#this drawing took me 16 excruciating hours
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THEY’RE WITCHES!!!
#marjorine episode solos every time#this drawing took me 16 excruciating hours#south park#sp#south park fanart#south park marjorine#sp marjorine#marjorine stotch#butters stotch#wendy testaburger#bebe stevens#heidi turner#sp fanart#fish art
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Hey 👋🏻 CONGRATS 🎉 for 200 followers. Can i request for a kakashi x fem!reader 16 maybe the reader is about to pass out or something. Thank you
[Kakashi Hatake X Reader] His Guard
|200 Followers Event|
Prompt: 16 — "I've got you."
Pairing: Kakashi Hatake x fem!Reader
Note: Hello, here we go again with another Kakashi fic. Thanks for requesting :D This one is mildly fluffy with very little pain. I just opened the 500 Event and here I am writing for the 200 one, don't worry, I still have more to go :DD I'm nearly done though! So yeah, without further ado, hope you'll enjoy!
It was past midnight when you and Kakashi stopped for a short break after having to navigate through the pitch-black woods for the past hours on an empty stomach. The rogue Ninjas were hot on your tail, barely leaving you a moment to catch a breath on their chase and catch. If it was not for Kakashi, you would be in a great crisis for numerous occasions by now, for he had successfully cut them off from tailing you.
You quietly took a seat, leaning against the furrowed scales of a drying trunk, releasing a deep exhale in the process. Kakashi rummaged through the area and came back with an arm-full of dry sticks to find you dozing off, soft breaths escaping your lips every peaceful exhale.
“Must be tired,” he mumbled and proceeded to kindle a fire, always keeping an eye on your form.
The two of you were met with an unexpected delay returning to Konoha when the Missing-nins blocked your way. Kakashi was out of ration, and so were you. Given his built and years of training, the silver-haired could easily endure another night, but he was uncertain about your condition. You were badly injured in the fight and just sprinted with full speed for the last three hours straight without stopping. His eyes attentively found their way to your sleeping form as he drifted into a world of his own, planning the next steps.
Batting your lashes, you were totally clueless when you woke. Your first instinct was to move but you felt something heavy on your side. Then a tinge of silver came into your sight under the dim light of the fire—Kakashi was resting his head against yours. Your heart fluttered and you seized the green grass in your hands, using the moisture to calm the heat rising in your body. You did not dare to shift a muscle despite your arm starting to feel a bit cramped. Never in your life had you thought you would ever find yourself in this position. Averting your eyes from his masked face, you rounded your gaze around the area, using the crickets’ teetering melody to distract yourself from the silver-haired. It was probably two or three o'clock by now—the tranquil transition from the depth of night to a brand new day—and the air was undesirably cold. Luckily, Kakashi already draped his flak jacket atop of your bodies, that explained why he was snuggled up beside you. Blushing, you brushed the thought away and continued to fiddle with the tattered hem of his jacket instead.
Just then, thumping noises made their way to your ears. Your stomach churned and uneasiness welled up in your system. Although the side of your torso was still suffering a deep gash acquired from the earlier battle, you managed to sit up straight and shook him by his shoulder. The silver-haired immediately shot up from his crouching position, “What’s wrong?”
“Quiet, I heard something.” You motioned and hushed, wincing when the sudden shift in posture caused a painful stretch across your injured torso.
Kakashi seemed to have noticed the contort of your face, his visible eye darting to your wound with worry surfacing. Quickly enough, with his keen sense, the man soon picked up on the almost inaudible rustles of footsteps padding on the fallen leaves of late autumn. Both of you sensed the faint chakra present in your surroundings, nodding to each other in acknowledgment. But it was then that you felt an excruciating shock of pain shooting straight from the poorly bandaged cut to every nerve of your entire body. The tremendous blood loss and lack of energy left you lightheaded and nauseous.
“Can you stand up?”
Kakashi was already on his feet, skillfully sliding into his jacket as he spoke. You suppressed the shudders when the cold breeze hit your bare skin after he lifted his vest off from your body. You took a strained inhale, “I’m fine, don’t worry.”
Reluctance wavered in his eye but the silver-haired decided to trust you this time—which he greatly regretted minutes after the incident. The two of you left the spot, hastily putting the fire out before leaping from one branch to another. Your legs felt like they were dragging lead, trembling, and out of your control. Your vision blurred and there were moments that you even saw three Kakashi’s moving in front of you. The wound on your side felt numb by now, making it harder to clear your foggy sight. You figured only pain could bring you back to your ground state and with that, you bit down onto your lower lip hard enough to draw blood. The taste of iron in your mouth snatched you back, saving you from falling off from a branch.
Your companion did not take long to stop in the middle of his track, furrowing his brows when he saw color drained from your face and the crimson liquid on your lips. “We can’t continue like this.”
Your breathing was ragged, and your body swayed forward despite your effort to ground yourself in place. Bracing an arm around the side of your torso, you tried to alleviate the pain by bringing warmth to shield it from the chilling air. But it was too much for you to endure—your head was hammering and your side was blazing with a wrenching burn.
“Y/N?” Your head snapped when you heard the silver-haired called your name.
“Y-yes?”
He moved to your side and supported your limping body, the crease between his brows deepened when he felt your skin coated in a sheen of cold sweats. You opened your mouth to speak, but a gasp came out instead when your headache only seemed to heighten in severity. White spots dotted your vision, and everything came to a blur as you leaned your head against Kakashi’s chest. His stance stiffened but he immediately shifted you onto his back, “I’ve got you. Don’t worry, Y/N.”
“I’m sorry—”
“Don’t,” he quieted you, “you did your best. Now just leave everything to me, alright?”
Still escaping from the hands of danger, but you felt at ease for the first time in that strenuous night—safe under his guard.
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Tagist: @dai-tsukki-desu @thenightfallingstar @iam-gaaras-loveintrest @animepickle7 @tirzamisu @rinnegankakashi @the-tiniest-one
#kakashi x you#kakashi hatake x reader#kakashi x y/n#kakashi hatake x you#kakashi imagines#kakashi x reader#kakashi hatake#kakashi hatake x y/n#hatake kakashi x you#hatake kakashi x reader#hatake kakashi x y/n#hatake kakashi#kakashi fluff
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Alright, all you artists. I’m going to give out some good tricks to keeping your wrist in good condition. As a lot of my followers/readers know, I have a bit of an art addiction. I usually spend anywhere from 8-16 hours a day drawing (for the last 8 years at least), and have even done a week long (yes, you heard that right) art stream where I only stepped away to sleep about 9 hours.
I’ve always wished, now, as my wrist is in very bad condition, that I’d gone steps further to take care of it. I jump through hoops now to draw, and the pain is very excruciating on a daily. It affects my art, my writing, and day to day activities.
So, I figure I’d tell you all of the things I’ve experimented with that have been life saving for my wrist’s health. Everyone has different methods, but these are the ones I use now and swear by.
1. The buckets
I have significant nerve damage in my wrist, which causes painful inflammation in my hand. To lower the inflammation and pain, I fill two buckets (big enough to submerge my forearm), one with hot (not so hot that it’s too painful to keep your arm in), and one with cold, sprinkled in a handful of ice cubes. Submerge your forearm in each for 30 seconds, alternating between each other till the temp of both seems relatively equal. It takes roughly 15 minutes alternating with a timer before receiving the desired effect.
You can also do this if you have a double sink. I use camping buckets that look this like tho.This helps a lot, so I recommend doing it daily, or every other day. You’ll see some improvement and swelling going down if you have inflammation.
2. Wrap
It’s taken me years to figure out how to use gauze and wrist braces that actually support my tender areas. I only just discovered the best way last year. So, for me personally, my thumb, down my pointer finger, and my wrist hurts the most. I’ve found that gauze (you can get it at any drug or grocery store) and a good wrist brace combo is essential for pain relief.
Wrap the gauze around whatever finger is giving you problems, make sure to cut a strip for each finger you need support for (but not wrap it so tight you lose blood flow), then cut a long piece to wrap around your wrist. You can slip in in a wrist brace like this, if you want to continue drawing (this is the brace I use)
When you’re not drawing, it’s good to limit movement of the hand for short periods of time throughout the day, so I will keep the gauze wrap on, but put my hand in this brace. I won’t go far enough to put my fingers and thumb through the holes, just let the tips barely out before I velcro the straps tight. I can’t really move my fingers/thumb and I can’t grab anything. But the pressure and limited movement from doing this for an hour at a time has helped IMMENSELY. I do this about 3 times a day. Here’s the brace in question. It’s by wellgate products
The gauze that I like looks like this. It’s mainly used to tape sports injuries, but it’s not sticky. Don’t get the plastic looking ones, use the felt looking ones
Here’s what it looks like when I wrap my hand before putting on a wrist brace. (I’d rec wrapping your pointer finger even if it doesn’t hurt tho. A good technique to drawing is pointing your pointer finger out so you relieve grip pressure on your pen)
Also be mindful of how tight you’re holding your pen and how hard your pen pressure is. It might be in your best interest to lower the pressure and adjust to it, so you don’t get RSI or fuck up your hand from pressing too hard over a period of time.
3. Stretches
Do these stretches every single day, no exception. You will regret not keeping up with these in the long run if you opt out of doing them.
4. Take breaks
I struggle with this the most, esp when I have deadlines or are in the zone. Take a five minute break, shake out your hands, every 30 mins or so. Don’t over stress your hand.
5. Form
A big thing that helped me over the years is paying attention to where my arm is. Your arm should be parallel to you. Don’t let your elbow jut out as you draw. Keep that elbow in, and keep a good posture. Investing in a good seat or desk is also something that will prolong your drawing time. It took me a while to find out where I drew best (because I’d always draw on my bed or the couch, but that ended up giving me bad neck problems).
Please take care of yourself! I only wish I’d done these earlier so I wasn’t in such bad shape now. Learn from my mistakes and start this stuff early! I swear by all of these, especially the buckets/wraps!
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Escapril 2019
escaprilday 2019 // 1: a fresh start
two Costco bags full of
umma-certified clean clothes,
“unpacking cannot begin with wet clothes”
Taipei humidity is unkind.
coins clink,
white noise revs
drowning out the drizzle
as heart somersaults
to the rhythm of the cycles:
what — tum — am I — ble
doing — tumble — here?
the darks tumble its final spin
as the lights
click —
into a stop.
a whiff into a warm towel
warns me the comforts of home,
promising
of munchies, blankies, and speedy wifi
of cushy floor space where crafting
and writing past midnight can be done in secret
but —
fold — maybe — toss — I changed —
yellow blouse — or gave up too easily —
fold — or could it be —
toss — I’m listening to all the wrong voices? —
red turtleneck — no — flick —
wait, this is so soft now, I guess the washing machine in that guest house in Seoul was indeed really terrible —
fold — yes, this is how it should feel on my skin —
toss – my heart knows, though —
fuzzy sock — maybe home is where I need to be right now —
into basket — there’s nothing wrong with —
grab — starting over again.
escaprilday 2019 // 2: april showers
you said all memorable moments
include an unexpected deluge
I nod and laugh
as the metro ac pierces through
my drenched jacket
I shiver as I feel my clammy socks
cling onto my not-rainproof Docs
("they're not?" you ask in shock)
ears ringing still
from speakers booming
throat scratchy from scream-singing
at the top of our lungs.
still, you smile, shiver, and say,
with half-dazed eyes,
all good memories
end in rain.
escaprilday 2019 // 3: incorporate music
“Hope I’m not tired of rebuilding”
at this in-between
this time of heating up lukewarm lattes
and microwaving soggy french fries,
a surrendering of old and new
kindles a familiar tune:
“not what’s easy, what do you want?”
at this in-between,
the seconds between a squat and a jump
or the hours during an endless free fall,
a whisper sings an awakening:
“even a phoenix dies”
so at this in-between
muster up the strength to
inhale blue
and exhale gold.
escaprilday 2019 // 4: anxiety
lacuna
¡amiga!” he chimes like clockwork
with a sonrisa that has probably charmed plenty of hearts.
my fist bumps his and I walk toward the dark halls
where they tilt their heads forward and say
“안녕하세요” they grin,
some fake, others genuine,
mostly muscle memory.
“哈咯“ she greets as I turn the corner—
a sound of familiarity.
the velcros on my lips finally relax
till we part ways to our stations
“how are you?” their words flow dry
they probably don’t want to find out
my tongue lands on one syllable:
“good”.
escapril 2019 // 5: back to nature
I’ve a secret spot for seeing stars in Taipei City.
after a day downtown,
blasting my headphones at damaging decibels,
fixing makeup with samples at drugstores,
and chasing after buses,
I skip down the announced “platform two for Taipei Zoo”
and gaze down at the light show stage named Zhongxiao Fuxing.
as the red greens, a rush of headlights streams at me—my eyes
lose focus, my heart
leaps back into my chest just as
the home-bound metro approaches.
//
I’ll always remember the yard at Tiszavasvári
where we lay to see a starry night drawn by the Creator
after a day of listening to screaming children,
braiding their hairs,
and chasing after the impossible ones,
we stood in awe, jaws dropped, then soon learned
our necks weren’t strong enough
so we lay down, evening breeze
accompanied by the crickets sang a lullaby—
my eyes played a senseless game
of connect-the-dots, my heart skipped several beats
as I let go of the memories of beds and blankets.
escapril 2019 // 6: nostalgia
missing you is easy.
remembering you creeps
up in little mundanities
like a cup of fruit tea
a bottle of Clorox
or an inappropriately loud laughter--
to my consolation, yours is unmatchable.
although,
the sound of your laughter rings
quieter
till I can whisper:
escapril 2019 // 7: start with a time of day
3 a.m.
why wait
for dawn when
we can set yesterday
up
in flames
over this river?
escapril 2019 // 8: love poem
I cannot recall the exact words uttered
but something in my heart fluttered:
our eyes met for a millisecond
we cracked, till our breaths weakened.
our words, lost in the waves
transformed into safes
I open in my heart of hearts
to feel at home within the laughs of your loves.
escapril 2019 // 9: focus on the color
chorok hadn't found its form in
korean of old. fields of
grass and evergreens,
little plates of herbal banchan,
lush of summers,
and squirming caterpillars
all existed as paran-- that same
color ascribed to vast oceans,
and sunny skies
then one lively spring, chorok
creeped its way into our tongues,
demanding to be seen on
street signs,
the mountain tops, and
cross walk lights
though some still speak "the light
turned paran",
and the incorrigible children's tune
singing of spring
blossoming into paran,
chorok sprouts an entrance
undeniable to out naked eyes.
escapril 2019 // 10: femininity
the bus,
back slides down on the uncomfortable bus seat,
fingers stroke through my freshly buzzed head,
while many eyes fixate above my eyes,
asking:
"is she a boy or a girl?"
"is she a lesbian?"
"what happened to her… hair?"
eyes read their faces,
mouth struts a big yawn with no reflex system telling me to conceal it.
imagination floats to a stadium,
feet stands on the podium,
voice declares:
I'm still so-very-much a lady--
just not fair like Audrey,
nor dainty like a stereotype,
or as brave as Joan,
and definitely not as attractive than most
but maybe more like
the ones writing history
now.
escapril 2019 // 11: not from your perspective
most of the time I sit beside the maroon sofa
where you watch tv and transform into a potato
I wait and wait for that sweet moment
you grab my handle
travel me to a flat desk
wind me up with thread
hook me up to a pedal
switch my light on
smooth out a piece of fabric
pinned up in zig zag
then
zoom, crackle, buzz,
your hands sync to my rhythm
you pray I don’t jam
or break your thread
then you announce with pride
“et voila!”
escapril 2019 // 12: spring cleaning
it takes two countries
few cities
thirteen houses
fifteen boxes
thirty trash bags
and an infinite repetition of
"do we need this?"
for a soul to grasp the spider web line
between a desire and a necessity.
then a decade teaches the
same soul
sometimes,
spectrums soften
escapril 2019 // 13: celestial bodies
if only
seeing you was as easy as
some nightly glow at your half
reflecting off
a big blazing ball of light on my half
escapril 2019 // 14: make it rhyme
a sonnet-full of embellishments, fake
notions of how lovely you are like some
weather in summer or spring, homemade cake
that tastes like cheap flour and rotten eggs, numb
from clichés, the love songs that never shut
up, posed photos of arms around my waist,
a let-me-take-that gentleness, so what
are you doing? leaving sour aftetaste
in our hearts. no, this sonnet is not for
us. we don’t need guidelines to fall in love,
nor the recipes known to prevent war
(it cannot be all fair in war and love),
so stop. steep in this silence as your hand
finds mine in this complicated quicksand.
escapril 2019 // 15: describe a smell
a dash of prickliness:
prickly, like appa’s beard attacking my forehead as he plants a kiss.
then an overwhelming sense of saltiness:
salty, like that time I accidentally used the spoon side of the seasoning bottle
or tasting my own sweat or tears.
something rotting at slow decay.
fruit flies feast.
my nose shoots me back to
halmoni yelling something in dialect, umma replying.
I stand in the middle of the market square, I’m ten.
they promised me jjajangmyeon,
my nostrils can hold out just a minute more.
escapril 2019 // 16: any dreams?
five—
I was to be a Pokemon trainer by day
and Sailor Moon by night
but adults hung my creativity dry
seven—
a singer-songwriter
but music chose me not
ten—
fashion designer,
draw designs, sew coutures, walk the runway myself
but whispers yelled discouragements
fifteen—
couldn’t care: I was a realistic teen
now—
I tip-toe about my heart
trying my best not to pick on scabs,
unable to answer any questions
albeit an I-don’t-know
has never sounded more
comforting and clear.
hear the wounds heal
to the beat of the unicorn hooves.
escapril 2019 // 17: body as friend or foe
I was born in Guatemala,
but my father’s from Georgia
he’s a musician, he produces
K-pop albums and we travel the world
searching for the next big deal,
my mother paints apples, she’s from Zimbabwe
she also writes Chinese poems.
