#when immigrants can speak their own language with one another maybe because my parents were also immigrants that found each other in canada
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I saw Elemental and while it was far better than it looked, I had some issues.
First off, fantasy racism is hard to do properly because most writers make the fatal error of making the oppressed people too powerful.
Like X men. Oh, it's a metaphor for racism against black people in America...except black people don't shoot fucking death killing laserbeams from their buttholes every time they take a fart.
Or say, Zootopia. A well meaning allegory, but it still implies people of color are actually a threat to the rest of the population???
Like I don't care if a "bunny can go savage."
You still present the oppressed race, of predators, as being scarier and bigger and more easily able to hurt others.
So Elemental had the same issues.
It basically said, well, the fire people are the last wave of immigrants. They are discriminated against the most because they are new. They speak another language and no one likes them because they burn things and they can hurt the rest of us, so we keep them in these segregated communities, that are more fire safe.
Now here's the issue with that, if you haven't already noticed...
Once again, we get a race of people who are a thinly veiled metaphor for immigrants...but the issue is...
The fire people ARE a legitimate threat to the earthy, leafy people. They can literally kill them. They literally burn off pieces of their bodies in the damn film.
Now technically the wind and water people are less in danger, but we literally see in the movie that the fire people are WAY more of a threat than any other people. The main character literally blows the fuck up.
She destroys several plot important things when she can't control her temper!!! She destroys her own father's shop. Several times.
It's implied that fire people can also EVAPORATE the water people too.
So therein lies the issue.
If we saw the water people being more destructive, I could forgive it! If we saw more equal distrust between all the people, then maybe I could buy it. There ARE hints that the wind people have an affinity for lightning, which you would think could be a destructive force too, just as much a threat to water! And water can douse fire, right? So that's also bad, and that at least has some basis in the film?
But the problem is that the larger society only sees fire as bad...and the metaphor doesn't come across, when you focus on just fire and show us the many, many bad things fire can and does do to the other elements.
Now here's the thing that really annoys me.
The racism/discrimination against immigrants metaphor was okay. It had some nuance, at least. I enjoyed some of the very thoughtful discussions of what it means to be a second generation immigrant and the stresses of trying to live up to your parents' expectations of you.
I actually enjoyed the romance too. They were oddly sweet, and the heroic sacrifice in the end was genuinely touching.
But the movie's racism metaphor was too strong, and it has bad implications, given how much of a threat all of the races are to each other, whether it's equally divided between them or not.
This is not at all applicable to real life. Our differences are not so fucking fundamental. They are cultural and only very, very slightly biological. Our DNA is not so fucking different that this metaphor works, at all.
These kind of movies make the unintentional point that races are cut and dry categories, and all we need to do is accept these alien creatures so different from us into our society.
This is not true.
Like what the fuck. This is so not true. Every single race on earth can and does reproduce with one another, plus we've all been intermixed since the beginning of fucking time.
So that metaphor just breaks itself, in my opinion.
Now here's my suggestion.
This movie should've been a metaphor for disability accomodations.
And hear me out, right?
The fire people CANNOT go to several places. Places entirely underwater, or partially submerged, places covered in foliage, where they might burn things. It is a central theme, that fire people are barred from certain places because they simply haven't bothered to make those places accessible to them.
See, that's a much more palatable and less problematic theme/metaphor to draw from!
The main character wants to see this plant that only grows underwater, but she's never gotten to see it because it's in this weird stadium that's underwater, and they simply haven't tried to make it accessible to fire people.
Plus, water people trains are constantly throwing water down on fire town, and water is a huge threat to fire people, and the whole city seems to run on water transport, and i think, but im not sure, it's stated that water people came first, and that's why elemental city is mostly catered to them?
But there's a great moral there!
There's no reason fire people can't be in certain public spaces! There should be laws forcing all earth spaces to have fire safe accommodations, like metal or clay flooring in all necessary areas!
That museum should've had some kind of tunnel for fire people to walk through!
It should be required for all public areas that there be metal or clay or glass crossing certain areas, so that fire people can still reasonably access everything that the other people can access!
Like ramps and elevator and railings, in real life!
And it's such a shame, because the protagonist has a talent for shaping glass. For making art.
It's implied she might end up working for her boyfriend's mom, who's an architect!!!
The protagonist should've been a fucking architect, who EXPLICITLY dedicates herself to making the rest of the city accessible to her own people!!! So they can get out of fire town and live amongst the rest of them!
At the end, it's implied more people are coming to fire town...but for no fucking reason. They just go there now.
But the protagonist, Ember, really needed to be a driving force.
She needed to be a metaphor for accessibility in public spaces, because that's a much better parallel than just racism itself.
If you toned down the "destructiveness" of fire and explained that fire people are unfairly excluded from public life simply because it's easier for the other people to ignore them and not care about their needs...then you have a far less problematic story, with a much more sensitive and interesting take on disability discrimination.
Ember needed to be an advocate, someone who tries to bring her people into the wider world, and not the wider people into her world.
There is NO reason fire people could not be allowed to participate in public life.
And there was no reason fire people had to be pitted so hard against every other race.
Elemental was a really fun movie, with beautiful animation and some very well thought out ideas for how the city worked.
But it failed as a racism/immigration allegory.
It could've been far more nuanced and complex, if it had bothered to talk more about how fire people need accomodations, rather than just, fire people hate everyone else, and everyone else hates fire people.
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Rick and Spanish:
I’ve always wondered why he never speaks Spanish, Sanchez is obviously a Spanish name and while I get not using it with the kids or Beth because he actually cares about them understanding him, it’s totally in his character to use it with other Ricks or to piss Jerry off knowing it would drive him crazy to be talked about and have no idea what he was saying.
My main premise to this is I honestly don’t believe Rick is a no sabo kid (nothing wrong with being one BTW) I’ve done the math and if we assume Beth is 34 at the beginning of the series in 2013 (Summer must have been born 1996 when Beth was 17 and Morty would’ve come 3 years later in ‘99) that makes her birth year 1979 and presuming Rick had a slightly more planetary mindset when she was born that makes him 23-26 as was average for having kids back then, making his birth year 1953-1956.
Historically I get Beth not being taught Spanish to avoid discrimination, maybe it wouldn’t have been as bad when she was growing up but If Rick’s parents immigrated during WW2 , just before or after Rick was born or when Rick was a very young child that makes him a first gen immigrants child and while northern states were better, they weren’t great either, he would have very much been subjected to some pretty intense racism that he wouldn’t have wanted for his daughter no matter how much it hurt him to not know part of her own culture.
However I also believe Rick’s defiance streak is probably genetic and like hell he would give up his first language just to assimilate like many children of that generation may have been forced to, it was a thing in immigrant homes in America, particularly South American ones ( I’m not sure where the name Sanchez would be from specifically) where the children were banned from speaking their own languages. He however, was Rick Sanchez and would steadfastly refuse to be ashamed of himself or where he came from. It would have been a massive scandal when he married Dianne in their small town, she was most likely pretty, popular and white, he would have been heavily targeted as the schools wouldn’t have been non segregated for very long by the time he was in high school. Marrying Dianne was probably a very satisfying “Fuck you” to people who’d tormented him.
Which leads to the question why do we never hear him use Spanish. Six seasons and 40 years of heavy drinking and drug use and we never hear him slip once, and it’s not like he doesn’t screw up in other areas, language would be a simpler one. He never switches, never even swears in it, but there has to be something that triggers it.
I always imagined it would be Morty getting mortally wounded in a way that he can’t seemingly fix with what’s available to him. His June-bug is bleeding out in front of him and he can’t do shit, another person he couldn’t save. He breaks down, clutching the limp body his grandson, begging a god he doesn’t believe for the first time since his teens in a desperate mix of Spanish and English to do something, and illogically, when he thinks Morty has died, giving him what he remembers of his last rights knowing that if there’s a God the fact it’s him administering his rights is probably not doing any favours for his Grandson’s eternal soul, but then Morty miraculously coughs up blood.
He coughs up blood, not good but it means he’s alive, he can think now, he can do something, so he does.
Morty survives. Barely. He erases the memory, even he considers it too traumatic for Morty to recall, but he has to live with it, it haunts him, it haunts him in a way he hasn’t felt since his Dianne and Beth were killed in his dimension. That’s when he starts speaking to Morty in Spanish, the occasional “mijo” here, the rarer story about his upbringing there and openly conversing in Spanish with other Ricks in Morty’s presence.
Morty learns almost fluent Spanish in four months just to try and spite him. That’s his June-bug, guess Beth did pass down that competitive spirit, and some of his smarts too. It’s nice talking regularly in his mother tongue again even if he’d never tell Morty that, and it’s adorable when his grandson can’t pronounce something properly, messes up the tense of a word or stumbles in Spanish when he’s pissed off, it reminds him of a little kid. He gently corrects the tense errors under his guise of grumpy, codgery old man, Morty doesn’t even know how much better he gets.
Jerry’s pissed that he now doesn’t understand his father in law or his son, but that’s okay, it’s Jerry.
