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gayscifi · 3 months

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Thoughts on My Own Jewishness and the Palestinian Genocide

FREE PALESTINE 🇵🇸

(very long post)

My name is Tal, it's a Hebrew name meaning morning dew. I'm transgender and picked my name over 10 years ago because I am proud of being Jewish and wanted an obviously Jewish name. I'm 27, poor, disabled and a transgender man in a gay relationship with a cis Muslim man. I want you to have all of that context before I tell you how I feel about the current genocide of the Palestinians, the State of Isreal and my relationship to these things as a Jew.

I didn't know I was Jewish until my grandmother died when I was 12. After she died my brothers, cousins and I were put in charge of sorting through her things. We found her menorah, shabbat candle holders and kosher dishes. We were young and frankly uneducated, it was years of my eldest brother and others putting the pieces together and finding records of our family when we began to understand who we were.

Our great grandparents, on both my grandfather and grandmother's side were smuggled into America from Germany and Poland through the Houston port by a Rabbi near the beginning of WW2, the port that I've lived next to for most of my life. My grandparents were born in the Houston area and were, as I understand it "Catholic outside and Jewish at home". My grandfather's father returned to Poland after the Holocaust to try and find members of his family, he killed himself with a shogun through the head shortly after returning to the U.S, when my grandfather was still a teenager.

My grandmother had almost a dozen siblings, most of her sisters died in mental institutions and several of her brothers had killed themselves or died of overdose, my grandfather also had a dozen siblings, they had similar fates. My grandparents were alcoholics and are now both dead.

My father and his 3 siblings grew up going to Catholic school not understanding the language his parents spoke to each other or why his family was so different from the others around him. Not until my grandmother died and all the secrets began to pour out.

By the time I was 14, everyone was starting to put the pieces together. My grandparents had bought a piece of land miles away from any town when I was a baby. They hoarded films, art, music, world history books, encyclopedias, several freezers full of food, pantries of non-perishables, more guns and ammo than I ever thought anyone could use and liquor they would knock back every day with cartons of cigarettes that made the house smell like a chimney. That was their way of coping, shut the world out, be ready for the next Holocaust. Of course all of this would lead my family to believe that we were Ashkenazi Jews.

My parents had gone on a trip to Turkey before I was born and fell in love with it. My entire life it was their dream to return and raise their family there but between my father being a plant worker and mechanic and my mother a substitute teacher. It wasn't until I was 17 that we finally moved, not because we had the money but because my mother needed to be the primary source of income since my father had begun suffering from cancer. Selling most of our belongings and my mom getting a job as an English teacher finally brought my family to Turkey. My dad got to spend some of his final years there before he died.

We moved to a port city on the Black Sea near the Georgian border named Trabzon. Strangely, I felt at home immediately. I had learned Turkish enough to go out, make friends and get a part time job within 6 months. My father and I didn't read as foreigners to the locals at all, in fact many elder people would come up to me speaking Lazca, the language of the Laz people, one of the many small Caucus tribes in the region, assuming I was Laz myself and could help translate for them to Turks in the city.

There were very few foreigners in the city and most of us knew each other since most of us taught at the foreign language schools. One of the teachers I was friends with was a boy, now a man, my same age, who was born and raised in a refugee camp in Jordan. His father, Palestinian and his mother, Cherkess(another Caucus tribe who had been displaced). He spoke 4 different languages and taught Arabic and English at the same school I worked at.

We became fast friends, being the youngest(only 18 at the time) at the school. Both his parents and mine were wary of our closeness but we genuinely didn't understand their issues with our friendship.

He told me about growing up in the camps in Jordan, he told me about being Palestinian and Cherkess and not being able to go to either of his homes. I told him about being Jewish and how my identity was kept secret for generations for the safety of my family.

He asked me what I thought about Isreal and to be honest this was my first time thinking of it, since I'd only been to a synagogue a handful of times and hadn't been subject to Zionist propaganda in American Jewish spaces. He told me about Zionism from a Palestinian perspective, how he had watched the news for years hearing about his cousins and other family members dying at the hands of the IDF.

I found it appalling, how could Jewish people, my people, be doing such atrocities to others after what I known we had been through. The Holocaust, the genocide of my people had left scars on every member of my family that had made most of them unable to continue living.

That conversation, just months into our years long friendship has shaped me into the person I am today. He gave me a Keffiyeh that night and I told him that I would never go to Palestine until we could go together. We cried for a long time that night, sharing stories.

After living in Turkey and learning more about the different Caucus tribes in the region my eldest brother and I determined the origin of our last name. A Turkic name, not German or Polish, meaning that my family was not entirely Ashkenazi but instead from the Black Sea Region, most likely the small Jewish Crimean tribe called Krymchak, the majority of the whom died in the Holocaust and I had been unknowingly living the closest to home that my family had in generations. In Turkey, on the Black Sea, not in Isreal.

I am proud of being Jewish. I love how I have found my identity and am part of the first generation of my family since the Holocaust to be authentic in my ethnicity. Zionism will never take that away from me. Zionism is a lie, an evil, manipulative, murderous political agenda. I have not and will never be a part of it and it will never take my Jewishness away from me.

I have found more in common with Palestinians I have met through protesting Isreal, more in common with ethnic minorities protesting U.S. imperialism, more in common with other displaced minorities than I have ever found with Isreal.

The genocide of the Palestinians is always on my mind but I feel no guilt as a Jewish person. I know I am not to blame nor have I ever been complicit in this genocide but to my fellow Jews, who are in pro-Zionist, pro-Isreali spaces, I am calling for a radical change in those communities, wake the fuck up.

Fuck Isreal, fuck Zionism, fuck American and European Imperialism and fuck antisemitism. I have a particular hatred for these so called "Pro-Jewish" actions happening in North America and Europe. German civilians knew of the death camps during the Holocaust and did nothing. Now their children and grandchildren are saying that Palestinians are anitsemites while they live on the wealth and land they extracted from dead Jews.

The rise of global antisemitism is in part because of the State of Isreal, because of Zionism, because of the atrocities committed by Jewish people, their twisted, evil and cruel treatment of Palestinians for years that has led to genocide. Supporting Palestinians in their struggle against annihilation is not and will never be antisemitism and to say it is shows how little you understand Jewish or Palestinian history.

Recognize Zionism for what it truly is; a way for powerful nations to rid themselves of their Jewish populations and use them as cannon fodder for control over land and resources in the Middle East. Joe Biden said it himself "If Israel didn't exist, we would have to invent it." This is not a war for a "safe home for the Jewish people", it is an ethnic cleansing of Palestinians to claim power and control.

Palestinians have every right to resist annihilation. My heart aches, knowing deeply what genocide does to those who remain.

I will continue to support the Palestinian cause in every way I know how.

From the River to the Sea,

Palestine will be Free 🇵🇸

#anti zionisim #free palestine #anti zionist jews #jewish history #palestine #mine

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dykish-autist · 2 years

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Every now and then I think about how as a Ninth Grader I completely summed up my history teacher's lesson plan for the Entire Day and completely broke his spirit in less than two minutes.

Dear reader, I don't know How this came to pass but for whatever reason I learned So Much About the Holocaust in middle school. Not to say that kids shouldn't be taught about it, it's important to hold back the horrific conspiracy theories that try to claim it Never Happened in spite of the extensive records kept by the Nazis Themselves-- I'm getting off track, this post isn't about that.

But when I told you I had been Thoroughly Taught about the Holocaust, I mean that by the time I was in my first semester of high school, and my English teacher told us to come up with brief research questions in preparation for reading Eli Weisel's "Night", I was Out Of Questions I hadn't already gotten answered. I sat there with a blank piece of paper for about 5 minutes, before eventually landing on "why the jews, specifically?"

I knew that other minority groups had been persecuted under Nazi rule, from the Romani people to the disabled to queer people to eventually Pretty Much Any Religion, because that's what Fascism Does (Thanks, 7th grade world history), but in the majority of the propaganda I'd seen, The Jews were marketed as The Threat. The big thing dragging Germany down. So I set about my research, as we had Two Full Class Periods to put this project together.

The answer I got to with some surface level googling boiled down to things I'd already heard, but wasn't satisfied with. That Hitler never got into Art School. That he might've had a Jewish grandmother he disliked. None of it answered why the group he scapegoated Had to be the jews, and I had 10 slides to fill, so I had to dig deeper.

I eventually laid out a rough timeline, beginning with Judaism's black sheep status as the first monotheistic religion in its region, to slavery in Egypt, to the Christkiller conspiracy, to the fact that insular jewish communities, particularly with their cleanliness practices in personal hygiene, food preparation, and funerary practices, were not as affected by the devastation of the Black Plague (thanks again, 7th grade world his), to the signing of the Treaty of Versailles at the end of the first world war, the german politicians who did so Happening to be Jewish, and the economic impact of the war reparations, which comfortably filled out my presentation as I capped it off with the scapegoating required to soft pitch fascism. I got my A and then moved on to actual English work for the rest of the semester without incident.

Fast forward to my second semester of my 9th grade year. My American History teacher was a real wad. Not as a teacher or anything, he wasn't too harsh a grader, very dedicated in making sure you got down the notes, but he had the habit of coming in after the fact to make sure his own opinion on the matter was very well known. He was also the kind of teacher that would ask the question he intended to answer and be real smug as he corrected your "wrong" answer. For example, when he taught us about The Great Depression, the kids in my class, when asked, ended up placing blame with the economic policies of Herbert Hoover. He went out of his way to defend Hoover, claiming "he simply believed too much in the free market" and going on to detail the specific economic practices that contributed to the crash. None of my class liked him.

So one fine April Morning, right as we were set to start talking about World War II, he asked us a question. "Why the Jews?" I felt like I'd been given the tools to finally humble this man. I let some of my classmates answer first, giving him the surface level answers I'd found a few months ago. Art school. Grandmother. One kid who'd been paying attention even brought up the Treaty of Versailles. My teacher's smug smile only grew wider, "Well, yes, but there's more to it than that..." As if there was nothing that brought him glee like correcting Children who hadn't yet been taught. He waited for us to run out of answers. He always did. I raised my hand.

"There's actually a longstanding history of antisemitism, basically as old as the religion itself, so Hitler scapegoated the Jews to get the gentile majority on board with his authoritarian policies."

His face fell. I think the man actually Deflated a little. He put away the projector screen, revealing he'd drawn an extended version of the timeline I'd laid out in my powerpoint a few months ago on the whiteboard.

"Well, I guess you can go home. For the rest of you..."

I don't think he ever emotionally recovered.

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the-art-of-animated-gifs · 3 years

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Interview with my friend A.L. Crego

I have not met A.L. Crego. I have not spoken with him on the phone, in fact I do not even know what he looks like. But I can confidently call him my friend. Three years ago when I started this blog he immediately disagreed with me in the comments about things I was writing and I loved it. As a person putting ideas out there, you treasure things like that....because you know someone cares. We have had many back and forth discussions over the years....if we had lived in Paris in 1911 we would be having arguments at La Rotonde (not to compare either of us to Picasso).

A.L. Crego is a motion artist who does a wide variety of things. He has now become a very visible and active figure in the NFT Movement. He recently completed a large and very successful project in which he animated the work of a number of well know street artists on the building themselves, something he has done for years. His Tumblr page is a good place to start to see his work, which is largely surrealist in nature -- another Spanish artist following in the footsteps of other great Spanish surrealist artists.

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How long have you been creating gif art?

In a conscious and intentional way since 2014. Previously I haven't pay too much attention on one hand for its common use that was mostly ads and funny little videos, and on the other hand because it was a 'standard' format we accepted as something part of the web so I never stopped to analyze its potential. The key point for me was about 2010-2011 when the concept of 'Cinemagraph' was brought to life just giving it a name. It's format is .gif but its characteristics are different so I saw there the midpoint between photography and video, which gave born another format of art.

Art mutates when a new format appears. I was using and studying this format since then but it wasn't until 2014 that I decided to publish some of them.

What is your background?

In general terms, bachelor, 2 years of stone sculpting and two attempts of photography and audiovisual mediums. I say attempts because I gave up both of them as I was feeling that I was looking for something else more than studying all the previous history, style and isms, which is nice to understand where everything comes from and to be aware what are the key points on the history to use as reference, as a map. But in some way I felt limited as I was using digital tools since I had my first computer with 14 years, and I was being taught things I learnt by then. Even more in this times we are living where we are 21 century people, been taught by teachers from the 20 with 19 century methods.

A constant line that feeds my background is literature and music overall and later Street Art, next to more temporal interests as everything related with mythology, alchemy, history, psychology, neurology, biology, human condition in general... I don't have studies buy I'm a studying guy!

I always like to highlight that all these years that internet got strong and social networks appeared, I decided voluntary to be out of them. First reason was to keep my privacy safe in a growing world where it seemed that some "curtain" felt and everybody accepted that intimacy was now 'ex-timacy' and correct to show their private life, (this shocked me). Another reason was about the psychological effect that social networks were having on people I had around and everywhere in general. I started to notice patterns and "waves" about series, aesthetics, styles, and I was seeing clearly that if I go there, I will become permeable to all this "Amniotic Culture" I was trying to avoid.

This fact of being far (but study them closely) helped me a lot about researching and developing my own ideas and style, for the mere fact that I was using all this time and attention Social Networks require, on drinking from another sources. The B-side of this is that I was 'out of the radar' of mass people as this social networks are designed to live inside them. My idea of internet and spreading ideas is not in this way.

Where do you live and work?

In the north west of Spain, Galicia. Now due to Covid I travel less but before it, I was working and traveling many places as I only need a camera and a computer. This allows me move to work anywhere.

Do you think that animated gifs are a new art form?

I think so, despite the fact that the format existed since 1987. But as every new format of art it takes its time to be considered as art. The first photographs were not considered art until many years later. Same happened with film, same with CGI. Is nice to have in mind that gif format is the last strictly digital format of the three main ones on the web: picture, video and gif. Photography has about 200 years of history, video about 130, CGI about 60. Finally gif has 33, and used as art itself no more than 10-15. In the same way anybody takes a picture of anything does not convert it into art, is the same with gifs. One thing is the format, another is the 'art'. Everybody can take a picture, record a video or do a gif. The difference is on the how, the why, and from my point of view overall, the what.

Do you think that there is a difference between pure .gif files and the .mp4 files that people post on Instagram?

The first, big and obvious difference is the format. Is not the same a painting as a picture of a painting. Here happens the same. For example, if you treat a gif with Cinemagraph technique, you are converting in picture some parts of the image, so they still remain and with the texture and totally stillness of a picture. If you convert this gif into a mp4 this still parts, despite not having motion, will convert into a video texture (noise, subtle motion in pixels, etc) so the main characteristic, among the perfect loop, is lost. Another point is that you must play a video, a gif is always running. Waterfalls are always running and this characteristic is something that is inside our human nature, we react nice to "bucle" motions as waterfalls, fire, etc. We find pleasure on this. Of course if it's a video the perfect loop is lost and the visual mantra disappear. And another key point here is the soundtrack. In a video you can use sound to enhance or give another meaning to the piece that you can't with gifs. For me this is another characteristic that give meaning to gif. For me gif is silence, the sound is generated by the motion, the melody are the details and the beat the perfect loop. You can "hear" almost every gif.

The difference between a gif and a video is the same that between a waterfall and a hose (if this works).

What do you think are the characteristics of good gif art?

For me first and overall the perfect loop. Not using it is not using the only format that has this characteristics. Of course there can be gif art that is not perfect loop, but from my point of view and in my work is a must. It's a new way not only of creating but also of thinking. Imagine an still scene is easy, imagine an A-B point action is easy. For me the challenge is about thinking an idea that is perfect looped where all the elements interact and eventually come back to its initial point. Succeed doing this is where the perfect loop appears and you are not able to find where is the start point of the action. Like a visual mantra, that it's repetition leads you inside the piece. Gif art is nice to use the power of the hypnotic movements. Another point to have in mind for me is the flow of it, the frame rate I mean. Depending on the idea and the kind of animation this should vary; is not the same fps to achieve something with flow than if you want to achieve a more 'retro' old style. Another thing is about dithering and color palette. This second one is essential to understand as it affects the final file. When we work with photo and video we are using millions of colors but when rendered as gifs all the gradients, lights and even colors will change if there is a previous understood of this point.

As summary: If motion doesn't add, change of enhance the meaning of the piece, is expendable.

I'd would like to add that I'm not really supporter of this kind of gifs generated automatically that just move a still image itself. I understand that this 'technique' is used as a tool for certain motion (I use it) but not to move a whole image. I feel the same as if somebody hold a painting in front of me and moves it randomly. If the work was born still, it must remain still. A good example of 'inner motion', this means that the motion is implicit on the image despite not being in motion, are the photographs of Cartier Bresson for example. Giving motion to this pictures for example, will kill it because it will break the concept of 'perfect instant' .

'Instant' differs etymologically from 'moment' in the motion. So, still image (painting, photo, sculpture, etc) is an instant, videos are stories with a-b point, and gifs are moments, the mid point.

How would you describe your gif art?

I usually condense it as "Visual Mantras", as the technique and the aesthetic vary depending on the idea , but in all of them the perfect loop and the intention of hypnotizing is always present.

In another terms about aesthetics and themes I think ‘Industrial Nature’ can fit nice. I use a lot of industrial elements but I like to mix their mechanics with the biological natural ones.

How long have you been creating and selling NFTs?

I am selling NFTs since mid 2019, but it wasn't until October 2020 that I focused more on it and dug into the ecosystem to find new paths to focus my work.

Do you think that NFTs are a positive for gif artists?

For me, and the main reason I jumped into cryptoart and NFT, is that now I can certify my digital work as original. Even more to gif works as they were always understood as something banal and minor for the context of its born. Gif art was born prostituted, used mostly for ads and to claim our attention on the internet, next to the highest glamour of painting and traditional art, and 3d, photography and video these last decades. Even worst if we realize that gif format was the only visual format born by and for the internet.

NFTs are totally positive for gif artists because despite being a digital/online native format it never had its own ecosystem to live in. I feel that I was creating creatures for an ecosystem I was waiting to drop them there. Now with the blockchain, NFTs and cryptoart, I found the place where they can live, being watched by everybody and have the certify that is my work. Until some months ago my work was "free" on the web and I had no control over it at all. This was a huge problem I was suffering since my first month into gif art as people use it indiscriminately with no credit at all. It's ok, and I always defend that my work is to be seen, to be shared, but I was looking for the way to be able to have this link with my work without losing the option of being available for everybody. NFT totally changes this.

What do you think will happen in the future as NFTs get even more popular?

In general terms I think it will happen the same as when print got more popular. People will use it more, a lot of crazy and useless things will appear, tons more of different uses and useful purposes, (not only on art). This opens a new door a lot of people was waiting so the future is unpredictable but we can feel where things are going. NFT arrived to stay and the concept of decentralization is something that was always present on the internet since first days but born inside a centralized system. NFTs are being a way for people to understand the 'peer to peer' philosophy and this makes people think in different codes, so we can expect a lot of new horizons, in art, music, design...

What do you think of the environmental impact of NFTs?

This question can goes really deep but in general terms I think that is something that is being oversized due to the hype and the boiling point we are, and it's understandable because is not false that it has an environmental impact, as everything does. But on the other hand I have two main areas in mind. The first and the obvious from my point of view is that when something is new and developing is less efficient, in the way that it requires more effort to achieve the result. But at the same time, the more this technology is used the more is developed and all this issues are part of it. The first car was not electric.