It’s all true—
my body deceives every bit of reality within me.
escapril 2019 // 18: a happy place
hear nose tickle
with the sound of lavender feathers
fluttering by
eyes will open up to inhale
the golden hours spent
under Your glorious dance
escapril 2019 // 19: without your name, who are you?
if an utterance of a name
can form a heart,
her name has been called by many
if each spoken word forms
a vibration into what we are,
she's a someone
whispered into a myriad of paradoxes:
she's an asteroid, crashing fast,
uncontrollable, unexpected.
she's a cup of tea, calm,
idle, ready for nothing.
escapril 2019 // 20: a liminal space
this amorphous ground feels comfortable,
excuses acceptable:
the excruciating humidity,
drowsy rain, busy friends,
false pride, miscalculating time.
they say:
Prufrock measures his life in coffee spoons,
but Zeno says nothing ever reaches its destinations.
the Knight holds his tongue
yet his heart flutters a violent beat.
I’m just another contra, letting my feet skip away
as each step echoes heart beating somewhere
back.
escapril 2019 // 21: it’s the end of the world
no zombie apocalypse,
the sun still functions,
stars are still, hearts
unbroken, no one
escaping to Mars,
no fatal goodbyes.
one silent pink noise
a purple glow,
“welcome back home”
it said.
escapril 2019 // 22: nourishment
last month, I met a little
potted plant.
I took it back to my little
suffocating room
and named it little
foggy star.
I loved it little
by little
I gave it little
droplets of water,
spoke little
words of compliment,
took it to my little
window sill
the sun peeped through
a little.
it grew a little,
I did too.
escapril 2019 // 23: when the party’s over
recollect spilled laughters —
this, for unworthy jokes,
that, for suave comments,
maybe one for someone dreamy —
bottle them up,
keep them fresh
for the next sea of
stragglers,
mutual someone,
you-look-quite-nice,
wow-so-interesting.
escapril 2019 // 24: liar, liar
how to be a compulsive liar
one: disregard empathy, embrace despondency, think selfish,
my life doesn’t have to tell truth tales, no one needs to know.
two: rehearse recollections, think practicality, use names they’d never check,
let myself believe in each detail, each sight, smell the scenario
three: speak the perfectly fabricated phrases into existence,
no need to bat an eye, stutter a detail, overthink a loophole.
for example: “yeah, the party was fun. we walked around the park afterwards.
who? oh no, he wasn’t there. he had an important family dinner.”
four: remember the lie, inform reliable partners in crime if necessary,
never bring it back, stick to your guns.
promise yourself: they can’t hurt, they’ll never know.
remember: truths hurt, they’re inconvenient, it’s none of their business.
dig: until your shovel breaks.
drown out: every kindness the world has to offer.
die: in the said dug hole, climb out just to
repeat: until trust is a pair of cracked glasses, refuse to see a redemption until
die again: learn that these walls must go —
invite: the uncomfortableness that is vulnerability
repeat: until system reboots.
escapril 2019 // 25: pick an animal
my giraffe friend
shades me when the sun’s high
and warms me when the wind’s rough,
meeting her eyes pains me with
an aching neck,
she will always stand tall in a room,
there’s no shelf too high for me,
when she’s close by.
escapril 2019 // 26: girlhood, boyhood, childhood
when I was older, I had a pair of
very pink sneakers
they'd glitter in the sun,
glamoured in gemstones for dignity
velcros loud enough to turn heads
when it was time to take them off
I glanced over my neighbors' shelves:
ugly. blue. brown. ugly. mine trampled over all.
then my eyes stood silent
as I zone in
on her pair of Gundam sneakers
secretly jealous, mostly confused,
extremely frustrated of rule-breaking
girls, defying pink, watching animation
for boys only
now, I wear boring black or white shoes
so do most humans with feet.
escapril 2019 // 27: the state of it all
“you're it!”
a harmless push from their arms
my chest thrusts back
limbs under a spell
all bones removed
“catch me if you can”
why don't you save me
'cause you can?
escapril 2019 // 28: reflection
memories retraces a blur
crooked smile
red dye fading
cigarette between your fingers
standing mostly on your right leg--
you let out a puff as i tell you “i’m imaginary.”
you say you couldn't have
so i tease you more with a kiss
“that wasn't real
that was you imagining it all
new school
a manic pixie
the loneliness got to your brains
that's all”
you flick away the cigarette
eyes reflecting my face
you kiss me back and say
“please don't do this to my brain
you're real
far too real for me i'm not smart like that”
i snicker
the buzzing bus terminal is real
you and i are real
but i'm not
you're no more
escapril 2019 // 29: may flowers
she died a few days ago—
flew off the rooftop
fallen against teeming
reborn lives
the most beautiful of flowers
only last a day or two
you said we are beautiful
because we’re ephemeral
but what happens when
fleeting moments like
a crash kilometers away
pain for someone I never knew?
escapril 2019 // 30: catharsis
yesterday, I cleaned out my room
bugs infested each and every corner
I tried to catch them but they
hid away between the nooks and crannies
whispering schemes to each other
learning the dustiest corners I’ve ignored
waiting for a perfect time to kill
so I dusted out the corners
rearranged the furnitures
repainted the scratches
thinking cover-ups should make anew
yesterday, I cleaned out my room
praying for the bug spray to kill,
I felt seventeen, rearranging photographs,
filling up a space with desired personalities,
she would have been proud
there’s nothing I’d tell her, but to say
yesterday, I cleaned my room, for another hundredth time
they say an odyssey is a cycle
ending with a catharsis
where you come clean
but yesterday, I cleaned my room
again
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Kid Eternity #3
In this issue, Kid Eternity fucks a Rastafarian hippo.
This comic book, more than any other comic book, taught me that I don't have to keep buying every issue of a comic book just because it's under the Vertigo imprint. This comic book took me by the hand, led me out of the misty forest of Vertigo's obfuscating nonsense, pushed me out into the bright clarity of presumed reality and said, "Stop coming around here to get your butthole molested, you skanky little perv." After blinking the sunlight out of my eyes for a bit, I gasped and thought, "Sometimes art is art with tits and sometimes art is just tits distracting from nonsense. And it's up to me and G.I. Joe to tell the difference."
This is where I'd post an image of tits to distract you from my nonsense but this isn't a porn site, you skanky little perv.
This issue begins, like all Ann Nocenti issues, with me shaking my head and contemplating self-harm. Also tits and nonsense. So much nonsense. Like more nonsense than a shaking stick could shake another stick at. Usually I appreciate comic books with dense dialogue and a thick, rich story. But the first page has a dialogue between two of the Pope's demon children that's 160 words long. I'm not sure Ann Nocenti completely understands how comic books work. The second page's dialogue contains 199 words (and five tits).
I have a new theory about Ann Nocenti's writing: she was paid by the word and the only way to keep the editor from cutting down her word count was to make the dialogue incomprehensible so the editor didn't know which words to cut.
I'm not counting the amount of words on the third page but I'm pretty sure it's even more than page two.
Page three sort of introduces two new characters (as if this comic book needs any more subplots). I think they're brothers but all we, as readers, are allowed to see are hands and books. One book is The Book of Sin in which the brothers invoke temptation against Kid Eternity. This sends the Pope's devil children to ruin his plans with their vaginas. The other book is The Book of Reflection in which Kid Eternity's own narcissism is used against him. I guess nobody wants the modern Buddha Christ Child to be born? But aren't they all wasting their time? Didn't we discover the magical child was fished out of a garbage can in the dirty alley where the homeless guys constantly discuss the value of women?
This newscast, awash in speculation and false premises, is still more informative than the talking head opinion pieces and non-expert debates that form the bulk of most 24 hour news stations. And look at all those words! This was just two-thirds of one page!
Meanwhile, the FBI agents are still lying around in bed. How they ended up in bed after being shot by Ares' hate arrows isn't information that was deemed necessary for the readers to understand the story. Which is fine because I think Nocenti just wrote them out of the comic book in a scene where the Fates are stitching a quilt and one is all, "What are we doing with these two?" and another one is all, "Forget them! They're lost to entropy! We have so many more stories to knit!" And she's write because I don't think I could even remember all of the character and story arcs from just the first two issues! Let's make a list!
1. The homeless guys philosophizing in the alley.
2. Kid Eternity and his search for the Christ Buddha.
3. Madame Blavatsky's search for snacks and causing time to rewind.
4. The FBI agents looking to help Kid Eternity but somehow winding up in bed not fucking.
5. Hemlock the feminist who could be the Christ Buddha's mother but has become the mother of a computer virus.
6. Dog the gross dude who wants to fuck Hemlock.
7. Keep, Kid Eternity's keeper, who probably isn't exactly into helping Kid Eternity.
8. Beelzebub deciding to go to Earth to be more like Lucifer.
9. Judas, just hanging out with Beelzebub.
10. Jesus getting drunk in a bar.
11. The Malocchio, or Pope's demon children, trying to stop the birth of the Christ Buddha.
12. The Christ Buddha who was found in a trash can but then taken away by some woman who might have been its mother.
13. Cupid, summoned by Kid Eternity to make the FBI agents do it but who arrived late because he was in a coma and shot them with hate arrows anyway so he just decided to get drunk with the homeless guys.
14. Zeus and the other Greek Gods who woke back up when Cupid was summoned.
15. The Catholic church who seem to be Kid Eternity's main atagonist.
16. Freud and Jung, brought in to show how much Ann Nocenti knows about the founders of psychology.
That's all I can remember! I'm sure I've forgotten some story bits and characters. This issue wasted no time introducing even more! Now we have the brothers reading metaphysical books, the Fates, and a transgender sex worker.
Is the point that they won't date women because they're afraid to talk to them? I just thought women didn't want to date them because they're filthy itinerants with no ambition.
Oh! It turns out the "brothers" reading the books about all the other characters are Jesus and Beelzebub! Thank goodness I don't have to remember any new characters! Hopefully the transgender sex worker turns out to be Madame Blavatsky. Double oh! I just realized the transgender sex worker is one of the Malocchio! Whew! I think I'm shaking off the Ann Nocenti Dome of Confusion! I'm beginning to follow and understand her plot!
I mean, really, it's not so hard. Kid Eternity wants to inspire mankind and thinks a new Buddha Christ child is the way to do it. Everybody else wants to stop him because mankind sucks ass. Now add a bunch more words and about thirty random Wikipedia entries to my summation and you'll get Nocenti's version of the plot.
This is a great example of Nocenti's profound nonsense. Sorry but the tits were in the previous panel on the previous page.
I'm worried that I'm going to completely burn out on reading old comics because after this excruciating three issue run of Kid Eternity, I've got about six issues of Grant Morrison's The Invisibles. Not that I'm comparing the quality of the two comic books! It's just that I don't understand this comic book but that in no way makes me feel stupid. But when I don't understand The Invisibles, I'm going to feel like a huge idiot.
This issue, which is the final issue in my head canon, ends with Fetish, the Malocchio transgender sex worker, fucking Kid Eternity until he falls in love with her and then leaving him. His heart is broken and now he's ready to be fucked by the other Malocchio. Plus Jesus and Beelzebub are playing some kind of game with Kid Eternity and a mad girl named Christabel who can draw reality. So that's another character and piece of the plot that I never would have kept straight if I'd kept reading this comic book.
Kid Eternity #3 Rating: C-. It's really fucking falling apart at this point. Yes, the basic premise is pretty easy to understand. But it's tiresome trying to keep it all straight when every single one of Nocenti's characters speaks in never ending analogies. So if love is like sailing, you don't just get, "Bright skies and still seas until the storm clouds gather and toss the ship." No, you get "Love is sailing in bright skies on a calm sea with freshly waxed decks and clean billowing sails, a pleasant breeze that stopped over in Manhattan to waft the fresh smell of baking garlic and Margherita pizza into your upraised nostrils as you watch two seagulls playfully dance in the sky until the next instant stormy seas, black skies, flailing ropes, ripped sails, riggings down, the decks awash, and death is licking the back of your neck." That whole last part where the stormy seas start is actually a direct quote. I embellished the first half!
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Chapter 16:
Vivian
There’s A Single Moment,
(A Split Moment,)
Light But Seconds Before The Storm.
Your Senses Tingle,
Little Hairs…
Stretching Up Along Your Name,
(Screaming.)
They Extend Ever So Delicately,
(Out To Meet And Greet,)
This Spike In Energy Surrounding You.
I Became Enthralled With
A Three-headed Monster,
I Yet To Figure Why,
(Or Even How;)
I Came To Cross Paths
With This Beast.
He Did Not Begin
With Three Heads…
Oh No,
One Developed After Another…
(Such Consequence Of Lust.)
I Met This Monster Whilst Living
With Peter And Paul At Lilly.
I Had Finally Taken My Independence…
Though,
I Find Myself Trapped
Within A Leased Living Situation.
He First Came To Me As “The Green Man:”
This Beast Was Timid,
(Sweet.)
He Wrapped Me Up
Within A Fish Line,
Whispered Within Me,
“Would You Like To Finish My Line?”
White Powdery Snow,
All Diced,
Presented Neatly Within 3 Row.
It Was He,
(The First To Plague Me.)
He Played Many Games,
(He Was A Master Upon Hiding Masks,)
Disguised As True Faces,
(Blurrier Facts.)
He Captured My Attention,
As It Had Been Longingly Neglect;
Draped Upon Destination.
I Dazed…
I Wanted To Know Everything About Him,
The First Indulged In This Sin:
Coincidentally Landed My Residence,
Directly Aside Him.
We Shared A Porch,
On A Long Day He’d Pop In;
Light My Torch.
I Began To Surround
Myself Within His Life,
Enthralled With An Idea Of Love:
I Lured Him From His Woman,
She Fast Asleep,
(Three Doors To The Right.)
I Justified This
(A Test Of Flight.)
See, I Was There First:
I Had Put In The Time.
So When I Rejected,
I Fucked Them All;
Just Passing The Time.
You See,
I Wanted To Prove To Myself,
“I Was Whole”:
The Fucker Who Faked Me,
Couldn’t Taint Me.
A Test Of Lust,
Spoiled Centuries Ago:
I’m Sorry Samantha,
“Future Husband”,
I Didn’t Know.
The Second Came To Me,
Within Drug-induced Haze:
The Bridge,
A Previous Life…
(Absurd,)
Drug Filled,
Strife;
I Found Myself Within.
Sitting Up A Psychedelic Mattress,
Shoved,
Upon A Corner Of
A Black-lit Warehouse,
Within My Living Room;
Half Naked,
Florescent Bodies Pass My Tomb.
Head Remain Stagnant,
Movement Upon The Pavement:
Fast Forwarded,
Repeat To Doom.
I Can Never Tell Who Is What,
Or What Is Who…
All That Is Determined:
A Mind Filled With Glamorous Clues;
(Only The Best Of Kinds.)
This Is What People
Forget To Talk About…
(While Dreaming Within The Mind.)
I Sat And Observed,
(The Happenings Upon Me:)
Wondering Exactly,
“How I Got Here, To Be.”
The Last Thing I Remember:
I Was Within University,
Flushed Within A Hurt Locker…
And Now?
A “Raver”?
The Steps And Processes,
Amongst These Two Destinations,
(Eternally Undetermined.)
The Process My Life
Path Become Directed:
Too Many Turns,
(Shortcuts,)
Dead Ends…
Mapping Out How;
I Ended Upon The
Darker Side Of The Moon.
(Loneliness And Pain
Can Attest To It, Too.)
This Beast Is One
You Cannot Recognize;
Infiltrates Your Life.
(Within An Instant.)
Fallen Within Infatuation,
(Such Sinful Feast,)
Such Frustration.
He Was A Vampire.
I Don’t Know What Came Over Me,
He Spoke:
Wrapped A Trans Around Me.
I Didn’t Want Anything;
Just To Listen.
I Do Not Fancy Myself,
(A Foolish Girl…)
Enough To Swoon Prematurely.
An Interesting Gift;
(Target Practice.)
A Neo-Siren,
(In Human Flesh.)
This Beast Sprouted Within Envy:
Almost At Instant,
A Click.
A Piece Of The Puzzle;
Somehow Found Way,
(Together,)
Meshing Perfectly,
(In Unity,)
A Sense Of Correction:
I Realized,
How Well We “Felt Together”,
(In Temptation.)
Overwhelming Sense,
Perfection:
Expanding As The Night Grew Wicked.
Thought Surrounding
How Well It “Fit”,
Forced My Conscious
To Smother My Subconscious;
Screaming,
“Don’t Let Him In!”
It Will Be Nothing,
I Didn’t Care,
I Missed The Feeling,
The Sense Of Clarity:
Butterflies Swarming,
A Sense Of Care.
Sexual Tension Grew Intense,
The Morning Crawled Across
The Horizon:
We Found Ourselves,
(Located In The Mist.)
Water Flowing,
Heating Up As He Peers Within Me;
Pinned Against The Wall,
(A Consensual Manner.)
Shower Door Gnawing Upon My Neck:
A Wolf,
(Attacking It’s Prey.)
I Begin To Pull Away;
“I’m Not A Foolish Girl…”
Most Do Not Recognize This Hesitation:
An Inner Debate Within Myself.
Contemplating;
How Exactly I To Play?
Give In?
Risk Losing Connection To Stay?
“If You Don’t Want To, Don’t.”
He Scaled My Throat,
Whispering Nothings Within One Ear:
“I Want To, But If You Don’t,
Then Don’t, Sweetheart.”
“I Know…”
Induced In Mesmerizing Haze:
He Leans Within, Whispers Softly,
“…You Know You Want To.”
This Was One Of The More Satisfying
Sexual Encounters I Come Across…
My Mind Is A Labyrinth,
Fine In Design:
Carved To Perfection,
Un-mastered,
(Without Devine.)
The Surface Of A
Practical Girl Is Apparent:
Below The Inner Workings,
A Genius Masterpiece,
(Transparent.)
In The Time This
Conversation Taken Place,
“Heat Of The Moment”,
(Blushed Upon My Face.)
My Brain Weighed Every Outcome:
Each Possible Scenario Could Blossom,
A Reaction,
The Situation,
(Currently At Bay.)