#rick and morty#rick and diane#beth smith#morty smith#rick sanchez#rick is not a no sabo kid#spanish#bilingual
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greeks are indeed the main issue when it comes to spread the greek language. I live in germany and also went to a Greek school a few times a week in the afternoon (after my normal German school) and although my greek isn't perfect I dare to say I was still the best pupil speaking it bc my parents were of the few ones only speaking in Greek to me. most other parents spoke either a mix of Greek and German or straight up only German w them. partially it wasn't the parents' fault as they were 2nd gen greeks living there so they grew up in Germany, too and their parents also didn't really bother speaking to them fully greek, in an attempt to merge w their new home country and the culture (as it often happens w immigrant families). wasn't much different w my Italian neighbors either where the kids barely spoke/understood Italian. but then I see people from other countries/ continents only speaking in their native language to their kids no matter what and I'm like, why can't greeks be like this, too? I know greek isn't always the easiest especially when living in a different country. but if other immigrants manage keeping their native languages along w learning/speaking German, why can't we? or worse, they come up w new words like μπροτάκια. a mix of the German word "Brot" (bread) and the greek word ψωμάκια (buns), essentially meaning buns w it but instead of using the greek word they just mixed it w the German one 🙃 like the amount of times I met greeks (in my age) but they could barely speak greek is alarming. and it's obviously the parents/grandparents' fault. my grandpa has relatives in South Germany and when he asked them if they speak greek to their grandchildren they said no. and he told them "they're gonna learn German in school anyway. what they're not going to learn there is greek! so speak greek to them!" and I think he is right. sure you can still be and feel greek even without speaking it by just keeping traditions and other cultural stuff alive. but speaking the language helps you connect w all this and other greeks in a deeper way. so speak greek to your kids! please! it's such a nice language, it's a pity!
(sorry for the long message. just needed to vent about my personal experience a little)
Thank you for this message! I have no insight what the Greek immigrant (or just immigrant)’s experience with struggling to preserve the heritage is like but it must definitely be tough work. I understand second generation parents who don’t succeed much in teaching the mother tongue to their kids. But first generation? That’s straight out problematic. I believe your grandpa is right. Besides, it is absolutely possible for kids to learn more than one language - if a kid can learn English and another foreign language besides, say, German then they are perfectly capable of learning their own ethnic language too. If they don’t, then apparently the parents have failed or intentionally didn’t make it clear to the children what the significance of this is.
A kid desn’t understand concepts like heritage, roots, culture very well. If the parents try to teach the language as a chore or as a form of ethical obligation, it might not succeed. They should treat the language learning as something natural or obvious or if that’s not easy then as something fascinating or useful IMO. Because I have received mail from Greeks of the diaspora who weren’t taught Greek well by their family and they realise they want to know it only in late puberty or adulthood, when the aforementioned concepts are better understood. This is generally something that usually interests people when they grow and mature. But when a lot of time has passed people often make the mistake to feel that maybe they lost their chance or the cord is cut for good now or that they wouldn’t be able to get connected on a deeper level even if they tried. Which is wrong of course, you can (re)gain the lost touch at any age as long as you genuinely try to. But the neglect or avoidance of the parents (for whatever reason) in this matter makes it so much more difficult for their offspring later.
This of course applies to all immigrants struggling with the preservation of their language and culture. The immigrants you mentioned, who still succeed a lot in that are probably ones where tradition and religion have a very strong influence in the structure of their family / society so it is necessary for them. Not always, but usually, I think.
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brbbbbb thinking abt my friend who is now dating guys when last summer he was surprised to see me on a date with a girl despite knowing i was bisexual, like you know what that is GROWTH <3
#misha speaks#AND IVE BEEN SAYING IT WOULD BE SO GOOD FOR HIM TO DATE MEN AND NOW HE IS#i have absolutely no gaydar and i just assume that all men are straight lmao even if they decidedly are not#i mean i also assume that all women are straight too and i just happen to make friends with bisexual women because theres just something#about chemistry and bisexual women idk what to say.. all though now that i think of it i know at least 2 bi/gay men in chemistry as well.#2 hyperheterosexual christian men tho. their straight energy does compensate.#one of them is like haha i have a wife now.. and i was like lol i heard you were engaged? and he was like yeah we got married a month later#and now his wife makes him lunches. women... women out here making their man lunch like he's a child i'm going to beat the ass of everyone#involved in this situation. god help me if i ever date a man and he expects me to make lunch for him. GOD HELP ME IF I DATE ANYONE AND THEY#EXPECT THIS. I AM AN ONLY CHILD I AM A SPOILED BABY IF ANYONE SHOULD BE HAVING LUNCH MADE FOR THEM IT SHOULD BE ME.#anyway im just uwu so pleased for my buddy he and his current paramour also speak the same language which is so nice for immigrants..#also thinking abt my classmate coworker whom i love ranting in farsi at one of our classmates bc shes iranian iirc IDKK i just. i love it#when immigrants can speak their own language with one another maybe because my parents were also immigrants that found each other in canada#my friend's bf was worried i felt left out but its like .. nooo i feel plenty involved and it just makes me happy..#anyway. im just thinking abt my regrets and how im turning 26 and its like. one day i am going to die.#and maybe i will get cancer and maybe i will get hit by a car and maybe somebody is going to kill me ykwim.#but right now on this earth i got to learn some new things and i got to make my friends happy and i made ppl laugh even though im not that#funny and what can i say except life is absurd and you know i do love it. its so fucked up but i love it.#i just need to constantly put it all in perspective. life isn't about making the best choices life is about people.
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A guide for proper terminology for Nicky Hemmick:
Written by me, a Mexican-American.
Latin American: someone from Latin America, this includes Mexico but not Spain. Latin America is multi ethnic, and not just Spanish speaking, the non Spanish speaking countries of Latin America are Brazil, Belize, Suriname, Guyana, French Guiana, and the Falkland Islands.
Latino: decent from Latin America, similar to saying Latin American, but can include people born in America of Latin American decent. People don't really say "Latin American American," they say Latino American. (Latina = woman, and Latine = neutral but not commonly used, often typed Latin@s online for shorthand to include both). Latin American countries are very diverse, some are dominantly black/Afro-Latino.
Afro-Latino: Afro-Latin Americans are dominantly from African decent, some Latin American countries are majorly black/Afro-Latino. when used outside of Latin America it can mean someone who’s mixed black and Latino.
Latinx: "gender neutral" term for Latino, but probably made by white people because .... Spanish words don't end in x, and x isn't pronounced that way in Spanish, for example the name Xitlali (sometimes spelled Zitlali and other variations, but pronounced like an S). Honestly say Latino/Latinos or Latin@s, and in online queer spaces Latine/Latines.
Chicano: Latin American decent but born in America.
Hispanic: related to Spain, colonized by Spain, so this includes Spain but not Brazil, which is a Latin American country.
Mexican: a person from Mexico living in America, for example Nicky's mom, but often also casually used to mean Mexican Americans (or Latino/Chicanos in general).
Mexican American: Latin American decent born into America. Unlike chicano, it is associated more with the idea of assimilation into white America, but not always.
Mexicano: what Mexicans call themselves in Mexico (feminine is Mexicana).
TexMex: people who were living in Mexico, and then America bought/stole the land and said "this is also America now, you can leave or stay" and they stayed. They became Americans, Texas Mexican American culture is different than for example SoCal Mexican American culture because of this, (but still more in common with each other than not).
Anglo: someone who is non Latino, usually in reference to someone who lives in the America's that were colonized by British people and English is the standard spoken language, ex/ North Americans and Canadians who aren't Latino. Usually in reference to white people but not always. If someone is Asian American and constantly purposefully mispronounces my name, instead of being like "🙄white people" I can be like "🙄 Anglos" (or I could say gringo, which is not as nice of a term for anglo). I honestly don’t know if I can call a spaniard anglo, but I assume not, since they're not Anglo-Saxon, which is where the term comes from.
despite what the media represents, not all Latino’s are Mexican! although the two terms are often used interchangeably when they’re really not. there are 32 other countries besides Mexico in Latin America.
Mexican is technically a nationality, but because of colonialism it’s not that simple. Race dynamics work differently in different countries. Most Mexicanos are not connected with their mixed indigenous ancestors, while some still are, like the Maya. It is something that has been taken from us and has evolved into its own thing. Some Mexicanos are lighter than others, sometimes by being more related to the Spanish than the indigenous. Mexico has a huge problem with colorism and class divide as well as overall racial tension.
Mexico is also not only "white/more Spanish" "more brown" and "fully indigenous, culturally and ethnically", there are afro-latinos (like mentioned before), and also Asian latinos, specifically a large amount of Chinese immigrants from when China became communist, middle eastern latinos, etc. Latin America has immigrants too!
I have a friend who is fully Korean but grew up in Guatemala, I have another friend from Brazil who is 100% of polish and Ashkenazi decent, her grandparents having escaped to Brazil during WWII, but she and her parents grew up and spent their whole lives in Brazil, they are Latin Americans.
List of things Nicky's mom Maria is:
Mexican, Mexicana, Latina, Latin American, 'Hispanic' but like.... outdated term and usually when people use this they just mean Latin@.
List of things Nicky is:
Mexican-American, Latino, "Mexican" in the broad sense of the word.