The second point that usually reverberates in my mind and that it seems that 'hard critics' omit is that they are not having in mind that this NFTs we mint, give us a profit that can be used offline to do another things that can be useful to solve this problem, for example, investing part of this money on living on our own in a minimal and clean way (not working for huge multinational that their environmental impact is tons times more than NFTs and then being part of an ONG to feel clean) and on using part of this money on looking and researching new ways to mint and to keep this digital ecosystem more efficient and clean. Every development needs time.

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If you have found this content valuable considering getting me a cup of coffee

#gif aesthetic #street art #surrealism

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iskelan · 3 years

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Hello! I'm a huge fan of your art and your protoss headcanons, and I was wondering whether you have a map of Aiur during the Aeon of Strife? Like where did each tribe lived?

En Taro Adun, brave son of Aiur! That is a very unexpected question - thruly not many out there care for these so I eventually stopped posting much protoss content BUT actually I do have a map of Aeon of Strife Aiur! I must say it is an old one, based on even older one, where my older fandom fellows extrapolated the shorelines of Aiur from poor screenshots from 1998 ingame cinematics, so it may not correlate with new canon images at all. Here is the basic map after I processed it by drawing some depths and mountains - putting it here so the tribal borders may look more understandable due to their natural habitat borders. No toponimics included, but I sure do have a number of fancy names for oceans and mountains, just never had a chance to introduce.

Here is the map of tribes as I settled them after lots of discussions with @intaier and writing some fiction that many times involved geographic specifications of each tribe. These include as well Kanimai (black) and Sheddar (teal). I will give some brief information on each tribes position in the conflict. Shelak the knowledge keepers are blessed by Xel Naga tech to isolate themselves from all conflicting tribe. A great wall of weapons defends them on the south, high mountain on the north-east, ocean on the west. They don't share their techs and legacy of Xel-Naga with others, staying loyal to their gods and teachers, and merely wait until the conflict ends. Akilae tribe dwells in broad but relatively warm northern regions and are in constant conflict with neighbouring tribes Auriga, Sargas and Velari. As the ones who first discovered the truth about gods, they believe they were blessed by truth and avoid any alliances with those who "never guessed". Auriga as a tribe of noble sailors keeps their hands strong on the volcanic islands and inner shores of Gizar ocean. They are in constant war with Sargas and Akilae, but eventually closer to the end of Aeon of Strife the will unite their forces against Ara and Velari. Their ongoing efforts on the seas eventually conquered them part of the Oshekh sea shore, which was historically held by Ara only. Sargas Empire expands through wide and unfriendly mountain grounds which passed through many natural cataclysms, which forged this tribe as one of the most independent among Protoss, which was the reason they were the last to bend under expanding unity of Khala, and it was brought to their ground with another massive conflict. In fact, many of Sargas willingly cut their nerve-cords even back then to resist annexion, but it didn't help. Venatir and Sheddar tribes live in the almost coldest regions of Aiur, preferring cold to be their natural protection - in my headcanons although Protoss are warmblooded, they can't really stand temperatures too low, especially the ones who always inhabitated warm regions like Ara. While Venatir shamans went up to the mountains, hunting and mindcontrolling animals, Sheddar chose cold swamps, where they sewed clothes and crafted medicines from local unique plants. Both tribes were isolated from the major conflict most of the time, until Auriga ships brought Sargas warriors to the Oshekh shores, and these decided to make a maneuvre through the mountain grounds - something that won't scare off a true Sargas. That resulted in alliance, which provided Auriga and Sargas warriors with powerful mental support from Venatir shamans, which could stand Ara mind-control techniques most effectively. Sheddar medicine was also very handy. Ara tribe occupied the most warm tropical region of Aiur. They consider it a gift of gods and hence proclaim themselves the most worthy Protoss, legit to rule all the others. Their rituals and mind-control techniques make it quite possible for them. Being physically fragile, they can successfully manipulate huge armies, even into destroying themselves as they did many times with Auriga invaders. Furinax tribe dwells in colder lower shore grounds. They are peaceful tribe, willingly submissive to Ara, providing them with materials and workers in exchange to protection of their shores. Their part of Gizar is full of colder streams, so in fact this protection is rarely needed - Auriga are attracted almost solely to warm Ara grounds. Velari tribe, dwelling in subtropical half-deserted area accepts Ara dominance and exists in submissive alliance. While they are genetically close, it sometimes occur that Ara take the most mentally powerful Velari in, and descends mentally weaker but physically stronger Ara into ruling positions among Velari. That, along with Furinax submissive position, results in forging stronger bonds between tribes, and after Khala comes this brings the base of Protoss caste system. Also it resulted into high amount of high templars among them in future. Kanimai, as well as Venatir and Sheddar, preferred to

stay away from the conflict. But unlike them they weren't always a tribe - more likely they are refugees from the Ara submissive territories, which preferred independent existance. Not that Ara oppressed them much - but being their allies meant being part of the conflict. They existed separately, and after Khala they became that one tribe which could give birth to Protoss of any caste with equal probability.

This all is a very brief and fragmented retelling of bigger picture, and I hope it's not conflicting within itself. Aiur history keeps living and developing in my mind always and I really hope I will manage one day to finish all the unwritten stories of Aeon of Strife I once started. As a treat here's one of my recent sketches on topic - young Ara cultists trying to confuse the mind of Auriga invaders but failing because a Venatir shaman is on their way, fully resistant to their influence.

#StarCraft #Protoss #map #aiur #headcanons #opinion #protoss tribes #Ara #Shelak #Auriga #Akilae #Velari #Venatir #Kanimai #Sheddar #Furinax #Sargas

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swanlake1998 · 3 years

Link

Article: Five Pioneering Black Ballerinas: ‘We Have to Have a Voice’

Date: June 17, 2021

By: Karen Valby

These early Dance Theater of Harlem stars met weekly on Zoom — to survive the isolation of the pandemic and to reclaim their role in dance history.

Last May, adrift in a suddenly untethered world, five former ballerinas came together to form the 152nd Street Black Ballet Legacy. Every Tuesday afternoon, they logged onto Zoom from around the country to remember their time together performing with Dance Theater of Harlem, feeling that magical turn in early audiences from skepticism to awe.

Life as a pioneer, life in a pandemic: They have been friends for over half a century, and have held each other up through far harder times than this last disorienting year. When people reached for all manners of comfort, something to give purpose or a shape to the days, these five women turned to their shared past.

In their cozy, rambling weekly Zoom meetings, punctuated by peals of laughter and occasional tears, they revisited the fabulousness of their former lives. With the background of George Floyd’s murder and a pandemic disproportionately affecting the Black community, the women set their sights on tackling another injustice. They wanted to reinscribe the struggles and feats of those early years at Dance Theater of Harlem into a cultural narrative that seems so often to cast Black excellence aside.

“There’s been so much of African American history that’s been denied or pushed to the back,” said Karlya Shelton-Benjamin, 64, who first brought the idea of a legacy council to the other women. “We have to have a voice.”

They knew as young ballet students that they’d never be chosen for roles like Clara in “The Nutcracker” or Odette/Odile in “Swan Lake.” They were told by their teachers to switch to modern dance or to aim for the Alvin Ailey company if they wanted to dance professionally, regardless of whether they felt most alive en pointe.

Arthur Mitchell was like a lighthouse to the women. Mitchell, the first Black principal dancer at the New York City Ballet and a protégé of the choreographer George Balanchine, had a mission: to create a home for Black dancers to achieve heights of excellence unencumbered by ignorance or tradition. Ignited by the assassination of the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., he founded Dance Theater of Harlem in 1969 with Karel Shook.

Lydia Abarca-Mitchell, Gayle McKinney-Griffith and Sheila Rohan were founding dancers of his new company with McKinney-Griffith, 71, soon taking on the role of its first ballet mistress. Within the decade, Shelton-Benjamin and Marcia Sells joined as first generation dancers.

Abarca-Mitchell, 70, spent her childhood in joyless ballet classes but never saw an actual performance until she was 17 at the invitation of Mitchell, her new teacher. “I’ll never forget what Arthur did onstage” she said of his Puck in “A Midsummer Night’s Dream” at New York City Ballet during a Tuesday session in January. “He made the ballet so natural. Suddenly it wasn’t just this ethereal thing anymore. I felt it in my bones.”

Marcia Sells, 61, remembered being 9 and watching with mouth agape when Abarca-Mitchell, McKinney-Griffith and Rohan performed with Dance Theater in her hometown, Cincinnati. “There in front of me were Black ballerinas,” Sells said during a video call in April. “That moment was the difference in my life. Otherwise I don’t think it would’ve been possible for me to think of a career in ballet.”

Shelton-Benjamin left her Denver ballet company, where she was the only Black dancer, turning down invitations from the Joffrey Ballet and American Ballet Theater, after reading a story about Dance Theater of Harlem in Dance magazine. Abarca-Mitchell was on that issue’s cover — the first Black woman to have that honor. At her Harlem audition, Shelton-Benjamin witnessed company members hand-dying their shoes and ribbons and tights to match the hues of their skin. Here, no traditional ballet pink would interrupt the beauty of their lines. “I had never seen a Black ballerina before, let alone a whole company,” Shelton-Benjamin, 64, said during a February Zoom meeting. “All I could think was, ‘Where have you guys been?’”

Finding one another back then, at the height of the civil rights movement, allowed them to have careers while challenging a ballet culture that had been claimed by white people. “We were suddenly ambassadors,” Abarca-Mitchell said. “And we were all in it together.”

They traveled to American cities that presented such a hostile environment that Mitchell would cancel the performance the night of, lest his company feel disrespected. But they also danced for kings and queens and presidents. In 1979, a review in The Washington Post declared their dancing to be a “purer realization of the Balanchinean ideal than anyone else’s.” Their adventures offstage were similarly electric, like the night in Manchester when Mick Jagger invited them out on the town. “We walked into the club with him and everybody just moved out of the way,” Shelton-Benjamin said.

Cultural memory can be spurious and shortsighted. Abarca-Mitchell was the first Black prima ballerina for a major company, performing works like Balanchine’s “Agon” and “Bugaku” and William Dollar’s “Le Combat” to raves. In an April Zoom session she said she first realized how left out of history she was when her daughter went online to prove to a friend that her mother was the first Black prima ballerina. But all she found was the name Misty Copeland, hailed as the first. “And my daughter was so mad. She said: ‘Where’s your name? Where’s your name?’ It was a wake-up call.”

While Abarca-Mitchell paused to wipe her eyes, Shelton-Banjamin stepped in: “I want to echo what Lydia said. There was a point where I asked the women, ‘Did it all really happen? Was I really a principal dancer?’ And Lydia told me: ‘Don’t do that! Yes, you were. We’re here to tell you, you were.”

Sells went on to a career that included serving as the dean of Harvard Law School, until she left this year to become the Metropolitan Opera’s first chief diversity officer. Shelton-Benjamin is now a jeweler who recently became certified in diamond grading. She, along with Abarca-Mitchell, McKinney-Griffith and Rohan, continue to coach and teach dance. They all have families, including another grandchild on the way for McKinney-Griffith, who announced the happy news to whoops on a recent call.

But they are done swallowing a mythology of firstness that excludes them, along with fellow pioneers like Katherine Dunham, Debra Austin, Raven Wilkinson, Lauren Anderson and Aesha Ash. It’s true that Misty Copeland is American Ballet Theater’s first Black female principal. It is also true that she stands on the shoulders of the founding and first generation dancers at Dance Theater. A narrative that suggests otherwise, Sells said, “Simply makes ballet history weak and small.”

Worse, it perpetuates the belief that Blackness in ballet is a one-off rather than a continuing fact. And it suggests a lonely existence for dancers like Copeland, a world absent of peers. “We could’ve been Misty’s aunties,” Abarca-Mitchell said. “I wish she was part of our sisterhood, that’s all.”

Dance Theater saved them from being the only one in a room. The work was so hard, the expectations so high, the mission so urgent, that those early days demanded a familial support system among the dancers. “Someone would take you under their wing and say, ‘You’re my daughter or sister or brother,’” McKinney-Griffith said. “The men did it also. Karlya was my little sister, and we kept that through the years.”

Like in any family, the relationships are complicated. The women speak of feeling shut out of today’s Dance Theater of Harlem. They are rarely brought in for workshops or consultations on the ballets they were taught by Mitchell. At his memorial service in 2018, they wept in the pews unacknowledged. “We’re like orphans,” Rohan said with a laugh in a Zoom session. “If the outside world neglects us, it seems all the more reason that Dance Theater of Harlem should embrace us.”

Virginia Johnson, a fellow founding member, is now the company’s artistic director. She assumed the helm in 2013 when Dance Theater returned after an eight-year hiatus caused by financial instability. “It makes me sad to think that they feel excluded,” Johnson said in a phone interview. “And it’s not because I don’t want them. It’s just because I can’t manage. I’ve probably missed some chances but it’s not like I haven’t thought about the value of what they bring to the company. They are the bodies, the soul, the spirit of Dance Theater of Harlem.”

“We all think about and love and respect what Arthur Mitchell did,” she added, “but these are the people he worked with to make this company.”

By the end of May, the five members of the 152nd Street Black Ballet Legacy were fully vaccinated. They traveled from Denver, Atlanta, Connecticut, South Jersey and, in Sells’s case, five blocks north of Dance Theater of Harlem for a joyful reunion. So much is different now at the building on 152nd Street. The old fire escape in Studio 3 where they’d catch their breath or wipe tears of frustration is gone. So are the big industrial fans in the corners of the room, replaced by central air conditioning. But they can still feel their leader all around them in the room. Crying, Abarca-Mitchell told McKinney-Griffith, “I miss Arthur.” (Though they all laugh when imagining his response to their legacy council. “I do believe he would try to control us,” Rohan said. “’What are you doing now? Why are you doing that? Let me suggest that. …’”)

The body remembers. In Studio 3, all Shelton-Benjamin had to do was hum a few notes of Balanchine’s “Serenade” and say “and” for the women to grandly sweep their right arms up. “These women help validate my worth,” Abarca-Mitchell said afterward. “I don’t want to take it for granted that people should recognize Lydia Abarca. But when I’m with them I feel like I felt back then. Important.”

Even as the world reopens and they grow busy again, they’ll carry on with their Tuesday afternoons. They want to amplify more alumni voices. They dream of launching a scholarship program for young dancers of color. This fall, they’ll host a webinar in honor of the director and choreographer Billy Wilson, whose daughter Alexis was also part of Dance Theater.

“What we have is a spiritual connection,” said Rohan, who turns 80 this year. She was 27 when she joined the company, already married and hiding from Mitchell that she was a mother of three young children for fear it get her kicked out. When she eventually confessed a year later, he got mad, insisting he would have increased her salary if he’d known she had mouths to feed.

“Arthur planted a seed in me, and all these beautiful women helped it grow,” she said. “Coming from Staten Island, I was just a country girl from the projects. My first time on a plane was to go to Europe to dance on those stages. I thanked God every day for the experience. This year, coming together again, I remembered how much it all meant to me. I didn’t have to be a star ballerina. It was enough that I was there. I was there. I was there.”

#article #ballet #the ny times #marcia sells #sheila rohan #gayle mckinney griffith #karlya shelton-benjamin #lydia abarca #virginia johnson

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starrynite7114 · 4 years

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Body Art (Angel Reyes)

A/N: Good morning everyone! This was done last night, but work was insane and I didn’t have a chance to post it. Hope you all enjoy this one. It was one of my requests that I have not had the chance to do. But I finally got to do it! I’m making my way through my request list right now, so hopefully I’ll get everyone’s request done soon.

The request list link is below, please check if your request is there, if it is now, let me know so I can put it in! Still currently taking requests if you all would like to make one.

Art smut with angel Reyes! He asks you to let him do body art on you. All front and you’re wearing panties right and he asks you to take your bralette/ bra off and he’s like woah and yea lol - @cherry-icetea

Sorry it took so long love! Hope you enjoy! <3

Enjoy!

Masterlist

Request List tagged list: @justahopelessssromantic : @ifoundmyhappythought : @iambabyharry : @everyhowlmarksthedead : @briana-mishell24 : @bribri-82 : @briannab1234 : @carlaangel86 : @twistnet : @marvelmaree : @blackmissfrizzle : @thickemadame : @woahitslucyylu : @chibsytelford : @agirllovespasta : @sesamepancakes : @enamoured-x : @encounterthepast : @trulysuccubus : @jadert15 : @elcococruz : @gemini0410 : @cherry-icetea : @claytoncardenasbabymama : @sadeyesgf : @xserenax-13 : @whyisgmora : @samcrobae : @summertimesadnesswithadashofsass : @sheeshgivemeabreak : @lady-pswrld

You and Angel have been quarantined together for a month.

While you two enjoyed the other’s company, the movies and television shows to binge on was slimming down. You both loved nature and craved to be outside. You missed being able to just walk outside without a worry.

But you also knew not to be selfish.

This was for the better and it was going to save lives.

But you both were surprised that you haven’t wanted to kill one another. Surprisingly enough, you two enjoyed one another’s company and gave the other space when needed. You two shared a two bedroom apartment. It was nice to share your apartment with a friend, especially one you met through your ex-schoolmate Ezekiel. You and Ezekiel had become close during your first semester at Stanford and when you found out of his fate, you visited him weekly. He didn’t close you off and you were thankful for that. One time you came and his family was there, you met his big brother, Angel and his father Felipe.

The attraction to Angel was immediate, but you kept everything at bay since you both were in different places.

But somehow, four years after meeting, you found yourself in Santo Padre. While you two texted often, you didn’t hang out with Angel much. When he offered to room with you when you immediately moved to Santo Padre, you were hesitant at first, but you realized that there was no other person you would want to room with besides Angel.

Work brought you to Santo Padre. Currently, you were a teacher at the high school. It was nerve wrecking since teenagers could be little shits, but somehow, they enjoyed your world history facts that you always taught them.

Living with Angel was a delight. He always brought you home food when he could and helped you cook when he could. He did your laundry for you when he was doing his. Always made sure your oil was changed for your car and everything. And it was always a plus to see Angel walking around shirtless. That man was a god and if you just had some guts, you would jump him, but there was always this unspoken thing between you two. EZ was his younger brother and you were EZ’s best friend, you two were just not allowed to be together, for EZ’s sake.

Regardless, that didn’t mean your attraction was nonexistent. Angel was very attracted to you, and he has been for years, but his promise to his brother always trumped his desire for you.

However, with this quarantine in place and the time he spent with you, Angel found it harder to resist you. Walking in those booty shorts of yours that showed off your assets. He was a strong man, but there was just so much he could take.

One of the best things about living with Angel was the artwork. He painted your room, the artwork suited you so well. You loved watching Angel paint. Your favorite thing to do was reading a book while Angel painted on the ground, concentrating on his next masterpiece. If this outlaw biker thing didn’t work, he could totally open up a gallery.

Currently, you both were on the couch, finishing up the Punisher. Angel had his head on your lap, as you watched the show intently, digging the storyline and enjoying the eye candy.

“This show is amazing.” You praised it as the ending credits came on.

Angel clicked his tongue. “Or you mean the guys are hot?”