I Had Every Reason To Stop,
Allow This Boy To Shower;
Send Him Upon His Way.
He Was Charming,
Thoughtful,
Sweet,
Mostly Sexually Compatible, To Beat.
I Had Never Had Such Reaction Before…
“You Know You Want To,”
Rang Through My Ears,
Tantalizing My Lore:
Nothing Mattered
At This Point In The Show,
(Deal With Consequences
As They Arose.)
My Body Tingled;
He Touched Me
From Every Angle.
I Shivered;
Unable To Formulate Words…
Finding Sanctuary:
My Own Sexual Ecstasy.
I Was Caught.
I Had Felt Something,
For The First Time In Years.
The Days Past:
Zeke And I Spent A lot Of Time Together.
Nonetheless I had yet to bore of him.
This Was Different.
He Was Receptive;
An Intense Shiver
Pulsated My Entire Body.
I Couldn’t Wrap My
Head Around The Reasoning,
The Logic,)
How Interestingly Drawn
To This Man I Was.
I Was Level Headed:
I Wanted To Be With Him,
(Instead Of Needing To.)
Shot Of Rum,
Two Shots,
Three,
Four,
Shot And A Half Of Patron,
Shot Of Rum,
Two Screw Drivers,
Shot Of Fire Water,
Shot And A Half Of Rumplemintz.
I Sat On The Floor
Of A Third Story Parking Garage,
Arms Wrapped Within A Sobbing Boy:
Cringing,
Grasping His Side,
(Pain Eluding From His Torso.)
All I Could Think About
Was The Seductive Smell
And Velvet Touch Of His Skin.
His Words Were Untranslatable
Through sobbing,
Drunken Slur.
“I’m Going To Die
Within The Next Two Years,”
(Interrupted,)
Another Excruciating Grunt;
Coiling His Body Into Mine.
I Woke Up With The
Most Intense Hangover,
Zeke Nowhere To Be Seen.
Laying Upon A Pull Out Bed;
Dress From The Night Before,
Unzipped,
Stuck Around My Torso,
(Essentially Naked.)
I Had Never Seen
This Room Before:
My Roommate And Her Boy
Curled Next To Me,
Figuring…
I Hadn’t Gotten Kidnapped.
An Over Whelming Feeling,
Confusion Filled My Conscious.
A Woman I Had Never Seen Before,
Walked Out,
Began To Tidy Up.
Who The Hell’s House
Did We End Up At?
Why The Fuck Am I Naked?
How Did We Get Here?
I Finally Gain Full Consciousness;
Zeke’s Voice Rings
From Within The Bedroom
Next To Me…
This Was His Apartment…
And The Woman…
She Was His
Four Month Pregnant Fiancée.
“Are You Dating Someone Or Not?”
“No.”
“Then What The Hell
Is She Doing Living In Your House?”
“It’s Complicated,
You Know How That Is.”
I Had Been Made A Fool,
Once Again.
I Have Dropped Men
For Making A Wrong Pass:
He Had Pregnant Fiancé,
And A 14 Month Old Boy....
And I Found Myself With Him,
Not Even 24 Hours Post Haste.
I Could Not Pull Myself Away:
(His Draw Was Infectious.)
His Touch Sent
Chills Through My Body:
Circulated The Surface Of My Skin.
Individual Hairs Upon The Neck;
Arose To Great Him,
(Ever So Submissively.)
Lips Upon My Back,
Kiss Upon My Hand,
Forehead,
Shoulder…
The Clouds Descended From Skies,
Lifting Me Far Away,
(From My Horrible Life Choices.)
All Logic My Mind Could Conjure:
A Consistent Screaming,
“You Don’t Belong Here.”
I Read People,
(Psychologically:)
Actions,
Social Reactions,
Subsequent Personalities…
(Encountered Along The Path.)
Zeke Enjoyed Flaunting,
(Boasting,)
His Mediocre Talents:
Constantly Attempting To Sell
A Wet Soiled Rug For Couture.
I Quickly Came To My Senses:
He Was Not Mentally,
(Never-the-less,)
Emotionally Stable,
To Consider Dedicated Tolerance.
This Endlessly Loving
Nature Within Me:
This Get’s Me In Serious Trouble,
(Fucked:)
Obvious.
I Cannot Help But Try;
Guide Those Lost,
In Need Of A Beacon.
Though,
There Is This Point:
(You Must Realize,)
Your Golden Efforts Are Wasted…
On A Fucking Dirtbag.
Lessons Learned
Will Forever Receive Gratitude:
I Came Closer Toward
Spiritual Understanding
That Just May,
(Forever,)
Roll Along My Consciousness.
And:
Never Fuck Anyone,
You Meet At A Rave.
I Vaguely Remember,
Standing Upon A Worn Dock,
Affront A Lake;
(Somewhere In A Desert,)
Roughly Forty-five Minutes
Outside Mountain Home, Idaho.
I Moved Out Of Hell,
(Round One:)
Residing With Jade’s Lovers.
I Moved Back To My Parents In Boise,
(Sophomore Summer.)
Consisting The Same Drunken Bullshit,
Moscow Residents:
(Those Short Few Years.)
Had I Not Ended Up In This Desert,
My Life Would Be Utterly Estranged;
(The One I Know Now.)
Since I Moved Home,
Having Left My Boyfriend,
(Four Years:)
Boise Evolved,
(Uniquely Different Than Before.)
When We Left Peter,
He Took All The “Friends”,
With Him.
This,
(Though inconvenient,)
Had Little Effect On Me,
(Disregard Additional Abandonment:)
I’m Quite The Problem Solver.
I Never Had Problem ‘Making’ Friends:
A Sense Of Humor Renders
A Positive Social Outcome.
It Comes With The Territory:
(Abundance Of Personal Relations.)
People Of All Materials:
Separate Personalities,
(Backgrounds,)
Combining Upbringing And Free Will…
“Characters”;
(If You Will.)
They Swarm Me.
Left Friendless,
(Fend For Myself.)
Rekindling Past Connections,
The Oldest,
Most Dear Friendships;
Those Friends Of Your Childhood.
We Spent Our Nights
Dancing In The Streets,
Singing At The Top Of Our Lungs.
Those Midnight Trips To Ihop,
Watching The Stars Buzz By,
(The Years Of Our Youth.)
Coming Back Felt As Though,
(I Had Never Left.)
I Was The Only Piece Of The Puzzle,
(I Just Didn’t Fit;)
Intruding Upon Playful Embracing,
Weird Antics,
For Years,
I Had Been Lost:
Under My Anxious Desire,
“Grow Up”,
(Before My Time.)
Laying On A Blanket,
(Face Toward Heaven,)
Gazing Out Into The “Great Unknown”;
Wondering…
How Life Could Have Been,
(Had I Not Forced My Adolescence,)
Toward A Halt,
(So Prematurely.)
You See,
I’ve Been Looking For You.
I’ve Been Waiting Since I Was A Young Girl.
I’ve Made Mistakes,
Mistaken Your Love,
(For Those With Similar Attributes.)
As I Child,
(Raised On Princes And Princesses:)
I Knew,
I Wanted But One Dream.
I Wanted To Find True Love.
I Dreamt About It,
Since That Adolescent Day.
The “Prince”.
I Promised Myself:
Upon A Nineteenth Year,
I Would Find Love.
I Would Find Love Through Writing.
If I Could Light All The Fireworks,
(Those Spectacular Birthday Gifts;)
A Shot In The Dark,
Either They Would Find Me…
Or I Would Find Him:
The One…
Who Holds The Key To My Heart,
(By Unlocking My Mind.)
The One,
(To Co-write The Script.)
Knowing This Wonderful Group
Of Ladies Lead Me
To A Music Festival
In The Desert.
We Drove Two And Half Hours
South Of Boise;
Past Mountain Home,
(Into The Hills We Went.)
Car Packed:
Rave Costumes,
Coolers,
Miscellaneous Items,
Absorbing The Open Crevices
Of Her Tiny POS Car.
Waltzing Around The Campsite,
(Severely Under Dressed,)
I Came Across A Lovely Barbie Tent,
It Happened To Come With An Attractive,
Gentle Man,
(With Extraordinarily Large Gauges.)
I Approached Him;
Curious To What ‘L’ Stood For.
He Disappeared Within His Tent,
Returning With Two Hits Of Acid…
This Was The Beginning
Of My First Psychedelic Experience;
Something More Beautiful
Than Words Can Describe.
Opening My Mind
To Greater Aspects Of Life,
Simultaneously Throwing Me
Into A Summer Of Massive
Drug Abuse,
(A Turning Point Of Life.)
For So Many Years,
I’ve Viewed My World Through
Shaded ‘Black Abyss’ Glass:
Now Admiring The Rainbows,
Existing Upon Each Molecule,
(Placed Upon This Earth.)
It Wasn’t Until The End,
I Was Forced To Come To Terms,
(With Reality.)
My Own Tormenting Loneliness.
I Ran So Far Away,
Even Those Few Who Loved Me Dearly,
Could Not Find Me;
Driving Until I Could Not,
I Could Not Stop.
Drowning Out Excruciating Loneliness;
Meaningless Sex And Musical Compilations.
It Was Mid August, 2012.
I Had Been Working Full Time,
Managing A Modeling Agency.
Their Company Is A Scam,
They Owe Me Money….
Their Photographer Is A Rapist.
My Health Had Been Acting Up.
My Empire Of Friends Began To Fall.
The Household I Kept Running,
Slipping Out From Underneath Me.
My Mother Called Me,
Earlier That Day;
Explaining My Grandfather
Was Deathly Ill,
He Was In Intensive Care
In A Hospital In Montana.
She And My Brother
Were To Visit Him
in his final moments,
(Days Before.)
Stress And Turmoil Overwhelmed,
The Entirety Of Myself To Much.
The Tipping Point:
I Cannot Remember,
Being Able To Hear,
(Myself Think.)
Though,
I Adored My Boise Life,
What I Had Created As ‘My Own’,
I Had Become Stricken
With Exceeding Anxiety.
Losing My Breath,
(Functionality,)
A Loss Of Control.
My Body Frozen In Time;
Autopilot,
Cleanly Focus,
(Air Intake,)
Head Perfectly Placed,
(Between My Knees.)
Complete:
(Loss Of Disposition.)
I’m Highly Convinced,
This The Reason I Left;
(The Time Being.)
I Just Needed Out,
(Run Away;)
to rid myself of everything
and everyone
for even just a moment;
get in my car and drive.
It was two in the morning
and scheduled to work
the next morning,
put my license plates on my Chrysler,
packed up my car,
filled up my tank and drove.
I drove to the one place I knew,
the safety of my wonderland.
300 miles of highway
and I was free
(for even a brief moment,)
I was going back to Moscow.
I had driven this highway
religiously for years with company,
alone,
with my puppy,
this road was my sanctuary.
A long strip of blacktop for hours,
mountains crisp from the summer night
the moon’s light as my guide.
Drowning out the world
with highway and the ambience
of my stereo at full:
blinding my thoughts,
finally allowing my mind
come to peace
(the first time in months.)
Fuck,
I Just Want To Write.
Sometimes,
I Ponder What Type Of Brilliance
Could Become Explored;
Had I Only But A Microphone Within,
(Inner Dialogue.)
Only,
Wouldn’t That,
(In Turn,)
Become Nothing More Than This?
Scripted Product;
(Monetized And Exploited.)
A Chance Toward Physical Comfort,
(Enthralled Within Rich Man’s Game.)
In Such Case:
“Who Am I, But A Walk-in Closet?”
I Was Lost In The Woods That Night;
A Brisk August Evening,
(They Always Are.)
I Never Had The Chance
To Get To Know My Grandmother
On My Mother’s Side:
Afraid The “Crazy” May Just Rub Off On Me,
(I Suppose.)
There’s A Tight Little Pocket,
Tucked Along The Creases,
(Within My Mind:)
A Writing Desk,
(Pleasantly Designed.)
An Interrogation Style Lighting Fixture,
Gently Sways Back And Forth:
Counting The Ticking Of My Sanity,
(Tucked Away For Safe Keeping.)
Peace.
I’m Sure,
My Ancestry Contains
Brilliantly Unique Individuals.
My Mother “Claims” To
Withhold any Artistic Talents;
Though,
I Always Suspected This Was A Farce,
(Both Her Parents Were Beautiful Artists,)
Exploring Humanity In The Seventies.
I’m Afraid,
I Feel Sinful:
Drenched Within My Own
Egotistical Self Awareness.
A Mediocre Snail,
Attempting To ‘Keep Up’.
The Ocean Swallowed
Two Children Saturday:
What Gives Me The Right?
(Wallowing In My Own Lack Of Esteem.)
My Heart Broke In Two:
(A Parents Living Nightmare.)
That Sort Of Grief
Is Unbeknownst To Me,
(Within Complex Contemplation.)
My Grandmother Was A Writer:
My Mother Told Me
Of Various Notebooks,
Filled With Her Scrambled,
Neurological Connections.
Her Work Eternally Unread:
She Expressed Diligently To My Mother,
“One Day,
I’ll Allow You To Read These,
Then You Should Finally Understand Me.”
One Brisk August Morn,
Beneath A Pale, Idahoan Moon…
She,
(And All Her Notebooks,)
Where Gone;
(Burnt To Ash,)
Engulfed In A House Of Flame.
I Was Thirteen When
Those Calls Came In…
It Became Very Dark In My Household.
I Do Believe My Parents Attempted,
(Keep The Heavy Shit From Hitting Us,)
As Adolescents.
It’s An Interesting Bundle;
(Upbringing Quarks,)
When You’re The Eldest, Middle Child.
My Parents Raised
My Two Youngest Aunts:
(Grandma Did A Lot Of Drugs.)
The Girls Fit Nicely,
Within The Creases Of Our
Middle Class Starter Home.
It Was A Full House;
We Had Bullies Of Macaroni,
And Heads Filled Of Disney.
I Am The Eldest Sibling Of My Family;
(Raised As An Overlooked Middle Child.)
I Feel As If,
(This Writing Desk,)
Shall Be A Dense Forest Green;
Topped With A Fir Slab,
Sculpted And Oiled To Move With You…
Nothing Like A Sharp Corder In The Ass,
(Pondering Midnight Thought.)
Grandma And Grandpa Died On The Same Day:
(Some Would Say Roughly The Same Time,)
Six Years Apart…
(One Brisk August Morn.)
My Grandpa,
(I Believe,)
Gave His Life…
For Mine.
A Barter Traded:
His Time Was Up.
I Escaped With My Life,
Though, I Saw Him There:
(The Elk Man.)
He Comes To All:
Wearing Separate Names
And Alternate Devices…
Most Call Him “Death”;
(The Language Of It Muddles Within Muck.)
His Presence Hold The Opposite Anxiety:
(A Calm Liquidity.)
Holding Stern Awoken Emotion;
He Took The Fawn,
(Instead.)
I Stared Him Directly Within The Eye,
(Dead,)
Walking Amongst This Silence,
(Again.)
I Should Have Known:
“Turn Around,”
Highway Closing Down,
(Behind Me,)
Mountain Charred,
(Ablaze.)
I Barely Saw Her,
Moments Before She Hit My Windshield.
I Saw A Black Figure Of A Very Slim Man;
Sitting Upon The Bench Seat,
(Whilst Checking The Rearview Mirror.)
I Only Turned Briefly,
(Startled By Tricks Of The Mind:)
There She Was,
Blinded And Frozen Within Headlight,
Flying Eighty-Five Miles Per Hour,
(Directly Into Her.)
I Blacked Out Before She Hit My Hood:
Upon Woke,
I Attempted To Start My Vehicle.
Unresponsive,
(Steering Wheel Bent In Half.)
It Was Between Four And Five AM:
One Brisk August Morn.
My Grandfather Passed
During This Same Pocket In Time:
Liver Failure And Hepatitis,
In A Hospital In Montana.
My Mother And Brother Traveled There,
(To Be With Him.)
I Was Covered In Blood And Glass,
Shredded And Sparkling From Head To Tow:
Cuddling An Oversized Frog,
Named ‘Tuesday’.
I Was Nineteen:
(Disoriented,)
Standing In The Midst
Of A Lonely Highway…
(Within Witching Hour.)
I Made It To Wonderland:
I Went There To Escape.
It Was Tarnished Before;
(The Following Week Left It’s Wake…)
I Was So Reckless With Myself, Then.
I Have Come To Notice:
Loneliness,
(Associated With Abundance Of Greed.)
Career Driven Individuals,
Means To Live A Thousand Lifestyles;
(Luxurious Desire,)
Though,
Is This The Life
One Truly Desires To Lead?
All The Means Of Happiness;
Yet,
No Compatible Soul To Share It With.
No One To Call,
(When You’re Sad:)
No One To Hold,
(When Grief Strikes By Surprise.)
This Life I Once Lived,
(Found Joy Within;)
Evolved Within This Sick,
(Disgusting,)
Reality Check.
Selfish,
Self-driven;
(My Lonely Existence,)
Amplified Five Minutes Post,
(My Grandfather’s Funeral.)
Sitting Affront The Alter,
(Holding My Emotions Stagnant,)
Un-phased By Grief,
(This “Flow” Of Emotion Surrounding Me.)
I Trained Myself Long Before This Moment;
To Kill All Those waves Within,
(Deep Inside.)
Logically Accepting Loss,
(A Natural Phase Of Life,)
Disregarding Empathetic Understanding,
This Downpour Of Tears,
(Surrounding Me.)
The Service Came To A Close,
Faces Melting Before Me:
I Gave The Final Eulogy.
I Sat Among This Puddle Of People,
Gazing Across My Parents Yard;
Watching The Sunlight Glisten,
(Bounce,)
Off Individual Blades Of Grass,
(Upon This Acre Of Sod.)
Random Shimmering Droplets,
Water Glistening Together,
(In Beautiful Harmony.)
Euphoric Ambience Of
The Waterfall My Father Built,
A Gift For My Mother;
(In The Passing Of Her Father.)
Muttering My Thoughts:
Awareness Drained
From Within My Mind.