Describing Nicky or his mother as "looking hispanic" doesn't really make sense because he takes after his mother who is described as very dark and therefore less Spanish decent and more indigenous decent, she's from a Spanish speaking country so... its not technically wrong, but Nicky is from and English speaking one and doesn't speak Spanish, so it doesn't really make sense.
He isn't Chicano and neither is she, she wasn't born in America and Nicky doesn't identify as Chicano or in general much with his mothers culture beyond visible features. He is never mentioned to make Mexican food, listen to Latin American music, or other aspects of Latino culture in general. He chose to go to Germany instead of Spain or Latin America, and he talked Aaron out of taking Spanish in exchange for German so Nicky could help him with his homework, (meaning he doesn't know Spanish, which many Mexican Americans don't know).
saying Nicky “looked Mexican” or “looked brown” isn’t a bad thing, Neil in the books says he’s two shades too dark to be considered tan, so... stop tip-toeing around it and call him brown instead of tan. It’s not a bad thing to be brown, and It’s not a bad thing to be Mexican. maybe I’m just from somewhere with a lot of Mexican-Americans, but when I look at people I can tell they’re not Anglos, or I think to myself “oh another Mexican” or at least “brown person” vs when I see a white person I think “white person.” I’m not face blind, I know that different races exist and look different and can see such trends in real people in the same way that when I look at a little girl I go “oh a little girl” not “what sex is this weird hairless animal, what is this alien”.
these concepts are a lot more complicated in practice, I get told often I don’t “look Mexican” but so does one of my cousins who’s afro latino and plays professional basketball in Mexico. Gender is fake but the majority of people we see are still falling into two categories on sight, it’s how we’re socially trained.
I'm also not an encyclopedia, if you think I made a mistake let me know and I'll check it out. A lot of this was just off the top of my head and words I just learned from.... existing, I didn't exactly look them all up in the dictionary.
Also if you’re writing Nicky, don’t be afraid to get a sensitivity reader, @sensitivityreaders is a good resource for this, and so is @writingwithcolor
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Tips I’ve Learned from Relearning my Second First Language
This is really important, to me, and maybe to you, too.
But first, here’s some background info on me and bilingualism in general:
I grew up speaking Japanese and English and started speaking them as a baby at the same time (simultaneous bilingual). Some of you may have learned one after the other (sequential bilingual).
I grew up speaking Japanese because my grandma mostly raised me, and she’s Japanese. So through her, I learned Japanese. This is my heritage language. Another example, a common heritage language in California (USA) is Spanish, and I have friends who grew up speaking Vietnamese and Tagalog.
By definition (for ease, through Wikipedia), a heritage language is is a minority language (either immigrant or indigenous) learnt by its speakers at home as children, but never fully developed because of insufficient input from the social environment.
People who speak a heritage language range in their skillset: some speakers are more fluent than others, and some can only understand. Some may know how to read and write, but many don’t. Everyone is different.
The past couple months, at 25 years old, I decided I wanted to start trying to learn Japanese again. Before starting to study it more actively, I could understand Japanese pretty easily, minimal ability to speak, read, and write (hiragana was the easiest, followed by katakana and some kanji). When I was younger, I attended Japanese school on Saturdays, which is where I learned to read and write.
I had tried many many many times before to learn Japanese again, but I failed every time.
Here are some things I wish I would have realized earlier:
1. You can’t rely on passive skills to study if you want to improve your active skills
Passive skills: Listening comprehension, reading
Active skills: Speaking, writing
Active skills focus on the production of language. For the longest time I wasn’t improving these skills because I thought that I could improve them by listening to more things in Japanese: TV shows, songs, YouTube videos, listening to my family speak.
But why would that work if I’ve been listening to my grandma speak to me in Japanese for 25 years of my life and I didn’t gain any active skills from that?
In order to gain improve your active skills, you have to practice by using your active skills.
I know, if you don’t speak a heritage language and are reading this, you might think DUH! I learned Portuguese and the only way to get good at speaking it is to speak it. I don’t think I realized this was the case with my Japanese because I already had an “in.” But this still applies. I had to speak and write more in order to be able to, well, speak and write more.
2. You have to try
You grew up speaking another language. It’s a special gift. But if you’re lacking in certain skills, you still have to work to try and strengthen those skills.
A couple years ago, I went back to study at my Japanese school as an adult because I thought it would help. It kind of did, but not really...
I TRICKED MYSELF into thinking I understood all the material because I could understand everything the teacher was saying, when in reality I wasn’t able to retain the kanji or the syntactic structures I was learning.
By tricking myself into THINKING I knew things, I sabotaged my own learning experience.
You have to try, and you have to really want to learn it because already knowing parts of the language have the potential to hold you back.
3. Use what gave you the language to your advantage
Don’t “use” them, but you know what I mean.
For the longest time (childhood into recent adulthood), I was too embarrassed to use Japanese with my mom and grandma. I would only routinely use a select amount of phrases that I felt comfortable using, even if my grandma was speaking to me in Japanese.
My mom would always say “You have the best resources around you, practice your Japanese while you can.”
And while sometimes what parents say can be annoying, my mom was right.
But it took a HUGE change in my life to realize this and take action.
When I was 23, my grandma went back to live in Japan. It was an emotional and difficult time for me because I was so used to having her around. While she was living with my family, we learned to communicate in a mix of Japanese-English, and I expressed my gratitude for her by doing housework for her, or buying her things at the grocery store or brought her desserts after going out to eat with friends.
But her moving across the world meant that I couldn’t do these things anymore. A couple days before her departure, I decided that I would try and write her a letter in Japanese and slip it in her backpack for when she arrived in Japan.
Let me tell you, I had THE MOST difficult time writing that letter. I couldn’t express how much appreciated her because my Japanese sucked. And I hated that I couldn’t tell her that in her own language.
So after she moved to Japan, I started to write her letters--*practicing those active skills though!!!
By being able to write letters with my grandma, not only was I practicing my Japanese, but I was creating a relationship with my grandma that I had never had before. I knew that I would regret it if I didn’t talk to her more before she’s gone. Which is sad, but it’s reality.
And let me tell you. I’ve improved a lot.
I can think in Japanese now. It may not be perfect, but I know how to structure my sentences. Words are coming more easily to my brain now. I can communicate with my grandma.
4. It’s never too late
I considered late high school/early college the prime of my language learning career. I got myself to a decent level of Spanish, I learned Portuguese, I took classes in Mandarin and French.
But for some reason, I thought my Japanese was always DOOMED because it was just way. too. hard. for. me. to. learn.
Japanese is hard. But it’s not impossible.
I realized that at 25. It’s never too late to learn a language, but it’s also never too late to try and relearn a language you were familiar with before.
Just take it one step at a time.
I always thought Japanese was overwhelming because I KNEW how difficult it was. I thought about everything--kanji, onyomi and kunyomi, all the sentence structures and everything all at once. This freaked me out and made me think I could never learn it.
But if you learn it little by little, it’s not as overwhelming.
#
That’s pretty much all the major points of things I wish I realized earlier when it came to studying Japanese.
Language is something I’ve been interested in for a long time in terms of academics, so Japanese is naturally, important to me as a language. For other heritage language speakers, it might be more of the food that’s important, or cultural aspects, or other parts of their heritage that is important.
Everyone is different.
But this was for you, heritage language speaker, if you needed a little push.
#langblr#language learning#japanese#langblog#languages#successful language learning#language tips#language tumblr#learn japanese#heritage language#linguistics#bilingualism#multilingual#multiethnic
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A Hispanic/ Latino Perspective: Border Clarification
This is one of the rare times I’m going to get somewhat political here, but these comments spread by the media are hitting to way close to home for me, so here I go.
Before you pounce on me, let me explain this: I am a moderate. I favor no sides, I don’t treat people by their titles but rather I prefer to judge by character even though I am not the best at it, admittedly. I favour and respect those who keep their word and own their mistakes. In short, if you do what you promise to do, you have my approval whereas if not, you will bear the brunt of my blunt rebukes and sarcastic remarks.
I am also from South Texas, specifically the Rio Grande Valley, and am a descendent of two humble Mexican families who since the Mexican Border War have made Texas their great escape and home.
Bit of a geographical reference, if you don’t know here where the Rio Grande Valley is. Look at the state of Texas, there is a bulge of state going in each direction that makes it look like a fat, lower-case ”t” : El Paso is the most West of the state, the Panhandle (Amarillo) the Northmost, Texarkana the most Eastward followed by Houston, and WAAAAAAY at the bottom is Brownsville and the Southernmost tip of Texas.
And for those of you too lazy to Google or "DuckDuckGo" the map yourself I've attached it:
The four counties: Hidalgo, Cameron, Starr and Willacy county make up the Rio Grande Valley. This is the region I grew up, the place where I experienced the best of a community and the worst of politics and failed promises.
For a bit of background: I have a parent working on the Border and they have been for many years (since I was a kid). Pretty much worked from a security officer to trooper within the span of a decade which is quite impressive and rare considering they never took bribes or anything to get where they were currently. They have told me off and on what their job is like. It’s crazy and boring some days, but also they have admitted somethings that may be fascinating. One of which is, yes, they do own horses and the reason why is so the Troopers can maneuver around tough terrain vehicles cannot go through (such as high water or narrow foot paths in brush). HOWEVER, they DO NOT OWN WHIPS. They don’t even own lassos, according to my Border Agent parent.
