)

He grew up to become a farmer in the American Midwest in the 1950s.

“Oh-high-ah,” he still calls it when talking about Ohio. Still in his twenties, he married, settled down. His life’s direction was set. Not quite.

Farming was then, as it is now, a tough way to earn a living. In a bid to keep prices up, the federal government paid some farmers not to farm. Dave took the money and, with the military draft and Vietnam looming, headed to university, which offered a temporary reprieve from a Huey helicopter and an M-16.

He did well, very well. Earning a spot among the 40-some students on the honour roll. But the time slid by and suddenly he was graduating. He’d been so focused on his studies, he’d made no plans for the future. His marriage was stumbling towards divorce and the military draft awaited.

Then, a professor stepped in and changed his life.

Professor Gesner was an imposing woman with a reputation for not suffering fools gladly. One of the most influential academics in the region, she called him into her office.

What are your plans? she demanded.

He didn’t know.

There is a new scholarship, intended to encourage students to study diplomatic history.

Did he know about it?

No.

Well, the deadline is the next day. He should apply, she said, then she stared at him knowingly. She’d act as a reference. He needed two others.

It was nearly 4:30. He’d better hurry, she said.

Dave rushed from the office and somehow found two professors who hadn’t gone home for the day. Both knew his work, had given him excellent marks. The application deadline was when? Oh, Professor Gesner had suggested he apply for the scholarship. The letters would be ready, they both promised.

Dave drove the 23 miles to his home, where he spent much of the night filing out the forms. Ten days later he got word, he had the fellowship. He spent the next few years earning a master’s degree and getting a good start on a doctorate.

Finally, he went looking for work. He received a phone call from Bill Crawford, the vice-president of Mount A. Dave had no idea where it was, but Professor Gesner did. She had family connections there.

Crawford had three teaching jobs in the history department to fill and he wanted the young American to fill one of them.

“Give you $8,000 a year,” he said as part of his pitch.

Well, there are other job offers. New Hampshire. Maine.

“Anything Maine can do, we can do better, $8,500.”

Dave Beatty sat on a chair in the kitchen of his summer home and laughed. He traveled halfway across the continent to a tiny school in a tiny town to teach history, he said, and shook his head in wonder.

But the administration left him alone to do what he’d discovered he loved to do. And that was exactly what he needed.

“Things turned out alright.”

Yes, they did. He remarried, settled down for a second time and taught students like me until mandatory retirement drove him, kicking and screaming, from the classroom. Then he turned his energies to saving the tumbledown, 1840-something house he’d discovered near Northumberland Strait.

(Renovated Parkbeg Farm.)

He hired a former biology student at Mount A who had a knack for careful carpentry to do the work. Mark turned the house with the rock basement and attached woodshed full of dry rot into a dazzling home of varnish and original wood.

Dave looked at me across the kitchen table and smiled again.

“And they’ve turned out alright for you, too.”

Rick Maclean’s account was really touching. If you’re a former student or fan of Dr. Beatty I invite you to share your story too, down below in the comments.

My Interviews with Dad

Over the years he shared so many great memories about growing up during the Great Depression, the dirty 30’s. Remember, he was born in 1933! I always told him he should write a book about his childhood.

(Here’s an old picture of Dad and me on a camping trip to Roger Lake in northern New Brunswick [1980s]. It was on these trips Dad would tell me a lot of his crazy stories.)

Dad’s mind is not as sharp as it once was because of this “God damned disease” – as he would say. Frankly, these days he may not be sure even where he is, but he could still name off most of the students in his grade 3 class if you asked him to. If you visited him, I bet he’d remember you, at least for a little while yet. I am told that as a history prof, he used this part of his brain a lot – remembering names, dates, facts and figures and it actually built up strength in those areas which has still survived the severe deterioration of his mind.

One day in particular at the hospital he seemed really sharp so I pulled out my iPhone and asked him to tell some of his childhood stories. He and I had a good laugh.

I wrote this post because I am thinking of my poor Dad back home in his worsening condition, and I have collected these videos which I will publish here on my blog, (along with some other goodies) over the next few weeks and months, so stay tuned! Believe me, you’re in for a treat! This will be your source for everything David Beatty!

23 COMMENTS

AMY WOOD, FEBRUARY 21, 2013 Absolutely lovely write-up Daman, as you well know your family holds a special part in my childhood. I fondly remember the days down at the shore by the little beach shack we would use as a changing room and the many trips to the pool, my best to your father.

DAMAN BEATTY, FEBRUARY 21, 2013 I remember those days very well. Thanks Amy 🙂

DAMAN BAHNER, FEBRUARY 21, 2013 Great post, I look forward to the next! Thanks for giving us a peek inside your family and history.

DAMAN BEATTY, FEBRUARY 21, 2013 Cheers Daman 🙂 I’ll let you know when it’s up!

SHYAMAL MITRA, FEBRUARY 21, 2013 Thanks for writing this beautiful blog…so enjoyable!

DAN WEBER, FEBRUARY 21, 2013 I had no idea you were also a gifted writer (doesn’t seem fair, somehow). Beautiful post. I’m looking forward to more.

DONNA MACNEIL, FEBRUARY 21, 2013 Such a wonderful man! I haven’t lived in Sackville for 7 years so have lost contact.

I first met Dave at football games and then arranging kid drop offs… Kyle visiting you on the farm and you visiting with us at British Settlement at the time.

Dave was SO loved in the classroom and in the football circle where we had many a chat over Mt.A fortunes on the grid iron. I love his story of showing up for his first MT.A football game very early so as to get a good seat only to be sitting alone until 15 min. before game time!! 🙂

For all his talents, he was always so down to earth and modest and would go out of his way to compliment something someone else had done.

We too have a signed copy of the book that Colin is carrying in the photo.

I love this post and look forward to the next installment. I think the storytelling abilities have been passed on.

Donna MacNeil (Kyle’s mom) 🙂

MARY BETH, FEBRUARY 21, 2013 This is beautiful Daman. xo

MARILYN HETHERINGTON, FEBRUARY 21, 2013 I knew your father quite well when I worked at MtA. He would have known me as Marilyn Settle…iIVe gone back to my maiden name Hetherington…we at one time lived on Clarence Ave…and I remember you as well when u were at MtA….ur father came to mind recently wondering he was….he was a pleasure to work with…I worked in Hart Hall for the last few years I worked at MtA and was the only Secretary in the building in the summer and would have dealings with ur Dad…he was always so great to deal with….be proud that he is ur Dad!!!!

DAVID SCHOFIELD, FEBRUARY 22, 2013 This is a great piece on your father. I took a few courses of his when I attended Mt.A, and I can honestly say, the best prof I ever had in all my years of education. I can’t count the number of times one of his lectures would start, and 45 minutes later it would be finished….my pen still in my hand, yet not a word written on paper. He was so interesting to listen to…time would fly by.

CAITLIN HAYWARD, FEBRUARY 22, 2013 Hi Daman

I remember your Dad – and nights at the Argosy – quite well. Slightly different experiences, but both fantastic. Thanks for sharing your stories!

MARTIN PATRIQUIN, FEBRUARY 22, 2013 David Beatty was and remains a goddamned inspiration, and is an enormous part of the reason why I do what I do. He taught history as it should be taught: with shaking fists and bared teeth. And he outlasted me at my own graduation party. Keep it coming, Daman. Brilliant.

ANDREW DEITERS, FEBRUARY 22, 2013 Hi Daman,

I hope this finds you well out west. Very nicely written. I don’t recall ever meeting your dad but I know that my wife Leia’s brother Jeff Fraser was his student, actually apparently your dad was more of a mentor/friend to him. When Jeff passed in 1996 during his 3rd year, your dad wrote a nice article for the argosy and a letter to my in-laws. A true testament of how awesome a prof he was, and what a great person he is.

Sending best wishes to you and your family.

Andrew

SARAH (CHAPMAN) WOOD, FEBRUARY 22, 2013 Hi Daman,

I am saddened to hear that your Dad is unwell…such a horrible disease. Your Dad was a wonderful mentor to me during my years at MTA. In fact, I had the honor of being taught by both your Mom and Dad, as I was a graduate of Amherst High as well. They are such lovely, salt of the earth people! They had such a profound impact on me and they are largely responsible for my choice to become a history teacher.

Since your Dad is such a wonderful story teller, I wanted to share a story with you and, perhaps, you can pass it along to your parents. When I went to St. FX for my Bachelor of Ed. Degree in 1998, I was unsure if I was pursuing the right career and was contemplating that I might be on the wrong path. However, I stuck with it and I became inspired by another history Professor at St.FX, Dr. Jeff Orr. During one of Dr. Orr’s lectures, he began talking about who inspired him in his life and he began telling stories about your Dad. He talked about the spark and passion Dr. Beatty had for teaching. I couldn’t believe what a small world it was! I knew from that moment on that I truly wanted to be part of a profession that influences and challenges people in such profound ways. I have been teaching now since 2000. Please send my warmest regards to your parents. They would know me as Sarah Chapman. I look forward to reading more of your blog. Regards,

Sarah (Chapman) Wood

ELIZABETH LUSBY, FEBRUARY 23, 2013 Ah, Daman – good stuff here. We’re sitting in a treehouse/coffeeshop in Placencia Belize, and you’ve just taken us right back to the livingroom at the farm where we’ve heard your dad tell so many great stories. We’ll see that Liam gets a look at it too before we leave the land of internet connection. Thanks for this! Uncle Jim and Aunt Beth

DONNA LAKE FIELD, FEBRUARY 23, 2013 Very well written Daman! I always loved talking to your mom and dad, such nice people and always were interested to hear what I had to say. It is sad to hear about your dad’s declining health. I feel blessed to say I know your dad! Keep up the great work, I will continue to read on! Donna Lake-Field

IRENE SPENCE WELDON, FEBRUARY 23, 2013 I am a nurse at the Sackville Memorial Hospital and that is where I met your father, David. When he first came to us, it was not difficult to realize that he was a very interesting and knowledgable man. Yes, his condition did deteriorate while he was with us and that was difficult to watch. Reading this blog made me smile because it has confirmed my impressions of your father. You and your family are very lucky to have him in your life!! This blog is awesome and I look forward to reading more……Irene Spence Weldon

ICARE@THE DREW, FEBRUARY 25, 2013 i take care of your dad currrently at the Drew nursing home and enjoyed the read and wish i could have some bit of every resident there so i could get to know them better…you can be sure the next time i work with your dad i will see him differently, like i know him. Although he made an impression the first time i met him as he talked about how his father ran in politics years earlier in the states, very sharp and with lots of passion, i have seen the passion leave over the past few months with sadness as he succumbs to this horrible disease he knows what is happening and he cant do a damn thing about it. i will continue to care for him and try to give him the best care i can and know that this man lived more in his lifetime than most ever get the chance to and better yet he passed it on to the next generation through teaching and his family.

CHRISTIAN ZBOCH, APRIL 26, 2013 I guess you have heard many stories about your father! Well here’s two more. Dr. Beatty taught me American History 30 years ago. He was, by far, the most passionate teacher in the department. His courses never had a problem attracting students. There is one story I tell my University aged daughter – sort of a tip on how to read your professor. Whenever Dr. Beatty would lecture on a topic he particularly loved – he would rock back and forth – heel to toe. Nothing excessive, but certainly noticeable. That’s when I would put a large asterix in the margin of my notes. Later, me and my buddies would compare notes and use those observations to try and determine which essay questions might be on the exam. We were usually right! When I started at MtA I was a young 17 and partying way too much. I was destined to become a ‘Christmas graduate’. A good friend convinced me to at least ‘try’ to pass my courses. I put in a big effort for one of Dr. Beatty’s essays – and I received an excellent grade. But, more importantly, your father wrote a remark beside the grade; “Chris – you show great promise. You should consider the History Honors program.” That completely turned me around – I studied harder, got better grades. And graduated in History with honors. I will never forget that comment and your father’s encouragement.

BILL COOK, AUGUST 17, 2014 Thanks Daman for the blog. I met your father working for Marc, fixing the old house up. When we looked down the driveway and seeing your father drive up always put a smile on our faces. We would sit and have tea, and he would tell us stories. I always came home amazed at what a wonderful professor he must have been. It was a great experience working for your parents.

TAMRA, DECEMBER 11, 2014 Daman, What a wonderful wonderful post! Uncle Dave is a man that has touched many lives and has been an inspriration to alot of people including myself and siblings. I to loved listening to his all of his stories. I look forward to reading more …. Love to All !