“Don’t be jealous Ignacio, you’re still the apple of my eye.” You pinched his cheek, causing Angel to push your hand away, but he chuckled, loving the feel of your skin on his. It was pathetic really, but he promised EZ he would never fall for you. He thought that maybe EZ was in love with you, but that didn’t seem to be the case.

“Want to take a break from watching?”

“Sure, what you got in mind? If you say let’s fuck, I’m going to slit your throat.”

“I love it when you threaten me.” Angel chuckled, sitting up. “Want to help me paint?”

“You know I don’t have an ounce of talent for art in my body.” You’ve painted with Angel a few times and he always told you how you were getting better, but you somehow doubted that. Angel was a great teacher, really nice too. Maybe if he didn’t want to do the art gallery, he could definitely be a teacher.

“No, let me paint you.” Angel really enjoyed your presence whenever he was painting, he felt inspired and encouraged whenever you were around.

Angel has never requested to paint you before. Wait, that’s a lie, he has numerous times but you always shut him down and made an excuse to leave. He knew that you wouldn’t be able to make an excuse today. You were stuck at home after all.

“Me? No way.” You shook your head. “I feel like we can FaceTime someone and you can paint them instead.”

“Come on mi dulce, I’ve always wanted to paint you.” He took your hand in his, trying to ignore the butterflies and the spark that just coarse through your body.

“Angel, let me FaceTime Kristin, remember how hot you thought she was?” You were really trying to get out of this as best as you can. You couldn’t keep still and there was no point in painting you.

He recalled making that comment, but he only said it to get a reaction out of you, which obviously didn’t work. “Nope, I want you.” The way he said it, it made the butterflies in your stomach move around even more wildly than before.

“Can you just not paint me and say you did?” You offered.

“You don’t trust me?”

“No, I’m just shy.”

Angel smirked. “Shy? You don’t have to be shy with me.” He stood up, taking your hand and taking you to his room. “Do me a favor mama, strip to your bra and panty.”

“What?!” You crossed your arms over your chest.

“Come on baby girl, you won’t be fully naked.” He tried to ease your shyness.

“Alright fine, but I expect to be compensated for this.” You were comfortable with your body, but this was also Angel who most likely has seen so many beautiful girls naked. And he may have also slept with you before, it was a drunken night which you remembered well however, you weren’t sure if he did. He’s never mentioned it and you didn’t want to be the one to do so.

As you took off your clothing, Angel immediately regretted asking you to be his model. He’s always imagined how you would look in your unmentionables and he was beginning to forget about his promise to EZ and well, he was fucking forgetting EZ.

He’s seen it all before. He was buzzed that night, but he definitely wasn’t drunk. At times, you haunted his dreams, seeing you naked could make any man go crazy and it fucked up Angel. He didn’t even know how to approach the subject and quite frankly, since you didn’t mention it, he didn’t want to. He didn’t want to embarrass you or himself.

That one night three months, two weeks, and five days ago was embedded in his mind. He never told EZ about it knowing it would upset his younger brother. But seeing you before him now, Ezekiel could go fuck himself.

“Angel?” You broke him away from his thoughts, biting your lip nervously.

“Sorry, fuck.” He chuckled. “You look fucking gorgeous, querida.”

God when this man spoke Spanish? Used a term of endearment for you in Spanish? It made your thighs clench together because all you wanted to do since that night maybe 3-4 months ago, was fuck Angel again. But with his relationship with EZ just being repaired again, you didn’t want to have them fighting over this. You understood why EZ was protective of you, you technically just had him, but it was also quite annoying.

“Thanks.” You smiled shyly. “How do you want me?”

“You want to lay down? Just so it’ll be more comfortable.”

“Sure.”

Laying down on the floor, Angel looked at your bralette which was burgundy at the area of the cups with flowers branching up from the sides, the bottom of the bralette was black lace. Angel bit his bottom lip, thinking of how he could connect your bra to your panties. Your panties were burgundy, matching your bralette, with lace at the top of your underwear.

You watched as Angel’s eyes roamed up and down your body. It was comfortable, oddly, not creepy whatsoever, but then again, this was Angel. Even though he had this intimidating presence, he was a fucking teddy bear that loved affection and being spoiled.

“Can you at least give me a pillow?” You requested.

Angel chuckled, handing you a pillow. “Don’t know if I told you yet, but you look absolutely stunning.” He began to feel nervous, unsure if he could actually do this. But he reasoned that of course he could, why wouldn’t he be able to do so? He was an artist, he could push his desire for you to the side while he was touching your body.

Fuck. He was screwed.

Taking out the paint for him to use, he picked burgundy, white, green and a light shade of blue. He had this picture in his mind that he wanted to portray on your body, but all he could picture was having you naked, your sweaty body against his, you breathily moaning, gasping out his name. He shook his head, trying to concentrate. He could paint on you, this was going to be easy.

Angel began to paint on the black lace of your bralette, a giggle escaping your lips. He chuckled, forgetting how ticklish you were. This whole quarantine has been ridiculous, but he never knew how much he would enjoy life just being at home, but that had a lot to do with you. At first you had offered EZ to stay with you two, but EZ insisted on staying with Felipe. Angel didn’t mind, he wanted you all to himself. Even though you two have been roommates, he didn’t know much about you. He barely found out that you were afraid of heights even though you went hiking with him whenever you two had the chance to do so. He also didn’t know you could handle your liquor better than any of the fucking guys, which thoroughly impressed him. He also didn’t know that you have four tattoos, all on your back, that represented major events in your life.

He also didn’t know how much he’s been avoiding his feelings for you till he was stuck at the apartment with you with nowhere to go.

“Is this the set I got you for Christmas?” You asked him as he began his work on you.

“Yeah, it was. I’ve used a majority of the set except for this.” Christmas, it was three days after that you two slept together. Angel woke up and you weren’t in his bed anymore. He was going to bring it up, but it seemed every time he tried, it just never happened. “Do you remember what happened a few days later?”

“When we got plastered and played a prank on EZ?”

It was a few hours before you two slept together. EZ was sleeping so you and Angel had the idea of using a feather and shaving cream, tickling EZ on certain spots on his face till he was fully covered. EZ didn’t wake up till Gilly and Coco busted out in laughter when they walked into EZ covered with shaving cream.

“Oh yeah, good times.” Angel chuckled. You felt his fingers moving across your stomach, spreading the paint. “Why are you so tense?”

“Cause I’m trying not to be ticklish.”

“Or maybe I make you nervous?” You could hear the smugness in his voice.

“Nervous? For what?”

Fuck it.

“I don’t know, you tell me mi dulce.” He moved on your other side, to paint that side. It wasn’t his best work, but he just wanted to touch you. “So do you remember that night?”

“I remember bits and pieces of it.” You were being truthful, but it seemed that Angel was trying to have that long awaited talk. It’s not like you didn’t want to discuss it, you just didn’t know where to start.

‘Hey, remember the time we fucked? Just wanted to let you know that you’re the best fuck I’ve ever had.’

Yeah, that would go over well.

“Do you remember when we had sex?” Angel was playing it nonchalant, painting random patterns on your skin. He wasn’t even sure what he was doing anymore, but he just needed something to distract him, in case you rejected him.

“Yes, I do.”

“Why’d you leave me alone on my bed?”

“Come on Angel, you don’t want to have this conversation.” You didn’t. Angel always seemed forbidden and they were so right that forbidden fruit tasted so much fucking better. You were certain that you and Angel had sex at least four times that night.

“I do, you don’t? I promised Ezekiel that I would never make a move on you, but to be fucking honest, I don’t really give a fuck anymore.” Angel noticed then that he had painted angel wings below the lace of your bralette. He bit his lip, just thinking of how beautiful you would look with something he created tattooed on you.

“What are you talking about?” You slightly sat up, looking over at Angel. He softly pushed you back down so he could continue painting, or whatever the fuck he was doing.

“I like you, I’ve liked you for quite some time but I haven't made a move cause Ezekiel asked me not to.”

You were speechless, unsure of what to reply. You like Angel too, but you were wondering if he just liked you now cause there was no one else to sleep with. But he wouldn’t say those words to you just to get in your pants, it would ruin everything.

“You're kind of making me nervous here.” Saying his feelings aloud made Angel feel vulnerable, made him feel terrified of what the outcome could be.

“I’ve liked you for some time too, but I just figured you didn’t want to cross the line and I could respect that. I left you in bed that morning because I’m not good with rejection. We were both intoxicated and needed some release, I was cool with that.” You truthfully told him. “I think you’re an idiot for listening to Ezekiel.”

The brush strokes stopped and before you knew it, Angel was hovering over you, his lips on yours. His lips were warm, just as you remembered, parting slightly along with yours, his tongue slipping in your mouth. Your hands were on his neck, scratching the back of it. He groaned into your mouth before he pulled away. His eyes roamed down your body, biting his lips as he did.

“Fuck baby, can I take off your clothes?” His voice was so intoxicating, it became deeper. You remembered his voice the most that night. Angel was very vocal, which didn’t surprise you. His mouth made you fucking go insane.

You nodded your head. Angel removed your bralette, licking his lips as his thumb played with your nipple, grazing it softly before rolling it in between two fingers. You bit back a moan, arching into his touch. You’ve slept with a few people after Angel and you were upset how he ruined other men for you. Angel knew your body so well, that one night fucking ruined you and you honestly weren’t even mad about it.

“Are you wet baby girl?” His hand drifted down to your underwear, his art work was slowly being lost with every movement of his fingertips against your skin, but he didn’t care. Your body was art for him, the way you were taking a breathy gasp was music to his ear. He couldn’t wait to hear your moans again. He’s fucked other women after you and he would call out your name, even though the moans, the scent, the feel wasn’t the same.

“Yes,” you answered.

Angel’s fingers slipped underneath your underwear, running a finger up and down your slit. Circling your clit a few times, you moaned out his name, feeling yourself become wetter with every touch. He slipped a finger inside you, pulling it out and adding another when he slipped it back in. Your legs voluntarily widened, accommodating him as he kneeled in front of you. He slipped your underwear down your legs, you were bare in front of him now and he felt his cock twitched as he watched your pussy swallow his fingers.

“Are my fingers stretching you enough baby? Preparing you for my cock?” He kissed your lips, moving down your neck, nibbling, marking you as his. Looking down at his artwork that was smeared by his own fingertips, he had to say that it didn’t look terrible whatsoever, your skin was glistening with sweat. “Can I take a picture of you baby, take on my runs?”

All you could feel was Angel’s fingers working their magic on you. His words registered, but as much as you wanted to fight him about having your nakedness on his phone, it was kind of hot.

“Okay.”

“Yeah baby? Fuck.” Angel got his phone that was on the coffee table, smirking as he opened up the camera app. Your face was covered by your arm, which he didn’t mind. He already had so many pictures of your face, but this was different. He took some pictures before putting his phone away. He felt your pussy clenching as he continued to go in and out, stroking your clit every once in a while. “Oh baby, I feel that. Querida, you cumming?”

“Fuck, yes Angel, holy fuck.” You cried out, back arching as you came.

“For months, I’ve been waiting to see you in this state again, to hear you moaning out my name in a blissful state. Hearing it again, seeing it again, I won’t ever be able to have my fill of you.” He continued to move his finger in and out of you as he said that, helping you through your orgasm.

“I’m feeling it again,” the feeling was building in your stomach, again. You heard Angel chuckle as he took his fingers away, causing you to whine.

He took off his shorts and his shirt, sitting against the couch. He pumped himself as you licked your lips, remembering just how good his cock felt inside of you.

“Like what you see?” Angel held his hand out to you.

You nodded your head, crawling over to him.

“No time for you to suck my dick baby, I need to be inside of you.” He watched as you stood up and slowly squatted in front of him, making him groan. Slowly, you sink down on his cock, stopping every once in a while to adjust to him. He threw his head back, the sensation was incredible. “Look at that pussy stretching to fit my dick.” He rubbed his thumb around your slit, using the wetness to wet it so he could rub your clit.

Throwing your head back, Angel watched the look of pure pleasure on your face, memorizing it. He knew this wouldn’t be the last time he would have you, like he said, he didn’t care what Ezekiel thought. They were adults, you’re a grown ass woman, EZ could suck it up.

You had your hands on Angel’s shoulder, using it as leverage as you moved up and down his cock. The burn, the stretch, everything about it felt amazing. If there was one thing you remembered vividly about that night all those months ago, it was how well you fit with Angel. Maybe it was cliche to say, but you didn’t care, his cock just felt so damn good.

“You feeling good mi dulce, you missed my dick?”

“Do you ever shut up?” You groaned as you felt your movements speeding up, trying to chase that euphoric feeling.

“I could, but I know how much you like my filthy mouth.” Angel pulled you against him, your chest against one another. He wrapped his arms around you, trapping you against him. His hips thrusted upward, hard and fast, and you just took in the onslaught, your eyes rolling to the back of your head as your orgasm hit not a few minutes later. He continued to fuck into you, causing you to scratch his sides, moaning out his name over and over again. He slowed down, letting go of you.

Your head landed on his shoulder, your hand on his stomach. “Give me a minute.”

Angel chuckled. “My dick too much for you baby? Don’t worry, we’re gonna be fucking so much, you’ll learn how to keep up with me.” He kissed your shoulder. “This pussy is mine now, hell, it’s been mine since that night.” He pulled you away from him so that he could kiss you, his tongue entering your mouth. When he pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours, helping you move up and down as his lips touched yours, his breath just hot against your lips. “We sleeping in the same room now baby.”

It wasn’t even a question, it was a statement.

“My room, I don’t like your bed.” You kissed him again. Pulling away, you ran your fingers through your hair.

“Don’t care which room, as long as you’re in my arms.” Angel laid you on your back, bending your knees and holding them at the back. Looking down at where you two were joined, he smirked. “Can’t believe I listened to EZ.”

“Such a good older brother.” You teased Angel. “Shit Angel, go faster.”

“You don’t like this pace baby? You don’t like it when I go slow, taking my time on you?” Angel ran his hands up and down your thighs, moving it down to your stomach as his art was smeared all around. “I wanna design a tattoo for you querida.”

“No, we have time for that later. Fuck me.” Angel chuckled. “If you fuck me good enough then you can design whatever you want for me.”

You saw how Angel’s eyes darkened, he had your legs hanging on his shoulders. He pounded into you, in and out at a fast pace. You slightly regretted challenging Angel, but this felt so fucking good.

“This hard enough for you baby?” He taunted.

You nodded your head. “It feels so good.”

“Yeah you do, you feel fucking amazing querida.” Angel groaned. “You look so beautiful underneath me baby, you’re just gripping my dick baby. This is my pussy, ain’t no one else ever going to see you this way from now on. Fuck those puto’s you took home.”

Taking one of his hands that was beside your head, you took his thumb into your mouth, sucking on it before you directed it towards your clit. Angel immediately followed your order and rubbed it.

“You look so good like this.” Your eyes were closed, toes curled, and lips bitten. You hold onto one of his arms, nails digging into his skin and he fucking loved it.

“Angel!” You cried out as your orgasm finally came. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

He followed right after you, moaning out your name as well. He pulled out, the emptiness making you whimper. Angel helped you up, his cum dripping down your leg. He smirked as he watched it go down and you rolled your eyes.

“Such a guy.” You playfully pushed him.

He wrapped his arms around you from behind, his cock was already semi-hard.

“You ready for round two, cause we ain’t fucking leaving our bed till at least Monday.”

It was only Thursday.

#angel reyes #angelreyes #angel reyes fanfiction #angel reyes fic #angel reyes fanfic #mayans mc imagine #mayans mc fic #mayans mc fanfic

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aibrepus · 3 years

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Hello. This is probably my last post on this blog, I don't intend to post any more after that. My reach for some reason has been getting ridiculously small these days and I have over 300 followers who don't interact with me, in any way.

This is more of an outburst than anything else. I am constantly taking impulsive desperate attitudes that are supposed to make people look at me and this is just one more of them, although it almost never works. I doubt anyone will read this.

My name is C. I am 16 years old. I'm brazilian, so I apologize for gramatical mistakes. I wrote this text when I was 15 or 14, but I updated it. I've tried to publicize it before. I'm trying again.

First, I have a dysfunctional family. It was something that happened when my stepfather arrived many years ago, I was 6 or 7 at the time. My mom is divorced and I don't know my biological dad. She raised me and my older brother on her own and was always looking for steady partners because of - which I didn't understand before but now I see - financial issues. She was a teacher, now retired, so our condition of life was very simple. My stepfather is also retired and has always been paid very well, compared to her. So they started dating and I was too young to see any problems with that or even to understand what that meant. He brought more money to our family and the financial stability that my mother was looking for. We left a tiny and falling apart house to live in a much bigger and more beautiful one. He looked ok at first. But after a while it seemed that my stepfather didn't really like the way our family worked or the way my mother treated me and my brother and decided that he wanted things his way. I also remember very well the first times he raised his voice to me or my brother and one of the things I most regret in life is to have let him go around dictating rules over us from the beginning, because letting it all happen just ruined my family. My stepfather started to become unbearable for both of us. Nothing was ever good for him. He was always pointing out defects in everything we did. He was always screaming. He was always talking to my mother about how she had raised us wrong. Everything had to be his way, how he wanted it, when he wanted it. It became a problem for us in a very short time. My mother also ended up moving to something a little more like him, since the way she acted "was not good". I remember thinking to myself about these things since I was 8 years old. My brother and I hated him. Soon my mother and stepfather became my two greatest enemies and this is still the case today.

Basically, to save your time, I spent all these last years of my life hating my stepfather so hard that everything he does disgusts me. When I'm on his side, it feels like I'm on the side of a complete stranger. Everything I do inside this house is meticulously thought out and planned to please everyone and especially him. The simplest tasks become nervous anxiety at the thought that I may be doing something wrong. Anything is a reason to complain and raise his voice. And now, as I said, it is not just him, because my mother is not very different and recently it has been even worse. In the beginning of my adolescence, when my family became really unbearable, I started to isolate myself in my room all day and now I just go out to eat and use the bathroom. And I do it precisely to avoid meeting anyone. I don't even eat with them anymore.

My mother is a submissive woman who knows very well that our family is horrible but we still depend on his money. That's why they never fought and got along as far as possible because she never opposes him, always agrees on everything. My relationship with her is terrible. I remember that before my stepfather our life was simpler but we were happy in some way and now because of the decision that my mother made our family is totally over. Nobody here spends a day without complaining about the other. My brother is always getting more credit than I am for things he doesn't even do. I have always been a good daughter. I were always a quiet child, my grades were always great. My brother is a grown man with 20 years on his back who can't find a job, is still in high school because he repeated two years and does nothing at home but always receives the best things while I always stay with the rest and have to run after absolutely everything. I see people talking about their brothers with that "we fight, but we love each other" story and all I can feel is envy because I never had this relationship with him. We hate each other as much as we hate my stepfather.

Last year, when I had just returned from school, the two fought. My mom was still working, so she wasn't at home. I was inside my room with the door closed, as usual. Recently my mother had talked to my stepfather about us to try to ease the situation. I heard him entering the room where my brother was. He complained about collecting clothes on the clothesline. He muttered "and then you two complain about me" and then went to the kitchen. My brother followed and retaliated for the first time. My stepfather must have come over to hold him or something and they started fighting. Really fighting. Punching each other. I heard the sound of someone fiddling with the sink drainer and then my stepfather told my brother to lower something. I was terrified. I started to cry and to shake. I took out my cell phone and my headphones and put the music on at maximum so I wouldn't have to listen. I sent a message to my mom saying what was going on. Of course, one hour they stopped. I was crying all afternoon. I've never been so scared.