The only weapons agents on horse back have is a Glock, ammo, a taser, cuffs, and sometimes shot guns (but they prefer to carry light for the horses and themselves to be more flexible). They mainly carry items that would slow a person down or prevent them from hurting other people, officer or civilian; not for killing. So a whip is absolutely redundant or even absurd to have.
Those long ropes the Troopers are holding are called reins, and they are designed for steering a horse (horses cannot move opposite of the direction of their head; where their head is pointed they move in that direction). They are not made for whipping people, but rather made to get the horse’s attention. That’s it.
I took the liberty of highlighting the reins in red for you all as well as their arms and legs in blue and yellow in contrast to the reins and saddle.
It's clear from a Texan's or horse-riders perspective this Trooper almost fell off catching the other fellow and was holding onto the left rein for dear life hence why the horse looked distressed and its cheek was pulled back.
I'm not joking, you fucking try it if you're so damn horse-smart.
Now, let's look at a more relaxed position.
In short, if you haven't ridden a horse, I advise to keep your comments to yourself on this part. I have and it's way harder than it looks (horses can get cocky).
Second thing, the migrants.
Personally, I don’t know why they were so squirrelly that day. Perhaps they were spooked because they’ve never expected horse back riders to show up, maybe they had some bad experiences back home.
I don’t know!
But it’s clear there appears to be a lack of communication. Perhaps it’s the language barrier given that these guys came from Haiti, African countries and Brazil. English they probably know, but they probably don’t speak a lick of Spanish (Which both languages are mandatory for the Border Patrol).
(Again, I don't know...)
So the reasons why they started running circles around the Troopers’ horses is not for me to speculate, it’s not for YOU to defend blindly, nor is it up for the media to interpret and evangelize.
That should be left to the people to explain. No one else.
(Update: September 29th. I received a tip from a source that the Haitian immigrants (mainly) are not running from anything, they aren’t seeking asylum nor were in poverty as the media claims. They have admitted upon interview they were what we consider middle-low class and had no issues finding jobs before they decided to migrate northward. They’re just coming because they were told to come by “you-know-who”… that’s all. I know, I’m taken aback and scratching my head, too… but anyway. I digress, but do take note.)
Now, another bit of feedback I want to share: When it comes to dealing with Troopers (again, must I remind you this is a Border Patrol agent’s kid speaking), big rule:
DO NOT RUN nor MAKE THREATENING MOVEMENTS. Be calm.
It’s a simple rule, if you’re cool with the Troopers they’ll be cool with you. That’s it. Please respectfully keep in mind, these guys are trained to be safe rather than sorry. So patience and understanding with them is a must. Trust me, I’ve met my parent’s co-workers, they may look stoic and scary or condescending, but they can not let personal emotions interfere their work otherwise they risk safety.
They’re not “paranoid” or “harsh” they just have a job they cannot afford to fuck up otherwise the whole region is FUCKED. They’re the front line of defense, and do keep that in mind.
(Another footnote: I have seen Border Patrol offices, and without giving away how they function it’s not like CIA or Langley level of clean or fancy, so don’t think their offices are high tech and have marble floors with comfy lounges that cost a lot of money. Upon first glance you won’t expect the building to be an office. Border Patrol work with what they have available which isn’t a lot thanks to the ’00, ’04, ’08, ’12 and current administrations. That’s all I can give out.)
I’m going to come clean here and say the citizens in the Rio Grande Valley and the rest of Texas DO NOT FEEL SAFE with a border this wide open and no regulation is applied. Especially the Hispanic/Latino communities. So the pressure is on - and I mean REALLY on! Despite these guys working the Border are overwhelmed, they keep those emotions and opinions on lockdown when on the field. Like I said: If they fuck up, the region is fucked.
Bit of a history lesson: the Border issues on the Rio Grande are not new. Matter of factly, this problem has been happening for decades (The popular peak was during the 80s when cocaine was being distributed), but it was more than just cocaine and pot: Kids were going missing, people getting killed, women were used as mules and sold for sex, etc.
If you watched “Narcos” or “Sicario” you have a brief, dramatized taste of how the cartels function and what life is like for us Latinos. However, coming from someone who grew up there, the parts of watching your back, the abductions and even the gruesome murders are legit. To this day I remember seeing local news coverage (not CNN or MSNBC, our own stations down in the McAllen/Brownsville area) of beheadings, child murders and bodies being found in pieces… It’s something I hope my children won’t have to grow up hearing almost weekly like I did. Now it’s daily… and no one cares. And that hurts.
In the grand scheme of things, at least know this: South Texas has been part of the Cartel battle grounds and it’s obvious we’ve seen shit. Constantly being ignored is the payment we get for being front lines in the Drug War. So don’t blame us for being jumpy, or skeptical, nor even try convince us that the current surplus of immigrants is a good thing.
You can’t argue with our own experiences and history. The way things work down here is simple: You fight along side us, we fight along side you.
It’s called building trust, practicing faith. But we’ve been forgotten and lied to too many times by celebrities and politicians and social movements alike. And those who actually were going to help us are either shut down or unfortunately killed.
We just can’t trust anyone anymore. We are resorting to fending for ourselves basically, speaking up for ourselves… and so far it’s making progress in the mean time.
This level of “doing things on your own” bleeds into why our Troopers are trained they way they are trained - to expect the worst case scenario. To prepare themselves for the corpses, when a criminal pounces, the drugs being hid, for when they find a child with an adult they don’t know, or even a woman who was violated. They just genuinely don’t want to take chances and you just read why. Even my in-laws up in the Northern Midwest are disturbed.
So, considering the case of what happened a few days ago in Del Rio, Texas (as of writing this on September 25th 2021): If you run from a Trooper the first thing they are going to think is either two things:
You did something bad upon coming in to the country or
You don’t want your former government to find you because you did crimes in your home country or the country you were hiding in.
This is protocol, not biased opinions.
If, however, a Trooper commits any form of irresponsibility (such as abusing their power, unreasonable search and seizures etc.) it’s “kiss your badge good-bye” and DEMOTED or FIRED. The stakes of keeping your job in the Border Patrol are HIGH, so they are trained not to act out of line. Even a minor slip up in paper work from being fatigued gets you in SEVERE trouble with the Higher Ups and the County (Yes, that does happen and has happened). But you have to KNOW Border Patrol standards before you accuse them of anything.
With that being said, what’s floating around is not a constructive argument; it’s a distraction. How the public is demanding the trooper in the photo to be fired, tells us Latinos loud and clear that - once again - no one cares about our livelihood; no one is willing to brave enough to face the real hell going on. We are ignored or low-key demonized for simply defending ourselves.
(Now, you guys are seeing why I relate to my Jewish husband and the Israeli’ citizens - Arab and Jew - more; we’re pretty much in the same boat in the case of being ignored. But I digress.)
Before I come to a conclusion, here are other demographic facts to keep in mind that way it’ll help draw conclusions:
86.6% of the Border Patrol is HISPANIC/LATINO in the State of Texas alone.
A majority of children stolen from their families or molested are HISPANIC/LATINO.
A majority of the women violated immigrants on the border are mainly HISPANIC/LATINO.
Latin America collectively (Mexico down to Colombia and Venezuela) has the highest rates of femicide in the world.
So for you or anyone to get angry at Border Patrol agents in an unjust manner, not only are you getting mad at Hispanics and Latinos in UNIFORM for fighting to keep their communities safe, but you are actively contributing to the hell our families go through every day.
When you protest in demand for our cops or even troopers to be defunded, and fired for petty things, YOU are actively contributing to the problem of human trafficking, rape, kidnappings and murder that happens on the border. You are contributing to the Hispanic and Latino communities being dismantled and disintegrated by people who potentially want to kill us or hate us for money’s sake.
Take all of that into consideration before you get angry at anyone here.
In short:
I’ll only consider the accusations if you yourselves have been there and know the burdens we bear.
I’ll only consider your judgement if you genuinely are in law enforcement and know how to ride a horse and try to stop someone from running while riding the beast.
I’ll only consider your feedback if you don’t rely heavily on news like CNN, Telemundo and Tumblr for your information.
Until you grab a gun and fight the cartel yourself, and figure out a way to end this war on human trafficking, don’t come to us Latinos and express that you care and appreciate us.
Because frankly if you GENUINELY did, you’d bring to light what I just said and be slamming the desks at D.C. and DEMANDING the Border to be CLOSED by now.
Regardless of your political and personal beliefs, this is what is REALLY going on, and we’re going to keep fighting. Like the Israeli’s we don’t give a fuck if you hate us. We’re not radicals, we’re not blood-thirsty heathens, we’re not white supremacists (80+% of our population is of Latino Mexican descent) we’re just fed up with running away and being taken advantage of or taken for granted by people who value money over the lives of our neighbors.
If this were California, fine! Rail all you want, cuss us out as much as you want; hold us to those to California standards you keep yourself. But we’re not California.