JOHN PHILLIPS, AUGUST 4, 2015 Daman. Your Dad’s passion for his classes was matched by his obvious enjoyment of the Mounties football team. As a student from 81-86 and a History/Poly Sci student I was very fortunate to have Doc Beatty for a number of classes. As others have commented…you just didn’t miss those! As I approach my thirtieth (!!!) year in education I truly recall his amazing style in the lecture hall. Pacing back and forth or stalking up and down the middle isle in Avard Dixon he would look you right in the eye and challenge you with a question, or a quip about some interesting personality. Not sure if it was our first class in Can. External Relations bit the I’m Alone Affair still resonates in my brain. Your Dad would say that anyone who didn’t think Canadian Foreign policy was exciting was simply ignorant of their own history. While I can’t recall the exact details your Dad strode up the middle isle talking about Captain John T. Randle. Not chain if Randle was a Rum Runner, or some other smuggler, but there he and his crew were….caught up by the U.S. Coast Guard (or Navy) and being told to surrender, etc……he looked at me and said, “and what would you have done in his place?” With his bright smile and cheerful eyes he laughed and then proceeded to tell us all how Randle told the Americans where to go and following some exchange of powder/ shots, etc. managed to steal away.

I’m sure my details are foggy but that has stayed with me since the fall of 1982 when I first had your Dad for a class. He was truly an inspiration. I write this having just learned of his passing. My sincerest condolences to you and your family. He will remain a fixture in the minds and me,prices of all who were fortunate to cross his path. John Phillips

JAMES MASON, NOVEMBER 23, 2015 I took only two courses from Prof. Beatty in 1986-87 and also had a couple of occasions to visit him at his farm and have lunch. Dr. Beatty was both an incredible lecturer, exceptional teacher, all-round super nice guy and gentleman farmer. I still think about his lectures when I need to make an important presentation to clients and boards. David had a command over a room full of people that I have never seen matched in 7 years of university and 23 years of working life. He was one of a kind that is for sure and I know he will be greatly missed.

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princessofprocrastination · 3 years

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Not The Same (GeorgeNotFound)

summary : you put out a song, but it attracted the wrong type of crowd and caused too many misunderstandings.

trigger warnings : threats (including death and doxing), panic attacks, taking of meds.

"you're THOSE type of fans, huh?" you read the comments on your newest song release.

and that was the start of your downfall.

you and your dad really enjoyed singing. at any opportunity you two got, you would be doing a duet.

whether that would be at at a close relative's wedding or your at home karaoke set up, you two knew how to entertain people.

though singing was your passion, you ended up being too busy with school and trying to graduate with a diploma to even think about singing again.

but you swore to make a career of your singing after high school. you just loved it too much.

but then, you didn't go to college for music, which pretty much shocked your parents and your friends since they knew your only passion in life was singing.

but you took a different direction. you still wanted to sing and you were trying your hardest to find a way to make that your career.

someday, anyway. but you needed to have a plan to fall back into in case anything goes wrong.

you were a realist, after all.

so off to college you went.

you spent long hours studying for tests after tests, sat through hours of lectures, did endless amounts of projects.

in the end, it was all worth the wait and fatigue. you graduated top of your class.

you went off to be an intern, clocked in more hours before you could fully go into the next phase of your life.

and after those long hours, you finally made the decision (with the support of your parents) to take a gap year.

but before anyone panics. your gap year was not all fun in games where you took to rest and lay in bed all day.

you took the gap year to see if the music industry fits you. to see if you even had the chance to succeed.

and if it did, you could finally have your dream job. but even if it didn't you were not going to be upset if you needed to fall back onto your backup plan.

in the duration of the gap year, you took voice lessons, and poetry classes for song writing.

and with whatever you have learnt, you took that into writing songs that you felt really relate to your life experiences.

so you spend at least a couple months writing multiple songs.

after almost 2 years, you finally came out with your first song. and it definitely got recognition. more than you thought you'd get, if you were being completely honest.

and that was what pushed you to sit your ass back on your desk to write more, and go into your makeshift studio and make the words into songs.

your parents were ecstatic to hear that you were finally doing the things you loved. and you knew you'd never get this far if it weren't for your family's support.

and so your music journey began.

it was going well for years. you were finally happy doing the one thing you enjoyed doing.

and you definitely think you were good at it. seeing and hearing the positive feedbacks from your family, friends and listeners.

you felt good.

but you lost that feeling when you came out with a new single, called ‘fan of you’.

you spent a while working hard on that song and you felt relieved when it was finally released. it was like a weight was lifted off your shoulders.

and you weren’t sure how one thing led to another, if you were being honest. at first, you received good feedback for your new songs. you even gained new listeners and your spotify rank rised.

but then it didn’t anymore.

your twitter flooded with mentions and your instagram full of tagged pictures and dms by accounts you’ve never heard of.

but you noticed a similarity with all of the spam. a guy name george. georgenotfound for short.

you being you, you looked into it. and that was when all of the information hit you. and all you had to look up was your name on twitter, and there it was, the longest thread of tweets you have ever seen in your life.

you took time to read it all, trying to make sure you didn’t miss anything crucial.

there must be an understanding. you didn’t know this guy name george. you’ve seen his face on pinterest once a while when you scrolled, yes. but you never looked into him.

this amazing person took their time to gather every bit of information there was about the scandal, which you were grateful for, or else you’d be scouring the internet for hours.

to summarise what you read, there was this artist by the name of tia jade who came out with a song a few months prior to yours called ‘just a fan.’

it was a good song, some say, and you could agree. it was professionally written and produced. but many fans of george found out that the song was about him.

not just about him, but about her falling in love with him, when she has never met him. and when his fans started to really listen and analyse the song, it got creepier.

basically, the song was about a fan falling in love with a celebrity/content creator and that they want to know them beyond their persona online.

but tia had apologised a little after the song came out, saying that she made that song based on a fan liking a content creator, and not about her falling for george.

but when you read enough of the issue, it definitely did seem like she was making that song to tell her story about falling for george. but she obviously needed an excuse to cover it up.

hence the apology.

and then you read about how they analysed your song, too.

they compared your song to tia’s and found it to have similar stories. stories about how a normal girl is falling in love with the man by the name of george, who had millions of followers on all social medias.

and if you admitted it to yourself, your song did seem to come out that way. especially if your mentality had been there. clearly your song could have been interpreted in many different ways.

you scrolled to the very bottom of the thread where there was a video of the man himself, george. he was addressing the issue.

“i don’t know how this happened twice. i thought once was weird enough, but.” he paused, focusing on building something on his screen.

“having heard of a song being about me again now makes my skin crawl.” he finished. it was short but enough to make his fans understand where he was coming from.

you scrolled further to see the replies of the thread. you wanted to know what were people saying about it.

and you definitely regretted your decision to do that.

threats everywhere. death threats, threats of beating you up, threats of doxing you. god the negative comments were drowned by the one’s that genuinely thought nothing wrong of your song.

you called you mom. this was the time you needed her advice. you needed to be told what to do. you didn’t want to accidentally trigger people.

you and her were on the phone for hours. she listened to you cried to her. she heard the painful sobs that came out of your mouth whenever you reminded yourself of what people were calling you on the internet.

she heard you cry silently on call when you saw your address and phone number being leaked on twitter.

but even through all of that, you joked around with your mom. “well, this was a hell of a way to be trending.”

you did what she told you to do. get a new phone number, stay in a hotel for a couple days while you try to settle the raging crowd of georgenotfound fans down.

in the span of a couple weeks, you got yourself a new number, a new house and a new car. you weren’t taking any chances.

you told no one besides your mom of the new changes, just to be safe.

and no, the threats did not cease. at all. these people did not have a life, constantly up in your dms, telling you to jump off a cliff or them hoping that a robber stabs you and leaves you dying.

you took your time trying to figure out a way to talk to george. or a way to speak out about this.

you didn’t want to write a half-assed notes app paragraph apologising when- first of all, you had nothing to apologise for and second, you had too much to say to fit it all in a notes app.

lucky for you, you didn’t need to start your own channel or make a sit down video on your own.

your recording label had brought up the idea of a documented series about you and how you became a singer about a year ago, and only started filming and posting the episodes a couple months prior on youtube.

so you took the series to your advantage. you pitched in the idea to your manager, to which she agreed to immediately, knowing that it was best you talked about it now.

this was how it played out on the perspective of viewers who watched that episode.

“bless you.” your producer says after you paused your singing in the mic as you stopped to sneeze.

you gave him a smile and a thumbs up from inside the booth.

the camera cuts to another clip.

the cameraman pans as they captured movers coming in and out of your old house, picking up your heavy furniture and boxes into large trucks to move into the new place.

it cuts again. this time it shows you scrolling on your phone with a focused face while your manager types something vigorously on her computer.

the camera tries to focus on your phone, and sees that you were on twitter, reading a lot of tweets under your name.

you exited the app and slide it away, going into youtube next, reading the comments on your song ‘fan of you’.

you scrolled far, clicking on some of the comments, trying to read the replies to certain comments you saw.

the camera cuts into a black screen. which then cuts again into a new scene, where you sat on your new kitchen counter talking to your mother, who sat on the chair in front of you.

your hair was up in a ponytail. a messy one. you were wearing sweatpants and a hoodie that seemed far too big on you, and your feet covered with fluffy socks.

you were nodding to whatever she was saying to you. it was clear your mind was elsewhere as your eyes were unfocused.

the scene cuts again.

you were seen on the couch, your legs were tucked into your arms and your head down, body shaking. it was obvious you were crying.

you were alone, your mother no where to be seen.

that was the first time the camera caught you crying.

the scene cuts as you were going to get up from the couch.

now, you were in the kitchen again, opening the refrigerator to take a water bottle, then walking to your room upstairs.

the camera follows behind you slowly into your room.

it hadn’t been the cleanest. there were a couple shirts on the floor, your bed undone, cups on your side table, your laptop open on your desk.

you were seen opening a drawer, taking out a small white bottle. you unscrewed the bottle and took out 2 pills, popping them in your mouth, drinking water straight away after that to swallow.

the scene cuts again.

this time, you were seated on the couch in the studio, the atmosphere dark and quiet.

your hair was more kept this time, being help up in a clip.

you were wearing straight jeans and a slightly oversized sweatshirt. you looked more refreshed this time. but it was obvious you hadn’t slept in a while because of your eyes.

your eyes that usually held a lot of happiness and joy turned dull.

“it’s been a while since i’ve spoken to a camera.” you offered a small smile. your song ‘just a fan’ was playing in the background of the clip.

the scene cuts again.

“when i released that song, i was genuinely proud of the work i had done.” you paused for a while. besides the song playing in the background, it was silent.

“but i guess the joy didn’t last very long.” the scene cuts there.

it transitioned to a collage of what people were saying about you. it showed clips of people talking about it on youtube. they even showed george talking about it.

and it cuts again.

it showed a different clip this time. a clip of your ex boyfriend and you at the beach on a picnic, that was taken by a close friend of yours.

this was when you were still in college.

it showed all the fun memories you two made while you were still together.

it showed a video of him studying in the library, flipping through his papers and scrolling through his laptop. it was clear he was hard at work, not noticing you filming him.

but then the scene cuts again. and the music turned somber.

your ex boyfriend’s grave.

it was the day you were visiting him. you sat down next to his stone, a blanket under you.

you were just staring at his stone, not moving.

and it cuts again.

“he was one of the most driven person i have ever met.” you told the camera.

“he knew when to be serious and when to have fun.” you looked down in your hands and played with your rings.

“all he ever talked about was becoming a surgeon. he worked hard in his intern years and continued being passionate through his residency.” you spoke up.

“people had only nice things to say about him. the only bad thing they would say about him is that he can be pretty uptight sometimes, especially when he was stressed about something.” you laughed a little.

“i was a huge fan of him, even when we just saw each other in the hallways. he’s just amazing. i’ve always wanted to be just like him.”

“i wanted to write a song about him but i didn’t the song to be sad.” you said.

“and that was when the song ‘fan of you’ was created.

the scene cuts there and goes into another.

you were in the recording booth again, this time, you were singing into the mic.

the camera pans to your producer and manager dancing and bobbing their heads to the beat.

the scene cuts, officially ending it with a black screen with ‘the end’ in a fancy white font.

you busied yourself with writing new songs as your name got trended again on twitter.

and george has never felt worse about himself ever in his entire life.

he watched the episode as soon as dream sent it to him.

“you’re an asshole, george.” dream sends to him, along with the link of the video on youtube.

as the video ends, he decides to read the comments, wondering what it was like down there.

it was the worse mistake he had ever made in a while.

but he knew he deserved it. he did assumed it was about him, just like the last song made with a drawing of his glasses as their cover photo on spotify.

this time, there was genuinely no reason to think that this song was about him, or anyone with a following whatsoever. he just believed what his chat told him.

sure, there were some familiarity of the character in your song and him, but the world did have 7.6 billion people living on it.

“so, here i am apologising.” george says to his camera, live. his tone was very sincere and apologetic.

“this shouldn’t have gotten this far. they shouldn’t have gotten threats at all, let alone death threats. they shouldn’t have woken up to the world knowing where they live and what their phone number is.”