Sitting Amongst Myself,
(Numb Nothingness;)
Observing The Earth Engulfing Me,
(An Unconscious Haze.)
Awoken From My Hypnotic State;
A Gentle Tap Upon My Arm.
People Whom I Had Never Met,
People Who Knew My Name…
I Hadn’t The Slightest
Clue Who They Were;
Associated To My
Grandfather In Some Way.
They Told Me Stories,
(Boasting About Me To Them.)
This Significant Pride,
This Passion He Felt
Towards My Future.
I Was The Apple Of His Eye,
Awareness Brought Through
Distant Stories,
(Marked By Strangers:)
Talking Faces,
Reminding Me…
My Inadequacy,
To Appreciate Anyone…
(Even Myself.)
I Hadn’t Realized
The Incredible Man,
(I Strongly Resemble,)
Had Slipped Away From Me;
(Previous To This Discovery.)
A Dagger Entered
My Chest At Blunt Force:
I Lost My Breath.
Suppression:
That Masterful Dam Of Tears,
(Locked Away Years Before,)
Could Not Halt
This Uncontrollable Sob.
I Sat There,
(Face Tucked Between My Knees;)
Soaking A Black And White
Pin-stripped Dress,
(Melting Into Utter Despair,)
I Couldn’t Help But Realize…
Not One Soul,
(Within A Fifteen Foot Radius Of Me.)
There Was No One There,
(To Hold My Hand.)
There Was No One There,
(To Just Hold Me…)
When I Needed It Most.
A Hollow Mold,
There To Put Me Back To Form,
(After Melting Away.)
I Was Alone.
No “Friend” Came For Support.
The Touch Of A Man’s Embrace,
Driven From Genuine Empathy,
Had Been Long Since Washed Away.
Leaving Me.
The World I Had Once
Created For Myself:
Endless Parties,
Adolescently Exhilarating Experiences…
A Never Forgotten,
(Official,)
End To My Loveless Cold Interior.
I Was Not Happy,
I Was Honestly Alone…
(I Had Only Myself To Blame.)
I Had Met My Third
Beast Two Years Prior.
He Was My Tattoo Artist.
“W” Was Charming:
I Respected His Marriage.
I Did Not Intentionally Ruin A Family.
It Started Playful,
He Led Me To Believe
He Was Already Separated
From His Wife
When I Began Flirting With Him.
I Had Sent Him A “Harmless Photo”,
A One Piece Bathing Suit,
Nothing Terribly Scandalous.
She Texted Me…
(His Wife,)
Asking Why I Had Sent
That To Her Husband…
(Suppose She Hadn’t Gotten The Memo, Yet.)
He Lied:
He Lied To Me,
He Lied To Her.
My Cold Interior Hadn’t Fully Thawed:
I Justified My Actions As A Fault Of His.
I Could Have Been A Moral Human:
I Could Have Walked Away,
Tattooed My Shame In Invisible Ink…
Instead,
I Looked The Other Way.
I Had Scheduled A Tattoo Appointment,
The Day After My Grandfather’s Funeral.
Coincidently,
This Appointment Was Planned
Prior To His Passing.
I Had Requested A Change
Of Artwork For Our Appointment,
A Rose,
Upon My Neck,
In Condolence.
A Piece Of Color Behind My Ear,
Whispering:
“I Believe In You,
Just Believe In Yourself.”
I Refused To Sleep
With Another Married Man,
The Damage Was Done.
My Refusal To Walk Away,
My Desire To Keep Coming Back,
This Is The Beast That Birthed My Insect.
For I Held Integrity,
I Listened To His Lies:
I Remember Letting Him
Fuck Me From Behind,
(Just Two Weeks
Into Their Separation.)
Sure,
They Weren’t Going To Be Together:
Sure,
I Would Assume,
(I Couldn’t Have Been The Only…)
Or Maybe I Was.
Maybe I Had Fucked Up
So Many Committed Hearts,
The Universe Fed Me A Beetle.
An Insect To Devour My Heart,
Little By Little,
A Seven Year,
Convert Counter Attack;
(Payment For My Adolescent Recklessness.)
I Had Made It Up,
(Within My Mind,)
He Gave A Fuck About Me.
I Actually Gifted Him An Original Painting,
(A Tip For A Tattoo Well Done.)
I Looked Forward To “Pretending”,
Feeling Like A Real Girlfriend,
(Again.)
I Think I Was Most Blinded,
My Insatiable Desire,
(Leave Lust Behind.)
I Am Sorry.
To All The Women
I Have Intentionally Harmed,
(To All Those Whom I Left
Unconscious Scars.)
I Am A Soft Ball Of Love,
(Within A Cast Iron Armor Heart.)
I Was Blinded By Ego
Guided My Actions Through
A Thin Stained Glass.
I Gave Myself Morale,
(Excuses For My Actions,)
Excuses To Live With,
(My Despicable “Love” Choices.)
W Fucked My Roommate
Just A Month Later…
On My Living Room Floor,
He Left Me In My Bed
After Falling Asleep Cuddling.
He Made A Point,
“We Were Not Exclusive”:
My Heart Doesn’t Work Like That.
Love Is A Very Serious Matter:
It Is Not Something To Be Thrown Around,
An Old Rag Doll Through All Paths,
(A Muse.)
I Wouldn’t Know Love,
I’ve Only Experienced Lust And Abuse.
Ive Been Abandoned By Everyone I Know;
Every Friend I Hold An Arms Length,
For Even As A Child,
My Aunt Would Manipulate
Those Against Me.
So Why Wouldn’t I Expect
You To Do The Same?
Why Could I Imagine,
(From A Perspective
That’s Rendered “Sane”…)
That Any Chance Of A Fairytale;
Would Become Anything
(More Than Fucking Mundane.)
You See,
I’m A Bad Person.
I Make Bad Decisions.
I Am Blinded By An Idea Of Love,
That I Have Yet To Prove Exists.
Greased Handprint
(Across My Desktop Screen,)
Hiding My Communication,
A Source Of SOS,
(Unseen.)
Shivering In Physical Fear,
With Tears Falling Down My Face,
As I Dealt With The Wrath,
Unveiling From A Hummingbird
That Swarmed My Psyche,
(Maced.)
I’m A Foolish Fucking Woman,
I Should Have Learned By Now.
I May Be “A Bad Guy”,
(But So Are You.)
Meddling In Others Realities
Renders “Unkind.”
You’re Not Up To Par,
(Within My Mind.)
How Could I Tell You,
“I Love You,”
When You Don’t Exist?
An Imaginary Creature
Within My Mind,
A Shapeshifter,
“Love Blind”.
Didn’t Your Mother Ever Teach You?
Don’t Underestimate Repercussions,
Ripples,
(Aftershock,)
Simulated By Motives Guided In Fear.
You Don’t Deserve Me Anyway,
My Motives Are Proven Clear.
I Have No Malicious Intentions:
(I Only Wish To Share Communication,)
Respectful Sensations,
Soft Reciprocated Empathy,
A Beautiful Nightlife Calla Lilly,
(Blossomed Inside Me.)
I’m Searching For Peace,
A Secure Foundation,
Trust And Security,
(Loving Intention.)
This Is When I Run:
(I Deserve This.)
You See,
You’re A Pussy Ass Bitch.
I Died That Night,
Within The Lost Forest.
I Remembered What I Felt Like To Fall,
Before I Rendered Weak,
(A Love Tourist.)
I Leaped From My Platform,
You Hit Your Fucking Speed Boat;
While I Trembled In Fear,
(Carrying Keys Upon My Breast
For Psychological Security:)
Dead In The Eye,
A Wrathful Beatle Looming Near:
Your Cannon Wrecked My Fucking Ship,
I Feared My Life For Hollow Rhymes.
I Abandoned That Sinking Ship,
Treading Water
As Long As I Could Stand.
I Watched As That Emergency Flare
Flew Upon The Air,
Hit The Water,
Turnt Pink Mist Across The Waves.
I Took A Final Breath,
Into The Ocean I Sank:
Growing Gills And A Tale,
A Siren I Became.
I Fell:
You Fucking Ran,
It Is My Own Foolish Fault.
Fuck You.
#Poetic Novel#Poetic Blogs#Poetic Lore#Poetry#Poetic Fiction#Poetry Online#Poetic#Free Poetry Online#Love Poetry#Dark Poetry#best publishing platform for Poetic authors#best online poetry#publishing platform#publishing#publish my work online#independent publishers#best publishing company#best publishing platform for artists#indie publishers#how to publish my book online#best online publishing#New Reads Online#best new indie authors#Alternative Literature#Taunie Jade#Reading Online#sparkes inc#sparkesink#sparkes ink#sparks inc
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Second Chances
Superhero!AU
Fandom: Sanders’ Sides
Pairings: Parental Analogical
Tags/Warnings: dead animals, mentions of abuse, mild anxiety.
Words: 2011
**Note: Ok this is the start of a fic I’ve been thinking since like 2 days ago (today is 2019-07-16) and I already have plots and possible arcs. Its not complete, so bare with me, ‘cause I will try my mightiest to do the chapters and updates. Might do art too **
PROLOGUE
Summary: Ever since Virgil got to the orphanage he has been such a sweet and nice kid, but sometimes really weird things happen around him.
It was raining.
The sound of dark clouds clashing broke the peaceful silence, bright flashes of light illuminated the room. Some toys were scatter in the floor. Darkness. Lighting, the bed had some thin blankets and a bunny plushie. Darkness. Light illuminated the child’s eyes. What a beautiful yet strange coloration he had, deep blue with purple stripes that wouldn’t be notice from afar. He was watching the stormy night through the window; it sure was pouring like crazy. The small kid didn’t mind, he found it rather calming; it can’t be said the same for the other kids, some of them were hiding in their bed sheets, holding on to their plushies or asking for the comfort of one of the guardians in the facility. The child could listen to someone knocking at the door and entering, he turn to look at one of the caretakers.
-Hey, Virgil- The caretaker said kindly -Are you ready?-
Virgil is nervous, despite this, he nods lightly. He climb down his bed, started walking towards the door but quickly went back to get his bunny. Once in the light of the corridor you could see how pale he looked, his hair was a deep brown and he was a bit too thin. He was wearing a black sweater, too big for the 7 year old, yet it was the only thing that gave him comfort in certain days.
For some reason, he always decided to wear dark clothes since he got to the orphanage. No one knew exactly where did he came from. One similar night like tonight a caretaker found little Virgil soaking wet, curling inside one of the closets where they stored blankets; no one saw him enter the closet, let alone saw him enter the building in general. He was trembling so much, scared of something but he wouldn’t say what, he wouldn’t let anyone get near him or take him out of the closet. One of the caretakers had to stay with him for hours until Virgil trusted them enough to get him out of there. Besides the weird arrival, he was a nice kid. Just…Jumpy. And scared. Once he got used to the staff, his flinches became less and less. They manage to get Virgil a psychological checkup, some of his actions were…abnormal to say the least. He would act almost animalistic, he would hiss and rarely speak and would try to bite people if they got near enough without making it known for him. The therapist that check on him couldn’t get much information through words, so he introduce the child with some colors and paper. Let’s just say the drawings were highly aggressive and violent to describe, especially for a, back then, 4 year old. Suffice to say, they had an idea of what probably happened to him but decided to not ponder much about it.
Even the other children were appalled by his very quiet and introvert demeanor. Some kids would actually try to speak to him and spend time, he would oblige but not exactly look happy about it. He was not violent at all, in fact, he was the sweetest kid around, although he could be a little devil from time to time. Virgil was known to scare some kids with blankets and pretend to be a ghost. He was a nice kid.
Yet…A little weird…More like… Weird things happened around him.
In one instance, some children were playing with a ball, when one of them stumble upon a dying cat in the back of the building, poor thing swallow some rat poison and was convulsing (From what the description the children gave, it might have been the case). It wasn’t a very pleasant image for a child to see. One of the caretakers was called by a group of crying children, he followed them to the back only to see Virgil holding the cat, who was… Alive… And purring. Now, kids probably confused a sleeping kitty for a dead one, but the description of foam and open glossy eyes was too graphic for a child to have said if they didn’t ever saw it before. Virgil placed the kitten in the ground, well mostly letting the cat jump off of him and kind of laid down in the floor to promptly fall asleep. The cat walked away as if nothing happened.
After that, Virgil was being watch carefully by staff, meanwhile kids took distance from him. Some start to call him a witch or a magician, others, not so kindly, called him a freak. There were other times were dying things like plants would suddenly come back to being healthy, or when one of the staff found a dead bird who broke its neck by colliding with one of the windows and went to find a plastic bag only to return to Virgil sat on the ground while petting slowly the bird that now was chirping and flapping its wings. Maybe it was nothing, maybe it was just a coincidence. Those can be explainable, right?
Well. Maybe. But not one time.
Nothing would be as strange and frantic as the time one kid had to be put in quarantine. She was very sick, the illness was like a common cold but it was attacking her very aggressively. Even with attention from doctors, even with medicine it just wouldn’t go away. They had to wait up till it pass. But it just didn’t. Each day it passed she would get worst and worst, the doctors didn’t had much hopes. It might have been something else, but they didn’t manage to catch it on time. The child was getting weaker and weaker and the only thing one of the last doctors they called up could say was to have no high hopes.
The staff were planning on how to tell at the children what was going on. They break the news to the group of children, being the most sincere yet delicate possible to explain what was going on and what would happened to their friend. All the children were distraught, they didn’t understand, the caretakers were sadden and tried to not break in front of the kids who needed them all right there and then. Suddenly, there was the sound of a door opening and closing; 2 of the caretakers went to check on the sick girl, and the door was locked. They checked around to see at the children gathered there, and guess who wasn’t around them?
Virgil lock himself inside the sick girl’s room. They could here steps going away from the door. They called him to open the door, their shouts increase, more worried than angry, no one wanted another kid to get sick, let alone… Die. One of the higher staff came with a master key and open the door, flinging it wide open. They saw Virgil holding the kid’s arm and kneeling; he was trembling and crying, he looked so sad but he didn’t cried because of that, it was almost as if he was in pain.
One of the caretakers hold and pull him away, and no one in Virgil’s life at that place saw him in so much distress. Kicking the air and screaming to be let go, saying things like he could do it. The caretaker had to take Virgil and lock him in his room, they stayed with him to make sure he was ok. Virgil was crying a lot, holding himself as if he was going to fall apart; he suddenly curled in himself and lay down in bed, trembling in excruciating pain. The caretaker went to get someone to phone a doctor quick, his tracks were fast to find the phone, then another caretaker crash on them to get the phone too. They were told the sick girl was sitting and speaking, as if nothing was happening, she still had fever but other than that it seem she was fine.
Once the doctor came, they went running towards Virgil’s room, and there he was…! Just sleeping in his bed. They didn’t understand. They let Virgil sleep and went to check the girl, who was having only common cold symptoms. The doctor said with the medicine should be enough now. While the girl was getting better by the week, Virgil was very sleepy and drained all that time. He would sleep for a while and only wake up to eat a bit. Once he was well and not tired started hanging out with that girl. They both became good friends after that. Nothing was explained, nothing was wrong but it was weird as fuck. The caretakers took it as if it was a miracle, some religious ones thought that maybe Virgil was a type of angel. Even the more skeptic didn’t know what to think about this.
Well… In any case, as weird as it was, it was all ok. The caretaker went through all the memories, the fun ones, the scary ones, the weird ones… All turning into a bittersweet moment in their head, “Dariela is gonna miss her best friend” was one of the thoughts that crossed through their head. And the reasoning behind it was because Virgil was going to get adopted.
-Here we are, Virge- The caretaker said opening a door to an office. A man was sitting in the chair giving his back to the door. He turn around to see both of them, he seem calm but his fidgeting hands would say the contrary. Virgil saw him and look at the floor nervously.
-Come on now- The caretaker said, pressing his hand gently on Virgil’s hand for comfort. Virgil walked towards the man and sit next to him.
-Hello, Virgil- The man smiled kindly.
-Hi…- Virgil manage to say. He hold on to his bunny closely.
-Are you nervous?- The man said asked stuttering a bit. His hands were holding on a piece of paper that was getting ripped into pieces.
Virgil holds his bunny to his face and hides behind it.
-C’mon, Virge, don’t hide your face- said the caretaker.
-It’s quite alright- said the man smiling at the caretaker, then return his attention to Virgil. -I understand this must be a big change for you, Virgil. It will be alright, we will go at your own pace- said surely.
Virgil looked puzzled about what he meant, he lower his bunny and looked at the man in a questioning way.
-I-I mean, uh… You can take as much time to feel less nervous…- The man was getting nervous too. Being a parent is what he always wanted, but he had to admit that he was still not good at talking to kids.
-I’m ok…- Virgil said lowering his bunny. –I’m… Happy- He smiled not looking at the man who would be his dad. “Dad”. It was kind of weird to call him that, even if already knows who the man was after the several interviews they had.
The man gasp very lowly, he was almost choking on tears. He didn’t know what to do with his hands and he just simply hold on to the paper he was holding.
The caretaker took notice of this, the scene warm their heart. It was nice to see Virgil to be open and to have a family now.
-Ahem…- The caretaker cleared their throat to make the man pay attention to them. –Alright Mr. Huberto…- The caretaker was interrupted.
-Please, Logan it’s alright.- Logan said raising his hand to a stop motion.
-Oh, right. Mr. Logan- Logan sighed, he does like to stay formal but at this point he feels too familiar with the caretaker and most of the staff there. –Are you ready to sign the papers?-
Logan looked at Virgil with gleeful eyes and a smile then turn to the caretaker. –Yes-
Virgil saw the paper being passed to Logan, he had a lot of mix feelings, now he tried to be happy, because he was finally getting a dad.
Once the documentation was done, the rain stopped.
TAG LIST:
*hey sorry for tagging you*
@softestvirgil @royallyanxious @stormcrawler75 @pastel-sparkle-punk hey for tagging you, may i interest you in a fic?