We’re not D.C., nor Chicago, nor L.A., or New York, Florida, Canada, Mexico or whatever. We are SOUTH TEXAS so treat us as SOUTH TEXAS.
Honor us for who we are and hold us to the standards of what is SOUTH TEXAS, what is The United States Constitution, and the Texas Constitution; nothing more and nothing less. Don’t tear us down for what we’re not nor hold us accountable to an opinion or law we never agreed to nor knew existed.
That’s all I ask: If you’re not willing to honour our community and help us while holding us to our standards on a cultural, State or Federal level, back the fuck off. Generations we’ve dealt with the pressure from both the cartel and corrupt government from both the U.S. and Mexico, and the last thing we need is pampered kids living in the high rises or going to university on loans from school or your parents' paychecks, telling us how to deal with our issues.
You are FAR from a place to tell us how to function and resolve our war.
I’m not trying nor want to start a fight or otherwise, but I’m simply, humbly asking: when did we ever genuinely ask you “social justice advocates” to be our hero?
When did we ever ask you to fight for us or talk about what you think is wrong with us? Because last I checked we don’t want to drag anyone into our battles.
Also, we only know one messiah, but we never asked you to be him nor for him to act like you.
Did you start throwing punches because you wanted to find something to excuse your anger and outbursts, or is your good intentions married with ignorance?
Either case… it’s extremely unhealthy of you, and please just stop before another person gets hurt. We don’t want that. This is no different from the Crusades our ancestors took part in, and it will only end in more carnage than already sown.
So, just please, stop and take a step back for a moment. We don’t need anymore vehement evangelical-like people who just think with their ideals and not take a moment to have a healthy discussion with the One who created us, or let alone divorce their lust for a fight for ten seconds.
To close this off, even though I haven’t been home in a while, I know the spirit and the struggles the Rio Grande Valley goes through. I have met people on the run from the cartel first hand, and I have met people who may have ties with the cartel. I have seen some creepy shit, I have grown frustrated over the Protestant Baptist church doing nothing, and I have even been feeling the pressure my parent goes through with these apathetic riots threatening their job as a Border Patrol agent.
But aside from the pain, I am tremendously blessed that people and my family are still very optimistic despite the craziness and how bleak things are.
The family-oriented culture of the Rio Grande Valley is what is keeping it together… not trends, not clout and neither these guys in D.C. or Hollywood who are playing G-d.
It's the family-oriented connection. Our faith, that's keeping us going.
And even though I may not be the best voice of that region to speak up, I am blessed to have been there and I do plan on coming back soon.
I am planning on giving a more fun journal featuring the culture of the Rio Grande Valley in the future to finish this month off, but for the sake of this “Hispanic Heritage Month” I wanted to share our REAL issues we deal with rather than the made up ones that media likes to mainstream for money and clout.
In a way, I hope this offers clarity and a level of empathy. Again, I’m not sharing this to start fights or get sympathy - we don’t want it. We just want to know if our fights are not ignored, we just want to know we are heard.
That’s all.
#hispanic#hispanic lives matter#hispanic heritage month#latino#latin community#mexico#usa#rio grande valley#rio grande valley native#latino mexican#mexican#border patrol#border crisis#hatian immigrants#border agents#horseback#horse riding#cartel#human trafficking awareness#human trafficking#drug wars#drug war#real issues#issues#ignored issues#ignored voices#south texas#del rio texas#rebuke#latino speaking
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Mi Corazón (JHS)
Hey all! Amanda here! I think I’m in love with this couple. I usually try not to define my character’s race, ethnicity, or nationality, but I really wanted to base this imagine loosely on my family’s old block parties. Plus, the lack of Hispanic representation within American literature is crazy, but it’s getting better as each day goes by! I just wanted to contribute to that! If you’re interested in me making imagines based on other cultures or anything, feel free to request it, just know that it may not be as rooted as this one, simply because this is my own heritage and I will have to do a lot of research on other cultures before diving in. Anyway, I also wanted an excuse to write an imagine where one of the members has to dance to Latin music because Latin music is so romantic. Hobi just seemed to fit the theme I was going for. Anyway, if you like this imagine please heart it, reblog it, and follow me! I love y’all, stay safe, and borahae <3
Genre: established relationship! au, fluff
Pairing: Hoseok x reader
Word Count: 4.3K
Warnings: swearing, google-translated Spanish, pining and simping, mentions of cartels and gangs, small mentions of immigration, literally one of the most endearing couples I have ever written.
Summary: Y/n takes Hobi to meet her family at one of their famous Miami block parties.
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“What if they don’t accept me..” Hobi mutters while you guys search for a parking spot on the street.
You glance at him, “What do you mean? What is there to not like about you?” You flash him a smile before returning your attention to the street, “This is ridiculous, I’m literally their child, I should get VIP parking for God’s sake.” you mutter while shaking your head.
Hoseok chuckles at you, “There’s one,” He points out a spot and you quickly start parking in between the two cars. He sort of deflates in his passenger seat while looking at the street lined with cars and the house that bustled with life. “What if they don’t accept me because I’m Korean? What if they think I’m not good enough for you because I can’t speak Spanish or dance well like you? What if they think my career is too much and that I won’t be able to take care of you?” He expresses his worries out loud.
You put the car in park before turning to face him in the seat. Leaning towards him, you grab his chin in your hand and squish his cheeks together. “Don’t worry, mi amor. My family moved into the U.S. from Mexico so they know what it feels like to not fully know a language while surrounded by English-speakers. They won’t judge you.”
“Bu-” he tried to cut in.
“Shh,” you shush him and put your finger on his lips, “I taught you different latin dance styles last week and you caught on super quickly. You’re making an effort to learn my language and they already know I can damn well take care of my own self but if they mention anything negative about your career then I will step in and tell them off. Okay? Stop worrying, they will love you.” He sighed and nodded, looking a little nervous. “Good, now let us go.” You give him a quick peck before getting out of the car.
Your parents had moved into the U.S. from the dangerous city of Culiacán, Sinaloa in Mexico in 1992. Six years before you were born. They had moved due to the dangers of the infamous Sinaloa cartel. They decided, instead, to settle down in Miami, Florida. Where they had you, your little brother, and your baby brother and sister. The youngest two are twins. You are their oldest child, now at age 22. Your little brother, Pedro, is now 19 and the twins, Miguel and Rosalína, are both 15. All of you grew up in the house that you and your boyfriend of 11 months are walking up to now.
Two years ago, you had moved to Seoul, Korea in hopes of reaching your dream to become a fashion designer. You chose South Korea because, well c’mon, Korean fashion is to die for. It also was not as cliche as New York, California, or Paris. A year and some months into living in Seoul, you met Hobi. Of course you knew who he was, but you treated him as any individual, which he took a liking to. Fast forward another month or two and you two started dating and now you are here, walking on your childhood street, up to your childhood home, about to meet your family and childhood friends. Yeah, you could say today was pretty special.
You two were walking up when all of a sudden a young woman who seemed to be the same age popped up in front of you both. “Y/n!!” She squealed.
Your smile grew wide and you pulled the girl into a bone-crushing hug, “Ay, Carlita! Cómo has estado?”
“Bien, bien.” She smiled back before glancing at your boyfriend, “Who is this?”
You looked next to you and saw Hobi standing there, hands behind his back, and a shy smile on his face. You held out your hand towards him and he quickly took it, “Carlita, this is my boyfriend, Hoseok. Hobi, this is my childhood best friend, Carlita.”
She smiled warmly before holding out her hand which he shook, “Hello there! It’s nice to finally meet the mysterious boyfriend.”
Hobi chuckled and nodded at her, “It’s nice to meet you too.” His accent came out a bit and you smiled at his shy behavior.
“Would you happen to know where everyone else is?” You asked, sort of wanting to get introductions done and over with so you can party with your boyfriend and family.
She shrugged, “I know that Pedro is playing video games with the boys in his room, I have no idea where everyone else is at.”
You sighed and shook your head while smirking, “That boy and his video games.”
Carlita giggled at you before walking off, “Well welcome back home and it was nice to meet you, Hoseok! Maybe we can catch up more later but right now I have to stop Tío Edgardo from skateboarding. Old man claims that he is trying to regain his youth.” she rolls her eyes.
You laughed at her and nodded.
“She seems nice.” Hobi commented in Korean.
You smiled at him before grabbing his hand, “C’mon, let's go meet my little brother.”
The two of you walked throughout your home before coming to a door in the hallway. You open it without knocking and low and behold, there is Pedro and a couple of friends playing Mario Kart. From the looks of it, your brother is losing terribly.
“Pedroo.” You sing out his name in hopes of getting his attention.
“What is it?” He asks, not looking up from the screen. You scoff at his reaction.
“What? No, ‘hello sister’, ‘how are you sister’, ‘who is that man with you sister’” You tease.
He shrugs, “Dude. Mario Kart. Priorities.”
Your jaw drops and Hobi starts laughing hysterically. “This is what I get after saving your ass from mom and dad for years. The complete and utter disrespect.” You say, mocking offense with your hand on your heart.
He smirks at your comment but his eyes remain glued to the screen, “Yeah yeah whatever. I’ll talk to you later outside, close the door on your way out.”