“and if you’re watching. i sincerely apologise. i clearly was full of myself.” george finishes. ending the live with a small wave.

and were you watching? hell yes.

and that was the day the two of you followed each other on instagram.

he used your songs as his intros of his live, (with your permission, of course.) you showed in your documentary that you were watching whenever he was live or watching his youtube videos.

and that was the start to a beautiful relationship.

you sat on the chair, going live. you waved as people started joining. it went from hundreds, to thousands in seconds.

as you were talking and clicking on your keyboard and mouse, playing a game, you felt arms around your shoulders.

you smiled, yet continued playing.

“why are you live on my account?” he laughs.

you disconnected the headphones so that he could hear what you were hearing.

“george, you’re being replaced.” dream said on discord.

george smiles, giving you a kiss on the top of your head. “that was well deserved.”

#georgenotfound imagines #georgenotfound imagine #georgenotfound fanfic #georgenotfound x reader #georgenotfound

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skvatnavle · 2 years

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Poor little baby. Do you feel better now that people are defending you? Showering you with fake praise?

You are pathetic and such a sad person. You're fat and ugly. No wonder you don't have any friends. Lonely little fat person searching for friends online, when no one likes her. You should just delete your account.

Wouldn't surprise me if you're boyfriend is cheatinf on you, given how ugly you are. Bet he throws up when he has to touch you.

I've been awake all night, thinking about the previous ask and this... Wondering how I should answer this. What I did wrong.

Luckily there are amazing people on this hellsite that has reached out to me. While I still feel horrible and my eyes hurts from crying, I believe that your words, anon, aren't true.

I've been bullied my whole life. For being fat, for having glasses, freckles, red hair, being weird, you name it. Some people might think that would have hardened me, but... I'm insecure, I don't have any friends and even my dad make fat jokes about me. So it's easy to believe it, when a grey little blob tells me I'm not good enough. Cause I've been told that my whole life.

But... I'm deciding not to believe you. Anon option will be removed and if you have the balls to face me off anon, do it. Otherwise please fuck off. Fuck all the way off.

My confidence (what little I had left) took a big hit last night, so I don't know if I'll ever feel comfortable uploading any personal stuff or share my own fics again.

But a huge thank you to all the amazing people who've shown me love since last night. You are all truly amazing people, are so kind and caring and I'm so eternally grateful for knowing you ❤

@yespolkadotkitty @pascalslittlebrat @anaaaispunk @songsformonkeys @wyn-n-tonic @lucy-sky @pilothusband @sweetfictionalworld and all the amazing people who commented on my first post. If you guys hadn't reached out last night, I might have deleted tumblr and never returned. But you all made me realize that there are kind people in the world ❤

#long post #really personal #Thankful for all the love and support i received #and anon can just fuck off... fuck all the way off...#tw bullying #tw body negativity

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skellebonez · 3 years

Note

With the prompt list, how about someone seeing MK with Monkie King with number 15?

Picking prompts back up with a nice dose of Dad Wukong! I needed some fluff! This is set in *shrug* post-season 2 because despite us only having 2 episodes so far I’m going to pretend season 2 wraps up just enough to give us a hook for a possible 3rd season but everyone is doing ok. For now. I just want everyone in the show to be safe and happy dang it!

Oh god, you’re just like your dad.

"Where to next?" MK asked, looking around the shopping district in excitement. It had taken him so long to convince Sun Wukong to actually join him on a day of just hanging out, outside of a couple short trips to the Anti-Gravity Arcade, and he wanted to cram as much into the day as humanly possible. "Video game store? Cheese tea stall? The new bakery, th-!?"

"Whoa, Bud, slow down!" Wukong eased with a smile. "We have all day. We can go wherever."

"And you’re sure you’re doing good?" Despite the Monkey King's soft tone, MK couldn't help but practically vibrate in equal parts excitement and worry. "There aren't too many people or anything?"

His concerns weren't unwarranted. Sun Wukong had been nearly completely isolated for centuries, company kept only with the monkeys of his mountain home and the odd outing into the world outside. And, of course, online correspondence with his lawyer after a time. Typically he was transformed in some way, a butterfly or bird or cat or something easy to blend in, and though he had made a couple short stops in a human disguise in the past. A quick drink here, a bun or fruit cup there. Nothing that required more than a quick transaction, however.

Now he was in the city, Wàn Qiān Chéng, in that human disguise and staying around. In jeans and a t-shirt and jacket (that MK was genuinely shocked to know he owned, until he realized that they were all branded Monkey King merchandise... including his jeans). Surrounded by people and cars and all manner of things the Monkey King would typically avoid. Despite the gradual introduction to being out and about MK was trying to ease him into, he couldn't help but worry that it would be overwhelming.

"Like I told you before, I'm doing fine!" Wukong put a hand in MK's hair, ruffling it gently with a soft smile.The sudden contact was... well, not that unusual actually. Nor was it unwelcome. The Monkey King always seemed to be a tactile person after all. "But, uh, now that I think about it I am getting kind of hungry. There was a little food stall pretty close by that I’ve been to a few times..."

“Oh, yeah!” MK exclaimed in glee, any place that his mentor frequented (however rarely) must be somewhere nice and he absolutely wanted to experience that! “Lead the way!”

Wukong laughed at MK’s exuberant response, smile softening as he indeed lead the way. “It’s, uh... actually the only place I’ve gone to for food when I’m checking in on you. So don’t be surprised, they’re going to recognize me.”

Ah, that made sense in MK’s mind. Had this been a few weeks ago MK might have been surprised to know that he was being checked in on, Heck, if this was before the Lunar New Year festival he would called anyone who told him a liar. Sun Wukong was not protective of him and he always left MK on his own because he trusted him!

And that last statement was very correct. Wukong did trust MK, more than enough. He knew he could handle just about anything that he would have gotten thrown at him. But not protective was a lie. Maybe it was Macaque, or maybe it was the Spider Queen, but after a while something in his mentor changed. He went from being aloof but helpful to being nearly non-existent (and when MK learned exactly what he had actually been doing he was not happy) and then “I’m just checking in, Bud, my dude, my student who I am not at all protective of what are you talking about” upon his return from his “vacation”.

Wukong trusted his student to handle himself. But that didn’t mean he didn’t worry about him now that the full extent of the danger he had put him in was known. And while some parts of it had been frustrating at times (he had been way too eager to stay at the Noodle Shop at first for Pigsy’s liking) it was kind of nice to have him around in just a casual way. Like when they watched the fireworks.

But beside that point, they finally arrived at the food stall. It was a street vendor, the booth decked out in bright colors and rows of food on offer, mostly...

“Baozi, should have known,” MK chuckled. The Monkey King didn’t make a lot of food at his home, but he made more than enough. Baozi was one of his favorites. “Well, they have got to be good if you keep coming back!”

“They’re not the only reason!” Wukong replied as they stepped up, the lady vendor doing a double take before smiling wide at him. “Hey!”

“Mr. Cheung!” She smiled wide, turning her full attention to the customers. “Well isn’t this a pleasant surprise, you’re a day early! Would you like your usual vegetarian order again?”

“Yes, please!” Wukong’s smile was wide, and if his tail had not been wrapped around his waist MK was certain it would have been swishing wildly. He’d clearly gained some kind of rapport with the vendor of this stall if they were on a “human disguise name” basis. “And, uh, something for my bud here too. Doesn’t have to be vegetarian for him though.”

“I’ll take whatever you think is tasty!” MK stated excitedly, nearly bouncing on his heels in the spot.

"Oh god, you’re just like your dad," the vendor laughed out with a smile as she turned away from them, and Wukong froze beside MK in response.

MK froze in response.

The Monkie Kid was almost certain he had never seen his mentor go this still. Ever.

" Oh no, he's n-"

"He is, huh!? Peach doesn't fall far from the tree!" Wukong laughed almost giddily and almost excessively loud, suddenly wrapping an arm around MK's shoulder and reaching around with his other arm to ruffle his hair once again. “He’s kind of embarrassed anytime someone points that out.”

MK could hear the vendor chuckling and responding with something else, but he couldn’t really understand it as he mulled over what Sun Wukong had just said.

“He is, huh!?”

He didn’t deny the vendor’s assumption at all. He just... went with it. Sun Wukong... just went with someone assuming MK was his son...

He barely paid attention when they were handed their food, the vendor insisting that since he was such a loyal customer that it was free of charge for finally introducing his son to her. Wukong did not deny it again, making pleasant conversation for a short while before they headed off. Wukong’s free hand was firm on his back as he led him away.

“Bud?” Wukong said once they were out of earshot, his tone oddly soft and uncertain for someone of his status. “That uh... I mean... you see... I wasn’t expecting her to just...”

“Have you been bragging about me like I’m your kid to a street vendor every time to check up on me?” MK asked softly, unable to keep the hopeful tone out of his voice.

“... maybe?”

“... you adopted me and you didn’t tell me?” MK asked with half joking offense in his tone, pointing his baozi at his mentor. He couldn’t keep the smile off his face as he said it.

And it seemed that somehow the combination of the way he said that and his exuberant expression drove the Monkey King into a fit of laughter that drew the attention of many passersby.

(The baozi were, as expected of a place that Sun Wukong would frequent, some of the best that MK had ever tasted in his life. Though, perhaps, they were made all the tastier knowing that he was eating them with someone who he had long secretly considered a father figure to him who had seemingly adopted him without meaning to.)

#i have one alias name for sun wukong and i am sticking to it #monkie kid #lego monkie kid #gen fic #mk #Qi Xiaotian #monkey king #sun wukong #dad wukong #this relies on some possible assumptions about episodes that don't exist at the time of writing #BUT I CAN DREAM #prompt fill

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cooloddball · 3 years

Text

Someone submitted something in my inbox and they wanted to remain anonymous. Since this is an extremely long essay, I will put it under the cut. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK, YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!

xxx submitted: hey, i was the one who ask what do you think of Misha and Jensen's current relationship First off all thank you for your answear it means much to me cause im easy to be convice and this person who keep telling me that they are no longer friends can be so convicing, so I'm actully trying to forget what she said 😅 so I'm just writing a few. she said that since they no longer work together, they will forget about each other, and do their common things like the gay jokes, face touches ect. With other people, and neglect each other, don't talk to each other, and then meet new people who will replace the other. And and she talked about the gish thing, she said she sure they didn't talk since the end of the series, because Jensen didn't know where Misha was and Misha didn't know about the Radio Company vol 2 (but i saw people say that, they were just pretending, because Misha liked something about Radio Company Vol 2, before the gish live, so in theory he already knew then or something like that) and She said Misha wrote a poem about Darius not Jensen and now I will write down what she sent me : I saw a post about Jensen's current activities on social media, and I've come to the conclusion the only person he doesn't interact with is mish. Sadly this makes my break up theory even stronger. I feel like this is a goodbye to one of the biggest parts of my life. They've moved on from "uk what I haven't told you today? That i love u"+ from "miss my only jensen" from "i love u misha i mean it from the bottom of my heart" from "jensen has no flaws" from "misha is the funniest thing ever happened to me" from all that love and affection from everything they developed together and now they're apart leaving their lives like nothing happened and call me a dramatic but they both have the same energy now as someone has after a big break up. and Jensen comments on almost every of his friend’s post except Misha’s"+ Jenmish is genuinely the best thing that has ever happened in my entire life. I owe them literally everything. They're the reason i hold on. Unfortunately on this essay i have to start using past tense verbs for them, and i have to continue on that. I don't know for how long y'all been in spn fandom. But even if u joined one year before the show ended you'd know how close and intimate jensen and misha were. Everything about them was unmatched.+ The chemistry and how they just fit eachother. They had always been all over eachother. Like they were holding on eachother for dear life. They completed eachother and were like world's most powerful thing. They were the definition of soulmatism. No matter where, they ALWAYS kept interacting with eachother. Each possible tweet or insta post. On cons that the other wasn't there, the other one would bring up the othere's name for no absolute reason. +The looks and repeated love confessions. How invested they were both into eachother. The family they had built together cuz we know how close dee and mish are (look all the charity work they've been doing together recently). There are youtube videos to proof everything I've said so far.When i say break up, my real intention is that they've grown apart. Everything started in the the third or forth month of pandemic. Before than jensen used to interact +(comment mostly) on almost all of misha's posts. But after a while everything just stopped. At first personally didn't care that much. Bcuz I believed too much in them that I thought not even the gods above could separate them. I told myself maybe they spend long hours chatting or video calling and that's why online public interactions are gone. But as it passed it almost diminished to zero. Except some likes from jackles and eventual ones from misha there weren't anything else.+ We got absolutely no content and the show went off too. We were helpless and were sticking to everything we had Dee had a big social media shot down, so as jensen. Misha was busy with the election. We got some interviews for it with all of them. But we didn't get much.except remember both of them pulling a bff