Prologue / CH 1
#logan sanders#virgil sanders#sanders sides#superhero#au#superhero!au#virgil#logan#analogical#parental#parental analogical#tw fear#tw anxiety#logic#anxiety#sanders sides au#sanders sides fic#fanfic#fic
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You deserve better
(Jumin x MC) Part 4
.
It hurt; that’s all MC could process. Not a single thought resided in her mind other than her body was in excruciating pain. She couldn’t pin point where, she didn’t know why, all she knew was it was too much.
As her groaning grew louder, Jumin held a hand to her face, eyes shifting between her figure and the door as he wondered if he should call for help. It was a horrible sound in all honesty, Jumin didn’t wish to hear this; it wasn’t the peaceful hum he admired, it was harsh and sounded torturous to MC. He held his ground, stroking her hair and hushing her- trying his best to reassure her that she were okay.
“Mr Han, I’m sorry to intrude but...” the nurse in the doorway came to a halt as Jumin’s gaze caught her’s. His demeanour was strong, looking as if he could never falter, but his eyes were so full of complete panic.
“She needs help, go get Dr Baek.” His words fell upon deaf ears as the nurse tried to process the situation. He didn’t have time for this, MC definitely didn’t, “For Christ sake, go and get help!” Words having finally hit her, the nurse scurried off to find the nearest doctor. He focused back on MC, lying through his teeth as he cooed: “It’s okay... You’re gonna pull through this, ok? We just need to stay calm and everything will be absolutely fine.” His eyes didn’t leave her for a second as he watched on carefully. Her groans continued and, much to Jumin’s worry, he could have sworn he saw her muscles tense. First her jaw, then her eyebrows furrowed violently- he couldn’t deny the sight before him. “MC? MC, can you hear me? What’s wrong?” Cautiously, he held her cheek, praying to God (not that he had in countless years) and begging for him to do something, anything. Without warning, she craned her neck, fighting against the brace and gasping through her distress. “No. No, please don’t move,” he begged desperately, unsure of what he should do, “Please, don’t move, my love. It’s going to be okay, I swear.”
It felt like years but, the answer to his prayers did eventually arrive in the form of Dr Baek. The middle aged man was quick to position himself next to the bed, Jumin not even completely realising her were there. “Okay,” he took in the situation as fast as humanly possible, “Nurse Kim, can you hold her neck back in its original position.” Jumin was forced out of the way, stumbling back as a mini hord of staff came rushing to MC’s side.
“She’s straining against my hold,” one of the younger nurses replied.
Another, holding the clipboard and watching the monitors, joined in: “Her heart rate is slightly elevated; everything else is the same from her last observation.”
The doctor in charge froze slightly, thinking through all the causes that could have led to this. “Maybe she’s reacting to the pain? I can’t think of what else could be causing this.”
“It’s plausible.”
“Then do something!” Jumin’s voice erupted from behind the chaos, drawing all attention to his uncomposed self. He took a deep breath, eyes beginning to burn with tears that threatened to spill, “Just help her... Please!”
Dr Baek looked back to the struggling woman, weighing out all the possibilities of several different treatments. “Right, give her 10mg of morphine. I want someone in this room watching her for the next few hours.”
No sooner than had she been given the shot, everything calmed down. The nurses had stopped moving around frantically. The noise playing constantly in Jumin’s ears had hushed and, in that moment, he felt he could breathe without the fear of something going wrong. Cautiously, he paced back to the bed, excusing his way through the young nurses. He ached for her more than he could explain. There was no way on Earth she deserved a fate like this. He smiled- almost tearful- as he whispered to her, “Don’t scare me like that again.”
.
How long had it been? A day or two? In reality, time had become a distant concept during MC’s slumber. She knew she wasn’t completely conscious; she was laying down somewhere and could remember a few words here and there. Not that she knew where she was, although the voices were familiar at points.
All of MC’s muscles felt tense as her head seemed to clear slightly. Things felt more real, like she was actually in the moment. Though her eyelids were heavy, she opened them with ease, scanning the room with haste. It was definitely a hospital room, her head stayed fixed in its place but she knew where she was.
A groan snapped Jumin from his fixed gaze on the floor; words could not explain the feelings he felt. Those bright eyes pierced holes through his heart and in an instant he felt himself almost lost for words. “MC... Christ...” There was no reply but her eyes appeared to gaze through him. “How do you feel?”
The female whined, her throat sore and dry, “...Wha– I... I need to go...” Dazed, she attempted to sit herself up but was abrupt stopped.
“No.” Jumin rushed to hold his hands above her, “Just stay still. I’ll get the doctor.” He gave her a reassuring nod, only to disappear from her field of view and out of the room.
MC could only see the ceiling above her; it was pristine, as was the few other things she could see in her immediate surrounding, much like Jumin. He was too nice. He’d always been that nice though, hadn’t he? MC thought silently to herself. Everything was an absolute mess in her mind- nothing really making sense- but her thoughts of him were not at fault.
“Miss Lee,” a new voice arrived in the room, followed shortly by a doctor appearing and hovering over her, “My name is Dr Baek, I’ve been the doctor in charge of your care. How are you feeling?”
“I want to go...” she whined once more, throat croaking incessantly.
“I’m afraid that can’t happen,” he explained; being only met by an exasperated groan. He pulled out a torch, unpleasantly shining it in MC’s eyes before nodding his head. “I’m going to walk you through everything, but I need you to stay still for me, okay?” She didn’t reply but he continued regardless: “You were involved in a car accident and have been in a coma for the past 16 days.”
It had been awhile, not too long but quite awhile.
“You received quite a knock to the head and fractured your right arm.”
Without thinking, she raised the arm and admired the cast which hugged it. There was no objection to her moving the limb but she could hear Jumin murmuring threats of worry not too far away.
“You also revived a spinal injury that we have been watching carefully.”
Those words hit her hard. Spinal injury. There was no bright side with that; all outcomes were bad outcomes. And, though she wasn’t completely conscious, MC found herself choking on her words, “Am I paralysed? ...I- I need to move— I need to go.” Her chest rose and fell violently, her hyperventilating very much audible.
“Your recent scans show the swelling has gone down, but I need you to do somethings so I can asses the damage.” Tears dripped down the woman’s face and Jumin moved to comfort her almost immediately. The doctor sighed pitifully: “Can you wiggle your toes for me?” She did as he said, or at least she tried. To Jumin’s horror, her left side did not move an inch. The other man’s lips pursed together, “And can you lift you legs and bend you knees for me?” She tried, evidently. Her eyebrows knitted together, her breath hitched, and, for all her efforts, her right leg raised slightly while the other had barely shifted.
A violent huff left her as her tears continued, “Fuck... This is stupid.”
“It is possible you could make a recovery from this,” Dr Baek explained.
“You’re so strong, MC. You’ll get through this and you have lots of support,” Jumin chimed in. It was painful to see his strong, beautiful friend a mess of tears and pain; he needed to alleviate it at all costs.
Her doctor nodded, agreeing while he removed her neck brace gently. “I need you to move your head slowly to the right and tell me if it hurts.”
MC followed his words, her eyes locking with Jumin for the first time. They were so full of pain, full of fear.
“And the left.” She winced fiercely as her head fell to the other side of the pillow. “Sore?”
“Very,” she confirmed quietly.
“Are you in pain?”
That had somehow become an amusing word. It hurt- no doubt about it- but being paralysed had become slightly more worrying. “My back aches... Everything just feels sore and numb simultaneously.”
“I’ll start you on a course of regular painkillers, the morphine may make you tired but don’t fear to sleep if you need. It should be safe for you to move but take it easy. It’s in your best interest we start rehabilitation soon.” The doctor returned the clipboard to the edge of the bed, raising its back slightly and allowing MC to sit up, before walking to the door. “Just call if you need anything.”
The two sat in silence. Prior to this, Jumin had grown accustomed to the sound but he found it now very much unbearable. He clutched onto her hand as he sat at her side, smiling blissfully at her blank face. “I’m so glad you’re okay.” His voice resinated peacefully in her ears, but he was met with no reply. “I’ll do everything in my power to help you get better.”
With a deep inhale, she looked to him, tears still spilling from her eyes. “I don’t deserve you.”
“You deserve the world, MC.”
#mystic messenger#mysme#jumin x mc#mystic messenger jumin han#mysme jumin#mc mystic messenger#mc myseme#mystic messenger fic#mysme fic#mystic messenger headcannon
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Side Character CHAPTER TWO | the originals/legacies
The car ride was most definitely awkward. The distance between Mystic falls and New Orleans was long enough without the excruciating pain of the silence that was so loud, my vampire self contemplated ripping my own heart out so just off myself already.
Don't make Hayley Marshall mad, she's scary.
As we walked into the Mikaelson compound, Hayley walked quickly in front of us, anger basically steaming out of her ears.
"Can you just yell at me already?" Hope called after her. "Seven hours of hostile silence is punishment enough."
Hayley stopped abruptly, turning around. "The whole point of sending you two to that school and calling you Hope Marshall was so that you wouldn't draw attention to yourselves, to keep you safe."
She turned to me, and for a second I felt like she was going to mom me as well. Instead, her expression softened, and she said, "Lilah, can you go up to your room? Sorry that I'm making you miss classes, too, I just thought if I was going to take your irresponsible best friend," she turned to her daughter when she said this, before turning back to me, "home, I might as well let you enjoy some time off as well."
I nodded, giving her a closed-mouth smile before I headed up the staircase towards the room the Mikaelson family had given me when they found out I had been compelling a landlord to let me stay in an apartment.
I passed by Freya on my way up, who instantly stopped walking towards the staircase with a knowing look on her face, staying right next to me.
"How bad is it?"
"Aunt Hayley's anger count be comparable to Uncle Niklaus," I told her.
I always called them all Aunt or Uncle when addressing them. Well, all but Elijah, though he's been gone for the past seven years, his memory taken. Even before, when I knew him, he and I had a close bond. I never called him Uncle Elijah, and no one ever asked me why not.
"Damn," Freya said, before slinging an arm around me. "So, update me on everything."
I smiled at her, my heart warmed with how the Mikaelson's opened their arms to me all those years ago. They treated me like I was one of them, and sometimes it felt like always and forever applied to me, too.
"You first, since I have a lot to say. How's Keelin, how long until she's back?" I asked.
Her smile dropped, and she said, "Soon, but... I might be leaving with her. It was suggested last time we talked, and I don't know, I kind of want to go, but I can't just stop trying to find a way to reunite my siblings, I can't just leave Vincent to take care of New Orleans by himself."
I frowned. Freya deserved the world, she deserved happiness. Sometimes it pained me to watch her spending her mortal, finite days trying to get the immortals back together. I wanted them altogether, too, but Freya put her own happiness aside for so long. I knew that it wasn't fair.
"Hope made a mistake, and she'll learn from it."
"That's what I said, but bad things come in threes, and three bad things seem to be happening," she said. "Nothing for you to worry about."
"Freya, you treat me like a kid," I said to her as we rounded the corner into my bedroom, sitting on the floor near my bed talking. "I think you're forgetting I'm an ancient vampire."
"An ancient vampire in high school, who looks like she's 16 and acts like she's 16, therefore I will treat her like she is 16."
"I'm grounded," Hope said, walking into my room. "I feel bad, but Kol seems to think it'll blow over by Mardi Gras."
"I'm sure it will," I reassured her as she joined us on the floor.
"I'm gonna go talk to your mom," Freya said, hugging her niece and kissing her forehead, before doing the same with me. "I'll see you two later."
-
The small, fixable mistake of Hope's became bigger when Henry ended up killing Poppy, a bartender at Rousseau's. Thus, sparked anger in the vampires, as well as something Hayley had to fix.
Then, Hayley went missing, though being Hope's best friend, she told me her plan. I again wrote a journal entry about how stupid my best friend was, but I kept my mouth shut about it. She wanted to see Klaus, which was understandable. Her execution was awful, but she promised she spelled Hayley to protect her, even showed me so I could have peace of mind.
So much happens in such little time when you're apart of the Mikaelson family, or at least close to them. Klaus was back in town, and doing the most to avoid Hope. Hope is trying to be with her father. Marcel is back, sans Rebekah.
I found myself wandering the house in the midst of the chaos. I walked slowly into Elijah's room, opening the box of things he felt was important enough for us to keep. I opened one of his old journals, reading the memories of his life. I had a million journals of my own, my past written down through the years I've been undead.
I had them all stored away, kept away, so no one could find a book and read about me. I went back to my room with one of them, sitting on my bed in my favorite snoopy pajamas with his journal.
There was a thud nearby, like someone bumped into the side of the house near my bedroom. I snapped my head to the two doors that lead out to my balcony, bracing myself to fight off whatever decided to poke it's head in the Mikaelson compound.
I calmed down slightly when I saw that it was Roman when he peaked his head so I could see him through the glass. Then, my nerves started up again when I realized Roman was outside my bedroom.
"Hey, Desmarais," he called. He wasn't wearing his school uniform.
This time he was clad in a red letterman jacket with white sleeves. I thought he looked good in a uniform, but seeing him dressed like a high school jock was even better.
I opened my door, quirking an eyebrow at him.
"Roman, you're at my house," I stated, and he nodded.
"Yeah, I-I needed to talk to you or Hope, so, uh," he said, his voice shaky.
"Not to be mean or anything dude, but how the hell do you know where I live?" I asked, trying to stay as myself as possible, and not stammer like an idiot in front of him. Plus, I had been excited thinking he was looking for me, but no. It was me or Hope, probably Hope since everyone prefers her anyways.
"Oh, well, Saltzman's got parent contacts in his file cabinet, which is where he keeps his emergency Bourban, so I'm intimately familiar... as are you."
I gave him a peculiar look when he said that. I found it weird that he noticed me, but also cute.
"Can I come in?" he asked.
I nodded.
"You know that I'm a vampire, too, right?" he asked, still standing with one arm pressed against the door, but not inside.
I nodded.
"So, I, uh, kinda need you to say it out loud..." he trailed off.
"Um, I can't really do that..." I replied. "Not the owner of the house, plus I'm sort of also a vampire."
He nodded, both of us realizing we're in a predicament.
"Come in," a voice said from behind us, and our heads snapped to Hope standing in my doorway looking confused.
"Hope, hey!" he said, seeming more excited to see her than he had to see me.
My eyes stayed glued to the floor.
"I'll ask questions later," she said to me. "I gotta go."
"Where are you going? It's barely dawn."
"I just... I gotta go," she said, and she hurried out of the house.
He stepped forward as I looked up, and I didn't step back. Our faces were close, and my eyes widened. I really hoped he wasn't trying to listen to my heartbeat or anything because it was beating like crazy.
"Cute jammies," he told me, looking me up and down.
I finally took a step back, my face heating up as I was embarrassed.
"So... why were you looking for me?" I asked, before adding, "Or Hope."
"Yeah, um," he said, turning around to close my balcony doors before turning back to me. "Look, people are saying all this stuff about Henry at school. That he died. And that he killed himself."
I crossed my arms over my chest, half to keep up my hardass persona, and half to cover myself considering I wasn't wearing a bra.
"Your friends were awful to him, you know that, right?" I asked, attitude in my voice as I looked at him. "He went through hell."
He looked down as I said it, and looked me in the eyes and said, "I know, okay? That's why I'm here. I should pay my respects or something. I let them push him around. Make fun of his poetry, his clothes, and now, I can't sleep."
I put a hand on his shoulder and said, "He's fine. He's with his pack, he didn't die."
The pained expression on his face got relieved, and I turned around to go to my drawer. I turned to him, and said, "I need to change, so can you look away?"
"Oh, yeah," he said, turning around.
I walked to my drawer, pulling out a tank top and a pair of blue jeans. Half way through changing, I realized the way my mirror was positioned, he could see me if he looked into it. I prayed he was a good guy and wouldn't look through it.
I grabbed green jacket from my chair, sliding it on before going back towards him. I told him he could turn around.
"Lizzie Saltzman said she saw Henry jump from the turret. A werewolf wouldn't survive that kind of fall," he said as I sat down on my bed.
"Yeah, well, Lizzie also said that Hope exploded an orphanage with my brain when she was eight," I said, and he took a seat next to me.
"Yeah, I-I heard that one," he said, this dazed look in his eye.
I felt something weird, like I was upset because of his interest in talking about Hope even though I was the one who mentioned her.
"I also heard she's a long lost Romanian princess," he added, looking at me. Our faces were close. "So, what is her secret?"
Of course, he wanted to know things about Hope. Everyone always wanted to know Hope, know about Hope. I was always just her best friend.
I chuckled. "They got her all wrong. She actually exploded an orphaned Romanian princess with her brain."
His face dropped, and I liked the fact that he wasn't sure whether I was telling him the truth or not.
I had a feeling that something was going on with Hope when the flowers near my bed started wilting, so I got up. "Can you wait here? I just need to do something real quick, I'll be back."
He shrugged and said, "Yeah."
"Also, about the princess," I added as I started walking away. "Brat had it coming."
He had a smile on his face when I turned back to look at him, and then I set off to look for my best friend.
---
chapter three
#sidecharacter;to#sidecharactermasterlist#hope mikaelson#klaus mikaelson#rebekah mikaelson#elijah mikaelson#kol mikaelson#theoriginals#hopesoriginal#the originals#salvatore school#caroline forbes#vampire diaries#the vampire diaries#the originals fanfiction#to fanfiction#to#tvd#tvd fanfiction#hayley marshall#alaric saltzman
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I’m 23 years old. The 2 years leading up to now have been a complete whirlwind, but somehow, in this time, an actual music career has begun. I’m a composer, a producer, a singer, a songwriter, a visual artist - among many labels.
I sit in front of my piano. I know how to play all of 2 pieces - Gnossiennes 1 & 2 by Erik Satie. I learned them by ear 4 years ago while working the reception desk of an art gallery that had two baby grand pianos hidden underneath the stairs. I would get bored when no one else was in the gallery and venture down.
In my studio, I have piles of introductory music books, minuets and ballads laying around - some given to me at a young age, some passed down by dead relatives who knew I had a ‘good ear’ - or were maybe too dead to give a shit about where their old sheet music went by the time I got my hands on it.