You shake your head, “I’ll hold you to that!” You yell as you close the door.
Hobi looks at you with a raised eyebrow and the same smirk that Pedro wore, “Have you two always been like that?”
You nodded and giggled, “Yeah, pretty much.” He shook his head at you and wrapped his arms around your waist, walking behind you back into the main area of the house.
The two of you passed a couple of neighbors, all of them who greeted both of you with open arms and hands full of alcohol. You lead him through the kitchen, not glancing at your surroundings. You are about to walk to the backyard before you hear a familiar voice.
“Ah, mi hija, si sales por esa puerta sin saludar, no dudaré en conseguir mi chancleta.” (Ah, my daughter, if you walk out that door without saying hello, I won’t hesitate to get my flip flop.) You freeze at the sound of your mother’s voice and turn around to find her staring at you with a pointed look. You smile sheepishly and shrug your shoulders before waving at her.
“Hi, mama.” The look she was giving you faded off her face and transformed into a smile. You walked over to her and gave her a hug. She pulled you in, wrapping her arms around you tighter. You sighed in content, realizing how much you missed her and your home. The picture of her in the kitchen, glaring at you, and threatening you with her flip flop put you on a nostalgia trip. Although you wouldn’t trade your life right now for the world - a beautiful penthouse apartment with your boyfriend in the middle of South Korea’s capital - you did find yourself missing the smell of huevos con carne and chorizo that drifted throughout your home. You found yourself missing the melodic voice of Romeo Santos on Sunday mornings that indicated it was time to wake up and start cleaning. You found yourself missing the company of your siblings and the embrace of your parents. But as said before, you are currently living a wonderful life in Seoul, with your career progressing fast and the man of your dreams right beside you.
“I’ve missed you, you barely call anymore.” She scolds you while simultaneously pulling you into her even more.
You nuzzle your face into her shoulder, “I’ve missed you too, mama. I promise to try calling more often.”
You pulled away to smile at her, only to find her checking out your boyfriend from head to toe. “Ay, hija. ¿Quién es ese buen pedazo de culo que trajiste?” (Who is that fine piece of ass you brought with you?)
Your eyes widened and you lightly smacked her arm, “Mama!”
She giggled and looked at you, “What?” she complained.
You sighed and shook your head. You glanced over to Hobi to find him smiling warmly at you and your mom, despite not knowing what you two are saying.
“Mama, this is Hoseok. My boyfriend.” You said, putting emphasis on the word boyfriend.
He awkwardly smiled at her and waved, “Hello ma’am.”
She smiled warmly at him while walking over, pulling him into a hug. You laughed at Hobi’s shocked face and little ‘oof’ at the strength of her pull.
“Call me mama, ma’am makes me feel old.” Hobi smiled at her acceptance and hugged her back, looking to you for reassurance. You give him a quick thumbs up before she let him go and turned to you. “While the two of you are here, mind helping me carry out these dishes to the table outside?”
You scoffed, “I’ve been here for a matter of 10 minutes and you are already putting me to work like I’m 12 again.”
She smiled and shook her head, “It’s cause you always act like you’re 12, hija, now get let's make use of your boyfriend and his muscles and carry these enchiladas to the table.”
You laughed at her antics before translating to Hobi what his task was and putting the tray of food in his hands. You grabbed a plate of tortas and she grabbed the empanadas before you started heading out.
“Thank you, hija, Hobi. I will see you both later, I have to go yell at Pedro for hiding away in his room.” She walks off, shaking your head and you smile at her retreating figure.
“Your whole family seems nice so far.” He said, taking you into his arms and holding you. You giggled and pulled back slightly.
“They’ll be your family soon too, hopefully.” You whispered, giving him a quick peck on the lips.
He smiled and nodded, “And I cannot wait for the day that they do.”
You blushed at his confession before your eye catches two heads of hair that were identical by the pool. You smiled at Hobi and took his hand in yours, leading him towards the edge of the pool.
“Rosa! Miguel!” You exclaim and stand behind them. Rosalína looks up at you from behind her glasses and smiles.
“Hey sis!” You hug her from behind and she holds your arm. You pull away and look at Miguel expectantly, only to find that his eyes are somewhere else. You follow his gaze to a very familiar girl and smirk.
Rosa smacks him on the back of the head and he flinches, glaring at her. She nods her head towards you and Hobi and he looks at you two before smiling sheepishly. “Oh hey, Y/n..” You kept smirking at him and his face flushed red under your gaze.
“Still being a simp, I see.” You tease. He looks away, face turning 10 shades redder.
“Shut up.” He trailed off.
Hobi tapped your waist, pulling your attention to him. He tilted his head in confusion. “What joke am I missing?” He asked.
Rosa snorted. She turned her head towards Hobi, catching his attention. “You see that girl over there, with the blonde hair?” She said and pointed. He nodded slowly, following the direction and looking at the girl. “Her name is Lucy. Miguel here has been pining after her for like- 5 years. Since we were 10! Can you believe that? I say he should just grow some balls and tell her that he likes her.”
You laughed at her choice of words while Hobi smirked. Miguel shoved her side in embarrassment.
“I’m not pining,” he glared at her before glancing at you, “Nor am I simping.” He trailed off while looking at Lucy before glancing at Hobi, “She is just super pretty and totally out of my league.”
You smirked and looked at him, “Nah man, you’re totally simping.”
“Literally, shut up, Y/n.” He said, crossing his arms and pouting.
Hoseok smirked and laughed, “No, you should totally do it, kid. You only live once and the worst is that she’ll say no. But if she says yes…” He trailed off, leaving the rest to Miguel’s imagination.
Rosa high-fived Hobi, “Thank you! I’ve only been saying that for years! I’m Rosalína by the way, but you can call me Rosa. This idiot over here is Miguel.” She introduced herself.
Hoseok smiled at her, “I’m Hobi, Y/n’s boyfriend.”
“You’re in that one band, right? BTS?” she asked, tilting her head.
He nodded, “Yep, that’s me.”
“Nice,” She nodded, “I like your song Dope.”
He smiled, “Thank you.”
You watched the interaction with a big smile on your face. It seemed that your boyfriend was becoming more comfortable. And that couldn’t make you any happier.
You shook your head at your thoughts before looking towards your sister, “Hey Rosa, where is dad, anyway? I want to introduce him to Hobi.”
She rolled her eyes, “Where do you think?” She snorted and nodded her head towards the make-shift dance floor. A few people moved out of the way to reveal your father, Modelo in hand, dancing merengue to Suavemente.
Your eyes widened and you let out a laugh of embarrassment, “Oh. My. God.”
She shook her head before looking towards Hobi who wore amusement on his face. “That would be our father. He’s been like that for the past hour, I think that’s his 6th beer.”
You giggled at the ridiculous man that you called your father before grabbing Hobi’s wrist. “C’mon, let me introduce you to the ol’ man.”
Hobi’s face lost all color and looked uneasy. Rosa laughed as you two walked off, waving bye. You could tell your boyfriend was nervous, after all this was your dad. Your father. Keeper of your heart. The man who raised you. If he didn’t approve of Hobi then it would be devastating to the both of you.
“Wait-” he stopped you from going on, “What if he doesn’t like me? What if I’m not good enough for his daughter? Hold on, does my shirt look okay? What about my hair?” He panicked.
You decided to shut him up with a kiss straight on the lips. He froze for a second before relaxing into it and wrapping his arms around your waist. You giggled at him, “He will love you, Hobi. You look perfect.”
He nodded, still a little dazed from the kiss. You left him on the side of the dance floor and dodged dancing neighbors until you met your father in the middle.
“Suavemente! BESAME!” He shouted as you tapped his shoulder. You giggled as he turned around and looked at you in pure glee. “Mi princesa! How are you, mi corázon? Dance with me!” He exclaimed and grabbed your hands, pulling you into the dance with him.
You laughed and threw your head back. “I’m good, papa! I want to introduce you to someone!”
He nodded at you and grinned wolfishly, “Then lead the way, Princess.” He followed you off the dance floor and to Hobi.
“Papa, this is my boyfriend, Hoseok.” Hobi visibly gulped.
“Hello, sir.” He said, putting on a charming smile and holding out his hand.
Your father’s eyes narrowed, looking Hobi up and down, a poker face on. “Boyfriend, huh?”
Hoseok faltered for a second, “Yes, sir…” He said, using his other hand to scratch the back of his neck out of nerves.
Your dad suddenly smiled and took his hand, pulling him into a hug, “Well welcome to the family then! It’s nice to meet you!”
Hobi visibly relaxed into the hug, smiling at you with a big grin. All you could do is smile back, happy that he made a good impression on your dad.
Your father pulled back and squinted at Hobi, “You hurt my daughter and I’ll kill you.” He said, gruffly.
Hobi’s eyes widened, “N-never, sir.” He stuttered.
Your dad broke out into another smile again, “Good!” He clapped him on the back, “Here, let’s go have some drinks!” He led you two to the bar before leaving to go dance some more.