move. and texted eachother during an online con where everyone else were dead-serious about politics? That flickered something in me. That showed me that+ they can't ever possibly let eachother go. And the times everyone else were talking and these too would just talk random things together (the one jackels had a white hat on with stacy abraham).And then Misha posted that for jensen's bday We really overlooked it. That shit was too intimate. To close. Fav march baby? U just don't go around and called ur bestie baby and when u mean it deeply. Especially not when ur friend is jensen ackles the "I suffered form internalized homophobia my whole life+ but fuck my wife's an angel and i have an angel bf too and another angel which is his wife but I'd rather die than come out cuz my asshole dad pulled a John winchester on me". It doesn't work like that. But uk how mish is. Carefree and open. I believe they got into a fight bcuz of this. He didn't even like the post. AND that was when the tiny bit of interactions we had was gone too. For a while jensen didn't even liked his posts. After a month it started again.What made me finally believe in that they had grown too+ far: I still remember the night misha posted that he and jensen were going to have a con for gish together. I remember how hard I cried. Lile the whole world was given to me. But deep down in my heart I knew that something would definitely happen. It didn't sit right with me and unfortunately my senses never lie to me. Jensen showed up at the wrong time bcuz of misunderstanding the time zones (this was HILARIOUS). That's not even my point.+ I've seen that interview 3 times so far. It always reminds me of when i saw my ex at a party and we were both so thrilled to see eachother and we still loved the other dearly, but we just couldn't work it out. Jensen and Misha's expressions were EXACTLY the same. The genuine smiles and longs pauses were they just stared at eachother. I'm so happy that it was online cuz if they actually gave that looks to eachother standing right next to the other one I would've collapsed. Misha didn't know that jensen's album+ was out. And he got so embarrassed when he found it out. He didn't know that jensen was on set and hadn't been home for 8weeks. Jensen had no idea where misha was. And this means that they hadn't talked in a long long time.When you're that close with someone for more than a decade, i mean THAT close, even if u're separated from eachother you'd at least check on the once a week, or at least once in two weeks. But it was vividly clear that they hadn't. I hate how this world works. They would always be in my heart.+ I would be thankful from them for everything. It hurts, and it won't stop and im so sure I'd be carrying this pain for a long time. They mean too much to a lot of us. Sometimes I think to myself that god i love them so much. Remember in 2019 when we used to get SO many jenmishdee interactions? That was LIT. It was THEE year for us. I hope they're doing good. I really do. I hope we don't get more proofs and I won't have to update this thread. Cuz my heart won't be taking it very+ well.Something i gotta add U may say that Jensen's busy and that's why he doesn't comment. But he comments on a lot of jared and his new costar's posts. So that's no excuse. So yeah that's it. I don't know what am I supposed to think. english isn't my native language, so sorry for the mistakes

Here is my response:

I don't know who this person who has been talking to is but I have to say they seem to be project their previous relationship experience on cockles.

I believe Jensen and Misha are okay and are together. Social media likes and comments don't mean anything. I mean it's not like Jensen or Misha used to comment on each other's posts before. Jensen didn't even wish Dee Happy Mother's Day this year, does that mean they are not together anymore? Nope. He has other best friends he has known for over 20 years like Jason Manns, Steve Carlson etc that he doesn't wish happy birthday, does that mean they are not friends anymore.

Please let's not put value on social media likes. I don't even follow my own family on sm and I don't always like or comment on my bf's or bff's posts on sm. So it doesn't mean anything.

As for the Gish Panel, I have talked about it before, the time Jensen was slotted to attend the panel, he was meant to answer fan questions. I honestly believe they decided to not do it at that time because they knew the questions would be about Destiel and not their new projects. If you watched that panel, Misha knew that Jensen's album was out as I pointed out. He was just trying to promote the album and soldier boy. He knew Jensen had also buffed out. It was all to promote Jensen. Anything else you hear is trolls and antis just being loud. Also don't forget Jensen called him "babe".

If Jensen and Misha weren't okay, he wouldn't have attended or participated all those panels Misha organized especially for Gish. Danneel also posts a lot about RA and likes Misha's posts. I am 100% Misha visited the Ackles when he went to Colorado last month.

Stop listening to trolls and/or antis or just people who are projecting and look at facts.

#submissions #cockles

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tsukishumai · 3 years

Note

Hii. Can I please get 21 with akaashi? :)) also L O V E your work

+ Oops forgot to say my pronouns are she/her (for the 21 Akaashi) have a good dayy

Thanks for the request ! And tysm I love you <3

send me a prompt + ur fav character here :)

21. “I haven’t seen her/him/them smile like that in ages.”

Tags: mentions of alcohol/cigarettes, & meeting the parents lol

Word count: 1.5k

A/N: IM SORRY THIS TOOK ME SO LONG I was having the worst case of writers block but anyway I’m kinda back I’m not sure if I like this one but I hope you do! Lmk ur thoughts <3

Akaashi put the finishing touches on the wooden board he laid out on the table, placing star-shaped fruit in empty spaces to make everything look vibrant and colorful.

“Whoa, where’d you learn how to make that?” you asked as you walked into the kitchen, two wine glasses balanced between your fingers in one hand and a large bottle of Cabarnet Sauvignon in the other.

“I saw a few posts online,” Akaashi stood back and admired his charcuterie board, nodding in satisfaction at how the salami river looked traveling between the mountains of brie and cheddar. “Do you think your parents will like it?”

You smile to yourself, wanting to point at that that’s the seventh time in thirty minutes that he’s asked if your parents would like something. But you figure the beads of sweat forming on Akaashi’s forehead indicated just how nervous he felt, so you placated him with, “I think they’re going to love it, Keiji.”

His lips twitched in some semblance of a smile for just one second before he brings a knuckle up to his lip.

“Or maybe I should put out fig jam instead of raspberry jam? Fig jam goes really well with brie, but I like the color of the raspberry jam better…”

Akaashi’s thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the doorbell.

“Too late, they’re here,” you practically giggled with excitement, setting down the wine glasses on the dinner table. Akaashi quickly started adjusting his shirt, pulling at the collar and tugging at the hem before you stepped in front of him. You gave a soft kiss on the tip of his nose, and said, “Don’t worry, Keiji. I just know they’re going to love you.”

The two of you opened the front door of your shared apartment in tandem, Akaashi standing back and smiling nervously as you threw your arms around your parents. He knows how much you’ve been missing home lately; Tokyo was nothing like your hometown, and he knows all too well the suffocating air of loneliness.

Akaashi liked to think he did everything he could to keep those demons at bay, but even he understands that he could never truly fill the void the same way family could. So when he mentioned inviting your parents over for dinner, offering to pay for the bullet train tickets himself, the excitement you had shown all over your face made him wonder why he didn’t suggest doing so any sooner.

Now that he was standing here, palms sweating as he stood under the scrutinizing gaze of your father, he thinks he maybe could have waited another couple of weeks to meet your parents.

“This is Keiji,” he heard you introduce, and he automatically bent over into a bow.

“It’s nice to finally meet you.”

“Akaashi-kun, none of that, get up and give me a hug,” your mother reached over to set Akaashi straight before wrapping her arms around his shoulders. Akaashi’s eyes widened in surprise, looking over to you in a slight panic as you simply shrugged. “I’ve heard so much about you!”

“I just have to warn you, my mom can be kind of a handful,” you mentioned one evening while you were cooking dinner. Akaashi stood a few feet away from you, diligently chopping the vegetables you had given him.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, she’s really affectionate, for one. That alone is enough to throw some people off,” you mumbled, giving the beef in the pot one last stir before transferring it to a plate, “She likes to tease a lot, and you can never take what she says seriously. She laughs at her own corny jokes, not to mention she’s loud.”

You extended a hand out to Akaashi, and he promptly handed you the cutting board full of vegetables. You added them back in the pot, sautéing them gently.

“That sounds exactly like someone I know…” Akaashi quipped, and you threw your kitchen towel at him.

“Shut up and hand me the curry cubes.”

Before Akaashi could even think to bring his arms up and hug your mother back, she quickly let him go and diverted her attention to the stunning display on your dining room table.

“Oh my, what do we have here,” she exclaimed, moving over to examine the variety of crackers, meats and cheeses that Akaashi so artfully placed on a wooden board he bought at the local grocery store down the street.

“Yes, mom, it’s called a charcuterie board…” you quickly went over to show your mom, and Akaashi was left alone with your father.

Akaashi turned back to the stern-faced man, bowing deeply before uttering out his second, “It’s nice to finally meet you, sir.”

Much to Akaashi’s relief, your father didn’t throw his arms around him, and simply returned Akaashi’s bow. Akaashi discreetly wiped his sweaty palms on the side of his jeans, waving a hand out to motion to the kitchen, “May I get you anything to drink?”

Your father didn’t reply, simply giving Akaashi a soft grunt and walked passed him to where his wife and daughter were laughing. Your mother and you both had a wine glass in hand, sampling different combinations the charcuterie board had to offer. Akaashi observed the way your dad didn’t reach for a wine glass of his own, opting to making himself a bite of salami and gruyere. Akaashi made his way to the refrigerator, grabbing a can from the emergency six pack he bought.

“My dad, on the other hand,” you set down the plate of katsu curry at the head of the dining table for Akaashi, and plate for you in the seat directly to his right, “He doesn’t really say much, but I promise you, he’s a total softy at heart. Don’t let the scowl fool you. He’s like, the total opposite of my mom.”

Akaashi came out of the kitchen carrying to glasses of water, setting one in front of you and one in front of himself before taking his seat at the table. “I guess opposites really do attract, huh?”

You picked up the glass to take a sip, smiling into the rim, “Yeah. I guess that explains me and you.”

Akaashi paused. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Akaashi nearly gleamed at the nod of acknowledgement from your father when he handed him a beer, nearly laughing at the discreet thumbs up you had given him from behind your mother.

Dinner went by without a hitch. Your mother made it easy, asking Akaashi about the details pertaining to his life, and offering him stories about your childhood. He chuckled at your frustrated groans whenever she whipped out her phone to show him baby pictures, asking her to forward him the one where you’re missing your two front teeth.

Your dad hadn’t said much the whole evening, but the crinkles formed in the corners of his eye all the same when Akaashi said a joke that made his wife and daughter howl with laughter.

“Akaashi,” your father grunted, standing up with a beer in one hand as Akaashi collected the dishes from the table, “Why don’t you join me on the balcony for a moment.”

Akaashi audibly gulped, and you fought a snicker from your throat as your grabbed the plates from Akaashi’s hands. “Go on, I got this.”

Akaashi nodded, feeling like his shoes were made of lead as he followed your father through the sliding door that lead out to the balcony. Akaashi promptly slid the door shut behind him, your father immediately leaning over to prop his elbows on the railing.

“That’s a good view,” he mumbled, waving his hand and motioning for Akaashi to stand beside him.

“Thank you,” Akaashi answered, taking his place next to your dad, “It’s part of the reason we chose this apartment.”

Your father nodded, taking out a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. He brought the white stick to his lips, lighting the end before inhaling a deep drag.

“I brought you out here because I wanted to thank you,” your father started, catching Akaashi by complete surprise. “I haven’t seen her smile like that in ages.”

Akaashi was stunned, staring at your father dumbfounded as he continued to let out puffs of smoke. A couple of heartbeats pass between the two of you, Akaashi searching for the words and trying hard not to let the tears further cloud his vision.

“I’ll do anything to make her laugh like that,” Akaashi said a little too quickly, coughing over his last word, “Sir.”

Just then, your father laughed, and Akaashi found himself smiling with him.

“That’s a good man. One last thing,” your father put the cigarette out and tossed it in the empty beer can in his hand, “Don’t tell them about this cigarette, okay? I told them I quit.”

Your father gave Akaashi two pats on the shoulder, leaving Akaashi on the balcony feeling like he could just about rule the world.

#akaashi #akaashi keiji #akaashi keiji x reader #akaashi x reader #akaashi fluff #akaashi keiji x you #haikyuu #haikyuu!!#haikyuu!! scenarios #hq #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu!! imagines #haikyuu imagines #hq hc #is the TL alive?#hope ya see this

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does-this-look-logicality-to-you · 3 years

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Valentine’s Day

words: 2868 universe: human au characters: virgil, roman, patton; mentions of remus, logan, janus pairings: romantic prinxiety, platonic moxiety, platonic DLAMPR, implied background romantic logicality warnings: none i can think of, just fluff on fluff on fluff a/n: happy late valentines day, everyone! i wanted to have this done on actual valentine’s day but executive dysfunction said no thank you. this fic is dedicated to my amazing girlfriend @katlikethesword. i still can’t believe how lucky i am to be your datemate, and i love you with all my heart. this is my first time writing a prinxiety fic this long, so i hope you like it <3

Virgil had never liked Valentine’s Day. As he often said, it was just another commercial holiday created for big corporations to take advantage of people’s relationships in order to make even more money. It was the same with holidays like Christmas and Halloween, but Valentine’s Day had always stood out to him as the worst of them all. He sometimes wondered if, deep down, he disliked this day in particular because he’d never had someone to spend it with.