I decide, for what feels like the 100th time, that I will learn how to read music.
I had my first piano lesson when I was 10 years old. My piano teacher was nice - a young, lanky, 20-something music student who wore beanie hats and played electric guitar in a rock band. I thought he was pretty much the coolest and wanted to be him. Unfortunately, I don’t think he was particularly ‘stoked’ in the same capacity to work with me. I had very little enthusiasm for any of the mind-numbingly boring rudimentary theory curriculum, the limited repertoire I had to choose from (away in a manger or… the other version of away in a manger) made me want to rip my hair out, and reading sheet music would send my mind into kaleidoscope-vision.
I would also have kaleidoscope-vision in school. I struggled with school. I was a rambunctious little human. My attention span was uncontrollable (unless we were reading or drawing, then I absolutely paid attention). Looking over old report cards, there was a lot of ‘needs to stay on task’ and ‘could use help with organization’ - anecdotal pieces of advice I heard so much, I think the meanings eventually became hollow to me (or maybe the meanings were just hollow to begin with).
Getting me to sit still for 30 minutes was an excruciating feat for any adult in my life, so 2 hours? 3 hours? 6 hours? Good god, I wanted to climb the walls. When the teacher would start talking, I would look past their gaze - into Lala Land as adults disdainfully called it. (I still deeply hate calling it Lala Land, but, for continuity purposes, we’re going to reclaim the name in neon lights.)
Lala Land was great. Real life? Not so much. In real life, from third grade until high school graduation, my teachers (with the exception of 3 gems) were blatantly judgemental of me. They’d think nothing of admonishing me in front of my peers if I fidgeted or looked out a window.
Because the amount of physical energy I had was not conducive to a classroom environment, I learned to dissociate from my body. Because looking out a window meant I was not looking at a chalkboard, I learned to look past the chalkboard to find Lala Land, its neon letters burning behind my absent gaze. Past the letters, there would be a window. I could look out the window and its glass panes could evaporate and autumn’s leafy gusts of wind could sweep me away and I’d never have to worry about a messy desk or a missed assignment or classroom of judgemental eyes looking at me again. The next day’s fantasy would be the same, but different.
Children’s imaginations are often playful and fantastical. Take a kid with a traumatized brain, however - and imagination can give them a seemingly supernatural ability to create, in their mind, what they need for emotional survival. That was me.
There were parts of my childhood that were truly blissful, gorgeous, hilarious and nurturing. But I’d be denying you, dear reader, important context if I didn’t tell you that a significant part of my young formative years was steeped in grief, chaos and abandonment. I assure you need not build castles in the air in understanding that I was a child with a traumatized brain. And though I was surviving, trauma had created a faceless, nameless internal chaos for me that I didn’t truly even recognize until adulthood. Trauma changes the way brains function. That’s a lot for a kid to be dealing with.
In piano lessons, my teacher would sit with me and we would go over the theory of a piece of sheet music - that was my brain’s cue to look past the kaleidoscope paper, nodding “yes, mhm, got it.” But then, when he’d clap the rhythm of the piece, my brain would engage and I’d clap the same rhythm back, no problem. After that, he would play the piece for me as an example - this was where my brain would hyper-focus. I would retain, retain, retain, and I would play the piece back, not reading a note, but looking past the page all the same. This wasn’t a ploy to dupe him. This was a system of which neither of us were consciously aware. I was just 10, and playing piano.
Outside of school, I was different. I was encouraged to sing, I would go to my parents’ choir practices every week and sit in the pews of Saint Mary’s Church and listen to 30 voices reverberate through it. I would shoot the shit with adults and carry around books about Roman mythology and Egyptian hieroglyphs and I would talk about how I wanted to travel the whole world and I would make 1-page comics and I would dress up my dog and I loved the ballet costumes from Stravinsky’s Firebird and… I digress.
Outside of school, I was different. Music calmed my internal landscape enough for me to be myself. No - actually, music calmed my immediate surroundings enough for me to make sense of my internal landscape… Actually, both.
On a borrowed piano, I would sit and endlessly ear out songs (Carmen, movie soundtracks I liked, songs my mom sang, etc). I would walk into my Saturday lesson and proudly showcase the self-taught triumphs of Sunday through Friday for my teacher, only to be met with a brief pat on the back and the god-damn sheet music to 'away in a manger’ - which I still hated and still couldn’t read, but played anyway. After 5 months, I eventually made it clear to all parties involved that I was done with piano, and my parents finally gave into my weekly protests.
When I was 7th grade, I started playing french horn in the school band and, for whatever reason, continued for 6 and a half years. I still saw through a kaleidoscope when I got a piece of music, but there was one other french horn player in my class so I usually copied what she did - Unless we had different parts in which case I fumbled constantly through band practice until I finally figured out what I was playing. Band, generally, had a negative impact on my relationship with music. I think the only reason I stuck with it was because the feeling of playing music with such a large group of people triggered some kind of dopamine rush that my brain loved. I would get ASMR - auto sensory meridian response - also known as “that fuzzy, warm, calm feeling in the centre of your brain” - some folks experience it and some folks don’t.
A lot of changes in my home life happened in that 6-and-a-half-year period. After years of week-on, week-off pivots between my mother and father’s separate homes, my father permanently moved to Sweden when I was 13. My mother became my primary parent while dealing with the loaded blows of bankruptcy and multiple reckonings around her own life challenges. We moved into a home that had completely gutted walls and plywood floors (left unfinished by previous tenants with renovation goals too ambitious to finish). The situation was chaotic. So, so chaotic. But, from that time up to now, my mother was (and continues to be) an incredible support to me. She could see that I was struggling, and did everything in her power to advocate for me when I couldn’t advocate for myself. I can only imagine the feeling of knowing something is not right with your child and being told by everyone around you that your child is fine. Her support was integral.
When I was in 9th grade, she and my homeroom teacher (also a phenomenal support to me at the time) pulled some strings to have an initial psychological assessment performed on me - not technically “official” - as it was conducted by a student of psychology, I recall - nevertheless, it provided enough insight to validate that there was an underlying dissonance between what most of my teachers were saying about me (lazy, bad attitude, etc) and what was actually going on in my head, and that a formal assessment would be necessary to help me. My name was put on the waiting list for a psychologist that year. But, the entire island had only 1 or 2 psychologists available (Totally appalling). And so I waited... And waited... And waited... And while I waited, I continued to find refuge in my visual art practice, as well as learning other instruments on my own terms.
I refuse to say something cliche like “art and music saved my life” because creativity isn’t a sustainable singular lifeline for anyone, and believing so feeds into the highly problematic mental health stigma as it pertains to those who create for a living... But art and music did play key roles in tempering my inner storms. Now, as a musician, I allow my craft to be a teacher, not a therapist.
When I was 16, I went to my first voice lesson. I kept at it for a year, and… excelled? I totally excelled - personally and musically. This did wonders for my confidence (I attribute a lot of that to my voice teacher at the time, who had a really supportive and receptive approach to my weird energy levels and the idiosyncratic ways I learned). I did festivals, took a Royal Conservatory exam - and I was still excelling, which honestly shocked me at the time because I was so used to failing everything.
Oh, also, I could still barely read the music. Kaleidoscopic forever.
Many classically trained musicians describe the experience of being overwhelmed when they get a new piece of music (especially if it has theory components they may not be familiar with or something) - totally normal. But then, they concentrate, deconstruct it from the page section-by-section and eventually learn to play it with neurotypical grace. Deconstructing written music on the page to understand what was happening became a little bit less nauseating as I was exposed to it more. I WORKED at theory and understood parts of it, but only… theoretically. Being able to transcribe that (limited) understanding into playing? That never happened for me. The page would remain kaleidoscopic until it felt like my brain was just going to short-circuit and cave in on itself. It was weird, and trying to describe to anyone in band class (teachers and students alike) made me feel like I was on a different planet. So, when the heat was on (whether that was in performance or in private lessons or “sight singing”) I kept relying on my ears and refined my ability to hold my own in band concerts, private voice lessons, choirs, musical theatre productions.
Meanwhile, in high school, my academic life was still basically the worst. I had adversarial relationships with nearly all of my teachers. I barely passed each year. Emotionally, I also had a lot of anger seething below the surface of my consciousness. I had internalized so much of what so many teachers had told me - that I was smart but lazy, that I had a bad attitude, that I was disruptive, distracted, manipulative etc. - and having gone through some pretty drastic events that effectively destabilized my home life, this all had a profoundly negative impact on my self-worth.
One year later, I was 17, in 12th grade and school issues had not gotten any better (still muddling through - grades between 40% and 60%). I had just given up at this point… Except now, instead of having the teachers before, who were mostly unhelpful, but at least straight-up about being judgemental of me based on my “laziness” diagnosis, I had a haul of teachers that were giving me these new weekly out-in-the-hall John Keating-wannabe-motivational speeches, telling me how much “potential I have” and how “I’m wasting it away” by “not trying” in class (every hollow pull-up-your-socks/nose-to-grindstone idiom in the book. It was infuriating at the time). I’m sure most of them just wanted to help. But I needed someone to listen more than I needed someone to talk at me.
A helpful thing that DID come out of 12th grade (4 years after my name had been put on the list… shoutout to our provincial government for still not caring about investing in public mental health) was that I finally got access to a provincial psychologist. She came during the second semester of grade 12 and did extensive testing on me to find (surprise! but… not really) ADHD - which explained the colossal difficulties I was having in my academic life due to my chaotic brain not letting me get my shit together in the ways I was being told by neurotypical folks around me to get my shit together.
For those that aren’t informed about ADHD - it’s a form of neurodivergence that can manifest in too many ways to name here, but to fit an elephant in a minivan: There’s that part of the brain that naturally helps you regulate your attention/concentration/sleep/energy levels/appetite/feelings/working memory/pretty much anything remotely involving executive functioning… That’s nice, right? I wouldn’t know because apparently mine’s broken. There is also extensive research that directly links ADHD to childhood trauma, as well as biochemical imbalances in the brain.
I could get all in-depth about ADHD science right here, but this is my story, not an essay, and it would make for an even longer and more digressive tangent that would likely overshadow THE OTHER SIGNIFICANT THING the psychologist noted in my evaluation.
Amidst a bunch of my brain skills that were, statistically, above average for my age - like my working vocabulary and ability to retain auditory information - many of my visual processing skills - meaning, things like reading something and copying it down accurately or following written instructions without constantly needing to reference them - were shockingly below average for my age. The tests showed that this was something my brain had immense difficulty doing.
What’s an example of a visual processing issue in school? Well, I was always the last kid to finish copying text from the board (and I mean, like, multiple paragraphs behind my peers) before the teacher could move on to the next page.
What’s an example of a visual processing issue in music? Reading written notes and playing them on an instrument. When I heard a piece of music, however, I could learn it very quickly.
Knowing what was going on in my brain brought me a whole world of clarity and validation. I knew that I was going to lead an unconventional life because of it (whatever “a conventional life” means these days). I knew that most post-secondary education would be inaccessible to me as a result of my grades and probably be, at that point, more harmful than helpful.
Knowing what was going on in my brain helped me to understand what I didn’t need anymore. I didn’t need the validation of my teachers or my peers. I didn’t need a number on any piece of paper to determine my competence or ‘work ethic.’
Letting go of school was the best thing I’ve done for myself.
I graduated high school with nothing but a 64% average, and an ADHD diagnosis as my only tools in understanding how to get on a path to thriving as an adult human. liberating. frustrating. terrifying - but not really. mostly liberating.
Then, my ADHD became manageable and my life got easy and I had no self-esteem issues ever again.
… No. That’s not how life works. I’m 23 years old. I’ve been out of the school system for 6 years. I have deeply instilled productivity guilt (ie. I take on way more tasks than humanly possible to finish in ridiculously tight deadlines), I struggle with anxiety in thinking that friends and coworkers are saying negative things about my personality or quality of work behind my back (maybe my exes and high school math teachers are hanging out?? THE HORROR), my heart sinks into my stomach anytime any human watches me work over my shoulder (I’m a music producer, so if I’m working on songs with people, I become a blundering internal wreck when they understandably want to see what I’m editing). School did those things to me - which leads me into the accountability part of this long-winded ADHD realtalk.
I’d be withholding the truth from you if I didn’t say my teachers played key roles in aggravating my behavioural/emotional/learning difficulties by disputing them as personality flaws. My frustration in learning would be met, at worst, with punishment and put-downs (I remember not having recess for nearly an entire week somewhere in the first half of 4th grade - which I think is a cruel thing to do to any child, let alone one with energy levels like mine). I would be met, at best, with more hollow, invalidating advice - more ‘need to stay on task’ with a twist of ‘gotta give it yer all’ and ‘well, maybe if you actually tried…’
None of these messages sent to me were helpful. I’m still working to unravel those knots.
This is not a dig at those teachers who saw me as the problem child (rather than seeing me as a kid who just needed support and a different work environment. There were about 3 teachers in 10 years who understood that, and did everything in their power to help. They know who they are and I’m grateful for them.) I understand how frustrating it is to be pushed to your limit - especially within the bounds of a job that requires you to keep your shit together in some capacity. I understand that we that we all do our best with the tools we have at the time. There are no hard feelings - But, I encourage self-reflection and future accountability for your impact on the way you treat any child in your life - because they are just that: a child. Your impact can be profoundly helpful or harmful. You will never know what a child is going through until they feel safe enough to tell you. I didn’t feel safe with many adults - which is why most of my relationships with authority were adversarial ones. I’m not offering a solution. I’m just offering a glimpse into my experience. That’s all this is. Take it or leave it.
When a child is told again and again by the daily authoritative figures in their life that they have an attitude problem, that they are disruptive, lazy, manipulative, attention-seeking, a liar, a cheater (the list can go on but I won’t let it) - I guarantee you, the child will eventually believe it. And I did. I deeply internalized these labels to the point of identifying with them. I’m still working hard as an adult to remind myself that while many of my teachers accused me of causing chaos in my learning environment, I was simply (and unknowingly) mirroring my own internal chaos. The chaos I had created around me was a cry for help, not admonishment.
To further the accountability segment of this experience I’m sharing with you, though I can’t offer a solution to “fix” the institution of public education (because institutions generally don’t function unless they’re flawed to begin with), I think a set of solutions may lie somewhere within trauma-informed and neurodivergence-informed teaching and the public school system being provided with the adequate resources to embrace neurodivergent students - to embrace traumatized students, not accommodate them. I think a set of solutions may lie somewhere within mental health being taken seriously (with FUNDING, not lip service) by the Government of Prince Edward Island. That’s all I’ll say for now.
I don’t think my experience is special - far from it. In fact, I know that my experience is not, and never will be one-of-a-kind. I started writing this when I sat in front of a piano and tried to do what my brain would never let me do. I looked past the page and saw this part of my life staring back at me. I’m not even a writer, but I felt like I had to write it down. Looking back, I realize that I didn’t even begin to understand my own story until someone else told me theirs.
So - whether you’re a teacher or a student or both - if you’re struggling in the school system, this is dedicated to you. If you have been turned away and invalidated by those supposed to help you, you need to know that the labels placed upon you only hold as much power over you as you allow. Being pained by what you can’t control doesn’t make you weak, it makes you a survivor. Surviving is hard. Surviving is so hard, but you will begin to heal.
I’m 23 years old. I’m many things. I read music with my ears. I’m mastering the art of looking past what’s in front of me.
- Russell Louder
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Just Friends ~ Looking Back On Memories (part 46)
Harper White is best friends with Luke Hemmings, they always have been. Not only is she friends with the rockstar, but with the rest of 5 Seconds Of Summer, as well as a really nice girl named Erika.
Harper has a few secrets, she can play all the instruments the boys play and many more. It’s a talent she has kept hidden, only very few people know.
What will happen to the six teens, wondering around the world together?
***
The airport is bursting with life, sleepy, busy, cranky, bored, uncomfortable, and happy people; somthing I can’t seem to feel anymore.
It’s pitch black outside, the lights inside this building remind of school, and I’ve been waiting for someone to pick me up for an hour. So with that, I’m not in the best mood and I’ve got a sore bum.
I’ve got week off from university, and my parents insisted that I come home for the week. I’d rather not, and instead forget everything around me by playing/creating music or going out to parties. Not sitting on my arse all week, looking at everything and being reminded of the memories of him.
He’s not even here, I haven’t talked to him in ages, let alone seen him, yet he’s controlling me and making my life hell, just by being him.
I haven’t spoken to Michael, Ashton, Calum, Erika or Maddie in ages, and I kinda miss them. In a way, I’m greatful I’m not in contact with them, I’d just get reminders of all these memories that I couldn’t handle. Plus, if I talked to any of the boys, they’d transfer everything I’d say, to Luke, and I don’t want anything to do with him.
Luke’s stopped talking to me, the last text I got from him was a day after we talked on the phone. I couldn’t be anymore greatful for that, I can finally get on with my life without looking back anymore. Most of my memories include Luke, most of them are good, and I sometimes have to remind myself that he’s not in my life anymore, then it all hits me harder than the last time.
I don’t think it’s ever gonna be possible for me to not think about him at least 500 times a day. He was such a big part of my life, so to not have someone have this big chunk of my heart is excruciating emotional pain. He never gave it back though, he tore it up and stomped on it, then expected me to either mend the shards myself or think I’ll be fine without that key piece.
I’m constantly bearing this heavy feeling in my chest, and I haven’t lost it ever since we were on that damn trampoline back in Australia.
“Harper?” Someone questions behind me.
Whipping my head around and see a girl who is around 14 or 15.
“Oh, hey.” I plaster on a fake smile.
“Hi! I’m such a huge fan, and I’m sorry if I’m bothering you, because it’s really early.” She apologises.
“It’s fine.” I chuckle.
“Can I get a picture?” She asks.
“Of course.” I agree and bend down slightly to get to her level.
I put on a fake ass smile and wait for her to take the picture. The only times I’ve smiled recently is when I think back on memories of Luke and I, but I usually end up crying after that, or when I’m watching tv or somthing.