It was later that night, after more less-stressful introductions, multiple plates of food, and a few drinks that you and Hobi were sitting together at a table, watching the party and enjoying each other’s company. You were staring at your parents, who were in the middle of the dance floor. Corazón sin cara was playing as your parents swayed to the music, your father’s arms wrapped around your mother’s waist and her head leaning against his chest. You smiled softly at them with a look of fondness in your eyes.
“They seem to really love each other.” Hobi said, looking from you to your parents.
“They always have,” You said softly, laying your head on your arms and looking at them, “They’ve been through a lot together, a lot of trials and tribulations. When I was a little girl, I thought they were the purest definition and example of true love. They’ve always had each other, and I used to yearn for that as a teenager.” You explain.
Hobi smiles and puts his arm around you, “Well, my love, now you can think of us when you think of love. I want to give you everything, the world, and I want to have your back just like your dad has your mom’s.” He says, pushing your hair behind your ear.
You turn to him and smile, pulling him into a slow and passionate kiss.
“I love you so much.” You mumble against his lips.
He smiles against you, “I love you too, jagi.”
It’s when Obsesíon by Aventura comes on the speaker that you pull away with a gasp and wide eyes.
“What is it?” Hobi frowns, confused by your sudden behavior.
You giggle, “This is my song!” You get up and find Carlita before pulling her to the dance floor. Hobi smiles at you, and how your eyes shined with excitement. He watches you from afar, noting how natural you look among the people you grew up around. Although he may not know anyone and sticks out like a sore thumb, you are the complete opposite, blending in as if you had never moved away to begin with. He thinks that you have never looked so beautiful, than you do right now, at ease and having fun with your friends and family. He remembers how excited you were for him to meet all of them, going as far as to teach him some Spanish and give him some Latin dance lessons. You were so excited for this trip, and now that you both are here, Hobi doesn’t ever want to leave. Because you look so happy here, and all he wants is your happiness.
“You love her.” Hobi looked to his right to find your father, sitting down next to him with two beers in his hand. He said it more as a statement than a question.
Hobi glanced back at you, “Yes, sir. I do, very much.” He sighed out, watching the way your eyes lit up and your smile grew as you sang along with the song. He watched how you moved with ease to the melody with your best friend and he could only admire you and think of how lucky he is, to call you his.
“I could tell, you’re looking at her as if she’s your world right now.” Your dad smiled gently at Hoseok.
Hobi blushed a little and looked down before looking back up at him. “She is my world, sir. She’s helped me through a lot, and she supports my career and always is there if I need her. I only hope that I’m the same for her.”
Your dad gently laid his hand on Hobi’s shoulder, smiling at him. “You are. The look that’s on her face right now,” He nodded at you on the dance floor, laughing with Carlita, “I haven’t seen that look in a very long time. She was going through a lot when she left, and now I can see that she’s happy again. You make her happy, Hoseok. That’s all I could ever ask of you.”
Hoseok smiled at him, “Thank you, sir. That means a lot.” He looked back at you, smiling at you when you looked at him and winked. He blew a kiss to you before leaning back in the chair. “I’m not going to lie, I was nervous when she said that I would be meeting you all.”
Your dad chuckles at that, “Yeah, I could understand that,” he sighs, “I have always been the first man in her heart. I’m used to protecting her, to providing for her, to loving her. But now I’m not the sole man in her heart anymore, you are there too.” He says. Hobi looks at your father to find him staring back at him intensely. He looked him dead in the eye, “I believe you are a good man, Hoseok, and I fully give you my approval and welcome you into our family.”
Hobi’s face breaks into a wide grin, “I’ll cherish her for the rest of my lifetime, sir.”
The song changed to something more upbeat, and you were suddenly calling out to him, beckoning him over to dance.
“I have no doubt that you will, now go get your girl.” Your father clapped his back as Hobi stood up and made his way over to you.
You took his hand in yours and started moving along to Como la Flor.
“Baby, remember how I taught you cumbia? Well this is an iconic cumbia song!” You smiled. Hoseok squeezed your hand and started moving along with you, getting the movement and rhythm pretty quickly. He laughed at your tipsy state. But that didn’t matter, what mattered is that you were having fun, and that you were happy. And despite the alcohol effects, you still managed to dance like a professional. You giggled when Hobi spun you, and it was the most beautiful sound on this earth to him. The two of you were in your own world, dancing together and laughing with each other. You were so caught up in each other that you almost didn’t notice how the song changed into a slow one. But when you did, Hobi pulled you closer and you nuzzled into his chest as you danced bachata with him. He took extra lessons in this dance style, without you knowing, just because he knew it’s your favorite.
“I love this song so much.” you mumbled, slurring your words a bit.
“What is it?” He asks, whispering in your ear.
“Imitadora by Romeo Santos aka king of bachata.” You mumbled back.
He smiled at your cuteness, leaning down to peck your forehead. You two kept moving to the music, and he spun you around. “What is it about?” he asked when he pulled you back in.
“It’s about how his lover changed and turned cold, no longer giving him the same love that she once did.” You stated, smiling up at him.
He frowned, “Well that’s..romantically depressing.” He said.
You snorted, “Romantically depressing?”
“Yeah,” He smirked down at you, “it’s a romantic song, but it’s also super depressing.”
You shook your head at his ridiculousness and pulled him into a kiss.
“At least the melody is pretty.” You said after pulling back.
He pulled you closer to him, “Indeed it is, jagi. Indeed it is.”
As cliche as it sounds, the world faded around you two, as you both got lost in the dance and each other. You two held each other as if the world was ending. Your souls intertwined and the two of you vibed together. The moment itself was as intimate as it could be, and it would forever remain one of your favorite memories of you two.
Later that night, after the party had ended and everyone had either gone home or gone to sleep, the two of you laid in your bed. Surrounded by darkness, you stared at each other, whispering about how well today went and how much fun you had.
“I think they like me.” He whispers to you, intertwining your fingers with his.
“Oh they definitely do,” you giggled.
“What do you mean?” he raised his eyebrow.
“My mom thinks you’re a ‘fine piece of ass’ as she calls it.” You snort.
Hobi let out a surprise laugh, his cheeks turning the slightest bit of pink. You moved closer to him, cuddling up against his chest.
“I would have to agree with her though.” You whisper.
“Oh yeah?” He smiles down at you.
“Mhmm,” you mumble, falling deeper into your sleep, “You looked so sexy tonight, dancing to Latin music.”
He smirked down at you, kissing the top of your head and closing his eyes.
“Yeah?,” he mumbled back, falling deeper into his own sleep, “I might have to do it more often, then.”
#bts#bts smut#bts au#bts angst#bts fluff#bts imagines#bts x reader#hoseok x reader#hoseok#hoseok imagine#hoseok fluff#hoseok smut#hoseok angst#hoseok au#bts namjoon#namjoon x reader#bts jin#jin x reader#bts yoongi#yoongi x reader#bts jimin#jimin x reader#bts taehyung#taehyung x reader#bts jungkook#jungkook x reader
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Why I'm Learning Russian
It's been a while since I was last here on this site, and since I seem to be back-back for good(?), I figured I'd update everyone following me on what's going on right now.
And I figured I'd make a separate post talking specifically on why I've chosen to learn Russian (instead of Serbian).
First off, I still wish I could learn Serbian due to family reasons, but there's a severe lack of sources for me to use. Duolingo ain't got shit regarding the language. I wouldn't have cared if it was listed simply as Croatian! I just wanna learn the language!
Thanks to the whole anti-communist propaganda in the states, many Americans (whether by ignorance alone, by design, or some combination thereof) would hear a Slavic language and get pissy. At least this is what I think is likely the reason behind why it can be so hard in some areas to find just books on a Slavic language. If you're lucky to find any, it's always Russian. The area I live in has plenty of Polish, Russian, and Serbian populations (albeit descendants of immigrants, but you get the idea). You're think they'd have a decent amount of books at the local library. The best I could find was a book meant to teach how to translate written Russian (apparently you have to have a ridiculous aptitude for high-difficulty languages or have to already be familiar a bit with it?) and a Polish For Dummies book. That's it.
There aren't any community colleges nearby that I can find that event teach foreign languages at all (this is a right-wing-heavy area, so surprise-surprise).
But in this country as a whole, the only Slavic language I can find that you will commonly find in colleges and universities if any Slavic language at all is supported is Russian.
So that's reason number one: accessibility.
Another reason is that there's quite a bit of stuff happening in the country that due to Americans not expecting to take on foreign languages on a regular basis, let alone a complex one, the ruling class could easily claim what Russians are saying whether it's a soundbyte, a video with audio, or signs and posters and such. They're relying on the American people to be completely ignorant of the language so they could spin whatever they wanna say however they need it to say. (This would largely be fux news' area of expertise, as they've been doing so recently with the protests in Cuba by not only showing protests that occurred in Florida and passing them off as Cuban protests in Cuba, but they straight-up blurred out posters because someone might know how to speak Spanish.)
On top of this, there's something boiling in Russia, so if the Russian people need help and ask Americans for advice, it would be nice if some Americans spoke their language, instead of relying on Russians (and anyone not American in general) to know English to some extent.
So there's reason number two: avoiding misinformation and misunderstandings.
I don't have to tell you twice that climate change is happening right now and that we may not see the climates of many regions go back to normal within our own lifetimes even if we did everything right.