Most of my problems are related to my family.

2016 was the worst year of my life because of them. The fights were very constant since the beginning of the year. At that time I was entering 6th grade and my grades plummeted. I couldn't concentrate on classes, I didn't have the willpower to do the activities, or the school works that I never used to do, or anything, whether it was related to school or not. Before that the situation was already terrible but I believe that that year it started to really get worse. I had no friends. I had just changed schools and was completely alone. My self-esteem was horrible. There was only one girl who talked to me but she was always exchanging me for other people and leaving me aside. I was always an introvert, very quiet, and I couldn't make friends at all. This girl was doing me really bad - once, we were talking to our history teacher and she told me that I was despicable for being very pessimistic and for, according to her, "not living". When I heard that I didn't think too much about it but then I started to think and I have never felt so bad in my life. I spent weeks thinking about it. I started to accept as true the fact that I was unable to make friends because I was a despicable person and that is why no one liked me. It was the most painful thing I have ever heard.

Still in 2016, we made a travel to the south because my stepfather is from there. We went to visit his family and it was not the first time, actually. It happened in December. I was really excited but the travel only resulted in more fights. The only thing I asked my mother for was a book I saw in a store that was about depression and I ended up earning nothing, just like my brother. I was really upset. My stepfather kept on teasing me. We were all asleep in his parents' living room and one night, when everyone else was asleep, I laid on the mattress crying low all night.

I was constantly thinking about suicide. It scares me to think about the possibility that, if I had an easy and fast way at the time, this could have happened. I was thinking of talking to someone at the life appreciation center but I didn't. I did a lot of research on the technique they used and realized that perhaps their rhetorical questions would not help me prevent my own suicide if I got in touch. In the end, I never told any of this to anyone. There are only two people who know the whole situation but apart from them, no one else knows what I went through that year and what I go through now. Not even my own family knew that I was thinking of killing myself because of them.

I was alone. I couldn't count on my family. I couldn't count on friends because I didn't have any. I couldn't count on anyone because I just didn't trust anyone for that. Totally alone, thinking about suicide. I was 11 years old.

In 2019 I started to self harm. I was in 9th grade and at the beginning of the school year I found a small razor inside the used art book when I first opened it. It was the opportunity I was in need of. I started to cut my legs instead of my arms so my family wouldn't see. My mom saw it, anyway. I said I did that because of them. Yes, my mother was desperate, she cried, she told me that she had related to my stepfather for the money and that my father was abusive to her and so on. She said that if she had known that my brother and I would be so unhappy, she would not have done that. And I started attending a psychologist.

What good did it do?

Me, who at first was moved by the things that my mother told me, blaming myself for being a terrible daughter and for giving her such disgust, in the end I saw her returning to the same disparaging habits as before. I still go to a psychologist today, but a different one from the first.

First, the psychologist never helped me and does not help me at all. They are the two who know what happens, although I no longer have contact with the first one. I basically go into the clinic so she can tell me everything I want to hear and everything I already know. The treatment is having no effect on my point of view and I suggested to her that perhaps medications would improve my mood, my lack of desire for everything, my lack of hunger and my insomnia. My mom was really upset because she didn't want me to take medication, but my psychologist is insisting and the consultation with the psychiatrist will probably happen sometime. But secondly, right after I started going to psychologists, my mother did absolutely nothing to change my reality at home and started to fight and yell at me in the same way that she did before. I was really stupid to have fallen into that little theater of hers. The problem is in them, and it is useless to send me to a psychologist in the hope of making me better if when I return home the same problems are repeated and everyone goes back to fighting, complaining and throwing everything at me. My stepfather never even bothered to change his conduct because of that but I expected a lot more from my mom. Pathetic to believe that something was going to change. She is spending money aimlessly on consultations and I wonder if that is what she pays so dearly for. To upset me and then send me to a psychologist for not being able to take care of her own children hoping that this will change something.

Anyway, I don't tell her that consultations don't work because I don't want to waste my time with another exhausting discussion. I always heard from people that I should talk to my family if something was wrong. I've tried to talk to them a million times and I'm where I am. There is no conversation here. All of this about my consultations is very frustrating because I always hear people talking about therapy as if it were something miraculous that will definitely help, which just doesn't happen to me. Going to psychologists does not help me.

In conclusion, I still don't stop at the urge to self-harm. My leg is full of scars and there is no one to see them. My psychologist doesn't know. I suppose she doesn't even know that I'm there because of that. In fact, there are many things that my psychologist doesn't know because I don't tell her.

Again, in 2019, thanks to a girl in my classroom, I also started drinking. I asked her to go to one of these teenage meetings and she told me that they went to the market every Wednesday to drink and smoke. Another opportunity that I needed. I thought it was time to stop being the good daughter. I tried to be it for a long time for my family. They didn't deserve to have a trophy daughter to go around showing off to friends like they did to me. I went out with them that day and drank. Very simple, actually. I found out that I am very weak. I got drunk, of course. I threw up a lot when I got home. Nobody noticed anything. And I've been in this for a long time now. I also started drinking at the beginning of the school year. When I'm drunk, I don't have to be thinking about school, or my family, or friends, or anything else. My bad reality is much lighter.

I didn't want to have to resort to drinking and smoking to be able to forget what I live inside my house. I really didn't want to. I didn't want to be that teenager. I didn't want to have to do that. I didn't want this to be the only way to make me happy for at least a few hours. I didn't want any of that.

I'm not in it because I think it's cool or because I want to be a cool teenager who drinks and smokes. It started out as a form of revenge, but then I discovered that it could actually be a valve.

I know I'm throwing my life in the trash. I know I shouldn't be doing any of this. But I need my ways to get out of this house. I can't stay in a toxic place all the time that makes me sad all the time. I avoid going back here when I'm out. I just don't want to be here anymore. I linger on the street when I come back from school so I don't have to arrive so soon. I used to go out every week. And I hope I'll be out again when the pandemic is over.

The saddest thing about the self-destructive way of life is when no one notices it. In so long that I do this, my family has never noticed. I kept coming home drunk and the most my mother ever did was to suspect when I said I was going out on my birthday. I disguise it very well, so that must be the reason.

Since I started entering adolescence, I have never made friends again - although I remember that feeling of loneliness from a very young age. There were some people I talked to at school, but I never trusted anyone. A friend to me would be much more than someone you just talk to or hang out with on a daily basis, I think. I can't talk to people. I cannot introduce myself to them. I can't socialize with them. Nowhere. Not on the internet, not at school, not even on the street when i'm drinking.

I did a lot of research and I'm almost sure that I have a severe social phobia and I'm going to talk about it with my psychologist.

I tried to make up for it by posting the texts I write on reading platforms to see if I could get any fame from it. I always wrote. My texts are mostly oneshots that I write according to what I am feeling, so my thoughts and my personal life are very much exposed in them. My constant readings have improved my vocabulary and grammar. I really care about my texts. And I also draw. I have been drawing since I was little and also regularly, so I draw very well. Everyone knows that I draw well but nobody knows about my texts. Writing and drawing is all I know how to do. My texts and drawings are all I have. My family took a lot of things from me. My family is still taking everything from me, but I put my heart into every word and illustration because it is the only thing I have left. But it doesn't matter. I've posted more than 30 short stories out there that hardly receive views, just like the illustrations I post. I wanted to work with one of these things and pursue a career mainly with drawing but I am a failure in both. Nobody reads my stories and nobody sees my drawings.

Sometimes I take the texts from my own diary. Sometimes, they carry so much truth and so much need that I collapse on myself in the end. My own tales move me. I put all of myself in them and in the drawings. I produce them with all my soul. But whatever. I don't think it's enough for people.

That is the question.

I feel like a ghost. It's almost as if I don't exist anywhere.

I am totally alone. I don't feel loved by anyone. At home I have a dysfunctional family and the only person here who seems to care about me is my mother, disregarding that she is also responsible for having ruined my life. At school, I am completely alone in the classroom, or at lunch, or any other part of the day, and I simply don't speak to anyone. On the street, I still have to settle for the least amount of people who also ignore me and hardly talk to me or take my desires and opinions into consideration. In social networks, where I should get support from people like me or at least disclose the only things I know how to do, I end up receiving the same cold indifference and I end up being alone anyway.

It seems that nobody cares about me. It seems that if I died, it wouldn't make any difference. It feels like I'm in the wrong place.

Everyone always says things like "you are not alone" or "there are people who love you" and etc., but I literally have no one. I can't socialize anywhere. Everyone ignores me. Everyone makes me feel like I don't exist. I am a failure at everything.

I dont know what I'm doing here. Reaching adulthood and leaving this place is the only hope I have of being able to be happy.

I wanted to have a normal life. A normal family. Friends. People who care about me. People who love me. I would give literally anything to have the childhood that I didn't have because of people who were supposed to love and support me and actually made me hate my own life. Anything to be a normal teenager who doesn't need to resort to self-mutilation or drugs to escape problems. Anything to at least have some friends.

I don't know what to do.

I've tried everything to make people like me. I've tried for a long time to be someone I'm not for that. I am constantly taking desperate and impulsive actions just to see if I can get anything, such as this post, but it is always in vain. They say that if you don't give up, you get things. I've been here trying for so long. I put so much of myself in drawings and texts. What do I get from that? What do I get out of trying? I've been doing these things for so long. All these years trying. All these years of holding on. I'm tired of trying. I'm tired of holding on.

All I want most in life is just for someone to look at me. Someone to look at me and see all these things. Someone to show that they care. Anything. I just wanted someone to care.

I’m practically screaming for help and it just seems like nobody cares.

On this quarantine, I have been without talking to practically anyone other than my family and my psychologist for months. Nobody came after me. Nobody sent me a message. Nobody even gave me a "happy birthday". I disappeared, deleted my few contacts, stopped using my inactive Whatsapp. Nobody asked me why. Nobody even noticed. Nobody cares enough. Nobody ever cares enough.

I wake up every day with the first thought that my life is terrible and that I will still have to deal with this family and this loneliness for a long time before I can get out of it. I have no motivation for anything else. Writing and drawing no longer seem like flashy activities. They are no longer helping. I can't stop crying all the time. My mother and stepfather made me an extremely sensitive person. I go around showing people that I have a strong personality, or that I am a cold and impassive person when in fact I am completely falling apart and nothing hurts more than knowing that no one cares. Just listening to someone screaming in an argument, even if it's not me, is enough to make me nervous.

I've been in this for a long time and I can't take it anymore. I wanted to have a happy childhood and adolescence and I just can't have it. I'm too young to be having these problems. I was too young in 2016 to be having suicidal thoughts. I was too young to start drinking because of these problems. I was too young to start self-harm, too, because of these problems. I'm too young to be suffering like that.

And I know that I no longer have the opportunity to be happy for now, while I'm here.

This must be another cry for help that I am exposing in vain. I've already sent emails to certain people, I've done posts like this before, I've posted explicit oneshots about my conditions, I've done threads on twitter. I've done everything I could, I've played all my cards. I am literally alone, not much else that can help me. All these things were calls for help, but there is no one to notice them.

I'm tired of being ignored.

I'm tired of not being seen by people.

I'm tired of being here like an idiot posting all these things and giving all these clues and being ignored by everyone. I'm tired of doing it all in vain. I'm tired of keep trying.

I bet this is just another waste of time.

#outburst #outflow #self harm #disfunctional family #personal #please help

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tundrainafrica · 3 years

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Title: Division of Labor (4/?)

Summary:

“The past years, we have noticed a lot of our fresh high school graduates knew nothing about responsibilities the that awaited them outside high school and even college. Many students do not master budgeting, taxes, household planning, loans and we hope to raise a generation who can navigate the adult world without the consequences of bad decisions they are bound to make going in blindly…”

Paradis High school starts a program incorporating adulting into their curriculum and Hange and Levi are paired together.

Note: From request of @a-golden-hearted-snk-fan. See this link for the request

So here is the next chapter of division of labor. I had intended to drop it today for a long time. I didn't expect it to coincide with leaks so sorry for the slight mood whiplash.

Anyway, thank you to the anons on tumblr for asking about this fic. I still find it pretty surreal that people actually think about my work, let alone send asks about it.

Other Chapters: 1 2 3

Link to cross-postings: AO3

Having lived alone for all of his high school life and some of his middle school life, Levi was sure of one thing.

Cooking is fun. Except when it is graded.

In fact, nothing can be fun when someone is behind them watching their every move telling them their performance in that one activity can determine a grade and that grade can determine their future. As Levi and Hange surveyed the ingredients in front of them, Erwin was behind them. Of all the workstations he had chosen to hang out in, it happened to be theirs.

As Levi looked at the other workstations, he could see Nanaba to his left already cracking two eggs into a bowl next to Mike. Bertholdt who was working in front of them with his pair Reiner was already cutting up what looked like cheese cubes. To his right was his own pair Hange who was shaking the eggs to her ear.

“Just to check if they’re boiled,” she explained. Levi did not even notice he had given her a judgemental look until she avoided his gaze looking a little self conscious.

Of course they wouldn’t be boiled. They were supposed to be doing everything from scratch. Why did he and Hange in particular look the most clueless? Why weren’t they doing anything? Levi looked behind him again to see Erwin still staring at both of them. I’m not clueless. Levi had to remind himself. He preplanned and prepared meals multiple times a week. He could make anything from the ingredients laid out in front of him. Eggs. Cheese. Celery. Instant noodles.

Why the hell is there instant noodles. What am I supposed to be making?

That ordeal only fueled his hatred for surprise tasks. He hated pop quizzes. Particularly because he had the cursed history of not knowing exactly what would be asked during the actual quizzes but having comprehensive knowledge in another facet of whatever topic they discussed in class. At that moment, he could have gladly given an oral exam about why exactly putting a washing machine in the bathroom was a good idea. Hange probably would have been able to do a practical exam or presentation explaining why a rent-to-own scheme was the best option for homeowners.

Both he and Hange though, probably spent at the most ten minutes running through that meal plan which was biting them so painfully in the ass at that moment. On top of that, the restrictions were ridiculous and unnecessary.

“No checking the recipe?” It was Connie that time towards the front of the room who was protesting the ridiculous restriction put on them. “I thought you’re supposed to be simulating adulthood. In real life everyone could just research the recipes? ”

“What if you don’t have wifi but you have eggs and vegetables in front of you and you need to cook breakfast?” Erwin challenged.

“We’ll have recipe books.” Sasha answered.

Erwin raised his eyebrows, looking pointedly at the Connie and Sasha pair. “Will your current financial situation allow that?”

Levi found some solace in Erwin’s comment. Maybe, just maybe that meant that they weren’t the only pair currently burning in hell financially in this little game of adulting. He looked to Hange and the face she made as Erwin had said the words `current financial situation’ and “allow” in the same sentence, Levi guessed that Erwin’s comment probably applied to them as a pair too.

“It is important at least for all of you to know the basics of cooking a nice meal even without the recipe.

Levi sighed. He lived alone and he knew they didn’t need it. Levi had a recipe book for easy recipes at home and almost always had wifi anyway. Nobody actually needed to memorize recipes. He was aware though of the culture of schools to know that schools always made things harder than they were supposed to be.

At least when you’re in the real world, things will be so much easier because you’ve had it hard already. Some teachers would defend. Making things unnecessarily hard though wasn’t at all an effective way to get people good at things. Sometimes, making things unnecessarily hard only left students with chronic unresolved tensions with certain formulas, academic concepts and sometimes even mundane objects they had encountered too many times in an academic setting. In fact, he started to feel the beginnings of it when he encountered washing machines and Japanese style house designs while he went grocery shopping that weekend. A few times he also could have sworn he’d seen Hange recoil at hearing the words ‘debit’ and ‘credit.’

“Maybe we should boil the eggs?” Hange lined up the ingredients on the counter.

“What the hell are you doing?” Levi asked, or more specifically panicked. Around him he could see the others already turning on the stove. Watching Hange observe the ingredients was only a grave reminder of their own incompetence.

“I’m just trying to arrange the ingredients in different ways. Maybe a good idea will come to mind.” She paused for a second. “Scrambled eggs?”

"Hear me out Hange, what if it isn't scrambled eggs." The ingredients all pointed to scrambled eggs or an omelette. In front of them there was a pan, a skillet, eggs, butter and vegetables. That seemed like the most reasonable option. Having taken tests and quizzes for most of his life though, Levi was a master of the art of ‘doubting one’s self’ in high pressure situations where every decision equated to a deduction. “Why is there a pack of instant noodles?” Whether he had intended to or not, Levi had ended up saying his thoughts out loud.

Hange paused for a second, pressing her thumb to her lips in thought, her eyes completely fixed on the pack of instant noodles in front of her. She looked like she was starting to doubt herself too. “You’re right. Levi, why are there instant noodles? Didn’t you make the meal plan?”

“Didn’t you check it?”

“I did check it. If i remember correctly, there was a recipe for scrambled eggs. But there should have been vegetables.” Hange brought the instant noodles pack closer to her and closely read through it. “Wait a minute. This is chow mein? I thought chow mein was a type of vegetable. Why the hell would you put instant noodles in scrambled eggs?”

Instant noodles and scrambled eggs. For some reason, it hadn’t clicked when all he saw were the ingredients in front of him. With Hange bringing up the two key ingredients of eggs and instant noodles, he started to remember what revisions he had made to that particular recipe. “It’s cheaper to make omelette rice with instant noodles than with actual rice.” He admitted lightly.

“Levi! We’re graded for nutritional value. Did you not read the rubrics?”

Levi looked away. In fact he had failed to read the rubrics. “Weren’t you supposed to be checking my work?

“I did check it.”

“Then why did you think chowmein is a type of vegetable? Aren’t you a fan of botany?”

“Levi there are at least one thousand vegetables to think of. You can’t expect me to keep track of all of them.”

Levi then realized that maybe having too much information in one’s brain was a little disadvantageous. Hange may be right that there are thousands of types of vegetables in the world. Levi was sure though that only at least fifty of those types would have been available in an average supermarket. You don’t really go grocery shopping much do you? A part of him had wanted to criticize her and maybe start a little argument.

The clatter of pots and pans around him and the urgent sounding voices was only telling him one thing, time was running. They had to churn something up or risk failing that quiz. He wished at least he could have double checked the rubrics. Alas, their phones were in their bags, all gathered towards the front of the rooms. All they had armed with them then was their procedural memory and the many ingredients in front of them.

Maybe, just maybe though we could do a little improvisation. Levi made eye contact with Hange as he said it. It looked like she had read his mind, Hange reached out for the instant noodles in front of him, ready to slip the pack silently into her pocket.

“If I find out any of you revised any of your recipes or you miss out on one ingredient, expect a 50% deduction for this test,” Erwin announced from behind them.

Within a second, the pack of instant noodles was back on the table and that flash of understanding between Levi and Hange had changed to one of horror and panic. Did he notice?

“Marco, I really cannot remember why the hell I needed so many of these spices in the first place.” Jean said apologetically from his station to their right.

“Maybe we shouldn’t have asked your mom to make the meal plan in the first place then.” Marco sounded surprisingly pissed.

At least they weren’t the only one in hell’s kitchen.