That is, he didn’t, until he met Roman.

Virgil never would have guessed he’d fall for someone like Roman. The two had met through the internet, after joining a small Discord server for those who shared an interest in Steven Universe. The two held a sort of rivalry between them at first, arguing almost constantly to the point where the others would grow nervous when they noticed both of them online at once. They didn’t dislike one another, per se, but the fact that their opinions clashed a majority of the time led to conflict more often than not.

After some time— and convincing by the others— the two of them begrudgingly started to get along. Their arguments went from heated debates to playful bouts of banter. Virgil found himself growing fond of his eccentric friend, and began to see him as less annoying and self-absorbed. He instead grew to appreciate his sense of humor, and his eagerness to stand up for his beliefs, and his unrelenting loyalty to those he cared about.

Over time, Virgil’s feelings blossomed into something more than just platonic and he felt himself falling. It had terrified him at first— after all, he’d never had feelings like this toward anyone before. He finally came to terms with it after one fateful night, when a voice call lasted so long that the two of them had ended up falling asleep. After that, there was no turning back. After what felt like forever— in reality, a week— he finally opened up about his feelings, and somehow, by some miracle, Roman reciprocated them.

As a result, the two of them were now in a romantic relationship together. Virgil felt himself fall more and more in love every day. It was the simple things that made him special. Roman often sent him messages containing words of adoration and devotion, and he tagged his boyfriend in Tumblr posts that reminded him of their relationship, or of Virgil in general. Virgil had been hesitant to admit that he was in love with Roman, but he did so eventually. He couldn’t imagine loving anyone else.

Not everything was this easy, though. Roman lived thousands of miles away, too far to come and visit unless he was travelling with his family, which was unlikely considering how unappealing his home state was as a vacation spot and how unlikely it was for his parents to plan a trip there. All they could do was pine hopelessly as they waited until they could finally see one another. It wasn’t uncommon for Virgil to lose himself in daydreams of the day they could finally see each other, when they could finally hold each other, when they could finally be together. Roman sometimes joked that he’d expect the pining to die down when they got together, only for it to double once they actually did, and Virgil couldn’t help but agree. It was hard being so far from the person he cared about. All he wanted was to see his love, to be by his side, to be in his arms, even if only for a little while. Was that really too much to ask?

When he woke up on February 14, the first thing Virgil did was grab his phone and open Discord to message Roman. When he did, he’d been expecting his boyfriend to have sent him something, anything, but there was nothing. Maybe he’s not awake yet. He hoped that was it. gerard-gay: hey. happy valentine’s day. i miss you. After he sent it, Virgil lay back down, pulling the covers over himself and closing his eyes again. He stayed like that for a few minutes before stumbling out of bed and changing out of his pajamas. He wasted little time in changing into a purple t-shirt, his favorite hoodie, and a pair of dark gray sweatpants. With that done, he headed into the bathroom. He splashed water on his face, then dried it before taking out his makeup kit. He decided to go for a simple look today, complete with the black eyeshadow on his lower lid that he often wore. Satisfied, he left the bathroom and headed into the kitchen.

The first thing he noticed was that his parents weren’t sitting on the couch like they usually were. Panic surged through him as his eyes flitted around the room, looking for some kind of clue. His gaze fell on a bright pink sticky note on the counter. He came over to it and read it. We had to go pick something up. We’ll be home around 1pm. Love you! ~Mom and Dad Virgil sighed in relief. They hadn’t abandoned him after all. They could have told me beforehand, though. He glanced at the clock on the microwave. 8:49. Damnit, I got up too early. At least he had the house to himself for a while.

He made himself a cup of coffee and a bowl of cereal, got out his daily pills, and headed into the living room and set everything on the coffee table. He sat on the couch and turned on the TV, switching it to Netflix and putting on The Office. It wasn’t his favorite show, but it was better than eating in silence. As he ate his cereal, Virgil checked his notifications again. Nothing. He can’t still be asleep, can he? Even on the weekends, Roman was usually awake at around this time. He wasn’t ignoring him, was he?

Virgil soon finished his breakfast and grabbed a blanket from the back of the couch, swaddling it around himself. He stayed there for a while, occasionally having to venture out of his cozy cocoon to ensure Netflix that he was, in fact, still watching. As he watched, he kept an eye on his phone for any indication that Roman was alive and hadn’t grown bored of him.

Soon, he felt his phone buzz, and he nearly dropped it as he opened Discord to check the notification. To his disappointment, it wasn’t from Roman. It was instead from Patton, one of their mutual friends. happypappypatton: Happy palentine’s day!

Virgil couldn’t help but chuckle. gerard-gay: happy palentine’s day pat

happypappypatton: How’s your day so far?

gerard-gay: could be better

happypappypatton: Oh no! Why? Did something happen?

gerard-gay: nothing happened gerard-gay: just kinda worried about roman

happypappypatton: Is he okay?

gerard-gay: idk gerard-gay: i messaged him earlier but he didn’t respond

happypappypatton: Oh no, I’m so sorry!

gerard-gay: it’s okay gerard-gay: at least my parents aren’t home gerard-gay: so i get the house to myself😎

happypappypatton: Can I call you and keep you company?

gerard-gay: nah that’s okay gerard-gay: i don’t wanna take time out of your day

happypappypatton: You’re not happypappypatton: Nobody should be alone on Valentine’s day happypappypatton: Pleeeeease??? I want to talk to you!

gerard-gay: okay

happypappypatton: Yay!!

Virgil laughed to himself as he clicked the phone icon. It didn’t even finish ringing once before Patton picked up.

“Hi Vee!”

“Hey, Pat.”

“How’ve you been?”

“In the ten seconds since you last talked to me?” He laughed. “Exactly the same.”

Patton giggled. “Good point.”

“What about you?”

“I’m doing great! You know I love Valentine’s day.”

“I know you do. You and your roommate are having that Palentine’s party this year, right?”

“Yup!”

“I wish I could come,” Virgil half-joked.

“I know, I wish you could too. Just hang in there, we’ve only got a year and a half ‘till you graduate.”

“Yeah, I know. I’m counting the days.”

“Me too,” Patton agreed with a soft laugh. “Has Roman gotten back to you yet?”

“Nope.”

“That’s really weird. I would have thought he’d have sent you a page-long message about how much he loves you and misses you.”

“I know, I thought so too.” He sighed. “Do you think he’s sick of me?”

“No, absolutely not. You know how much Roman cares about you. Besides, even if he didn’t, he wouldn’t just ignore your messages.”

“Yeah, I guess. It would be pretty out of character for him to just ghost me.”

“Ghost you? But it’s not Halloween, it’s Valentine’s Day!”

Virgil groaned. “You couldn’t not make a dad joke, huh?”

“Sorry,” he giggled. “But you gotta admit, that was kinda funny.”

“Meh. It wasn’t your worst work.”

Patton laughed.

“Anyway.”

“Yeah, anyway…”

The two of them were quiet for a moment. “What about the others?” asked Virgil. “Have you talked to ‘em today?”

“Mhm! I DMed everyone earlier. I’m actually talking to ‘em right now.”

“Oh, cool. Are you…” he hesitated before finishing, “talking to Roman?”

“No, he’s the only one who hasn’t said anything. So on the off-chance he’s actually ignoring you, he’s ignoring me too.”

“Has anyone else said anything?”

“Nope. It’s weird, I asked them if they’d talked to him today after you told me he hadn’t been responding, and they all said no.”

“Even Remus?”

“Uh-huh. Apparently he hasn’t even seen him today.”

Virgil started bouncing his leg anxiously. “Okay, now I’m getting kinda scared. Do you think something happened to him?”

“I dunno. Maybe? But Remus would’ve said something about it, right?”

“Yeah, I’d think so.”

“Let’s change the subject,” Patton suggested. “I don’t wanna make you more anxious about this than you already are.”

“Thanks, Pat. How are the others? What are they up to?”

“They’re doing pretty good! Remus is working on a writing project, Janus is playing Stardew Valley, and Logan’s procrastinating on his schoolwork by scrolling Tumblr. Don’t worry, I already scolded him for it.”

Virgil laughed, the mention of Logan reminding him of something. “Ooh, speaking of Logan, are you gonna tell him today?”

“No, not today.”

Virgil was genuinely shocked. “Really? Why not?”

“C’mon, you know him. He sees Valentine’s Day as an excuse for big companies to make a boatload of money.”

“So? I think that too. What does that have to do with you not telling him?”

“It wouldn’t mean anything to tell him today. I don’t even know if I’m ready to tell him yet or not. Besides, he’s got a lot on his plate today, Valentine’s day or not.”

“I get that. Sorry, I didn’t mean to sound so pushy. You tell him when you know you’re ready.”

“Thanks, Vee. You didn’t sound pushy, though. I definitely know how frustrating it can be when your friend’s been pining after someone for months on end but they still refuse to do anything about it.“

Virgil laughed. “Okay, okay, I get it. I’ll stop complaining.”

“I’m not saying you have to. I did my fair share of complaining when y—” Patton stopped abruptly, and Virgil heard a faint voice coming from the other end. “Okay, just gimme a second,” Patton called out, clearly talking to someone else. “I’m so sorry, Vee, I gotta go. Emile promised a couple friends we’d meet them for lunch today and it completely slipped my mind.”

“That’s okay,” Virgil reassured him. “You go have fun, Pat. I’ll be fine by myself.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure. If I get really lonely I can always talk to the others.”

“Okay. Tell me if Roman gets back to you, ‘kay?”

“I will. I’ll talk to ya later.”

“Bye! Love you!”

“Love you too.” Virgil hung up the phone and got up, grabbing his dirty dishes and taking them into the kitchen to wash them. Once he finished, he glanced over at the clock, which read 10:37. Only about two and a half hours until Mom and Dad get home, he thought as he put the dishes away. He left the kitchen, checking his phone again as he headed toward his bedroom. Once again, Roman still hadn’t said anything. He’s definitely awake by now. Had he been right? Had something happened to him? He forced the thought away. He couldn’t let that bother him. Why was it so important, anyway? Today was just another day.

He reached his room and sat down at his desk, turning on his laptop and putting on his headphones. He then opened Spotify and put on the playlist he’d made for Roman the day after they’d gotten together, before switching over to Tumblr and scrolling through his dashboard. He could probably do the exact same thing in the living room, but he preferred the cozier, more familiar atmosphere of his bedroom. Peanut, his cat, climbed up onto his lap and curled up into a ball. Virgil smiled to himself and reached one hand down to scratch him behind the ear. Peanut purred, and Virgil’s smile widened.

He stayed there for a few hours, seeing what everyone on Tumblr was up to today. Every so often, he switched to Discord to see if Roman had replied to him yet, but no such luck. He did his best to ignore his growing worry, focusing instead on the computer in front of him and the cat on his lap. He could be busy today, he reminded himself. His world doesn’t revolve around you.

Soon enough, he heard the familiar rumble of the garage door, followed by the ca-CHUNK of the front door and the clip-clop-clip-clop of his parents’ footsteps. Virgil gently moved Peanut off his lap, which the pale ginger tabby didn’t seem to mind much. “I’m gonna go say hi to Mom and Dad,” he told the cat. “You can come if ya want.” Peanut meowed in response, which made Virgil laugh. He knew his cat couldn’t understand him, but he still found it wildly amusing when he acted as if he did. He crouched down to pat his head a few times before leaving his bedroom and going into the living room. He smiled at his parents when he saw them. “Hey,” he greeted, giving a sort of half-wave.

“Hey, honey,” his mom greeted with a smile.

“Happy Valentine’s Day!” added his dad.

“Yeah, you too.” He came over and hugged his parents.

“Have you eaten yet?” his dad wanted to know.

“I did,” he reassured him. “I had a bowl of cereal.”

This satisfied him. “Good.”

“What’ve you been up to?” asked his mom.

“Not much. I had breakfast, called Patton and then went to hang out with Peanut and scroll Tumblr for a bit. What about you guys? What exactly were you picking up?” He glanced around in search of a box or some kind of indication of a possible answer but found none.

“Actually,” answered his mom. “It was something for you.”

Virgil hadn’t expected that. “Oh! I-uh, cool. Thanks.”

“Don’t thank us yet,” his dad told him with a laugh. “Go and see, it’s in the garage.”

“Okay.” He went into the laundry room, where the door to the garage was, with no idea what he was going to find in there. His parents rarely got him big presents, and when they did it was either for his birthday or for Christmas. He had no idea what to expect. He reached the door, turned the handle, and flicked on the lights.

Standing there was a teenage boy with a broad smile. He wore a red hoodie and a pair of ripped blue jeans, and his white sneakers were dirty and worn. Around his neck was a necklace with a gold-colored charm shaped like a crown. He spoke, his voice sounding to Virgil like the most beautiful of songs. “Happy Valentine’s Day, sweetheart.”