“Thank you so much, I love you and Erika so much, even though I’m a little sad that you don’t actually make videos together anymore.” She sighs.
“Yeah me too, maybe we can make a video soon.” I shrug.
“That would make my year! Please you have to.” She begs.
“I’ll see what I can sort out.” I wink.
“I saw Luke’s post, and I’m so sorry. You guys were utter goals for many of us, it was such a shock to all of us.” She says.
“It was kinda a shock to me too, but it’s in the past and it had to happen.” You tell her.
“I should get going, my parents are probably expecting me, love you!” She grins and I wave at her with a small smile.
I wish I could brush all this off as easy as I brushed that off.
Sighing and turning around, making my way outside to get some fresh air. You would’ve thought that my Mum or at least someone would remember what time my flight comes in, but no, I had to call and text my Mum and my Dad multiple times to come pick me up.
I still don’t get why I have to be here, Angus and Josh don’t have to, so why me?
Sitting on my suitcase and rolling back and forth to find some kind of amusement. I can’t go on my phone or I’ll end up crying or just be in a really fowl mood. I had to hide the Twitter app, because that’s where I follow most fan accounts and post more.
It’s been so hard seeing his name everywhere, seeing pictures of him everywhere, being sent things about him, it feels like I’m poking a bruise every time I see these things.
I haven’t tweeted, posted anything on Instagram for weeks, I’ve posted videos on YouTube, but I haven’t dared to look at the comments.
Seeing the familiar short woman walk towards me with a big smile and sympathetic eyes.
“I’m so sorry we forgot what time your flight was, we thought it was tomorrow at 2:15 in the morning.” She apologises and pulls me into a hug.
“I slept a lot on the plane anyway so I’m not that tired.” I shrug.
“Again, sorry.”
“Where’s dad?” I ask.
“He’s still in bed.” She chuckles.
“It is 3:30, can you blame him?”
“True.” She nods and helps me put my suitcase in the back.
“Thanks.” I mutter and walk towards the passenger seat.
“How have you been?” She asks as she turns the engine on.
“Fine.” I say what I’ve rehearsed for the past couple months.
“So, your birthday is coming up soon…” She trails off.
“Oh shit, yeah.” I realise.
Am I really gonna be 19 in a few days?
“Got any plans?” She asks.
“No, I’m going back home the day after so I don’t wanna do anything too crazy.” I tell her.
“Okay, what do you want?” She questions.
Happiness? Self-esteem? Confidence? Mental stability?
“I don’t know, Mum.” I shrug.
“Well have a think about it, you’ve only got a few days.”
“Can I have an Ashley Purdy?” I ask.
***
“But I’m trying too hard again.” I sing. “Wait, no, get out of my head.” I scold myself.
Do you know how hard it is not to sing such great songs? I’ve had to delete all of their songs from my playlist, but somtimese I put a daily mix on and their songs come on and I can’t stop myself from not listening just to hear his voice again.
“Hey, Harper, I just got a load of film developed from the past couple of years, including some disposable cameras from your room, so if you want to have a look at them, they’re in a box in the living room.” My mum walks into my room.
“Uh okay, are there any pictures of, uhm, Luke?” I ask with a shaky voice.
“There’s a few, he’s been part of your life for a long time, there’s bound to be a few, love.” She sympathetically smiles.
I nod and stand up, I can’t let him do this to me for all of my life.
Walking into the lounge and being hit with nostalgia, but I try to reel myself away from getting sucked into those memories making me feel like it’s real but it’s just a false reality.
Who am I kidding? I’m about to look at a load of pictures from the past few years, I’m gonna choke on the nostalgia.
Standing over the box, I already get faced by his stupid gorgeous face.
“What? Gonna break my heart again? You’ve already done it, so how hard could it be to do it again?” I spit at the picture.
“What am I doing with my life? I’m talking to a damn picture of my ex boyfriend.” I bitterly chuckle at myself.
“You have no idea how much I wanna rip you to shreds but then stick you together again.”
“I really have to let you go.” I sigh and pick up a stack of pictures.
“The oldest ones are at the front and they go back to when you were 15 or 16.” My mum calls from the kitchen.
I nod, even though she can’t see me, and put the stack back, grabbing a stack from the front.
This looks like when I was 16, when I was at one of my lowest points, and to be honest, I’m walking along that edge of falling down a very deep, dark hole, whilst the Jaws theme tune plays, and it’s gonna take a really long time to climb out again.
I wouldn’t say I’m depressed, I haven’t given myself time to get there, I’ve just busied myself away from that sticky situation, but saying that, I might of fallen in that hole a long time ago, I just haven’t noticed, and I’ve mistaken this heavy feeling in my chest for heartbreak, not depression.
I even hate that damn fucking word.
Going through a few photos, they are just of my family or of the cat, then skimming past a few until I find some of me, not to sound vain or anything.
“Oh my god, I haven’t seen this in ages.” I chuckle.
It’s a picture of Michael, Luke, and I, we’re all wearing these funny sunglasses, paint and pen on our faces, have customized shirts on and are in mid laugh. I think it was some fundraiser thing at school. I vividly remember drawing a dick on Michael’s cheek.
Taking a picture of the photo on my phone, which may not be very wise to do for the long run, but I don’t care much right now.
“Remember this photo?” I ask my mum with a smile when she walks past.
“Oh my God yeah, it took ages to get that paint and pen off your bodies.” She laughs.
“Luke and I spent about 2 hours in the bathroom scrubbing each others faces.” I smile at the memory. The first genuine smile in a while.
I have to post this, I need to share it with someone. Revealing the app again, not daring to read anything, but just clicking the small circle in the corner and attaching the picture, with the caption: ultimate throw back 😂.
Not tagging either of them, just posting it, not expecting anything to come out of it, it’s just a picture after all.
Putting my phone down after I posted it on instagram too and going back to the pictures.
One of me and Erika, we were at a party or something and Ashton brought a camera out, so we took some pictures together, nothing too special about it, but we looked happy, despite me being so down that whole time.
After skipping a few, just of me and the boys and just Erika at the time, or of the boys alone. I go through a stacks or two, before I get to when I was 17, that was quite a good year, I had a budding relationship with Luke and made some good memories with even better people.
Picking up a new stack and leaning back on the sofa. Straight off the bat, I’m faced with a heart breaking picture of me and Luke. Luke’s looking at the camera whilst I’m looking at him, I’m not sure if I was waiting to see what he was doing or if was just looking at him randomly, but you can literally see the love in my eyes. We weren’t even dating then, we were still just friends.
Putting that to the back, then looking at the next one, it’s just of Luke, very candid, he is playing guitar, looking very determined/concentrated. It’s very Luke.
The one after that is another one of Luke and I, if I can remember correctly, I think we were at Calum’s house for a party in celebration for something. I’m pressed up against the wall, Luke’s forearm is above my head on the wall, his whole body is inches away from mine, and we’ve both got smirks on our faces. We’d probably had a bit to drink and were flirting a little.
If only they knew what would happen to them.
Putting that to the back again and a small smile grows on my face when I see the one next to it. Luke and I are standing somewhere I don’t recognise, and our arms are wrapped around each other, Luke’s kissing my cheek but you can see he is smiling into it, he is holding my chin, and I’ve got a big smile going on.
Aw, so naive.
After a while of going through stacks of pictures, I didn’t know how big of a lump was in my throat when my Dad said hello to me.
I’ve early finished going through the age of 17, I’ve just put back a stack from halloween and a little after that.
Pulling out a new bunch, and my breathing hitches as I see the first one. It’s from the time we went to Dubai, where it all started; where all this mess started. The Sun is setting, the clouds are all pink, Luke’s standing beind me while I’m standing in front of him, and he’s kissing my head as I’m taking a picture of the sky for my Instagram.
I think the only person who knows that Luke was doing that to me whilst that picture was taken is the person who is behind the camera.
Going through a couple more, until I find another one of Luke and I. I remember this moment vividly, Luke is standing next to me, but facing me and he just whispered something in my ear, it was a stupid dirty joke that I can’t remember, then he laughed when I finally got it, and placed his hands on my stomach and back, pulling me closer towards him. Suddenly someone came up towards us, I think it was my Mum, and she said ‘cheese’ as Luke kissed my cheek, so he quickly whipped his head towards the camera, having a big grin on his face.
Looking at a few more until I realise I’m crying, seeing a few droplets splash onto the picture of Luke and I, he’s looking at me whilst I’m looking at the camera, you can see the love in his eyes.
If he loved me so much, why did he throw my heart away as if it didn’t matter to him?
Luke’s P.O.V.
“Has anyone seen Harper’s Twitter?” Calum breaks the silence.
“No?” I question.
“Go have a look.” He gestures.
I give him a sceptical glance before typing in her all too familiar username into Twitter, clicking on her profile and wait for it to load for a few seconds- the internet is shit here.
My breathing stops and a smile makes it’s way onto my face.
“Awww, I remember that.” I chuckle.
“I’m looking good.” Michael laughs.
“Nice hair, Mike.” Calum says.
“Where?” Ashton speaks up and I show him my phone. “Aw, look at these three cuties.” He cooes.
“Shut up.” Michael and I say in unison.
“Where was Calum?” Ashton asks.
“I’m not sure, but he definitely wasn’t there that day.” I shrug.
“It took me ages to get that shit off, how long did it take for you guys to get it off?” Michael questions.
“It took us hours, we were in her bathroom for hours, just scrubbing each others faces, arms, and legs. I think the process would’ve sped up if we weren’t together, half the time we were just messing around.” I laugh at the memory.
“Didn’t Harper draw a dick on my face?” Michael asks.
“Probably.” I smile.
I’m not sure when the last time I properly smiled and laughed was- probably when I was with her. It feels so good to feel happiness again, even better because she caused it, but it also feels bad because she’s no longer with me, and I can’t relive these memories with her.
That was one of my favourite things to do with her; relive memories. We have so many together, that there’s endless amounts of hours that could be spent reliving these memories.
I think that plays a big part in why this hurts so much, I’ve known her my whole life, I’ve got far too many memories of her for me to be okay with that.
***
“Oooooh, Australian air!” Michael excitedly says and runs off.
“What a child.” Ashton shakes his head.
“Yeah.” I agree.
“Hey, if you weren’t so sad, you’d be with him, most likely in front of him.” Calum points out.
“Shut up.” I mutter and go on my phone.
We’ve come back to Australia for a few days for a mini break. We’re all a little homesick I think, so it will do us all good, and to refresh our minds.
“Luke!” My mum grins and pulls me into a motherly hug.
“Mum!” I mock and wrap my arms around her shoulders.
“How have you been?” She asks pulling me back, keeping her hands on my arms.
“Alright.” I dismiss and she looks at me sympathetically.
“You have to deal with this at some point, Luke. You can’t just keep brushing it under the rug.” She tells me.
“I know mum, can we just go home? I’m tired.”
“Whatever, come on.” She gestures with a nod.
“Bye guys, I’ll see you later or something.” I say the boys and they all wave with a small smile.
We walk away from the airport, and head back towards the place where it all started.
We’ve been in the car for a while now, I’ve just had my headphones in the majority of the time.
“How does it feel to be back home again?” My mum asks as we turn into our road.
“Uhh,” I pause as we are coming up to Harper’s house, looking at her window, the sun shining in, making an orange tinge light it all up. Her car is still the on the driveway, I remember the times we would drive around if we were bored or couldn’t sleep, and just play really loud music, singing along together, we’d usually drive to a fast food place, and eat, talking about whatever comes to mind.
I must be imagining it, but I could’ve sworn I just saw her or someone very similar walk past the window.
I really need to sleep.
“Luke?” My mum interrupts my thoughts.
“Oh yeah, uh, it feels good to be here again.” I nod.
“It’s her birthday tomorrow, isn’t it?” She points out.
“Yep.” I say and look at my lap.
“Are you gonna wish a happy birthday?” She gingerly asks.
“Probably not, uh, yeah, probably not.”
“What’s the worst that can happen, Luke?” She questions as she pulls into our house.
“I can’t do it Mum, I can’t bring myself to do it.” I dismiss and slam the car door behind me, before making my way to my room.
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The Agony of Easter- Good Friday 2018
The agony of Easter occurred on what we call Good Friday, where we remember the crucifixion. But what we call good was agony to Jesus, so today I want to examine the 7 agonies He chose to face, not because He wanted to, not because He gained anything personally, but because He loved us, and His mission was to save us from the agony of hell.
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WHY DID WE NEED A GOOD FRIDAY?
God is holy. We are sinful. This places a barrier between us and God, a separation that nothing we can do or say can bridge. People think that if they do enough good in their lives so it outweighs the bad things we do, then we can get to heaven. Listen, you can be the nicest guy in the world, and when you die you’ll be the nicest guy in hell! God knew, from before the foundation of the world, that all men are sinful. His holiness prevents Him from interacting with evil. He loves us. He wants to spend eternity with us, but He cannot do this by lowering the standard and accepting sin. If He did, heaven would be hell! So God’s solution was to send His one and only Son to face the agony of Easter, a sinless, perfect Son, to pay the price of death that we should have paid. John 3:16-17 (ESV Strong's) “For God so loved the world, that he gave his only Son, that whoever believes in him should not perish but have eternal life. For God did not send his Son into the world to condemn the world, but in order that the world might be saved through him. Jesus was a man on a mission, to save all those who would accept it. You might ask, if God is so loving, why doesn’t He save everyone. He opens the way for everyone to be saved, as the Bible says, 2 Peter 3:9 (ESV Strong's) The Lord is not slow to fulfil his promise as some count slowness, but is patient toward you, not wishing that any should perish, but that all should reach repentance. But some refuse to accept His free gift! They would rather live in rebellion to God than accept His free gift of eternal life. When Jesus hung in that cross, His died for all mankind, so this Good Friday, make sure that you are one of those that accepts Jesus free gift of eternal life! The Latin or Roman word for crucifixion is CRUCIERE, from which we get the English word, excruciating, meaning intense, unbearable pain. On the cross, Jesus suffered for 3 hours in this excruciating pain under the intense heat of a Palestinian sun before God said enough, and covered the world in a supernatural darkness. Jesus continued to suffer another 3 hours until He gave up His Spirit... the agony of Easter. The cross is not about decorating the tops of churches, nor is it a cute symbol to place around your neck. When we as Christians look at the cross, we should understand and remember the unbearable agony Jesus faced to complete His mission. This Good Friday, I want to share with you the 7 agonies of the cross. People often say that their troubles in life are unique, and that God wouldn’t understand. Well, let me show you how and why Jesus understands what you face. One day in the life of Jesus. That first Good Friday, Jesus faced infinitely more than we could ever bear…
1. THE AGONY OF CHOICE
Have you ever felt the agony of choosing to give up something you cherish? Jesus understands. Jesus is God. He is a servant, and a sacrifice, and a Saviour, and a Son, but He is also God. So right back at the beginning, Jesus faced a choice… to stay where He was, exalted and honoured, enjoying perfect fellowship with God the Father, while we were all of us lost to an eternity in hell, or He could choose to give it all up to offer us the salvation we desperately needed… Philippians 2:6-8 (ESV Strong's) who, though he was in the form of God, did not count equality with God a thing to be grasped, but emptied himself, by taking the form of a servant, being born in the likeness of men. And being found in human form, he humbled himself by becoming obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross. Jesus faced the agony of Easter in choosing to leave His home in glory and be humbled, even to the point of letting puny man torture and crucify Him. Never think that nails held Jesus to the cross. He could have changed His mind at any time, but He chose not to. Nails did not hold Him to the cross… love did, His choice to love and redeem you is what kept Him there. We don’t deserve such love, but Jesus chose to give it anyway, even though He knew some would reject it and throw it back in His face!
2. THE AGONY OF BETRAYAL
Have you ever been betrayed or let down by someone you love. Someone you trusted, someone you gave yourself to, someone you blessed and cared for… and thy betray you! Jesus understands. Mark 14:18 (ESV Strong's) And as they were reclining at table and eating, Jesus said, “Truly, I say to you, one of you will betray me, one who is eating with me.” Someone He loved, someone He served, someone He cared for and trusted and was eating with was about to betray Him, of all things with a kiss, a supposed sign of affection. And of the rest of His friends, they all fled and let Him down when He most needed them. Peter even denied Him 3 times. Jesus understands the agony or betrayal by friends and being forsaken and let down by those you trusted.
3. THE AGONY OF FALSE ACCUSATION
Have you ever been accused unjustly? Ever been misunderstood and someone takes things the wrong way and accuses you of something you never intended? Jesus understands... it is part of the agony of Easter! Matthew 27:12-14 (ESV Strong's) But when he was accused by the chief priests and elders, he gave no answer. Then Pilate said to him, “Do you not hear how many things they testify against you?” But he gave him no answer, not even to a single charge, so that the governor was greatly amazed. If you have been attacked and falsely accused, the hardest thing is to not defend yourself. Yet Jesus did that, because as they mocked Him, hit Him, spat upon Him, tortured Him and dragged Him off to be murdered, He looked to God to vindicate Him… He didn’t try and argue His way out. Jesus understands what it is like to be falsely accused or misunderstood.
4. THE AGONY OF ATTACK
Have you ever been attacked by others unprovoked, even though you have done nothing? Jesus understands. Matthew 27:29-30 (ESV Strong's) and twisting together a crown of thorns, they put it on his head and put a reed in his right hand. And kneeling before him, they mocked him, saying, “Hail, King of the Jews!” And they spit on him and took the reed and struck him on the head. Elsewhere the Bible describes His back as being like a plowed field, ripped to pieces by the cat o nine tails, into which was sown pieces of metal and bone. If you have suffered unjust attacks, have you been hurt by others… Then Jesus cares and understands... it is the agony of Easter.