Division of Labor

By some silent agreement, all meetings with his actual friends were cancelled. It was as if everyone in the room had unanimously decided to make up for that disaster of a kitchen quiz by working on the next deliverable days before it was due. It was as if everyone was sure they had failed Erwin’s little pop quiz

Or long test. Erwin though never gave the breakdown of how much of their grade that disaster in the kitchen was. Levi found some assurance at least in the fact that everyone did look as unsure as they were about it. They can’t fail the whole class right?

Either way, a failing grade is still a failing grade. Levi and Hange had gone for the plan of omelette rice having kept the instant noodles revision. And with nutritional value a 60% of their grade for the actual meal plan, their expectations for their grades were low. On the bright side at least, Erwin said that there would be more pop quizzes in the kitchen, so they just had to memorize the recipe of whatever they put in the meal plan the next time around.

It would be painstaking, Levi was sure. But as students he and Hange had been forced to memorize formulas, kingdoms and phyla, vocabulary words, thesis statements, poems and dialogues. That should be nothing. Levi though had a building resentment for the subject, particularly the fact that no one had prepared them for that type of stress at all. None of the seniors ever had to do this type of program and thus, Levi was completely unprepared mentally for ‘adulting.’

Welcome to adulthood. That was what was written on the top of the questionnaire he and Hange were supposed to be submitting by Friday midnight. It was Wednesday afternoon of that week and he was grateful Hange had even suggested they start earlier. Only that morning, Erwin had submitted a new list of deliverables which seemed more comprehensive than the last.

September*

Week 1

Meal Plan

Investment Plan Part I: Disposable Income

Pop quiz

Week 2

Education Plan for Kids

Module 2 (See attached fail)

Pop quiz

Week 3 - 4

TBA

While Hange answered some of the questions on the questionnaire, Levi could only stare at the module in his email. He had promised Hange he would look into it while she filled out her part of the questionnaire. His eyes though were stuck on the little typo

Fail. He was sure Erwin meant file. In that type of module though, he would consider that typo almost fatal since the whole program was already screaming the words ‘failure’ at him.

He had to note at least that Erwin put the words pop quiz there for every week. He couldn’t help but think it was due to the fact that everyone had failed that last cooking exam and that was a sign of some mercy on the teacher’s side.

He clicked the module below the email to find that the file was too large at least for google to open. Oh, I guess it’s too large to open on my phone. It might slow it down after all. A petty excuse but he was just tired and instead decided to entrust the responsibility of opening said document to the Levi of a few hours later who would be in front of an actual computer.

“The file is too big to open on my phone. Sorry, I didn’t think about bringing my laptop today.” Levi’s words weren’t too sincere. A part of him was telling him never to bring his laptop on campus in the first place and was thankful for that bout of irresponsibility. Delaying the inevitable at present is always such a sweet feeling after all.

“It’s fine, it wasn’t too hard to fill out what’s needed. We just needed to assign rooms for Flora and Fauna…” Hange started looking pointedly at the flour babies who were leaning by the window of the diner they started to frequent. “Then break down our budget for other things like furniture, groceries, household necessities…”

She slid the paper over to Levi. As if by magic, his brain just shut down at seeing the numbers out there. A part of him though, a more tenacious part was nagging at him to comment at the computations in front of him.

He focused on the words not the numbers. There were calculations for household necessities like detergent and cleaning wax, groceries, baby stuff, utility bills. Somehow it was only making Levi feel more useless for not even understanding what she was writing.

So you have to comment. Levi willed himself to open his mouth and rack his brain for something reasonable and useful to say. Those thoughts on his end all culminated to two words. “Washing machine... “

“What? You’re still not over that?”

“You really don’t want the washing machine in the bathroom?”

“Levi, we’ve been over this!” Hange said, looking exasperated. Within a split second, her look softened into something else then within a second twisted into what looked like shame or embarrassment. “Yeah, I don’t think we even have the money to pay for that in installments now. But hey, a washing machine isn’t a necessity right? Like handwashing is still a thing.”

Levi didn’t agree. He knew in the back of his mind that anything that made cleaning easier was a necessity. Hange though had made the calculations and as a form of respect for her hardwork and a punishment for himself and his inability to have been of any use with that questionnaire, he kept quiet.

He just had to trust her. Group works were all about trust after all.

Division of Labor

“Your answers were all a fucking mess. If adulting was a war, none of you would make it back alive. All of you will starve with your shitty planning and resource conserving skills.” Shadis waved a wad of papers so magnificently over his head as he slammed them on the table. “I want to hear your justifications for making such idiotic decisions. Maybe that can bring up your grade to a D at least.”

“Blouse Springer!”

“Yes sir!” Sasha stood up instinctively.

“Connie join your partner!”

“We have to sta---?” Connie’s eyes widened as if he realized a second later the disrespect in what he had just said. He stood up a split second after. “Yes sir!”

“Tell me again. What are your jobs?”

Connie looked at the documents and back at him. “Is what we put in the document… wrong… sir?”

“What. Are. Your. Jobs?”

Sasha and Connie exchanged glances and looked back up at him. “I’m a marketing specialist…” Connie started. “And Sasha---”

“Journalist sir.”

“So you have eight to five jobs right?”

“Yes we do,” Connie answered.

“And three kids?”

The two nodded in sync. “Yes sir,” Sasha said. “Or that’s what I remember…” In fact, she shouldn��t have had to recall that. The three flour sacks were on their desk after all. “Did we miss one?”

Shadis ignored them. “Then why did you tick ‘no babysitter’ here?”

“Are we supposed to tick it sir?” Connie asked. A brave question that had everyone in the classroom more silent than they had been a second ago.

“You have eight to five jobs and three children. So are you telling me you will take the kids to work?

“Are we allowed? The fee for a babysitter everyday just seems… extravagant.”

That wasn’t the right word. The right word was exorbitant. As some of the people in the class would have agreed. Many could see though that Connie was shaking at the incessant questions and that should have been the last of his concerns.

Shadis though seemed unpreturbed at the wrong word choice. “Well what if your boss doesn’t allow you to bring three kids to work?”

“Then we leave them at home?”

“And you know that’s illegal?”

The silence in the room had become deafening.

“You can be sued for child neglect,” Shadis expounded

“But how would they know?” It was a bold question from Connie

The room exploded in hesitant mutters only silenced a second later by Shadis’ eerily cold reply. “Social workers are very perceptive people, Connie. I’m surprised you’re even underestimating them. Be ready to pay attorney dues for this.” He wrote something on the paper on his desk which was probably Connie and Sasha’s submission before pushing it to the bottom of the pile.

“Next pair…Ackerman Zoe. Stand up.”

By lunchtime, Levi was in a trance, a very strong strance. He did not even notice the students who had filed out of the classroom for lunch, his eyes completely fixed on the beautiful view of the school courtyard as the leaves started to change color.

That was not what he was admiring though. He wasn’t actually admiring anything. Although his eyes were fixed at such a beautiful view, his brain had done nothing to process it.

“So… You wanna talk about the next output?” That familiar voice sounded like a screech to Levi and it was more than enough to pull him out.

“We are so fucked.” Levi’s words were almost instinctive. It was as if just hearing Hange’s voice sent his whole body into panic mode. Of course he would, having just been grilled by Shadis and having one’s incompetence exposed could do that to anyone.

“There’s an output every week. We’ll be fine,” Hange assured.

Levi could only stare at Hange. He had know idea what kind of face he was making. All he could think then though was the fact that she out of the two of them should have been in a worse state of panic than he was.

And her calm ironically only stressed him out further. Having been reeling from the stress of it for almost four hours, Levi still remembered their exchange perfectly.

"Okay Ackerman… Just a homemaker. And Zoe. You’re working freelance?

"So Levi and I decided that I'll be a scientist and he'll take care of the house," Hange had said so confidently.

"What about taxes?"

“Taxes?”

“I looked at the breakdown of your budget Zoe. You didn’t mention anything about taxes.”

“I’m freelance sir.”

“Zoe, has it ever occured to you that freelancers pay taxes too?”

And their lesson of the day came soon after that exchange. The tasks were detailed and demanded a lot of thought. Through all they had learned over that one painful exchange and maybe through the glimpses of the next few exchanges he had so half heartedly watched, he had learned a lot.

He could have easily summarized it all into one sentence though. Do not take Erwin's tasks with a grain of salt.

Erwin had thought everything through. It could have been by coincidence or it could have also been just a lack of thought on the side of the students but somehow the set up Erwin had was exposing the weaknesses of the students when it came to learning, and possibly their potential weaknesses when it comes to actual adulting.

"I’m deducting the taxes already."

"You heard Shadis, It's too late the hypothetical government is out to get us.” Levi added the word hypothetical to at least help himself bask in the fact that it was still a simulation. “We’re getting penalized.”

Hange smiled wryly. “Fine, we’re kinda financially… going through a rough patch,” She admitted. “But we’re not the only ones going through this type of financial bump. Eren and Mikasa, Sasha and Connie, Reiner and Bertholdt, Petra and Oluo…” Hange trailed off. “I mean okay Armin and Annie looked like they were doing fine but back in the supermarket, they looked kinda confused too.”

“A failing grade is a failing grade.”

“But Levi, they can’t fail the whole class.” Hearing that Hange was somehow very reassuring.

Hange was right. Teachers can’t fail a whole class and Levi was aware of two methods teachers tend to employ when dealing with an underperforming class: employ a curve or give extra credit.

Levi should have known though from his short yet very tumultuous few weeks with that adulting program that a curve would have seemed a little too merciful for their teachers.

With the uncomfortable look Erwin gave the class, Levi was sure at least a majority of the class had fucked up financially. How exactly, he was unsure.

Right after they had finished their own mini oral exam, Levi had fallen into a trance. A trance, trying to think up a back up life just in case he never manages to graduate high school or make it to college.

Misery though loves company. Especially when it’s a whole class failing. Levi was not the type to want to wish misfortune on anyone else. Being as completely idiotic and dense as he and Hange were though, Levi found himself grateful for the unfortunate situation the class found themselves in,

“It looks like a lot of you are struggling financially. Zeke and I had a quick talk about this actually…”

Levi’s blood ran cold at the name, Zeke. At that point, he didn’t know if he hated Zeke or he hated Math. Looking back at Zeke’s unfavorable personality, he was guessing probably both.

“And we realized it would be beneficial if we introduce the possibility of finding other sources of income which would be a good lesson in financial management.”

There were some sighs of disappointment among the class. Levi empathized. In fact, he probably would have joined them as well if he weren’t so jaded by the course of events already. Still, a small part of him had hoped as well that they would just raise their salaries.

That was the equivalent of a curve though and Levi somehow knew, grading on the curve was just not Erwin’s style.

“So I am introducing two options to increase your income. One is through investments which will be taught by Zeke another day and another one is through this ‘new system’ I thought out.” Erwin looked a little too proud of that ‘new system.’

“We will be offering extra tasks you may choose to take around the school, these include cleaning, admin tasks, lab work and anything else the teachers may need help done. Each task will have a corresponding pay which can be added to your income for that month.”

So it’s exploitable free labor. Levi thought to himself. He was sure he wasn’t the only one thinking of that. Everyone in the room was desperate though. In the end, despite the questionable set up, it had come out looking like a gesture of generosity from their teacher. Levi saw that in the way a lot of the students around him looked relieved to hear that announcement.

“Or we can just choose to budget within our means?” Annie spoke up from her place on the front next to Armin. She was notably calmer than a lot of people in the room. Levi had suspected for a while though that Armin and Annie weren’t in as much trouble financially.

“I’m sure though a lot of you would want to earn more money,” Erwin said, a knowing smile on his face. “You can exchange these for this thing I will be introducing called ‘disposable income tokens’ and if you collect enough, you can get a free ticket out of doing one of the modules or the pop quizzes of the week of your choice.”

#levihan #levi ackerman #hange zoe #levi x hange #levihan fanfiction

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flaggermousseart · 3 years

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creator tag meme

@knifeears said anyone could snatch it up, so here I am, snatching

rules: it’s time to love yourselves! choose your 5 (ish) favorite works you created in the past year (fics, art, edits, etc.) and link them below to reflect on the amazing things you brought into the world in 2020. tag as many writers/artists/etc. as you want (fan or original) so we can spread the love and link each other to awesome works!

#1 The Kiss in the Shrieking Shack

It’s almost a year since I made this, but I’m still very satisfied with it. I managed to make a lot of background with several layers of shadows. This was a very simple idea: just make one change to the canon scene. I added the canon dialogue from the scene in the tumblr post, and I didn’t need to change a single word, and that still makes me grin. My favourite panel is one of the last ones, where they just stare at each other, I’m very satisfied with that picture in particular, especially Sirius’ expression. This comic exploded in popularity more than I could have imagined. I am thrilled so many people enjoy it.

#2 November 1st 1993

Sticking to the Prisoner of Azkaban-timeline, making a scene with just the teachers. I just like what I managed to show with the dialogue and the art here. In canon, Snape seems to think Remus Lupin isn’t trustworthy because of his past history with Sirius Black, as we can see from his talk with Dumbledore at Halloween, and the things he says in the Shrieking Shack. I just took that, and made it a romantic/sexual history. Snape’s not outing him as a werewolf, instead it’s another painful secret he pokes at.

Also satisfied with Minerva and Remus’ short conversation; he didn’t help his ex into Hogwarts, and she believes him, but at the same time … Remus IS hiding one BIG secret (the fact that Sirius became an Animagus to help Remus through hard times) that quite IS possibly at least part of how he got onto the school grounds. Ah. Guilt.

The last picture took me ages. I made the poster, and then copied and tweaked and drew tears and holes in them, piecing it all together in a ton of layers. I kept the file of the posters, and ended up reusing it in a different comic later.

#3 Nightmare

Still in the Prisoner of Azkaban-timeline, when everyone thought Sirius was a murderous traitor. Parts of this comic are a bit uneven. I spot some issues with the size of people’s eyes in certain frames. But it’s mostly about the atmosphere and emotions, and I think that worked well here.

I always like drawing Sirius’ ‘straight outta Azkaban’-look; dressed in rags and long messy hair. Here I had a lot of fun working on making him creepy, both with dialogue and the way he acts. As if he really was a loyal servant of Voldemort, not giving a damn about the deaths he’s responsible for … and any romantic tones are messed up and possessive, as if he had intended to keep Remus like a pet once Voldemort took over.

This is basically all about creepy atmosphere and how Remus never got the therapy he needed after the war.

#4 Picking up the Pieces

This was the year I started writing fanfiction. I love reading it, but never dared to write and put it out there before. I worried I wasn’t good enough, that I didn’t understand characters well enough … but once I dipped back into my obsession with HP (this is one of the fandoms that is always in the back of my mind, even if others things take the front seat), I ended up trying. I feel comfortable with this world; I feel I know it well enough to try and make something within it, even without my art as a crutch.

Picking up the Pieces is an AU where Sirius gets a trial and ends up raising Harry together with Remus. I love this type of AU, because there’s the happiness of a better childhood for Harry, contrasted with the war they came out of, and the people they lost.

The Trial took a lot of work, but I wanted to try and do it justice. I love working in details of the world, and reread and reread the canon we know to try and piece it all together, and drag in just about all I could think of that could be used as proof for and against Sirius.

Both that part, and Wolfsbane are Outsider POV from minor canon characters, and I absolutely love Outsider POV. I liked fleshing out Damocles Belby, and make his research into the Wolfsbane potion more emotional.

We need to talk about the snakes is basically a slice of life episode focusing on Harry’s magical powers starting to appear, and with some special skills his godparents never suspected he had. I enjoyed peppering background about their life together into this, and it is one of those stories where the audience that knows canon understands what’s happening, but the characters don’t; and I enjoy that.

I still have ideas for Picking up the Pieces, so hopefully, there will be some more in this series.

#5 Rumours

Aaand right back to Prisoner of Azkaban-timeline! (yes it is my favourite HP-book, why are you asking?) This little fic has much in common with #1 and #2. It is basically a canon scene that I did a little bit of tweaking to. It deals with the rumours that have started to spread around the school about how professor Lupin used to date Sirius Black years back.

It’s short, but I liked writing Harry in this; his thoughts on those rumours, both at the beginning and end of the fic. It sticks to Harry’s POV like how the book canon is presented, and again there’s how we the readers know things the characters does not.

#bonus

I just think this unicorn is rad.

I tag @kattlupin, @engie-ivy and anyone else that wants to do it. Show us what you’ve made this year!

#creator tag meme #not art #it's okay to be happy with things we've made #Wolfstar

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exigencelost · 4 years

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I just finished writing up my voter slate for my family and here is the full text of my analysis of California Prop 25. This includes an explanation of some of the history behind Prop 25, which wasn’t included in my previous post. You can click the read-more (and scroll past the numbered list) to get to that part.

Prop 25 (replace money bail with a racist algorithm from hell): VOTE NO.

Okay. This one is a big deal. Part of the reason my slate is so late this year is because I would not release it until I had finished researching Prop 25. I was also waiting for a couple prison abolition groups whose opinions I value to take a position on this prop. Most of them never did. The Ella Baker Center, who has done extraordinary work this year in the Stop San Quentin Outbreak Coalition and whose opinion I particularly wanted, has just released their slate and they are neutral on 25.

The sources I ultimately based my decision on were the League’s reasoning and—even more so—Justice LA’s position paper.

(Also worth checking out: this Op-Ed by Bobby Stein in the SF Chronicle.)

This is a summary of the points from both sources that I consider the most significant.

Prop 25:

Is likely to drastically increase the number of total people in jail at any time; LA county estimates their pretrial detainee population will double if it is passed.

Puts money into the prison-industrial complex rather than taking money out.

Offers no way to appeal a judge’s algorithm-based decision on keeping you in jail, no transparency into how the judge comes to that decision, and no way to get out of jail before trial once it’s been made. Like, it replaces bail, which is of course corrupt and awful, with unilateral pretrial detention with no recourse. Which is worse.

Uses inputs for its flight-risk algorithm that are abjectly racist and which include—this makes me lose my mind—residential stability.

Co-opts the increasingly powerful movement to end money bail. Basically, if we don’t pass 25 I truly believe we have the momentum to demand something better. If we do pass 25, I worry that repealing it will be much harder.

Full disclosure: Prop 25 is on the ballot because the bail bond industry put it there. It’s a referendum on legislature that—without that push from bail bond companies—would already be law. Putting Prop 25 on the ballot and getting you to vote no on it is a last-ditch effort by bail bond companies to keep their industry from dying. Believe me—That doesn’t sit any easier with me than it does with you.

But. SB 10, the law that Prop 25 gives us a referendum on, is a hellish nightmare. It’s masquerading as bail reform, but it’s an expansion of the prison-industrial complex. It capitalizes on the movement to end money bail but it does not serve the interests of that movement (i.e., justice, liberty, basic common sense.)

According to Justice LA, “In 2018, led by Black and Latinx communities, Californians demanded reform of the bail system that held people in jail pretrial and worked to pass a bill that would advance freedom. Just days before the vote on the law, Senator Hertzberg, with opportunistic “reform” organizations at his side, substituted a completely different bill that he created with judges and law enforcement. That bill was SB10.”

SB 10 passed. And then the bail bond industry poured millions of dollars into putting a referendum onto the ballot, in the form of Prop 25, giving us a chance to strike it down (by voting NO on 25.) Every part of this story sucks; and neither of our options are good.