“ROMAN!” Virgil barreled into him, nearly knocking him over as he threw his arms around him. “Oh my God, you’re actually here. Like, right here. In my garage. How did you even manage to do this?”

“I have my ways.”

Virgil pulled back a little to smirk at him. “You’re just as insufferable in real life as you are online, huh?”

“Well, I’m afraid you’re stuck with me and my insufferableness.”

“Unfortunately.” Virgil gave him a lopsided grin as an indication that he was joking, and an adoring smile crossed his boyfriend’s face. “Is this why you haven’t answered my message?”

“I can’t believe you’re actually here. You actually are here, right? This isn’t some practical joke?”

“It’s not a joke. I wouldn’t do that to you. Well, maybe I would, but not on a day like today. Not on Valentine’s Day.”

The two were quiet for a few moments, just taking in one another’s presence. Virgil was pretty confident that he would willingly stay here forever if he could.

“Well, now that you’re here, what do you want to do first?” Virgil asked, finally breaking the silence.

Roman gave Virgil the playful smirk he’d only ever imagined before. “I think I have an idea.” He rested a hand on his cheek and leaned in, and Virgil felt his heart soar as he and Roman shared their long-awaited first kiss.

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ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff · 4 years

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The Sight of You (Spencer Reid x Reader)

Summary: Spencer’s disturbing dreams about his childhood bring him back to Las Vegas to face two of his childhood’s greatest enemies: his estranged father and his ex best friend.

AN: it’s a friends to enemies to lovers fic! Set in the episode “Memoriam” 4x07

Content Warnings: usual Criminal Minds stuff, mentions of child death, childhood trauma, descriptions of a dead body. Let me know if I missed anything!

Despite seeing Spencer around Pre-k, Y/N did not trot over to talk to him with their brightly coloured rucksack swinging vigorously and violently behind them. They walked faster instead once their parents had dropped them off. Spencer did his best to catch up to Y/N but lost them around the corner in the sea of students seeking their next class. He was meant to be one of them. Adjusting his glasses as they slipped down his nose, Spencer noted that he needed a new prescription before entering his own class and preparing to focus on a subject he was already well-versed in.

It was lunch time when Spencer finally found Y/N. They were sitting at the furthest end of the table in the canteen. But Y/N cowered away from him, his shoulders drawn up defensively.

“Are you OK, Y/N?” Spencer asked before getting to what was more significant to him: “Do you know when you will be free to play again?”

The next sentence out of Y/N’s mouth stung like a nettle. They stood up, their face contorted in their fit, and they pushed Spencer hard on the shoulders.

“Go away! I can’t look at you! You make me feel sick, you and your family!” They cried.

They went silent when Spencer was laughed at by those who heard what was said. Just grabbed their lunch and moved away, leaving Spencer spellbound in the middle of the canteen, heartbroken and with a new opening for a potential chess partner. Maybe that man they saw last week at the park would be kind enough to join him again.

But there was no replacement for Y/N, who now never said a word when they caught a glimpse of Spencer being bullied – only dithering about on the spot before fleeing the scene moments before a teacher would show up.

Spencer was hurt; that hurt warped into hatred when he was next out with his mother and father. They were at the shopping mall and had just bought Spencer his new glasses. Going down the escalator, he saw Y/N. They were smiling and skipping between their parents, a new pair of shoes shiny on their feet.

The second they spotted the Reids, Y/N ducked behind their parents. Spencer could still see their face: brow furrowed, eyes squinting, hands shaking now that nothing was holding them. Their parents didn’t seem to notice. They kept talking and walking even as Y/N stopped in time with the Reids stepping off the escalator.

Sudden footsteps running away was what dragged the public’s attention to a suddenly absent child.

“Y/N!” The parents called out as they chased after the four-year-old. They were quick past the Reids, not stopping to say ‘hello’.

Spencer kept his eyes trained after Y/N’s fleeing form, right until his mother’s face came into view. Diana looked saddened; she too was staring after the L/Ns. Turned to his father. William was composed but his eyes were turned down and watering.

For making his parents react like that to their mere presence, Spencer despised Y/N.

---> ---> ---> ---> --->

The burning hatred from adolescence staled once Spencer reached adulthood. The protective nature that spawned from it for his mother remained.

Which is why, when Diana Reid casually mentioned Y/N when asked about Riley Jenkins, Spencer froze up.

“You remember Y/N?” He said stiffly.

Diana didn’t notice her son’s change in tone, “Of course, you two were opposites but you got on so well. So sad what happened to them.”

The first guess was that she was referring Y/N’s repeated attempts at running away before Reid cut contact with neighbourhood gossip at age fourteen. He didn’t bother with a second attempt to understand what his mother meant.

“I don’t care about Y/N. I want to know if you remember Riley.”

“And I told you: Riley was a boy you made up.”

“No, Mom, he was a real boy who lived in our neighbourhood, and somebody killed him. And, I don't know, I think-- I think that dad might have had something to do with it.”

“He was real?”

“Yes. And...”

“He was on that little league team, too.”

---> ---> ---> ---> --->

The whole case was surreal - “case” being a very loose term.

When they got into his office, Spencer thought that perhaps things might simmer down a little. Unfortunately, as soon as his father spoke about their history of similarity in appearance, Spencer’s usual comfort of statistics and facts on the elderly and pets failed to conceal his abandonment issues.

William Reid was clearly affected by Spencer’s accusations, calling the idea of fitting the profile thus being Riley’s killer “absurd”. Furthermore, he was confrontational when asked for access to his files and demanded a warrant. Coupled with Lou Jenkins’ absolute certainty that William was not involved in Riley’s murder and Penelope asking him “you sure about this?” concerning invading the aforementioned files, Spencer was very close to snapping.

“I really wish people would stop asking me that.”

Then there was the envelope posted beneath his motel room door. Suspicious timing aside, there was a brand-new suspect basically handed over on a silver platter. One Gary Michaels whom Spencer couldn’t remember him but he couldn’t be sure that he didn’t know him. Uncertainty being the feeling he hated the most.

This man could fit the profile; his previous of exposing himself to a minor was a precursor to molestation. But that wasn’t what Spencer wanted to hear from the shady file slipped to direct his attention away from William.

Garcia reported back about his father’s drives, “No kiddie porn, no membership to illicit websites, no dubious emails, no chat room history.”

“What about his finances?”

Hotch joined the conversation, “We went back ten years. No questionable transactions that we can find.”

Spencer sighed while Emily decided to crack a joke: “Well, he did buy a ticket to see Celine Dion six months ago, but I think we can overlook that.”

“He’s smart. Is it possible he kept things under the table?” Spencer persisted.

“Well, of course,” Hotch answered, “But from what we can tell, Reid, he doesn’t fit the profile.”

“We can tell you other things about him, if you want to know.”

A peace offering on behalf of Emily. Clearly she had improved after her night out and subsequent hangover. Spencer gave the go-ahead and Emily listed her profile:

“He's a workaholic, he actually logs more hours than we do. He makes decent money, but he doesn't spend a lot of it. He has a modest house. He drives a hybrid. He doesn't travel much. He stays away from the casinos. Um, and according to his veterinary bills, he has a very sick cat.”

“He appears to spend most of his free time alone,” Hotch added, “He goes to the movies a lot, and he reads. And from his collection of first editions, it seems his favourite author is-”

Spencer interrupted his boss, “Isaac Asimov, I remember that one.” He pressed his lips together. They were right; William Reid did not fit the profile.

Garcia piped up once more, “He does have one other major interest. On his home computer, he's archived, like, a ka-jillion things on one common subject.”

“What?”

“You, kiddo. He's got, like, everything that's been published online. Every article you've been quoted in, pieces you've written for behavioural science journals, He even has a copy of your dissertation.”

“He's keeping tabs on you,” Rossi said, That's saying something.”

But Spencer smoothly dismissed this attempt to make excuses for his father, “Yeah, he googled me. That makes up for everything. I'm going to get some air.”

---> ---> ---> ---> --->

After getting said air, Spencer went to the local bar and began playing an computerised poker game. His paying attention was only to distract himself, clear his head with something he knew he could control. And thankfully, a chance interaction with a lady at the bar spawned the inspiration for a sporadic hypnosis session.

Doctor Jan Mohikian allowed them a session. Reminded of the limitations that a four-year old’s memory could provide, not including the bias he already had as a son and a profiler, Spencer lay on the couch. His feet hung over the end so that his head could be comfortable in a pillow. There was no time for self-consciousness with Rossi in the room observing. He closed his eyes and felt his hand be placed upon Doctor Mohikian’s body.

She spoke low and calmingly, “I want you to hold my wrist in your left hand. And if you should feel any fear, I want you to squeeze, do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Go back to the night you were just telling me about. You're at home, in your room. You can't sleep because your parents are arguing.”

---> ---> ---> ---> --->

His eyes were closed still, but the couch shifted into a bed. His bed. A floor below, the faint shouting between his mother and father was heard. There was someone else there too. A child wailing, and it wasn’t him.

Suddenly his father was at his side, touching his arm, saying, “I know you’re awake. Daddy loves you; you know that?”

Spencer didn’t want to be there, and then it was the following morning.

Putting his glasses, the room fell into focus. His mother was there, she didn’t see him because she was too busy looking out the window. Her body language told him that this was not a meltdown, but what she saw was distressing. She’d been crying. As she walked away into the house, she hid her face as if she knew Spencer was watching and she wanted to hide her reaction from him.

Spencer ran to the window the second Diana had left the room.

His father was in the back garden and burning clothes. A bloody shirt, a tiny cardigan, landed on top of the pile already set alight.

“5, 4, 3, 2, 1, and wake.”

---> ---> ---> ---> --->

And Spencer was shocked out of the scene, back to the doctor’s couch and gripping her wrist with an iron grip. Rossi was by his side, bringing him back to peace with his voice.

---> ---> ---> ---> --->

Derek was clearly disturbed that Spencer was very set on his father being a paedophilic murderer as much as he had been that Spencer was taking something that was said after his mother’s fit seriously. He continued however to assist with Rossi in Spencer’s investigation.

As if everything else hadn’t been hard enough, the captain took some time to agree to holding William Reid in custody. Finally, he settled for twenty-four hours. William was as resistant to the questions as he had been upon the initial reunion. All he could say was that he didn’t hurt Riley. Spencer wore him down, getting him to drop the Gary Michaels bomb plus the threat that he “didn’t want to go down that road”.

Garcia’s search of Gary Michaels’ DNA on the databases brought to light that their suspect was dead. Buried across state lines, beat over the head with a pipe or bat, and the body was discovered in 2001.

“Maybe it wasn’t Riley’s blood on the clothes he was burning.” Derek was about to hang up when Garcia began to speak again, a new discovery ready for her team.

“Also, Todd found something in your father’s finances. There was a standing order for a therapist, specifically a child therapist from 1985 to 1995. I thought it was for Spencer, but William left when you were twelve, and these sessions continue irregularly after he left you!”

“Who was the patient?”

“One Y/N L/N. Local to North Vegas, born 1980 to Shelly and Finley L/N.”

Both Rossi and Derek looked away from the phone to Spencer and he knew. He knew he’d have to face another villain from the past – like a knight in one of Y/N’s stories.

“Still alive?”

“Yep, already pulling up an address. There’s a lot of short leases attached to this name. Lucky for you, they keep going back to live with their parents.”

Spencer wasn’t entirely sure that he could handle two bitter reunions in one day.

“We’ll send off the fingerprint while we visit Y/N. They could have been a potential victim of Michaels before he died. They might know something.”

---> ---> ---> ---> --->

It was a normal home in a normal neighbourhood. Spencer had never visited Y/N’s house. Their play-dates were always at the park.

“Hello, Mr L/N,” held up their badges, “I’m Agent Derek Morgan, this is Agent David Rossi and Doctor Spencer Reid. May we come in and ask you some questions?”

“Sure. My wife is uh out at work at the moment,” Finley opened the door wider and stepped aside for the trio to enter, “I’m the house husband as it were.”

Looking about the kitchen, Spencer spied several photos of an adult Y/N but very few of them as a toddler and even less as a teenager.

“You have a child, Mr L/N?” Rossi asked.

“All grown up now, Y/N,” Finley smiled with a nod. Then he squinted at Spencer, “You’re not related to William Reid by chance, are you?”

Masking his bitterness, Spencer said shortly, “He’s my father.”

Finley seemed in awe at the prospect, so Derek redirected the conversation back to the matter at hand, “What was Y/N like as a child?”

Nodding still, like a bobble head, Finley looked weary at the notion, “Troubled. They were very young when they withdrew into themselves. Used to run away from home a lot. I don’t know what happened, but Y/N never told us.” He then jumped to protect his child’s reputation at present, “They’re doing better now, went to therapy and they’re doing very well for themselves.”

“I’m glad to hear.” Rossi replied.

Finley continued his defence of Y/N, “They’re a published author, they write fantasy things for kids and young adults. We’re very proud of them.”