5. THE AGONY OF PERSEVERANCE
Have you ever experienced the agony of having to persevere, even when it hurts or it is breaking your heart? Do you know what it’s like to not give up on someone or something, even when the pain hurts so badly? Jesus understands, because He prayed this in the garden of Gethsemane Luke 22:42 (ESV Strong's) “Father, if you are willing, remove this cup from me. Nevertheless, not my will, but yours, be done.” Sometimes we have to persevere and see something through, even when it hurts. Sometimes we must persevere with situations, with relationships and with people who hurt us. Jesus could have quit in us, but He never gave up on us. He will never give up on you. The Bible says He set His face like flint, determined to see His mission through because He loves you. No matter what you have done, He loves you, and His free gift of grace is here for you in the agony of Easter. You may have given up on God at some time, but He never gave up on you!
6. THE AGONY OF CRUCIFIXION
We experience pain. Physical pain, emotional and mental pain. But this is nothing compared to the excruciating pain Jesus chose to face in the agony of Easterfor you and me. They laid the cross member down and secured it to the rest of the cross. They then held out His quivering hands and feet and drove massive nails, much like what they secure railway sleepers with, through His wrists and ankles. If they went through His hands the flesh would tear, but through His wrists and ankles the body would be pinned in agony to the cross. Then they raised it up and dropped it into the socket in the ground. Imagine the jarring pain! And there He hung in the agony of Easter. He could have called down a legion of angels to remove Him from the cross, but Jesus chose not to. He hung there in agony for you and me. On the cross. You died of suffocation, which is why they later went to break the legs of the others on the crosses. To draw breath into His lungs He had to lift Himself up on the nails, but then the pain drove Him into unconsciousness. He then fell, until the need for air revived Him, and this went on in an endless cycle of excruciating agony, until He chose the moment to die. Jesus underwent physical agony, excruciating physical agony for you.
7. THE AGONY OF EASTER... SEPARATION FROM GOD
The greatest agony of Easter of all came at the end of the crucifixion. After 6 tortuous, agonising hours, Matthew 27:46 Jesus cried out with a loud voice, saying, “Eli, Eli, lema sabachthani?” that is, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” My God the Father, my God the Holy Spirit, why have you forsaken me? At that point God turned away from His beloved Son. In those moments a holy God, who cannot even look upon sin, saw your sin and my sin piled upon the shoulders of Jesus, and He rejected His one and only Son. At that moment Jesus bore our sins instead of us, He stood in our place, and suffered separation from the Father instead of us, opening the way for us to stand sinless before Him. Then it says this… Matthew 27:50 And Jesus cried out again with a loud voice and yielded up his spirit. He slumped, dead on that cross. They ultimately didn't take His life, He yielded it. He could have stopped it at any time, but Jesus chose the time when He yielded His life and pain for your sin and my sin. The greatest agony of Easter was being separate from God the Father. That is hell. Why? He didn’t have to do this, but He did… Because He loves us.
HOW WILL YOU RESPOND TO THE AGONY OF EASTER?
Today we remember the agony of Easter Christ went through for you and me. Isaiah 53:4-6 (ESV Strong's) Surely he has borne our griefs and carried our sorrows; yet we esteemed him stricken, smitten by God, and afflicted. But he was pierced for our transgressions; he was crushed for our iniquities; upon him was the chastisement that brought us peace, and with his wounds we are healed. All we like sheep have gone astray; we have turned—every one—to his own way; and the Lord has laid on him the iniquity of us all. On Sunday we will talk about the joys and life of the resurrection of Christ, but today we focus on the agony of Easter and of the cross, the price Jesus paid to give us eternal life. It is free for all, but not all receive it… When I look at the cross tells me is that whatever pain you have experience, whatever betrayal, heartache or burden you struggle with, Jesus not only relates and has experienced even more, but He has provided a way forward for you. Today this Good Friday Jesus reminds you that He died for you. Truly He has earned the right to carry your pain and burdens, instead of you. All it takes is a decision to accept His gift. Say yes today, say yes right now! When you look at the cross, how will you respond this Good Friday. For the One who gave so much, what can you offer in return? Get right with Him, and make this Good Friday the best Friday. Today Jesus says come… Revelation 22:17 (ESV Strong's) The Spirit and the Bride say, “Come.” And let the one who hears say, “Come.” And let the one who is thirsty come; let the one who desires take the water of life without price. Jesus is asking you to come, and you need to say, yes, Lord. If you have never asked Jesus you’re your life, you can right now…choose to accept this wonderful gift. And if you already know Him, it’s time to stop trying to live your life in your strength. So for now, I want you to think of what your greatest burden is right now, your greatest need, your greatest struggle. It might be a sin, it could be a challenge. It might be a relationship gone wrong, a child who has turned away, a conflict at work. Write it down, we are going to pray, give it to Jesus, then come forward. 1 Peter 5:7 (ESV Strong's) casting all your anxieties on him, because he cares for you.
https://ignitechurch.org.au/the-agony-of-easter-good-friday-2018/
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Jason McIntyre is a really amazing guy. He has one of the best personalities ever, always wants his readers to tell him what they think of his books and guaranteed to make you laugh. I love the style of his writing because it really just draws you in and makes you live the story you are reading. His characters are larger than life and some you will love and others you can’t wait to see them meet their maker. He has a great presence on social media and welcomes his friends and fans to interact with him. If you don’t know him you are missing a wonderful supportive friend. He has an amazing series that has characters that carry over from one book to the next. I really love that and to be able to see what they come up with next. He is a devoted husband and father and adores his family. If you haven’t met or read anything by him please take the time to check it all out you won’t be disappointed!
Please welcome Jason McIntyre to Roadie Notes………
1. How old were you when you first wrote your first story?
It was November 7th, 1992, I remember it well. Kidding. I’ve not been that clear on specific dates since I started writing a decades-long fiction saga. I may never be able to hold another date in my head!
Truly: I’ve been writing since I was twelve or thirteen but to remember exactly when would be a challenge I’ve not the strength for. The first fiction I recall writing, with a serious intent to share, was a story about aliens landing in a young girl’s backyard. I thought it interesting to have a couple of best friends who were girls. Now, did I want to appeal to the girls in my class and make friends with them because I was cool enough to write two female protagonists? Or did I want a challenge bigger than just a couple of clichéd boy buddies, much more usual in a story about aliens and flying saucers. Was it because writing from the female perspective is much more difficult? Did I want to make it tough for myself? Not sure, but I’ve been trying to write fairly from the slant of the fairer sex ever since.
That tale, by the way, was supposed to fill the blank page on the back of the school newspaper since we had no more hard news. As if there was actually such a thing as hard news in the fourth grade! Part two was written and ready to go on the last page of the first edition of the paper when we returned after summer break. But the paper had been punted into oblivion by the school’s new principal. He had a fancy (and expensive!) desktop computer and wanted to make the newspaper himself. I was devastated. But I saved up allowance money and made photocopies of the story to share around the school. Some kids had to know how it ended. And I *had* to get it out there.
2. How many books have you written?
I’ve authored four fiction novels, about a dozen long novellas and several dozen short stories available at present. More are coming all the time. Hopefully, another two novellas and a short story collection will arrive before the year is out.
3. Anything you won’t write about?
You and I were talking about this in-depth recently. I have written about this topic before, but at present—where I’m at in life and with the world in such turmoil—I have a really difficult time reading and writing about dead children. It can definitely make for powerful writing and I have gone deep into the dark with stories about it before. I’m just not capable of it right now in life.
4. Tell me about you. Age (if you don’t mind answering), married, kids…
Like The Night Walk Men, I have been imbued with the lives of ten men. Unlike Sperro, Kro and Obsidion, I am married with two kiddos.
5. What’s your favorite book you have written?
Books are a bit like my children; I don’t have a specific favourite. Well, on some days, I do have a favourite kiddo. But maybe don’t mention that to them. Tomorrow’s a new day and we may all have the opportunity to eat our Life cereal without flipping the bowl to the ceiling and back…
Some books get closer to their original visions. And some surprise you when they become much better than your vision ever was. Others fall short, but in truth, I don’t put anything out until (or unless) it achieves something new in my view. Each story and book was/is written for a purpose. And sometimes that purpose has very little to do with how it fits into the rest of the world of literature. Sometimes it’s because I simply had to have a character who ran a falafel stand and built Lego cities.
6. Who or what inspired you to write?
Probably reading. I mean, come on! Getting sucked into an imaginary world where no one can disturb or disagree, where anything is possible—that’s powerful. Then, discovering I could actually architect my own worlds where I could be master and commander—that was alluring for sure. What I didn’t realize back then was: once you create the world and plop your characters in there, they pretty much do what they want. Again, like children, there are days where I shake my head at their shenanigans. “Well, there you go,” I might say to a fictionally protagonist. “You’re dead. And it’s because you were making poor choices! How you like it now, tough guy?”
7. What do you like to do for fun?
Eat falafel and build Lego cities. Um. Only one of those statements is true. When the kiddos were small, one of them got a Lego truck for a birthday gift. He was two young to really build it on his own yet so Daddy helped out. He fell in love with the pieces and was instantly transported back to my own childhood and remembered what I loved about building those little worlds. It is a more physical version of storytelling, really. We have a rather elaborate town built now, and both my kiddos enjoy that with their old man.
Truth be told: writing is fun for me. It’s not *only* fun. Sometimes, it’s excruciating. But, for the most part, I sit down to do it each day because I love it. It’s part of me and it’s what I do.
8. Any traditions you do when you finish a book?
I smoke one cigarette and drink a bottle of Dom Perignon. Oh wait, that was Paul Sheldon.
I tell one person that I’ve finished and then I go out—rain or shine, snow or heat—and take a long walk. Later, there is usually whisky or a martini. I toast to the ingenuity of the survivors in the tale. And I lament those who didn’t make it. I also celebrate my hard-fought completion…but mourn the end of the writing of that world. It’s a bit like losing your virginity every time a story’s over. I’ll never get to write that one again for the first time.
9. Where do you write? Quiet or music?
I have a studio I built for painting, writing, getting away from the world. I also have a cabin in the woods, by a lake. These places make for excellent muses. In terms of music, I mix it up. Often, I start pounding out words on the keyboard with a playlist, but realize it has ended and I’ve been working in silence for an hour or more. That’s when I know it’s going well—the world disappears for a time. I guess it’s similar to good reading, huh?
10. Anything you would change about your writing?
Not sure if I would dare change this…but I am unlike others. I don’t want to write series that never seem to end. For me, that dulls the knife. Each time I set out to begin a story, I want it to be unlike other things I’ve written. The voice and the approach will always be similar, but I don’t have any interest in repeating topics much. That formula of finding what ‘works’ and duplicating it has no draw for me.
I always say, I have about a dozen decent books in me. Then I’m done.
11. What is your dream? Famous writer?
Hey—I’m the most famous writer my kids know! In terms of writing, my dream would be to keep doing it, keep getting better, keep figuring out new ways to tell stories. To keep entertaining myself as I do it.
12. What’s the worst piece of writing advice you ever got?
“Change your style, change your content. Change.” Sure, edits are fine, adjustments and advice are always needed. But readers or other writers who tell you to change who you are as a writer should be the only thing you ignore without any consideration. Every other kind of advice should be given at least a moment of consideration.
13. Now, tell us the best!
“Get your stories out there, any way you can.”
14. What’s the one thing you would want an aspiring writer to take away from your personal path to publication?
There is no one right way. What was the Robert Frost poem, “Two roads diverged in a wood and I, I took the one less traveled by. And that has made all the difference.”
And Fleetwood Mac also sang, “You can go your own way.” My advice is, look to others for inspiration, but not a recipe. No one will ever duplicate the same level of success as another by copying them.
15. What’s your favorite thing about writing?
Two things, really: the adventure inherent in the process of sitting down to make up lies which share the truth of human misery and human beauty. It is unbelievably scary to bleed on the page and then go share that honesty with strangers and family and friends. But it’s exciting too!
And there’s also the connectivity to other people, readers, new friends, and other storytellers—all of us united by that blood on the page, by our absolute and uncompromising love for telling stories and being told stories.
16. What is coming next for you?
The giant, behemoth continuation and conclusion of the Dovetail Cove books. I like to joke that it’s ‘the series that’s not a series’. Ten novels and novellas within the same universe. An underlying set of characters and over-arching story arcs hold it (somewhat) together, but each book is its own. Beginning, middle, end, unique lead characters, new situation, no need to read them in order. No need to read them all.
That said, I have two shorter ones left to finish and put out — then all my energy will be focused on book ten which is the monster that brings back many of the surviving favourite characters to (hopefully) tie it all together.
17. Where can we read your blog? Buy your books? Connect with you on facebook? On Twitter? Your website?
http://www.thefarthestreaches com > The Farthest Reaches is my author website and blog. All news and links to my books from all retailers can be found here.
http://twitter.com/JasonCMcIntyre
http://www.facebook.com/AuthorJasonMcIntyre
http://www.amazon.com/Jason-McIntyre/e/B0049YW78G > My books at Amazon
Some of Jason McIntyre’s books:
Getting personal with Jason McIntyre Jason McIntyre is a really amazing guy. He has one of the best personalities ever, always wants his readers to tell him what they think of his books and guaranteed to make you laugh.
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Don’t tell mum.
Trigger warning: This post might contain traces of nuts, spelling mistakes and my terrible, terrible sense of humour. In case of emergence do not, I repeat, do not return any of the latter to me.
Well, well, well,
I guess it is finally time to really start my blog about my wonderful life in Sweden. You're probably wondering why I am starting a blog for the last six months that I am spending in Sweden. If you have any clues, make sure to inform me too! I guess it could be this weird custom of new year's resolutions. Of course I will write this blog in English. As a consequence two things might happen. First you might come into contact with an exquisite amount of direct translations from German into English. The reasons are quite simple: I am not a native English speaker (Surprise!), so I will unconsciously write Germlish. Or I will consciously translate words, phrases or proverbs from German into English because I like the aforementioned better in German Secondly, it might happen that you live in Lund, have not only to endure me, but also start to read about you in this blog. As my last blog was rather blunt (because it was in German), you (yes, I am talking to you again!) might feel offended. I don't want that. Please do tell me if that happens, so I can delete the specific part and we can still be friends or frenemies. <3 <3 <3 Alternatively always feel free to start your own blog where you write how I am a vampire but I don't sparkle, how bad my German accent is or how I am not a real Swedish guy.
For all people looking forward to gossip, let me tell you this: Based on your previous experiences with me, it might be hard to believe, but I have this thing called common sense that I will apply. So I'll draw some lines you won't know about.
The new year started out well.
Together with some friends from my corridor we were watching the fireworks at Lundagard. Lundagard is the central park in Lund. Lund's cathedral is situated directly south of the park while the main building of the university and some other university buildings are located at the other end of the park. The main difference between Germany and Sweden on New Year's Eve is that private fireworks are not a thing here. So while in Germany the streets might be covered in fireworks' dust like a football stadium after supporters lit some Bengal lights, we enjoyed the public firework at Lundagard and went back to our corridor afterwards. There we played some rather uneventful rounds of "Never have I ever" because some persons had to get more drunk before they could hit the dancefloor at another corridor where we were invited to. The party was really nice although the amount of Swedish songs played exceeded my limit of at some point. Don't get me wrong, the mood will almost always boil over when a Swedish party songs comes up. But even after one and a half years in Sweden I still lack the ability to understand Swedish people drunkenly chanting Swedish songs and if I can't join the drunk chanting, I don't like to dance.
I woke up on the 1st of January and was greeted by some free pizza in the kitchen. Apparently the 1st of January is the busiest day for pizza delivery services and someone's delivery got messed up. I didn't ask for the details, but took the pizza, some coke I had from the night before and enjoyed watching a bit Harry Potter in the common kitchen / living room with my corridor friends. Part of the reason why I celebrated New Year's Eve in Lund this year was that I wanted to start organizing and planning different things before my master thesis term officially started. So after resting on the 1st of January, I decided to go to university on Monday, January the 2nd. (Future Felix is proud, 1st term Felix is ashamed; you, my lovely reader are either in disbelief, secretly admiring me or more probably hating yourself for procrastinating on studying and reading this blog post.) After having spent a productive four hours from 10am to 2pm - read the whole opening hours in the first week - at my faculties library I went home to enjoy the afternoon. I don't know which whim of nature it was but a terrible, excruciating headache kicked in my prefrontal cortex (forehead region) while I was making food. After trying to cope with it four around four hours, I've decided to go to sleep early at 7pm and I slept 14 hours straight through, woke up for one hour and slept another 4 hours, only to wake up with the headache still being present. Fun! I stayed in bed the next three days but I will spare you the details, because telling you about my misery wouldn't be any fun, would it?
Let's skip to the fun part instead.
Thursday, the day whose event gave this blog post its headline. So you have to promise me not to tell your mum (yes, your mum, come on, speed up, you're losing me) about this. It's like a super-secret thing, except I am publishing it on the Internet. But we all know that your mother has a hard time following all these internet related stuff. If she has heard of Tumblr it's probably because of some newspaper articles about Tentacle Porn of Bronies. No srsly, this is a thing and no, look it up yourself - looking especially at you Haggis3. So basically it is a secret until you tell your mum and trust me nobody wants that. Anyways, I got the Victor-Valdes-memory-haircut. In case you don't know who Victor-Valdes-memory-haircut is, you'll find a photo of him here:
By Mutari 16:09, 5 March 2008 (UTC) - Own work, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=3664338
Erik, my Finnish corridor mate, was so kind to shave my hair. Of course not without making the obligatory Nazi jokes (You have my permission to think the same now.). Although I will let it grow out again, I am pleased to see that I could rock a bald head in combination with a gigantic beer belly at the age of 27, which is in two years. So I got that going for me, which is nice. Anyways the weekend was quite uneventful, basically because I had to catch up with some work with university. What else to tell, ah yes, I think I could tell about another New Year's resolution. I always forget what it is called. It involves physical activity and starts with a 't'.
Hm…
Ah, yes!
Now I remember again…!
I've started exercising and am currently on a three day streak, counting in the football match yesterday. So you better watch out Tim Wiese! I'm onto you! Bam.
So, I guess this is it for this week. I guess nobody's expecting me to follow up next week due to broken promises in the past. I urge you to do that, so I can disappoint you again by writing blog post #2.
Yours sincerely,
en riktig svensk kille!
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