The SF League of Pissed-Off Voters wrote a sentence that sealed the deal for me, which was: “We can't support any bail reform policy that doesn't protect the constitutional guarantees of due process and presumption of innocence for people caught up in the criminal justice system.”

I agree. A law that writes away the right to due process is unacceptable. I hate money bail with a passion, but please vote NO on Prop 25.

Sources I care about that said Yes on 25: Harvey Milk LGBT Democratic Club, SEIU Local 1021, The Bay Guardian, SPUR, Cal Nurses union, San Francisco Tenants Union, SF Labor Council, California Federation of Labor, California Federation of Teachers, PICO California.

Sources I care about that said No on 25: The San Francisco League of Pissed-Off Voters, No Justice Under Capitalism, California NAACP, various individual human people whose advice on criminal justice policy I deeply trust, and the Justice LA Coalition, which includes:

Arts for Incarcerated Youth Network, Bend the Arc, Color of Change, Communities United for Restorative Youth Justice, Dignity and Power Now, Encode Justice, From Gangs to Glory Opportunities Foundation, Frontline Wellness Network, Human Rights Watch, La Defensa, Local 148 - Los Angeles County Public Defenders Union, Los Angeles Community Action Network, Prevention at the Intersections, Project Rebound, San Bernardino Free Them All, Silicon Valley DeBug, Stop LAPD Spying Coalition, The Coalition for Engaged Education, University of California Cops Off Campus Coalition Faculty Committee, Youth Justice Coalition, White People 4 Black Lives, Riverside All Of Us Or None.

Neutral: Chesa Boudin (San Francisco’s super-progressive D.A., who ran primarily on an abolish-money-bail platform but said he cannot endorse Prop 25 or SB 10 in their current form); the Ella Baker Center.

People whose positions I wanted to consult but could not find, probably neutral: CURB Prisons; Legal Services for Prisoners With Children (although the fact that Riverside All Of Us Or None, which I understand to be a local branch of the grassroots arm of LSPC, says No on 25 may speak to their position); Survived and Punished. If I find positions from any of these groups before Nov 3 I will update this post.

Addition:

Here is a position statement by Silicon Valley DeBug explaining that they helped co-sponsor the original bail reform bill that got mangled into SB 10, and they now refuse to support it. Relevant quote:

“This letter is to inform you that Silicon Valley De-Bug will no longer be a cosponsor of SB10, and are opposing the bill...the final version of SB10 is a complete departure from the original, and is antithetical to the principles of freedom and equal treatment that originally brought us into the legislative discussion.”

#prop 25 #pretrial detainment #jail #prisons #prison abolition #abolition

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ravenbrenna09 · 4 years

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When Isak is Also Even

This story is partially based on this post and here’s AO3 Link

...

Since wtfock season 3 has ended, I dived further into the lore and mythos of the Skam universe. Skam was a fandom that I always followed (when it was trending) but it was really Robbe and his season that fully brought me into it. Now, I’m in the midst of watching through Skam NL—I’m at the very beginning of episode 5—and I’m planning on watching España later on because I just love all that I’ve seen with the girl squad.

But, Lucas always surprised me as a character—but especially as an Isak because he always seemed to have Even-like traits. From what I’ve seen, he’s primarily headcanoned to go on and study art. Because of this, I decided to play around with the idea that he has equal traits of the two.

Because of this, I wanted to explore the idea that our “Isak” is given the storyline that Even normally represents especially given that Lucas’s own mother is bipolar as well. But, I did write Lucas as closeted as the other Isaks typically are at the beginning of their season—maybe more so?—so that is something to note. Now, of course, this is all fun and it’s just something that I wanted to explore—especially in a one shot.

but, this is also my birthday gift for @peaceoutofthepieces (who is currently still sleeping rn) and it’s basically midnight for me SO THAT MEANS IT’S OFFICIALLY YOUR BIRTHDAY. HAPPY BIRTHDAY NATALIE AND I HOPE YOU HAVE A WONDERFUL DAY.

It’s really short (about a length of a clip of Jij Verliest) but I wish it was so much longer but I couldn’t manage it. I hope you enjoy it <3

…

The second that an Even sees their Isak is when their story starts changing, for the better, and life goes on to form something more precious than it was before.

But, this story is different.

Lucas van der Heijden is an Isak—technically, in someone else’s story—but he moved to Antwerp to get away from his father who tried to control his life and breathe down his neck about his medication. His mother had encouraged him to do so—to try new things—and with the Academy sending him an acceptance letter, it seemed so perfect, to go live in his cousin’s spare bedroom and get away from his father. So, because of this, Lucas van der Heijden is also an Even—technically.

One day, in the midst of it all, Lucas spots someone who instantly has his attention. Because Lucas is technically an Even—as much as he is an Isak, the person in his sight is his Isak, in every sense of the word. But, his “Isak” also happens to be another’s “Jonas.”

...

Lucas van der Heijden

Standing in front of the classroom, his photography teacher, Mr. Maes, a recent graduate from the Academy who returned to teach, lectured on and on about the various lighting techniques and what they tell the viewer. Mr. Maes had his brown hair meticulously styled. Today, he decided to wear a long-sleeve black shirt that clung a little too tightly to his biceps and a pair of jeans that clung tightly to his hips. Despite Lucas’s interest in the class—photography was his favorite medium and this class was his favorite of the semester—his brain kept fading in and out of the lecture.

For whatever reason, his eyes kept returning to the curves of his muscles with a frustrating intensity. It was ridiculous that Lucas was getting distracted by something that didn’t interest him at all—outside of an artistic standpoint, of course—and he kept trying to force himself into the lecture. But, his brain also seemed to remind him of the text messages on his phones, the ones his father sent him as a botched attempt to bring him home despite his upcoming exam.

Dad: Come on Lucas. Your mother doesn’t understand.

Lucas: Really? She seemed fine when I called her. I have an art history exam next week that I have to study for. But I guess I don’t understand.

Dad: Lucas, that wasn’t what I meant.

Lucas: I know exactly what you meant.

Shoving away the thoughts of his father’s texts, Lucas’s eyes drifted back to Mr. Maes. Lucas was talking about lighter settings now, but his voice was growing increasingly muffled as the seconds stretched on. Lucas could feel his mind working, mentally sketching the scene in front of him—Mr. Maes enthusiastically talking about the various types of lighting. Normally, Lucas was always attentive during this class—as mentioned previously, it was his favorite class—but his mind continuing to wander was frustrating, to say the least.

His dad had to message him before his class, didn’t he?

There was a tap on his shoulder, jolting him out of his thoughts. Glancing around the room, Lucas realized that their class had been dismissed and Mr. Maes was conversing with several students who lingered. Lucas felt his cheeks flush, his thoughts returning to his head, as he tried to shove them away.

Eager for a distraction, Lucas turned to the person who broke him from his trance. His classmate, and friend of about a month, was standing beside him with his leather jacket thrown over his shoulder. Sander Driesen was shorter than Lucas with short brown hair that was growing out. He always wore some sort of graphic t-shirt and a pair of skinny jeans and Doc Martens. His Instagram was covered with pictures of him with bleach-blond hair—something that Sander insisted was returning as soon as his hair grew out again.

While they had bonded in the classroom, Lucas had met Sander two weeks before the semester starting… at their therapist’s office. Once they found out that they went to the same college—and found out they shared a class, they had become close. Sander was taking the class as an elective, but they still collaborated when given the chance. Sander knew about Lucas’s father and the spiral that ended with his diagnosis and his grief over leaving his mother. Lucas knew about Sander’s fascination for spray painting and his diagnosis at the age of sixteen and his artistic muse—his boyfriend who had hair that curled when it was too long.

A week ago, Lucas learned from his new roommate, Zoë, that Robbe, Sander’s boyfriend, had his room last autumn—but Lucas still hadn’t gotten the chance to physically meet him. Even though Sander had shown him every picture that he had of Robbe.

Sander stepped out of his way to let Lucas out and they slipped past their professor, who didn’t seem to notice Lucas’s absent mind. But, Sander did, asking as they headed out of the college, “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah,” Lucas said, shrugging his shoulders. “It’s just my dad being an ass, trying to get me to come home because my mom doesn’t ‘understand’ or whatever.” Sander scoffed, rolling his eyes. “I called her and told her that it was because of my Art History test next Wednesday.”

“Yeah, those Art History tests can be brutal,” Sander admitted.

“Thanks for the support.”

“You’re welcome.”

As they stepped outside of the building, the sunlight shined down upon them. On most days, the sun was energizing and bright. But, today, it felt daunting and tiring to Lucas. It might’ve been his text messages with his father, but the fact he got little sleep wasn’t helping matters. His cousin was… loud and Lucas didn’t have noise-canceling headphones like Zoë had acquired. Before Sander stepped away, Lucas asked, “What are your plans for the day?”

“Robbe and I are going out to dinner with some of his friends,” Sander said. “What about you? Did you want to come?”

“No, thank you though. I can’t today. I’m going to buy noise-canceling headphones and study some more for that brutal Art History test,” Lucas said.

“Milan?” Sander asked, grimacing. Lucas fervently nodded his head and Sander chuckled. “Maybe, one of these days, you can get him back someday.”

“I doubt it,” Lucas said. There was a flash of movement over Sander’s shoulder and Lucas’s eyes found it immediately. A person was running in their direction—or more specifically at them—with curly brown hair and a face that Lucas knew intimately for someone he never physically met. Before Lucas could even form a warning to Sander, Robbe was jumping onto his friend’s back. The force had nearly knocked Sander over and Lucas moved to help

Sander quickly found his balance, gripping onto Robbe’s thighs like a lifeline to keep him stable. The leather jacket that Sander held in his hand had hit the pavement and Lucas bent down to pick it up. His boyfriend’s legs were wrapped tightly around his waist and his arms bound around his shoulders. As Robbe pressed kisses against his boyfriend’s cheek, Sander exhaled, relaxing, “For fuck’s sake, baby, don’t do that.”

“Sorry,” Robbe said, giggling with a wide grin on his face. Sander reached out his hand to Lucas, making a grabbing motion for the leather jacket, and he handed it over without hesitation. As if noticing Lucas for the first time, Robbe glanced over at Lucas. “Oh, you must be Lucas, right? I’m Robbe.”

Lucas chuckled, glancing at Sander. “Yeah, I know who you are.”

“What do you mean?” Robbe asked. “I’ve never met—” There was a look of realization on his face and his cheeks flushed instant. Immediately, Robbe turned shy, burying his face in the crook of Sander’s neck. Lucas was barely able to hear a muffled, “That’s so embarrassing.”

Sander chuckled. “Don’t worry, I only showed him the PG sketches.”

Robbe pulled himself from Sander’s neck to say. “And that’s supposed to make me feel better?!”

“Woah,” Lucas said. He waved his arms as though he could somehow block out the newfound information tainting his mind. He covered his ears and took a step back away from the couple. “That’s too much information.” Still holding Robbe on his back, Sander nearly doubled over in laughter and Robbe gripped onto him tighter. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Sander. If I can even look you in the eye anymore.”

“You’ll understand one day,” Sander said, moving in the way Robbe had come. He lifted Robbe a little higher on his back as they walked away. “Goodbye, Lucas! I hope your dad stops being an ass and you study for your test!”

“Thanks,” Lucas said. “I’ll do my best. Nice to officially meet you, Robbe!”

“You too!”

Sander turned away, taking Robbe with him. Lucas watched the happy couple moved away from the school intertwined and holding onto each other. Robbe was still high on Sander’s back, clinging to him like a koala, and his face buried into Sander’s neck. The two of them looked so happy and proud, intertwined with one another so easily and simply. Lucas felt a sense of longing flash briefly in his chest as he watched their retreating forms.

Lucas moved in the opposite direction. His mind was already marking the path to the video store to buy a pair of the best noise-canceling headphones. As he pivoted to leave, his eyes caught sight of Sander and Robbe with someone else and—for whatever reason—Lucas halted to a stop without having gone too far away from his original destination.

There was a tall guy was walking up to Sander and Robbe. Behind him, two guys were chatting loudly but Lucas couldn’t hear him—and he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the guy in the center. The guy in question was taller than all of his friends, but his shoulders were slumped a little. Even though he had a maroon hoodie over his head, Lucas could tell that his hair was a jet black. Lucas could see his sharp jaw and the upturn of his lips as he teased Sander and Robbe.

He was beau—

Lucas cut off his thoughts, abruptly turning around.

Lucas’s brain was screaming at him to turn around, to make up some excuse as to why he can join, simply to find out the name of the beau—no, the man there. But, Lucas knew that he couldn’t. It wouldn’t make any sense for him to change his mind now. Forcing one foot to move in front of the other, forcing himself away from the guy that had captured his attention, Lucas swallowed deeply as he tried to keep his thoughts even.

Lucas had never been like that before.

It wouldn’t make sense for him to be like that now.

But, as he turned the corner, Lucas snuck a glance back to him—just to see the guy smile dazzlingly at Robbe and Sander.

...

Note: There was supposed to be a second part of this from Jens’ POV a few weeks later where Jens would actually meet him, but I wasn’t able to get it on time. I hope you enjoy this section and maybe I’ll do Jens’ POV after Jij Verliest ends?

#wtfock #skam nl #lucas van der heijden #jens stoffels #van der stoffels #vds #crackship #jens x lucas #lucas x jens #even!lucas #i just had a lot of fun playing with the role switches here lol #robbe ijzermans #sander driesen #lucas and sander friendship rise #i felt like it would be such an amazing friendship #but i can dream #long post

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hedwigstalons · 4 years

Text

High Expectations

This is a fic that I originally told myself I wouldn’t post any of until it was complete. Evidently I lied. It’s not complete but I do have 21k words and eight chapters built up already. It was meant to be Gordon’s story of how he ended up in WASP but the other brothers have decided to put in an appearance too (I blame the boys and also @willow-salix for encouraging them)

I’ve also set myself a secondary challenge with this to produce a piece of art for each chapter. I’m hoping to try out different styles and hopefully make some progress over time. This first bit was very much about getting a feel for the tools (a challenge seeing as I first have to wrestle the drawing pad away from the small person who just likes being able to make rainbow glitter pictures)

Anyway....

xoxoxox

Summary: Jeff Tracy has very strong beliefs about what he expects from his sons. Sometimes his expectations are at odds with what his sons themselves want from life, especially Gordon.

Chapter One

The office was tiny, barely large enough for the single desk it contained. It didn’t really matter. This room no longer had a permanent resident. State wide cuts to the careers service and an investment in online guidance meant that careers advisors were stretched across districts; a few lonely individuals doing the rounds of the high schools to dispense reassurance and wisdom in statutory ten minute blocks. As a consequence this area of the school hadn’t been refurbished in many years and had a general air of neglect. The carpet tiles had been worn bald in a clear path to the two chairs in the room, one in front of the desk and one behind. The painted cinderblock walls were covered in posters, bleached and faded by the California sun, bearing inspirational quotes.

You can do anything!

Be the change you want to see

Aim for the skies

The posters mirrored the sentiments he had heard at home too many times. Although at home they tended to come tinged with disappointment as he handed over yet another report card that didn’t meet the standard set by the siblings who had gone before. Yale, Harvard and the Denver School of Advanced Technology had already accepted a Tracy. Gordon just couldn’t match up to their lofty heights of academic success. He was bright but that just got overshadowed by the glittering trio above him. Anything he did had always been done better by at least one, but more often all, of his older brothers.

The pressure to achieve academic excellence had lessened slightly as his swimming training had ramped up in intensity. As competitions progressed from local, to state, to national, to international the family had grown to accept that this was no passing hobby. But Gordon still lived with the constant threat that he would be pulled out the pool if his grades dropped too low. It was taking all his energy to keep on top of his school work to the required B- average insisted on by his father so that he could keep doing the one thing he felt truly good at. The one thing that set him apart from his over-achieving brothers.

At least the teachers didn’t judge him or at least couldn’t judge him against his more intellectual siblings. As soon as John had graduated high school and started at Harvard, an accomplishment for which he was several years younger than the average after skipping a couple of grades, Jeff had moved himself and the youngest boys away from rural Kansas to Los Angeles. The old farmhouse was retained but was no longer a permanent base for the family.

The move to the city was a strategic decision by Jeff and one that was only delayed in order to allow John to complete his high school education without the disruption of an inter-state move. For Jeff it meant the ability to site himself in the commercial heartlands expected of the business that was flourishing under his direction. It also meant he was able to get back each night to care for his youngest children, even if he sometimes didn’t make it back to the apartment before midnight.

It may have been expected that Jeff Tracy, an individual rapidly climbing the lists of America’s richest and most influential individuals, would have used the move as an opportunity to enrol his youngest sons in the finest educational establishment Los Angeles had to offer. But Jeff Tracy was a man raised in Kansas wheat fields. A man for whom his own success and the successes of his eldest three sons had been built on the foundations of learning delivered in small town rural schools. What was good enough for him was good enough for all his children. There were no private tutors or exclusive schools. Gordon and Alan found themselves enrolled in the regular district school with its air of neglect and underfunding.

A large part of Gordon really wanted to be back in his math class. Not because he had any great fondness for the subject but because he found it hard in a way the others didn’t. He was not above digging out Virgil’s old annotated English texts or Scott’s history files if he wanted a bit of extra insight for his essays but math was different. Any notes left by his siblings were generally an incomprehensible scrawl. Not that any of them had made many math notes; they all seemed to just get it.

Gordon still remembered the first time after John had headed off to Harvard that he had called for help with his homework. John had tried to be patient but there had been an unmistakeable tone of annoyance accompanied by a condescending eye roll clearly visible on the call screen. Gordon had been left in no doubt that John found the idea of a Tracy struggling with algebra to be frankly insulting. Virgil had displayed rather more patience and understanding but the pity that came with the help was too much for Gordon to take. He didn’t want to find out what Scott’s reaction would be. The golden haloed first-born was becoming increasingly distant and superior as his career in the Air Force progressed.

And so Gordon ploughed on alone. Taking study guides to swim competitions to read between the heats. Trying to juggle the conflicting demands of Team USA and Team Tracy. The former striving for physical excellence and peak performance, the latter demanding excellence across the board.

The careers advisor on the far side of the desk looked up at the young man sat opposite her. The school records showed he was academically above average. He had prospects.

The students that entered her office tended to fall into three broad categories. There were the ones that didn’t really need their regulation advice session having already got their chosen career path mapped out, whether that involved furthering their education or just jumping straight into the local jobs market. There were those that were bewildered and clueless about where to turn next. Then there were those that just didn’t seem to care and who drifted through her office much like they drifted through the rest of their school career. She wondered which she would encounter in this interview.

“So Gordon” she smiled at the teenager, “have you considered what you want to do after you graduate high school?”

The teen looked at her with a slightly surprised expression.

“Swim, ma’am”

It was said bluntly and without preamble, accompanied by a mid-western politeness that the move to the city hadn’t shaken off. Stated as fact rather than as some hypothetical idea. She had encountered plenty of teenagers with dreams of making it big on the sporting circuit but very few made it professional. Usually the dreams were of football or basketball; swimming was a new one to add to her list.

“Swim?”

“Yes ma’am, swim. I’ve already got my qualifying time sorted. Come the summer I’ll be at the Olympics.”

Cogs clicked into place. This was her nineteenth interview of the day and the students were beginning to blur together, even with the supplementary notes put together by the tutors that actually got to see these kids each day. The low attendance scores suddenly made sense. Gordon Tracy, the rising star of the swimming circuit.