“Did Y/N know Riley Jenkins when they were a child?”

“Riley Jenkins, that’s Lou’s kid who died, right?” Finley sought confirmation and, when he had it, he spoke, “Not personally. I think they might have played at the park once or twice. Before he died, Y/N would play with anyone. But you… you know that.” And Finley gestured to Spencer, much to his disgust.

“Is Y/N in the area?” Spencer asked briskly.

“Well, they’re due for a visit in a few hours. They went on holiday.”

“They still live with you?”

“A month ago, they got a new flat in the city. But they’ve got their own room here, for whenever they need it.”

“May we see it?”

The wallpaper was barely visible beneath exam revision notes, posters of Fresh sheets on the bed and the clear space on the floor were the only tidy things about the place. It was a haven of organised clutter.

A chess set caught Spencer’s eye. It sat upon the windowsill, recently dusted. The pieces were not that of a classic set; each was painted prettily but with enough error to indicate it was a personal touch.

“You and Y/N were close then?” Derek was holding up a photo album. Upon inspection, the photograph the page was open on was of Spencer and Y/N dressed up for Halloween as Doctor Frankenstein and the Monster respectively – accurate to the book of course.

“Yeah, ‘were’,” Spencer turned back to the chess set. He didn’t bother to ask when his friends had figured out he knew Y/N.

Rossi decided to further test the waters, “You think that Y/N could have killed Riley?”

“Of course not. A four-year-old couldn’t kidnap, tie up, rape, and kill a boy their own age. No violent history that indicates they would ever do something like this. Do I think that Y/N knows something about what happened and my father is trying to keep them quiet? Yes.”

Rossi moved beside Spencer, picking up the knight. Except it wasn’t a knight. It was a wizard of some kind in purple robes.

“We’ll stay up here for a bit then go down once Y/N’s inside and settled,” He gestured with the knight to the window. Spencer blanched as he spied a cab at the end of the driveway. The trunk was open and someone was retrieving a suitcase from within.

Y/N appeared around the corner, waving off the cab and turning to the house. Mr L/N appeared on the drive and they met in the middle for a hug. Over Mr L/N’s shoulder, Spencer could see that Y/N had grown into their chubby childhood features. They looked genuinely happy.

He would have to go through with it, but he didn’t have to like it. And he couldn’t go hide in the bathroom like with his father.

The trio plodded down the stairs when the sound of the front door closing was replaced with a joyous gathering in the kitchen. It all changed when Y/N went to take off their jacket and caught sight of the three FBI agents standing in the doorway. Taking out his badge, Rossi led the way.

“Hello, Y/N, I’m Agent David Rossi, this is Agent Derek Morgan, and Doctor Spencer Reid. We’re looking into the death of Riley Jenkins, and we were hoping to ask you some questions.”

To the naked eye, very little changed about Y/N’s appearance. To the three profilers, there was a visceral reaction: Y/N’s right hand started trembling, the hard swallow, the dropping of their gaze from Spencer to the floor.

“OK,” They said, a great deal quieter than they had been with their father.

Rossi sat next to Y/N at the dinner table. Derek was beside Rossi; Spencer stayed standing. Mr L/N stayed in the kitchen, at Y/N’s request.

“Can you tell us what you remember about Riley?” Rossi began.

“Not very much, I don’t really remember much about school.”

“Oh, you don’t?” Spencer blurted, “Well, I do.”

Derek glanced back at him with a look that just screamed “shut the hell up”. It seemed to cut down Y/N’s resolve, their jaw quivering.

“Sorry, can you give me a moment?” They stood up quick, the chair legs scraping loudly against the floor as they walked just as fast to the kitchen. Through the open door, Rossi, Derek, and Spencer watched Y/N grab a glass from the open dishwasher. The water from the tap hit the bottom of the glass harsh, crashing out like a wave of the ocean hitting a cliff. Y/N didn’t seem to care. Their hand dripped water onto the surface as they chugged back some of the drink before returning to the table with a topped-up glass.

“Are you alright?” Rossi inquired, leaning closer to Y/N.

They answered wearily, “Fine, just feeling woozy.”

“You’re a writer?”

“Yeah, you’re a writer too. My mom reads your stuff before bed.”

“Bit of an odd nightcap,” Rossi said with a little chuckle.

Y/N shared that smile for the briefest of moments, replying “You’re telling me.”

From their pocket, they pulled out some painkillers, popping them back with a slug of water then speaking again. “I remember Riley was smaller than me. Still figuring out coordination, but he liked to play chase. I know he was killed; I didn’t find out how until I looked into it last year.”

“Why did you look into it?” Rossi gently probed.

Y/N rubbed two fingers back and forth across their head as they spoke, “I was back here, I felt sick so I went for a walk in the park, and I just remembered him tripping over while trying to tag me. No one ever told me what happened, just that he had to go away. I wanted to know what happened to him.”

“Are you sick often?” Derek asked suddenly, his voice soft to match Rossi. Spencer grimaced at the treatment Y/N was receiving but said nothing.

“Headaches and stomach aches mostly.”

“You get them whenever you come home?”

“I do. Figured I was allergic to something but never figured out what.”

That would have to be a very quick response, like a dog allergy. And coincidental, seeing as the symptoms didn’t start until they saw Spencer.

“Y/N?” called their father, “Can you come here a moment please?”

“May I?”

“Of course,” said Derek and Y/N was out of the room. Derek pivoted in his chair to include Spencer in his theory, “I think they know something, but they don’t know they know it. I think they repressed this memory like you did, Spencer. We should take him to the therapist, see if we can jog his memory.”

“You can’t be serious,” Spencer covered his face with his hands, dragging them down with irritation.

Derek was persistent though, “Spencer, like it or not, Y/N’s linked to this investigation. Put aside your differences for a moment, please.”

Spencer all but squawked, “Put aside my differences?”

“You have brought a lot of bias to this case. Let us at least pursue this lead.”

“Sorry,” Y/N interrupted Spencer’s retort, sitting back at the table, “He needed someone to get unhook the loft door. Mom usually does it.”

“That’s alright.” Rossi waved a hand dismissively. Once Y/N accepted that, he moved in with Derek’s suggestion, “You know, some people have strong physical reactions to memories, trauma. Maybe you’re not getting sick. You’re rejecting something.”

“Rejecting?” repeated Y/N. There was no doubt in their voice, more cautious curiosity.

Derek nodded, “A memory, repressing it, and your body has linked the physical responses to your home. We think it has something to do with this case, and we’d like to see if we can retrieve any memories you might have. Would you be alright to come with us?”

“Yeah,” said Y/N, though they didn’t sound too certain, “Yeah sure.”

The resigned, too tired look on their face, and Spencer felt a tug in his chest. A longing to see Y/N smile like they had when they first entered the house. He’d rather hate someone who was happy than someone who suffered the same as him.

Leaving the house, Spencer took a deep breath of fresh air.

“Spencer?”

He ignored Y/N’s voice for a moment, but he couldn’t disregard Y/N standing in front of him and speaking again, “Spencer, can we talk please?”

“I’m busy,” He said, already walking off as he pretended to call someone, “Hey Garcia.”

---> ---> ---> ---> --->

“Hold onto my hand, use it as an anchor, and squeeze when you feel fear.” Doctor Mohikian accepted Y/N’s hand on her wrist and their silence nod as they lay back on the same couch Spencer had been just hours before.

“I want you to think back to your childhood, back to when you were five. You’re at the park, your parents are on a bench watching nearby to keep you safe. What do you see?”

“Spencer Reid.”

Derek and Rossi glanced at Spencer, who did not react. They kept quiet so that Y/N could immerse themselves in the hypnosis.

“What’s he doing?” Doctor Mohikian continued.

“Teaching me chess.”

---> ---> ---> ---> --->

Sat on opposite sides of the table, Spencer and Y/N’s eyes were glued to the chess pieces that were neatly organised between them. Spencer was thinking strategy. He could not say the same for his companion Y/N. They reached a hand out and hovered over the pieces before finally selecting their last knight.

Their tongue clicked as Y/N trotted the piece on the spot.

“What’s this one again?”

“The knight,” Spencer recited, “It moves two spaces up, down, left or right, and another step perpendicular to the first direction.”

“Brave creatures riding into battle,” Y/N narrated before continuing their clip-clopping to its new position, “Pawns in the game of war.”

Spencer didn’t understand how they were coming up with this whilst playing. Well, actually, he did. Because Y/N was clearly not playing to win. They were playing for the best possible story.

“Where do you think this story will end?” Y/N asked.

“I don’t know.”

“You’re lying,” said Y/N, pushing back the sleeves of their white cardigan, “Come on, you can tell me, with your magic powers.”

“It’s not magic. It’s logic.”

“That’s magic to me,”

Narrowing his eyes, Spencer decided that he should give his friend the information they sought: “I see checkmate in fifteen moves.”

“See? Magic! The gift of sight!” crowed Y/N, clapping their hands together. The cardigan sleeves fell back in place as they did so. Spencer felt his cheeks heat up; he dropped his head so he could smile in privacy while Y/N began to decide their next move.

“How’s your mommy today?”

Shrugging, Spencer said, “Better than normal. But that means a bad day is around the corner.”

Y/N nodded solemnly. “Do you want another ice cream? I got more birthday money.”

“No thank you.” Spencer moved the piece but was immediately intercepted by Y/N, “You’re getting better.”

“Fank you.”

“You’ll have to wait longer to beat me though.” And he snatched Y/N’s knight away, just as planned and much to Y/N’s dismay.

A new voice from their left spoke, “Hey you’re pretty good.”

---> ---> ---> ---> --->

Y/N’s grip tightened on Doctor Mohikian’s wrist, “Someone’s with us.”

“Who do you see?” Doctor Mohikian asked patiently.

“A man. He’s asking us if he can watch us play, listen to the story.”

“Do you want him to stay?”

“No,” Y/N flinched, “But Spencer keeps talking to him. The man won’t go away.”

“It’s OK, it’s OK, you’re safe, Y/N.”

Y/N flinched again, this time letting out a whimper, “He’s on the floor.”

“Spencer is?”

“No, the man.”

“What’s he doing on the floor?”

“He’s,” Y/N began panting, their face tensing and body jerking, “I can’t get to him. There’s glass in the way and the ground is shaking.”

“Y/N.”

“I can’t look, I’ll be sick! Whenever I see them, sick.”

“OK, you’re going to wake up in 5, 4, 3, 2, 1!”

Their eyes snapped open with the click of the fingers and Y/N leapt out of Doctor Mohikian’s couch. Their head aimed over the bin by the door and they retched. Nothing came up but their stomach continued to squeeze up

Spencer fidgeted in his seat, trying his best not to look at Y/N. The choice words of the session, three in particular, wrapped around his head.

“Floor”.

Y/N had seen Gary Michaels inside, somewhere that wasn’t the park.

“Glass”.

A window, Y/N was watching what Gary Michaels was doing.

“Sick”.

“Go away! I can’t look at you! You make me feel sick, you and your family!”

“Them”.

It wasn’t just Michaels in the room alone. They had been a witness to his murder.

Derek’s movement to help Y/N took Spencer out of his analysis. Sweaty, Y/N was led back to the couch, the bin between their legs, head lolling forward. Spencer tried to move beside them for questioning, but Y/N winced and began heaving again. He felt that ache in his chest again. He was causing this and nothing he could do would change that. Not until they both knew what happened to Riley and Y/N got help through it.

“What did you see, Y/N?” Derek asked as he replaced Spencer’s spot beside them.

With watering eyes, Y/N looked at Spencer, “The man we played with, he was on the floor. His head – thank you.” They accepted the water from Doctor Mohikian, gulping some back, “It was smashed in.”

The three agents left the room, Doctor Mohikian following after Y/N left to get some air.

“It’s logical to assume that Y/N tied that sickness, that repulsion because of what they thought they saw your mother be involved with, to you and your family,” Doctor Mohikian evaluated.

Interrupting again, Spencer stammered his way through his analysis, “That’s why they avoided me. They associated me with being ill. It’s probably also why they ran away so much; they had to get away from this horrible feeling they had associated with their home.”

Doctor Mohikian shook her head, “We won’t be able to use this in court, I told you when we started.”

Derek’s phone started to ring. As he answered, Spencer somehow managed to slip away for long enough to find Y/N. They were leaning against the ramp’s railing in front of the practice, their body lifting and slumping with each deep breath they took. Against his better judgement, he moved toward them.

“Y/N? Can I have your number?”

The breathing slowed again.

“I need it to call you with an update on the situation as soon as we get one.”

Without looking up, Y/N pulled out their phone and handed it over to Spencer. He punched his number in a new contact, using this time to gather the courage to maybe say something else. The hurt and pain went beyond him now. Y/N was suffering and had been much longer than he had.

“Thank you, Y/N,” Spencer said quietly, hoping that his didn’t add to the illness, “I hope you feel better soon.”