“Of course.” She flustered slightly over her notes. It was a new experience to have a member of the Olympic squad sat before her. But she was obliged to be a sounding board for his career choice for the next ten minutes. She couldn’t just send him back to class off the back of a one word answer. She decided to stick to familiar territory; if they know the plan, find out the backup plan.

“Have you considered what you will do after swimming? You have good grades here. I’d recommend making a college application.”

The youngster gave a hollow sort of chuckle. “Not good enough for anywhere that matters. I think I’ll stick to what I’m good at, ma’am.”

The interview was brought to a close by the final bell of the day and Gordon was glad to be able to scoop up his rucksack and escape the claustrophobic confines of the office. He was sure the careers advisor meant well but he felt that the session was a pretty pointless experience. Actually being in class would have been a better use of his time.

As he reached the front of the school he spied Alan waiting for him in their usual spot. The younger boy was scuffing his shoes in the dirt while waiting, the bored expression of his face breaking into smile when he saw his older brother. They set off on the short walk back the apartment.

“Good day, Al?”

“Yeah, ok”

“Much homework?”

Alan grimaced. He was about as fond of homework as Gordon was.

“I’ll take that as a yes. Well make sure you get on with it as soon as we get in. No video games until it’s finished.”

“Yes Sir!” The response was accompanied by a mocking salute which earned Alan a gentle whack on the back of the head.

“Hey, less of that. I’m not Scott. But seriously Al, just make sure you get it done. I’ve got an extra training session tonight but only a short one; you’ll have the place to yourself until about 6. I’ll sort us some dinner once I’m home.”

“Will you be able to play video games with me once you’re back.”

“Sorry, I’ll have my own work to get on with.”

Alan’s shoulders slumped dejectedly and his feet dragged along the sidewalk.

“Another quiet night then.”

Gordon hated seeing Alan so flat. The pair spent a significant amount of time together and, like all his brothers, he had a desire to protect the youngest. He wrapped an arm around the shoulders of the shorter boy and was rewarded with a shove in the ribs. Evidently anything even slightly resembling a hug in public was out this close to the school grounds.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

They had reached the apartment by this point. Gordon dashed inside to grab his swimming kit and left Alan with strict instructions to make sure he got all his homework done. He didn’t like leaving Alan home alone but it was a regular occurrence now. Their father wouldn’t be home for hours and with all the others moved away the youngest two had got used to fending for themselves. He left Alan with a promise that they would spend some time together later.

The training session passed in a blur of drills. There were now more days with both morning and evening training in preparation for the Olympics and the extra workouts were taking their toll. By the time Gordon reached the apartment his shoulders ached and all he wanted to do was stand under a scalding hot shower before collapsing in to bed. Unfortunately he knew he had other responsibilities to attend to first.

Gordon rolled his shoulders, plastered on a smile and scanned the entry system for the apartment.

xoxoxox

Normally weekday meals were Gordon’s domain or he was at least there to help out if Alan ventured into the kitchen. But he had completed his homework quicker than expected and in the boredom of the empty apartment it had seemed like a good idea to start dinner.

He took the pack of greens from the fridge, prodded the pan of pasta and gave the chicken a quick stir. As he sliced the greens an acrid smell assaulted his nostrils. The chicken, which had been cooking nicely until now seemed to have chosen the moment he took his eye off the ball to catch and stick to the bottom of the pan. Carefully prepared strips of prime breast disintegrated and crumbled as he tried to scrape the dried out offerings from the base of the pan. He cursed, turned out the stove, and went back to preparing the greens.

The clock ticked closer to 6pm. Steam rose in billows from the pan of greens which had reached a rapid boil. Perhaps he should have waited until Gordon was actually home before cooking the vegetables, the shredded leaves were starting to disintegrate.

At least the pasta should be ok.

The pasta which wasn’t boiling.

More cursing filled the air as Alan realised his error. In his attempt to salvage the chicken he had turned off the heat under the pasta as well. Perhaps he should have just let Gordon cook the whole thing. This was a mistake. All he wanted to do was free up some time in the hope of getting a game in with Gordon and instead he had ruined everything. He wondered if it was too late to dig out the emergency credit card and call for take out. He would just have to make sure Dad took it out of his allowance rather than Gordon’s.

The sound of the front door broke through his thoughts.

“Hi Alan.” The voice echoed up the hallway. Footsteps approached, only pausing briefly as a kit bag was launched into a room, landing in a corner with a heavy thud. Too late to salvage anything now, within moments Gordon was in the doorway. “Hey, you cooked. Thanks”

“No need to sound so surprised. Don’t thank me til you’ve tried it though. It’s, um, not really gone to plan.”

“I’m sure it’s fine. Want me to drain these pans while you get the plates out?”

Alan signalled his agreement by delving into the crockery cupboard leaving Gordon to drain and stir together the contents of the various pans. He wasn’t exactly looking forward to the meal but Gordon seemed grateful to be spared the chore.

Dinner was everything Alan expected it to be. They sat opposite sides of the kitchen counter, Gordon shovelling down vast quantities of noodles while he picked at his own much smaller portion. The meat was as dry as cardboard and stuck in his throat alongside the shards of undercooked pasta. Perhaps he ought to pay more attention in the kitchen, especially as Gordon was likely to be training more and more over the coming months.

Gordon’s fork clattered onto the empty plate before Alan was even half way through. He looked up to see eyes the colour of mahogany under the harsh kitchen lights looking at him with concern.

“You ok? You’ve hardly eaten.”

“I’m fine. Just wishing I’d ordered us a pizza instead.” He waved a forkful of charred chicken to emphasise his point.

This earned him a small chuckle and at least dispelled the worry.

“Hey, no complaints from me over it. I think my coach would have something so say about that too, we’ll save the pizza for the summer. I’ll start clearing up while you finish off. You still want that game?”

Alan grinned. Suddenly the pasta was a lot easier to stomach if there was a chance to thrash his brother in the goblin realms at the end of it.

xoxoxox

As the clock ticked past midnight and into the small hours of the morning Gordon lay in the darkness, sleep refusing to come. His normally comfortable bed felt too lumpy and he turned this way and that. First facing the blank wall next to the bed, then the ceiling and finally the open room. A shelf of trophies glinted faintly in the light that managed to spill around the edges of the heavy blackout curtains. Back in Kansas Gordon had rarely bothered closing his curtains; he had always been an early riser and was usually up long before the dawn in order to get to early morning training or fit in a gym session before school. But the pervading yellow glow of the city from the ever present light pollution wasn’t like the peaceful moon. On nights like this the city felt oppressive and he yearned for the open fields of home, as he still though of Kansas. Gordon might now be able to access better training facilities and coaches which had enhanced his Olympic prospects but he had never embraced city life.

He was exhausted. The training session after school had been intense and he had thrown himself into the drills with maximum effort. The gaming session had probably been a mistake but he hadn’t wanted to let Alan down. The kid had gone to the trouble of trying to make dinner and save him a job. Ok, the noodles had been still firm to the point of being slightly crunchy and the greens had been on the verge of turning to soup but it’s the thought that counts. It was calories. It was from his prescribed meal plan. It was mostly edible. He appreciated the level of consideration shown by a teenager who shouldn’t have any more pressing concerns than getting his chemistry paper completed and working out whether Ellen from World Studies class had a crush on him.

His own homework had been its usual slog. He wrote until his eyes became sticky and the notes he was reading became a jumbled blur. Sleep should have enveloped him within minutes of climbing into bed but instead the words from his earlier interview kept churning around his head. The thoughts drowning out even the gnawing ache in his overworked muscles.

What about after?

He had always managed to stave these thoughts off before. Whenever his father had made comments about future plans he has always managed to deflect the conversations. He didn’t have room in his head for anything other than visualising the dream. Why on earth should the words of a complete stranger, parroted from some state approved script, make life any different.

He was a Tracy. A name synonymous success and achievement. He had found his calling in a way that set him apart from the others.

He was going to swim.

He was going to represent his country.

He was going to win.

He ran through the visualisation that had been a constant companion in his head for years. He could feel the flow of the water over his body as his muscles flexed in perfect synchronicity. He could hear the roar of the crowd as the results flashed up on the scoreboard. He rode the wave of emotion as the medal was presented. This was the moment that would mark him out as more than just the fourth son of an astronaut. Gordon Cooper Tracy. A name in his own right.

With the sound of the national anthem still ringing in his ears Gordon tried to visualise the next steps. He tried to force the dream beyond its current conclusion but instead found only darkness.

#thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #high expectations #Gordon Tracy #my art

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thejustmaiden · 4 years

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Ugh, I'm tired of my blogs disappearing from the tags! So I'm copying and pasting my answer to this ask I received and posting it again with a few tweaks! The ask reads:

"I've seen so many shippers say that sesshomaru would be such a terrible parent because he didn’t give her shoes or didn’t prevent her death and that’s why it’s not a father-daughter relationship. Yet also claim that he loved her and proposes to her (drama cd 12 year old girl) and somehow those same arguments don’t count? There’s no leg to stand on to argue that sesshomaru and rin were romantic because that’s literally pedophilia, so the only thing they can do is claim he was a terrible guardian?"

Hey anon, thanks for the ask! Hope I can help. :)

You made some great points, thank you!! By their logic, why would somebody even want Sesshomaru with adult Rin at all if he was such a terrible "companion" to her in the first place? If they really believe he neglected her that much and put her in harm's way all the time (because let's be willfully ignorant here and pretend he didn't rescue her multiple times too and eventually leave her to live a normal *safer* life with Kaede), shouldn't they be concerned that he'd be just as bad to her in a romantic relationship once she's old enough, too? That should be something that crosses their mind as well if they weren't so preoccupied with Sesshomaru's supposed lack of parenting skills.

A lot of those shippers like to act like we're only attacking them for implying they must be pedophiles or that they condone pedophilia, but I personally would never make such a nasty accusation about a person in real life. Often times they refuse to address those other serious issues we have with this ship though, because it's really just the pedophilia talk they'll focus on since that's their only easy point to refute.

Aside from the possibility of Sesshomaru grooming Rin since her time in the village, a lot of us anti-s*ssrin fans never actually viewed him as a pedophile-like caretaker to begin with during their times traveling together. The only reason we even bring that up is because we simply cannot ignore when those shippers insist that:

1. He supposedly proposes to her (even when she's still only a child)

2. He's not like a father to her anyway so that's totally acceptable

Nah, even if they're right about him not being like a father to her, that's still plain wrong!! Because then now they're trying to justify an adult male very inappropriately making a move on a young girl here! Perhaps he wasn't pressuring her or forcing himself on her like a true pedophile would do at or around the time of the proposal, but can they really stand there and say that they'd be more than okay with witnessing something like that in real life and not in the slightest cringe??

Okay, this is where a lot of them will argue that this is not real life (so I guess that means we can forgive the child grooming if it's just fiction?), or that older men courting girls soon-to-be young women was the norm in feudal Japan so then that's cool in their books, too. The thing is, even if we can tolerate all that like they do, that's not enough reason to deem it acceptable since it's more than about that. We MUST also factor in that Sesshomaru isn't just some man who took a liking to a blossoming Rin he saw from afar. No no, this man KNEW her and was LIKE a father to her, too!

We can't stress that enough really! Whether by their standards he was a bad father or not doesn't matter, because all that does matter is that he took on a role resembling that of a father- YES, even if we never hear them call each other father or daughter exactly. We also didn't hear him claim outright that he's (falling) in love with her like you all assume either, so why is one implied but not the other?! It's not like Sesshomaru is known to be a demon of many words anyway, but his actions have sure demonstrated and proven to all of us that he cares for this young girl he took in very deeply and very truly.

I mean, just look at the large portion of fan art out there for Sesshomaru and young!Rin (not S*ssrin). He's usually fondly embracing Rin or comforting her like a GOOD father or male guardian/caretaker would. So somebody please explain to me why Sesshomaru is only sweet or loving to Rin when it's convenient to your narrative but not ours? You can't just take an angle on their relationship and bend it at your will to justify him being a terrible demon father who didn't know how to protect a young human girl on one hand, but then show and share all this fan art of him doing the exact opposite on the other! It just makes no sense at all. You can't have your cake and eat it too!

So the special bond they formed over the YEARS they traveled alongside each other isn't something they can up and forget just because Rin is finally an adult. That can't simply clean their slate as if they had no prior established history between them. Their relationship is akin to one a young girl shares with a grown man who looks after her for a significant amount of time (she didn't view him as just some demon; at the very least he was her lord/vassal from the get-go).

So knowing all that we know about what they've endured together, I'd like to believe that Rin could never ever develop romantic feelings for her main male role model, because whether he was physically there for her less than Jaken was is irrelevant here. What it comes down to is that Sesshomaru is the one she really looked (up) to since that day he brought her back to life. He has protected and cared for her the best way he's been able to and in a way everyone else in her life failed to before. It's safe to assume that Sesshomaru filled that role as you can tell that she finally felt safe and loved for the first time in her life. Now if Rin were to start to become sexually attracted to this demon who basically came to represent everything she lacked in a family, then I'd be deeply troubled and concerned for her mental health. And the same thing applies to Sesshomaru.

I would hope that whenever I have children someday, that they would never become physically intimate with whomever was their babysitter back when they were little. Nah, that man would be arrested!! He was around to watch her grow up and the thought of that being sexualized or romanticized, even if it wasn't intentional, makes me sick. I don't care if she's a consenting adult who is free to make her own decisions or that he's a demon so it's different (it's not), because I guarantee you this is not an image any of us ever want to picture when you really put this into a perspective you can better relate to and understand! And I didn't even choose an example with a father. I mean, can you even imagine that? Yeah, I rather not either.....

Nobody liked it when Woody Allen did it in real life regardless if he makes excellent movies, so why would I like to see it on my TV even if it's one of my favorite characters? Nope, Sesshomaru is amazing- and yes, nOt rEaL- but not even he gets a free pass here. Nobody should in any capacity or on ANY MEDIUM (fantasy, reality, etc.) be remotely allowed to get away with such a disgusting act even if it used to be tradition. And no, this isn't just some Western way of thinking. This is a 21st century way of thinking!

Recently, another user on here nicely pointed out to me that an adult can form loving relationships with children and it not be considered a parental one. At that moment, it was like a little light bulb went off in my head!!!! Yessss, this is so true and I don't know why I didn't think of it earlier!! Because all that S*ssrin shippers like to repeat over and over again to us (as well as to themselves), is that Sesshomaru was not Rin's father. So fine, hypothetically speaking, let's say he isn't her adoptive father. That still doesn't take away from the truth that he was very much invested in the overall safety and well-being of this young girl. He contributed to her care even if it was just passing a message along to Jaken before taking off again. I was a teacher for a few years, and the love and affection I had for those children was real, even if I wasn't their parent and I didn't see them every day. That doesn't change the fact that I would've done absolutely anything in my power to keep them safe-- I would've even gone to the underworld and back!!! You know, kinda like that one character we keep discussing who was allegedly such a bad dad. 😉

So you see, you don't need to be the parent or even around all the time to love and care for a child. Bottom line is that Rin, Sesshomaru, Jaken, and Ah-Un are a FAMILY! Granted, they may be a little dysfunctional, but it's not like there's such a thing as the perfect family. They may be far from what a conventional family looks like too, but that doesn't make their family any less valid. Nothing or nobody can or should ever change that ❣

#inuyasha #hanyo no yashahime #anti sessrin #asks #repost

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carewyncromwell · 4 years

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Hey, guys! So I don’t really have enough material in this most recent side quest to work with to create full roleplaying posts for it (largely because the writing for this quest was stilted as all get out and there really weren’t very high stakes)...so instead, I’ll be doing something a little different, and simply writing out my personal rewrite of the quest’s storyline, as performed by my MC, Carewyn. Most of the overall framework of what happened in the quest will still be there, but I will try to flesh out or rewrite some things to hopefully better develop the ideas and help them more smoothly fit into canon. Hope you enjoy!

When Lucius Malfoy first arrived at Hogwarts, Carewyn was immediately suspicious of him. She wasn’t familiar with the man, but she thought that his timing of coming to Hogwarts for an inspection only after the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher went on the run from the law reeked of the school governors and/or Ministry of Magic wanting to put forward a good show of looking after the students for the press, so that they couldn’t be condemned for their inaction.*

* = (Yes, I know this quest is supposed to be aimed at year 2, but...well...I honestly can’t justify why year 2 would be when an inspection would happen. I suppose the Ice Curse was still in effect, but it’s not like the Ministry or the school governors took any action in response to the danger of the Vaults, even though it seems like the perfect ammunition for Lucius to use against Dumbledore. He was able to coax all of the school governors to sack Dumbledore in the name of saving students during the Chamber of Secrets arc later on, so it feels like this could’ve been done here too, if the Ice Vault was still raging. Dumbledore would also have little reason to think we’re “good at solving mysteries” if this takes place in year 2, since we at that point haven’t even successfully dealt with one Cursed Vault yet. So in this version of events, Lucius has only just become a school governor in anticipation of his son, Draco, attending school in the next few years. And because the Statue Vault and Rakepick are currently being tackled by the Ministry already, Lucius doesn’t really have any more action he can take. It also makes very little sense for a five-year-old Draco to be brought along to Hogwarts. His mother Narcissa is a stay-at-home mother, and even in the films, it’s pretty clear she -- and Lucius, at least in the books -- wouldn’t want her precious bb boy being taken care of by a pair of strangers with no experience in child-rearing. And I don’t think either movie! or book!Lucius would want any “bad influences” like protagonist MC around his son at that age, either -- at least by age nine, Draco would be pretty locked into the pureblood beliefs he’s been raised with, and since he’d be attending school in two years, it would give Draco a good preview of what his school life will be like ahead of time.)

Carewyn’s suspicions only heightened when Flitwick summoned her and Ben to the Charms classroom and Lucius Malfoy was there talking to Professor Flitwick. She had been very flattered by Flitwick’s praise of her Charm work...but the way Lucius looked at her when he turned to her...

Even though yes, Carewyn didn’t like the mention of Jacob, there was something else she could sense in Lucius’s eyes -- something intrigued. Although he smiled very pleasantly, there was a definite marked interest in his voice, not unlike how Professor Tofty greeted her upon first meeting. Lucius had definitely heard a lot more than just about Jacob -- but despite this, Carewyn merely gave Lucius a very cool smile in return.

Lucius’s condescension toward Ben for his blood status only made Carewyn dislike Lucius all the more. When he’d left the room, Carewyn agreed with Ben’s distaste for the school governor immediately.

“Professor Flitwick,” she said slowly, “are the Malfoys an old Wizarding family?” Carewyn had heard plenty of stories about her mother’s family and their particular dislike of Muggles, so it seemed logical to think the Malfoys were like them.

Flitwick had confirmed that yes, they were, adding that Lucius could be difficult sometimes. “But he is one of the school governors,” he’d said. “So we simply must cooperate.“

After Potions class, Merula and Carewyn were both forwarded to Dumbledore’s office by their Head of House, Severus Snape. While waiting for Lucius Malfoy to arrive, Merula explained a bit more about Lucius Malfoy’s history with Voldemort, which thoroughly justified Carewyn’s distrust of the man. When Dumbledore and Lucius arrived, however, Carewyn and Merula soon found themselves roped into looking after Lucius’s son, the bratty nine-year-old Draco Malfoy.

Okay -- I know a lot of people liked how Draco was portrayed in the game and enjoyed how he (if you picked to protect his secret) expressed genuine admiration for MC, but...yeah, in this version of events, he’s not nearly so cute. (I mean, come on, in the books, Harry compared Draco to Dudley on first meeting -- this kid has some serious issues with empathy and a real selfish streak. He might be a lot more clever than Dudley, but in my mind, he should be pretty fun to hate at this stage, rather than cute.)

For one, because he’s older, Draco’s in less need of babysitting and more in need of guidance. Lucius thought it only fitting that two such promising students show Draco the best Hogwarts has to offer -- and Draco, being older and therefore even more entitled, arrogant, and condescending than he’s portrayed in the game, was sizing up his competition just as much as he was tailing after them. His father Lucius had told him all about Merula’s parents and about Carewyn’s reputation as a Cursebreaker, so he knew that both girls were incredibly powerful and thus were both people Draco should have in his circle, whether as allies or as pawns. While Lucius was at school, he became very talented at making connections, which has served him well in the present by giving him the power to either sway or pressure people into doing things his way -- and Draco not only is expected to do the same, but the young Malfoy heir is eager to follow in his father’s footsteps and already be the “big man on campus” when he starts at Hogwarts. Even if both Carewyn and Merula will be graduated by the time he starts school, those ties could still be very beneficial down the road.

That being said, Draco and Merula did still instantly end up at each other’s throats. Even if Draco was supposed to “get Carewyn and Merula in his circle,” thanks to his spoiled upbringing by his parents, Draco has no social skills whatsoever, and so has little idea of how to charm people without putting down others in the process. Even though (or perhaps because) Merula was a bully herself most of her school career, she reacted very harshly to Draco’s nasty attitude, and soon the two were verbally smacking each other around with barbed, personal insults.

Despite her growing dislike for both Lucius and his son, Carewyn did everything she could to be the mediating force between them and even successfully distracted Draco by asking about his interests and taking him to the Quidditch pitch. Not long after they arrived, Draco succeeded in snatching a spare broom and started flying around the pitch.

Merula sincerely hoped that he’d fall and break his neck, but Carewyn -- even if she didn’t particularly like Draco -- knew it’d be terrible if he did hurt himself. So she boarded her own Cleansweep (which she’d kept locked in the Slytherin Quidditch tent, in case one of Orion’s players needed a spare broom) and took off after Draco.

Once in the air, Carewyn kept her wand close in case something went wrong. Fortunately she needn’t have feared -- within a minute, she could see that Draco was a very talented flier. In an attempt to distract him away from fighting with Merula, Carewyn suggested that she could teach Draco some flying tricks. Draco was scornful at first, until Carewyn weaved through the stands and threaded the needle through all three goal posts before sweeping into an extreme dive and pulling up mere feet from the ground. She smirked up at Draco, folding her legs over her broom so she could lean back effortlessly with her arms crossed over her chest.

“Ready for a lesson now, Mr. Malfoy?” she called up to him coolly.

The young Malfoy heir couldn’t hide the greedy look in his eye at the thought of learning those cool tricks, nor could he hide how thrilled he was learning how to do an extreme dive.

Once the two had finally come back down to the ground, Draco asked Carewyn if she was on the Slytherin Quidditch team. When she said no, explaining that she just didn’t have the time to devote to Quidditch, Draco reacted with scorn.

“Because of those Vaults, I guess?” he presumed.

He said that his father had told him all about Carewyn’s Cursebreaking, and her family too -- that her brother was a delinquent and her mother had run away from home to marry a Muggle. Merula was actually a bit startled by this, not having heard that particular fact about Carewyn’s mother, but Carewyn herself kept her temper, even as her tone grew cooler and dryer than ever.

“My family may not be perfect, but I’m proud of it, all the same,” she said softly.

What she didn’t add out loud was, “I certainly wouldn’t be proud of my family if I were in your shoes.”

A bit miffed he hadn’t been able to get a rise out of Carewyn, Draco soon enough turned his attentions back to Merula. He ranted about how his father had said Hogwarts was going to the dogs and about how they had so many Mudbloods amongst their ranks. Carewyn stiffened very sharply at the use of the word.

“That is not a word to be used in civilized conversation,” she told him very severely.

“My father says it all the time,” Draco argued.

“Really?” said Carewyn, her lips turning up in a cool smile. “Don’t reckon that’s something you should admit too readily, given your own family’s history -- I wager a fair number of people at this school would hex you to belch slugs for using a word like that.”

Merula's face broke out into a smug smirk. “Don’t give me any ideas, Cromwell.”

This change in topic, however, led to Draco wanting a proper dueling lesson from Merula and Carewyn. Naturally, because Draco didn’t have a wand of his own and they certainly weren’t going to lend him theirs, the two girls refused -- and soon enough, they got word that Lucius was finished with his inspection and would be leaving the school soon.

Of course, that didn’t happen, because sure enough, Lucius’s wand went missing. The prime suspect? The Malfoy family house elf, Dobby.

Carewyn had little experience with house-elves prior to Dobby (only having met Pitts the previous year), so the poor elf’s maltreatment at the Malfoys’ hands greatly upset her. Determined to prove his innocence, she asked Dobby to tell her whatever he could say without hurting himself and -- upon Dobby trying to smack his own head against the ground -- she actually bent down and grabbed hold of him in both hands to try to wrestle him into not hurting himself.

“It’s okay, Dobby,” she kept telling him. “I’ll make sure you don’t get blamed.”

It didn’t take long at all for Carewyn to get to the bottom of who had taken the wand. If Dobby felt he couldn’t tell her who the thief was because he couldn’t speak ill of the Malfoy family, then there was only one possible suspect. Catching up with Merula and Draco, she confronted the Malfoy heir about having taken his father’s wand. Draco denied it at first, but pretty quickly came clean.

“I’m not too young to learn how to duel!” he said. “I wouldn’t have borrowed Father’s wand if you’d just lent me yours!”

After some prodding, Draco admitted where he’d hidden his father’s wand. It didn’t take long for Merula to find it.

Despite the younger boy’s bravado, though, Carewyn could still tell that Draco hadn’t meant for this whole thing to go so far. He wasn’t really sorry about the thought that Dobby could be blamed for something he did -- but he’d enjoyed what he’d learned so far and wanted to stay at Hogwarts a little longer so he could learn some spells.

Feeling some compassion despite herself, Carewyn sat down on the edge of the fountain next to Draco.

“If you give me your solemn word only to use this in a formal duel,” she said very seriously, “I will teach you one spell. Do we have a deal?”

His eyes once again greedy for knowledge, Draco nodded and eagerly agreed. Holding out her wand in front of her, Carewyn told Draco to put his hand on top of hers. Then she walked him step-by-step through the wand movements for the spell “Everte Sactum,” the Stumbling Hex.

“When you cast this correctly, it will hurl your opponent off their feet,” she explained. “That can then give you the time you need to get away, if you’re in trouble.”

Her eyes then narrowed sharply upon Draco’s face. “Remember your word, though -- you will only use this in a duel, not for fun. Got it?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Draco said breezily, but he was grinning from ear to ear all the same.

The group met back up with Lucius Malfoy and Dumbledore in the Headmaster’s Office. When Lucius asked Carewyn who had stolen the wand, she answered simply,

“No one, as far as I can tell. Merula found it on the floor near the Entrance Hall -- no thief to be seen.”

After all, Draco had only admitted to “borrowing” his father’s wand -- not stealing it.

”There’s no evidence that Dobby couldn’t have still taken it,” said Lucius.

Dobby shook his head frantically, wringing his hands desperately as he insisted he didn’t take the wand and never would. Carewyn very gently cut off Dobby’s denials by pointing out that house elves can’t lie to or speak ill of their masters without hurting themselves. The fact that Dobby was not hurting himself while claiming he didn’t take the wand was proof in itself that he didn’t commit the crime. And everyone must be considered innocent until proven guilty...right?

Lucius considered Carewyn carefully, his gray eyes oddly critical and shrewd upon her face -- then he inclined his head in an abridged nod.

“...Wisely said, Miss Cromwell. You could be an excellent lawyer, with sentiments such as those.”

His gray eyes narrowed ever-so-slightly as his lips curled up in a cool smile.

“I daresay that would please your grandfather quite a bit.”

Carewyn’s blood ran cold. Lucius Malfoy was in touch with her grandfather, Charles Cromwell? She’d never met her mother’s father before -- but given that Lucius Malfoy spoke highly of him, she wondered more than ever if she was incredibly fortunate in that...

For his part, Lucius seemed satisfied by how taken aback Carewyn was and, with a flourish of his cloak, swept toward the office door.

“Come, Draco,” he called over his shoulder.

Before Draco left, he paused, turning back to look at Carewyn.

“I won’t forget that,” he said. “What you did.”

He didn’t need to articulate what he meant.

“And I swear -- when we’re both done at Hogwarts, we’ll meet again, Cromwell. And when we do, I’ll be the greatest wizard ever -- greater than you could ever be.”

Despite the arrogance in his expression, Draco was still grinning from ear to ear in a kind of vicious determination.

Carewyn’s blue eyes grew a little smaller as she smirked in return.

“Good ambition. Just keep in mind -- there are many ways to be ‘great.’“

With an offhand scoff, Draco turned on his heel and followed his father, not fully able to bite back the smile still clinging to his lips.

When Dumbledore, Carewyn, and Merula were out of earshot, Lucius spoke to Draco at last.

“She knew you took my wand, didn’t she?” he asked.

Draco, although startled, reluctantly nodded.

“And yet she dared lie to my face,” said Lucius in dark amusement. “Rather effectively, too. Tell me -- what did you think of her, Draco?”

Draco shrugged offhandedly. “All right, I guess. She’s a decent flier -- and her spellwork’s okay.”

“Coming from you, that’s high praise,” said Lucius dryly. His lips curled up in a wry smile. “Seems I was right to think I should keep an eye on her advancement...”

Dobby was so grateful to Carewyn that he said that if she ever needed him, she only had to ask. Carewyn was very happy for that -- she had a feeling that she could use at least one friend in the Malfoy household, if Lucius really had such close ties to her mother’s family.

#carewyn cromwell #gameplay #hphm #hogwarts mystery #roleplaying #lucius malfoy #draco malfoy #merula snyde #dobby #albus dumbledore #ben copper #filius flitwick #my writing #au #headcanon

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chaoticspacefam · 3 years

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OC Music Meme

I was tagged for this by @actualanxiousswampwitch ! Thank you & sorry it took so long, didn’t have time to write this out before I left for holiday stuff so here we go! I shall tag: @actualanxiousswampwitch (go on give us another one XD), @a-muirehen , @kyber-heart , @thedinalixlegacy (no pressure as always, I know I’m kinda late now sksjkshskhs!) and anyone else who wants to do this, yes, I promise I mean you!

art is by @ ocellifera on deviantART! :D

Let’s do Aria this time, shall we! Since her playlist is the second-longest, and her and Vano’s ship playlist is the longest, we’ll have the most (probable options! Long post so goin’ under a cut. Additional TW’s for: drugs, alcohol, alcoholism, drug addiction and murder, in case I’ve forgotten to add it to the song-specific sections. If you click past this cut, know that this is what you may find there.

reminds you of them most: It was super hard to pick just three for hers, there were so many others I wanted to include here, but couldn’t, as I wanted to make sure I included songs that covered as much of her over-arching characterisation as I could. Honourable mentions to: Miss Jackson - Panic! At The Disco feat. LOLO, Wilson (Expensive Mistakes) - Fall Out Boy, Beekeeper - Keaton Henson, and Bones Of A Rabbit - Young Heretics, which can all be found (and more) on her Spotify Playlist - catch-all warning for: sex, drugs, violence and murdering of parents applies here, be aware her playlist is very dark, just as dark as Rai’s but with differing subject matter, proceed with caution if you find anything like that triggering!)

You’re Going Down - Sick Puppies :: This one is kinda self-explanatory. I heard it on a Spotify or Youtube shuffle at some point a year or so ago and immediately went “Oh, hey Aria!” so onto her playlist it went XD “Because I'm hyped up out of control If it's a fight, I'm ready to go I wouldn't put my money on the other guy If you know what I know that I know.” don’t mess with the Tiny Sith, guys, she will put you in the medbay. She’ll do it, she’s done it before ask Vano what happened to the last guy *nods*

Liar - The Arcadian Wild :: This is a relatively “new” song in comparison, which was sent to me by a good rp/writer friend on Discord (who afaik doesn’t have other socials!) that I often discuss plot points etc. with among other things, saying “hey this reminded me of Aria thought you’d like it!”. I listened to it and yep, sure enough, it’s an Aria song. A big part of Aria’s character is that at the start, she really is quite a bad person. She’s nasty, and cantankerous and she really doesn’t care about anybody except for herself (and maybe her dad. A tiny bit.), as things progress, however, while she is still inherently quite rude and selfish, she DOES learn to value other people...provided they are people she cares about, like Vano, and her friends, and so on, as well as (sometimes, she’s working on it still) taking the blame for her own actions and learning it’s not “weak” or bad to a) admit you care about people, b) make mistakes and c) admit those mistakes and take responsibility for them. "I sense there’s trouble ahead, it’s clear by the signs and warnings. That should tell where all blame is due, So why are they pointing at MY head? [...] I sense deception to come. Honestly, truth and I are never one. 'Cause I am the lying man and I have made you my next victim. I need you to see through my act, to tell me I'm wrong, to take off the mask, or else I'll be left in the lie. And I'll deceive my way straight to demise! Cause I’m not in the right state of mind, I just wish I had strength to admit it. My stubbornness will put up a fight! But I don’t deserve to win it... I’m left in the dark, pondering my mistakes But in the light I swear I will, deny it all...”

I didn’t mean to post like half the song but woops it’s done so have it anyway lmao

Brutus - The Buttress :: TW: intense violent imagery in the lyrics. This one is very relevant but contains spoilers for upcoming and as of yet unposted/incomplete chapters (as in...like 3 ish chapters time at most) of Creeping Shadows, so I’ll post this quote as “explanation” and let you theorize who it’s about

“My name is Brutus and my name means “heavy” So with a heavy heart I'll guide this dagger into the heart of my Enemy! My whole life you were a teacher and friend to me Please know my actions are not motivated only by envy I too have a destiny! This death will be art! The people will speak of this day from near and afar This event will be history, And I'll be great too! I don't want what you have, I wanna be you!!“

reminds another character of them:

Where’s My Love? - SYML :: (Vano) I think the acoustic version is especially emotional : ))) Vano looked for her for years but couldn’t find her and genuinely thought Aria was dead. You can understand why she was so fucking angry when she found out that was a lie...but at the same time, she just wanted her love to come home :( “Did she run away? Did she run away? I don't know If she ran away, If she ran away, Come back home Just come home“

Mothers - Daughter :: (Myla, her mother) “Love all you need to love before it goes... When your face becomes a stranger’s that I don’t know. You will never remember who I was to you [...] I’m called “mother”, but they’re called “home”.”

Myla raised Aria for the first few years of her life, and really wanted to keep her away from both the Jedi and the Sith but as it became more and more clear that Aria’s Force affinity was as strong as her father’s, the situation rapidly spiralled out of Myla’s control. She tried to hide Aria, but in the end her father Noctis did find them and take Aria to train with the Sith. She didn’t see her daughter again until she was a teenager, suddenly turning up with the task to kill her for treason against the Empire (Myla is not the canon Imp Agent, but follows the general trajectory of the LS!Agent storyline i.e. an agent disillusioned with the Empire who eventually defects to the Republic with the help of the SIS.). Though she’s a Senator on Onderon now, Myla carried a blaster for personal protection and ofc knows how to use it, except...she couldn’t shoot her own daughter and that was all she wrote. I imagine her thought process during her final moments went something like in this song, especially the bit that I highlighted up there.

reminds you of a relationship of theirs, doesn’t have to be romantic, can be paternal, friendly, etc:

Tongues & Teeth - The Crane Wives :: Aria & Vano (Romantic). Aria’s relationship with Vano is incredibly messy and complicated. On one hand, she knows Vano deserves better, but at the same time she doesn’t want her to go anywhere else and it seems like no matter what she does to try and “warn her off” about what a “bad person” she is, Vano keeps coming back anyway. Ergo, this song. "Oh, I will ruin you. I will ruin you. It’s a habit...I can’t help it. I know that you mean so well, but I am not a vessel for your good intent. I will only break your pretty things, I will only wring you dry of everything! But if you’re fine with that, if you’re fine with that [...] You can be mine.”

Colours - Halsey :: Aria & Merak & Ziri (Friendship/Platonic Love) “You’re only happy when your sorry head is filled with dope, I hope you make it to the day you’re 28 years old...”

Aria “coped” (i.e. not very well but she did it) with the guilt of killing her mother and the stress brought on by the night terrors by self-medicating with glitterstims (spice) and alcohol, and this is how Merak in particular remembers her. Though she got clean from spice after they picked up Ziri, she still continued to drink (and still does) quite heavily, though at least it’s easier to manage that habit. Both of them supported her through this the best they could and it’s probably a big reason (other than Merak being Vano’s little brother) that they’re still Aria’s friends to this day, even if she doesn’t actively travel with them anymore.

(honourable mention to Agnes - Glass Animals which also falls under this “category” but I didn’t want this to get too crowded lmao, it is once again a super long post woops) You’re Gonna Go Far, Kid - The Offspring :: Aria & Roan/Darth Noctis (Familial/Familial Love) Listen, he may have taught her very bad emotional habits and turned her into a tiny attack dog, but her father did love & protect her the best way he possibly could. He was very proud of her and always envisioned her taking his place as a Darth one day (and it takes her a longass while, but eventually she does! Congrats dad!). That’s all I’ve got to say about this one 🤷‍♀️ Monster - Willyecho :: Aria & Satele Shan/The Jedi Order (Enemies to Begrudging Respect (eventually) “I can see the truth. No, you don’t have to lie to me. Don’t fill your head with things and think you’re free~ [...] You don’t believe in monsters, do you~?” ”Of course not!” ”Well, I do...” See me change...into something...darker....” My personal favourite from this “round”. It’s not until Ilum that Satele and the Jedi finally realise they have not “converted” Aria as they thought they did, but rather...they’ve had a Sith hiding under their noses, a Sith related to a Dark Councillor well-known for murdering Jedi no less, and that perhaps...the “deaths” she had convinced them were accidental, were in fact, not an accident at all. 😈 Aria, of course, gets her ass thrown in jail for a few years for this lmao When the schtick with the Revanites happens and Theron needs someone who can “negotiate in a civil manner with Sith”, he and his mother agree Aria is the best bet - if it works, the Sith will respond more positively to her than any other Jedi, if they kill her instead then they’re “rid of” her and don’t lose one of their own - when Lana’s point-of-contact happens to be Vano and the pair reunite after another several years apart, Aria refuses to return to the Republic after Yavin IV. By then, she’s developed enough of a begrudging respect for Satele (and vice versa) that the Grand Master lets her go (not that she was willing to try and fight Vano, Ni’kasi, Marr & Lana to try and take Aria prisoner again anyways). They haven’t seen each other since and though Aria is neutral to the Jedi who have joined the Alliance, she doesn’t care for those who are still loyal to the Republic and would rather have nothing to do with them if she can help it.

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