Their head still down, Y/N croaked, “You too, Spencer.”

“Spencer, get over here! We got a match on a print on Michaels’ body!”

---> ---> ---> ---> --->

“What makes you think Gary Michaels killed your boy?”

“He admitted it,” Lou Jenkins said, as monotonous as he had been for the last fifteen minutes of the interrogation.

Derek’s quickfire was on Jenkins instantly, “You beat a guy with a baseball bat, he's going to admit to a lot of things. How do you know he was the right guy?”

“I know. He approached another kid in the neighbourhood.”

“And how do you know that?

“I was told by a concerned party.”

“Who? Another parent?”

Jenkins leant back in his chair, “That's all I'm going to say on the subject.”

“Who was it?” Spencer suddenly spoke up.

Caught off guard at his interjection, Jenkins awkwardly parroted himself, “I told you that's all I'm going to say on the sub—"

Reid slammed his hands on the table, getting right up in Lou’s face, “Who was it?”

The door opened, Detective Hyde appeared, “Agent Reid?”

“Do not interfere with this interrogation, detective,” shouted Spencer, “This is not your case anymore!”

Once again, he was cut off. This time, by the arrival of his own mother, Diana, and her admission of guilt: “Spencer, it was me”.

---> ---> ---> ---> --->

Of all the things this case had brought him, Spencer least expected to be sitting in a room with his mother and father together for the first time in years. To have Diana explain to him how she was involved in a child’s murder was also up there with the unthinkable.

But he stayed quiet and listened to her confession.

The reveal that she had seen Gary Michaels playing chess with him and Y/N, that she and got a feeling that something was wrong before anything had even happened, opened the story. Lou Jenkins’ involvement was next on the menu. Two days after the chess game, he drove Diana to Michaels’ house, disclosed his history of child abuse, and demanded she leave while he went into the house.

Upon reaching the point where she entered the house, Diana struggled with her words. William reached over and took her hand.

She described seeing Lou with the bat, standing over the body, slipping in the pool of blood, finding Y/N standing in the window and their face, their little face as innocent as the white cardigan that covered their shoulders and absorbed the blood from Diana’s hands as she shook their shoulders.

“And the rest... It's all dark after that.”

William continued for her. Diana came home and brought Y/N with her. Eventually he came to understand what had happened and decided that nobody could ever know.

“You were burning her bloody clothes,” Spencer concluded.

His father nodded, “But the knowing, you can't burn that away. It changes everything.”

“You paid for Y/N to go to therapy.”

William didn’t seem surprised that Spencer knew this, going straight into explaining: “They went into a dissociative fugue state after seeing what Lou had done. When Diana brought them home, they were just stiff. I asked them for their home number, to call their parents, but they started screaming and throwing up. We had to take them to the police station.” He mopped his brow with a handkerchief, “They needed help, but their parents couldn’t afford it. And they didn’t know what had happened. I couldn’t drag another person into this, Spencer.”

“Is this why you left?”

“I tried to keep us together, Spencer. I swear to you, but the weight of that knowledge, it was too much.”

“You could have come back. Could have started over.”

“I didn't know how to take care of you anymore. When I lost that confidence, there was no going back. What's done is done.”

“At least now you know the truth,” Diana made an effort to smile at her son

Choking on his words and the overwhelming remorse he felt, Spencer refused to look at his parents any longer, “I was wrong about everything. I'm sorry.”

And William said something that Spencer had been waiting for, for a long time, “I am, too, Spencer.”

---> ---> ---> ---> --->

All of this was repeated when Spencer walked with Y/N through their old park the following day. Filling the final gaps in the memory would hopefully bring some respite to them both. Or at least maybe something to start the recovery process, easing Y/N’s sickness and Spencer’s pain.

“I’m sorry for my behaviour during this case,” Spencer sniffed, “When you said we made you sick, back when we were four, I thought you had seen my mom during one of her episodes and thought she was a freak, like everyone else.”

That stopped Y/N in their tracks, their hands coming up to cover their mouth, their eyes misty, “Oh Spencer, I’m sorry too, I’m so, so sorry I caused you so much pain.”

Spencer’s hands rushed up as if to create belated damage control, “It’s ok! I hurt you too. I made you sick.”

“That wasn’t your fault though.”

“It wasn’t yours either. We were kids.”

Almost pedantic, stropping, like a child again, Y/N moaned, “It’s all been such a waste. We could have been friends all this time!”

“We can be friends now,” Spencer pushed his hands down into his pockets to stop them flailing about anymore. His sentence was phrased more like a question.

One that Y/N gladly answered, “I would like really that.”

Sitting in the reply for a moment, Spencer followed up on his concerns, “How are you feeling? I mean, are you feeling sick again?”

“A bit, but I can handle it.”

Spencer could not see any changes in their behaviour from the day before. So obviously they were lying about that. But he didn’t protest. The lie meant Y/N wanted to stay with him, which was good - Spencer wanted that too.

They kept walking, only in silence for half a minute before Spencer broke it again, “I read your books last night.”

“Yeah?”

“‘The Siege of the Lost Faiths’ in Rogue’s Mask, that was our first game of chess.”

“It had by far the best narrative,” Y/N dragged their shoe a little on the grass before coming to a stop, “Do you still play?”

“All the time.”

They nodded over to where the old chess tables still stood, “Fancy a game before you go?”

Spencer grinned, “Just promise that this is the only setting where we’ll be on conflicting sides from now on.”

“Promise.”

Brushing the debris from the table, they both took their places opposite each other. From Y/N’s bag was revealed a box, spilling their painted chess pieces across the board. Remembering how they had stood in Y/N’s room, Spencer helped to set up the match. They took their seats opposite one another. Y/N was the green side, Spencer the purple.

Spencer moved first. After a second’s deliberation, Y/n moved their pawn.

“Isn’t there a story with this one?” Spencer said, an implicated teasing in his tone despite his shyness.

With an equally bashful eye roll, Y/N started their new story, “First begins the battle with the royals on both sides sending intrepid messengers to meet and pass along their deeds.”

Spencer took Y/N’s pawn. As he lifted their piece away, he spoke quietly, “One not as intrepid as the other.”

A gasp dropped from Y/N’s smile. He had never joined in the narrative telling before, always too taken up in the match to invest in whatever story they spun.

“He’s not a coward,” They said, still smiling, much to Spencer’s delight, “Prisoner’s dilemma, he just couldn’t trust the other with his life.”

“Did they know each other before this battle?”

“Yes,” Y/N moved a knight across, stealing Spencer’s pawn, “They were brothers who once shared a crib and now they share a grave.”

Throughout the game, Y/N continued the story with Spencer asking questions just to hear them talk more. The maturity of the stories had grown just as Y/N’s voice had. They knuckled their eyes a few times, but they didn’t complain about the headache.

“I know what endings you like,” Spencer moved his rook, “Checkmate in five.”

Y/N didn’t seem to mind that little dig, “This’ll have to be a short story instead then.”

Spencer’s next sentence got away from him, trailing off the closer he got to the end of it, “You could write an anthology series, if we see each other again and play more games.”

Where Spencer’s voice disappeared, Y/N’s returned with invigoration, “That’s not a half bad idea, Spencer.”

The checkmate never came. Y/N diverted the ending into a draw.

“A peace treaty has been forged by the survivors, because too many lives have been lost to justify this violence anymore. If only they realised sooner that no blood had to be shed for peace to rule the lands.” And they smiled at Spencer, clearly chuffed as they leaned back in their chair, “Bit of an upgrade from the horse noises, I’ll say.”

Spencer rotated the purple knight – the illusionist – between his thumb and forefinger, “I liked the horse noises.”

“You should have said during the match! I’d recreate them, for you.”

One by one, the pieces were placed back into their box until the last piece remained in Spencer’s palm: the knight or Soren the Illusionist, distractions and deceptions but he loved the tricks that delighted most of all. Just like Spencer with his magic tricks but a little to the left. The character was always one of Y/N’s favourites. Some solace away from the pain of thinking of who he was based on.

Y/N pushed Spencer’s hand away, closes his fist around it, “Keep him. He was made with you in mind anyway.”

The information sank in and Spencer’s nose wrinkled with the little smile on his face as he cupped the little Illusionist, “I’m Soren?”

Nodding, Y/N confirmed, “You’re Soren.”

“But what about your set though?”

“I can always make and paint another knight,” and Y/N tilted the piece upside down in Spencer’s hand, revealing the signature on the underside, “You and him are the originals, it’s only fair you stay together.”

In a moment of pure instinct and nostalgia, Spencer clicked his tongue as he twisted Soren in time with the noise. Y/N let out a burst of laughter that dragged the air out of Spencer’s chest.

“Hey, do you wanna get dinner tonight?” He said, running out of breath very quickly as a result.

It had a similar effect on Y/N, “I thought you – don’t you have to get back to Virginia?”

“I have time for dinner. For you.”

---> ---> ---> ---> --->

The bookstore was packed but the breath of the patrons was held as one. All eyes were watching the mini stage where a crouching figure lifted their head up slowly. A jump as the tension broke with the figure leaping up to their feet with a bang.

Y/N pushed up the brim of their cap. Snatching a deep green hoodie from the purple trunk – silver constellations painted on the sides – they swung it over their back before picking up the page where they had left off.

“Nasima looked up at Mason and said, ‘Well that was just unnecessary.’”

A burst of laughter shot through the pre-teens in the front row, spreading to the adolescents sitting further back who had grown up with the author’s other works, finally reaching the adults at the back where Spencer was fiddling with his cane. He adjusted the sleeve of his costume absentmindedly. He was just like everyone else in the room: captivated by how Y/N was so immersed in their reading.

They had just mimed kicking down a door, plus sound effects from their mouth. Swapping back and forth between the two conflicting characters arguing with one another, changing between the hoodie and the cap with every other line of dialogue and taking both off for the role of the narrator, it was certainly a workout.

An exaggerated breath was drawn into Y/N’s lungs, flopping over in a melodramatic state, which caused another laugh in the audience.

Spencer’s nose scrunched up as he grinned. He knew this was part of the scene; he’d seen Y/N rehearse this story in their sitting room. It was so much better to share this with an audience, for their reactions to fuel Y/N’s energy.

Y/N finished the short story A Battle of Bent Truths with a flourish, leaving the rest of the anthology for their audience to read in their own time. The kids were up on their feet first. Some of them were jumping up and down as they applauded with the rest of the shop. Y/N gave a big grin as they bowed, sweeping their cap off for extra drama.

There was a book signing and a photographer that followed, and Spencer waited patiently at the end of the queue, thankful that the store allowed him to bring a chair along with him. He was happy to entertain his godson and friends with a few tricks to pass the time.

“Another one please!” Henry jumped up and down when Spencer revealed his card.

A minor commotion arose by the photographer’s backdrop. There was a teenager was crying; she was clutching her copy of Untold Tales of Human Nature. Y/N was holding their shoulders, rubbing gently and speaking softly. Only half paying attention to his next trick, Spencer kept an eye on Y/N as they hugged the teenager, looking near tears themselves.

“Spencer?” J.J tapped him on the shoulder and Spencer realised that Henry was looking a little mad to have lost his godfather’s attention so easily.

“Sorry, Henry, can you pick another card please?”

When they reached the front of the queue, JJ went up first and took Henry and his pals up to see Y/N. They instantly recognised JJ and welcomed her with a tight hug. Henry was delighted to see his favourite babysitter and show them off to his school friends, boasting that they had read to him before today.

“They read me bits for bedtime, Mommy!”

“I know!” JJ tickled his cheek, “I read them to you too.”

“Who do you like better?”

“Mommy,”

Y/N gasped, dropping to their knees which made Spencer wince, “Henry, you wound me!”

Rossi approach next, knowing that once Spencer got to Y/N, they would not be left alone.

“You really know how to captivate an audience,” He kissed them on both cheeks, “Though don’t take offence if I don’t use the same tricks at my readings.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it! Thank you for coming.”

Y/N then caught Spencer’s eye and began meandering over to him with a smile they were desperately trying to stifle. Spencer rose from his chair, meeting Y/N in the middle.

“Hi, Spencer.”

With his free arm, Spencer flaunted his cloak, “Who is Spencer? I’m Soren the Illusionist!”

Giggles from his godson, his godson’s gang, his co-workers and friends, they almost caused Y/N to lose their composure. They held on just long enough to continue the banter.

“Oh, forgive me, you look so much like my boyfriend.”

“Hmmm, he must be very handsome,”

And Y/N burst into peals of laughter, waving their hands about, “OK, stop, stop, stop, I can’t.”

“Hey!” Spencer pretended to take offence, pouting as Y/N brought him into a hug.

“Don’t worry,” They kissed his cheek between giggles, “You are so very handsome.”

“To think you were once sick at the sight of me.”

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #criminal minds #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds x reader #my writing #r: gender neutral #wc: 5k+

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