However, worst case scenario, what if we were too late? Where in the would could remain habitable for humans? There's Greenland, Canada, Antarctica (which would be warred over for territory because of course it would), and then there's Russia. Russia is semi-landlocked thanks to the arctic ice on the northern coasts, but once that melts, they would easily be able to trade by sea. They also have a lot of currently uninhabited land that, in this worst case scenario, would be thawed out and quite fertile and suitable for agriculture, especially for the potential billions (remember, we're passed the 7 billion population point) that would emigrate just to be able to survive. This means that if you wanted to move to Russia, it's probably best to learn the language.
That's reason number three: it will be the largest habitable landmass on the planet if we cannot bring about a chance of reversal to climate change.
The last reason is due to the possibility that if I went back to school for what I ultimately want to be (paleoecologist), my interests (pleistocene ecology) may lead me to digging up frozen carcasses out of the Russian permafrost. There's also an attempt in a Pleistocene Park in the making right now (all that's missing is the mammoth which we will never successfully clone) to bring back fauna we still have that once existed there to help with the land's ecosystem in the Russian steppe. And so far, it's succeeding in its goals. And as a paleoecologist, this would be right up my alley. But knowing the language would be incredibly helpful, too!
Russian isn't actually hard for the reasons many "top x videos" claim it to be. The alphabet isn't that hard, to be honest. It's the cases, which is where I'm stuck at right now.
Duolingo is not a good way to learn a language, as they do not teach grammar or cultural context. The app has become a game that makes you rely on memory and hopes you'll catch on.
No other apps that I have found will teach the grammar in a beginner-friendly way for free, either. I'm poor, and can't afford this shit, so I'm hoping to borrow that library book I mentioned earlier (now that I've learned the alphabet quite nicely) might be able to give me a better idea in a way that I can best understand it.
For now, I'm focusing on keeping up my practice as well as building a nice vocabulary bank. That's going to make learning the cases much easier. The good news is my husband is also interested in learning the language and even he learned the alphabet without much of an issue. So I have someone to practice with.
Hilariously, like with Spanish, I have a problem with a foreign language... I can read it fine, I can hear it okay, but writing it? Eh.. And speaking it from memory? Holy shit I struggle. But my husband hasn't had much of a chance to really practice thanks to his job, so maybe it's the lack of practice?
Regardless, learning independently is going to be a nice primer for when (maybe if, who knows) we can finally go back to college once we've moved with my parents (long story) because the university in the area they want to move to does offer Russian. If things go well, I plan to take more than 2 levels (the university requires all students to take at least 2 levels of a foreign language).
So yeah. That's why I'm learning Russian. It's actually really fun, and I do watch vlogs from Russians on YouTube so I get a better understanding of their culture, too. I'm jealous they don't have this fucked up concept of a "lawn" like America does. All it is with the houses and dachas is native plants and fruits and veggies they decide to grow. Lucky...
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Kinktober Day 25: Teacher/student (all characters 18+)
Helen had always wanted to be a teacher. Since before she started primary school, she would line up her stuffed animals and dolls and would tell them every single thing that she knew. Every day, she could teach them a little bit more and it excited her.
She tutored elementary kids in middle school, and middle schoolers during high school. She tutored high schoolers in college. Teaching had been her dream. Her life’s goal.
And she was good at it.
She went to college, to graduate school. And once she flew through the program with amazing grades and a fantastic internship, she had her pick of jobs. And more debt than she knew what to do with.
She taught elementary students during the day and, to help pay off her loans, she began to teach GED classes at night.
It wasn’t as much fun as playing with kids and teaching them basic math. And sometimes it was nearly impossible to teach classes when everyone was at a different level and half her students didn’t fully understand English.
But there was also something incredible about teaching grown men and women, who for whatever reason, had been robbed of their education. There was something beautiful about watching them accomplish something.
And so she stuck with it.
She stuck with late night teaching four nights a week. She stuck with teaching students she struggled to communicate with without the help of translation books and apps. She stuck with teaching classes of grown men who were oddly proud to be hot for teacher.
The start of the school term was always a bit overwhelming. At the start of the year, there were three times the number of students that would be there at graduation and her room was packed.
She began with a smile, introducing herself to the class, insisting they call her Helen, and calling for attendance.
It was the usual hodgepodge of classes. Men and women of all ages, multiple ethnicities. Some were eagerly leaning forward and ready to learn. Others seemed disinterested and a few had their phones in hand as she talked.
But the one who caught her attention sat in the back corner. He was one of the first to make his way to the classroom. Quiet and studious, he came prepared for every class and often reading for his own pleasure.
Every student has a story. Some had dropped out of high school to help aging parents or take care of siblings or babies. Some had to pay the bills or were homeless. Some had immigrated late in life. Others had flunked out the first time around.
She wondered about him. Obviously bright, from their first interaction.
He was sitting next to an elderly Vietnamese man who was struggling to find work without a diploma. He struggled with English pronunciation and reception although he could read it just fine.
Helen had been trying to communicate with him and had been ready to write down the instructions for him when John had coughed.
In a perfect string of Vietnamese, John had spoken to Anh, who nodded along excitedly before nodding to Helen, "yes, teacher." He said and Helen smiled, looking to John in surprise.
"You speak Vietnamese?"
He shrugs, "Rudimentary. Enough to get by."
Clearly more than that, since he was able to communicate instructions. She said as much and John shrugged.
"I have an ear for languages."
"What others do you know?" She asks with interest and his face flushes just a bit.
"I can get by in most Slavic dialects, and Spanish, Italian, and Mandarin. And English, of course."
He was brilliant, she soon discovered.
Utterly so.
He knew languages and literature. He knows about art and culture. He simultaneously fascinates her and makes her feel utterly small at the same time.
He’s well-traveled and while she can describe the works of Bernini from pictures, he has seen them up close. Idly, he mentions traveling to Rome for business.
She’s not quite sure what business a Slavic man has in Rome, nor what kind of job he has managed to snag without a diploma, but she doesn’t ask. Instead, she asks him about the sistine chapel and the colosseum and other things she’ll probably never get to see in the downtime before class starts, as well as in it’s end, as he stays to help her clean up.
A week into class, she has everyone split into pairs work on their critical reasoning skills through language arts. A young, pretty little brunette from Estonia asks John to be her partner. He accepts and she feels a surge of jealousy that she tamps down on quickly. He’s her student, she reminds herself. And there are ethics and boundaries and her feelings do not matter.
She forces herself to walk around the classroom, offering assistance.
And then she hears it. Maria says something to John in Estonian and he replies in kind. The words spill from his lips and she has no idea what he’s saying but Christ, he sounds so good saying it.
It sends a shiver down her spine and Helen knows that she has to be careful.
She’s never been tempted by a student before.
Occasionally, the boys in her class flirted with her. A few times, she was propositioned. It had never crossed her mind to do anything with it.
Another one of her students, Rafe, has no problem flirting with her whenever he enters her class. He’s young and tall and handsome, but she feels nothing. Not even a flicker of attraction. Which, she reminds herself, is good.
What isn’t good is the way her heart races when John walks into the room or the way her body aches when he starts to speak in another language.
Boundaries, she reminds herself.
Boundaries.
It’s easier when others are around. When they’re in a room filled with students, she can busy herself with others. She can remind herself that he is a student, sitting on the opposite side of the classroom.
Its when they all leave, save John. When the class is empty and she is left alone with him, cleaning up and organizing papers, she starts to struggle. She’s reaching to tuck a stack of books away in the corner above the closet when a few of the books start to tip, like they’ll fall. She reaches with her second hand to try to protect her head from the falling books when she feels a hard body pressing into her back.
An arm reaches up around her and tucks the books onto the shelf.
She has the urge to sigh with relief but her breath becomes stuck in her chest as she remembers who she is with.
John.
That’s his body pressed into hers. His warmth she feels.
And, Jesus fuck, that can’t possibly be his dick pressed against her ass.
All at once, she can’t move. She can’t breathe.
“Thank you.” She whispers.
“You’re welcome.”
He doesn’t move.
Her heart is racing and Helen slips out from under his arms. “You know,” she says, backing up, “You really don’t have to help. Not that I don’t appreciate it. I really do, but it’s part of my job.”
He is watching her, a small smile on his face that throws her completely off guard.
John steps forward and Helen finds herself continuing to move backward until, fuck, she hits the blackboard.
“Do I make you nervous?”
“Of course not.” The words fall too quickly from her lips and John’s smile widens. His hands come up on either side of her.
"You're shaking."
Oh. Was she?
Maybe.
But how could she help it when John was crowding her. She could smell him, the musky scent of his aftershave.
God, he smells so good.
He looks so good. He sounds so good. John Wick was a walking wet dream and he was her student. Her student. And this wasn't appropriate and as the authority figure, it was her responsibility to maintain the boundaries.
It was a ridiculous thought, she acknowledges. That she is the authority figure while John has her boxed in against a wall.
"Helen," he says softly, tilting her head up, "I can feel you thinking and it’s time to stop.”
“Stop thinking?”
And holy fuck, his fingers are tracing her jaw, running along her hair and carefully removing it from its hold. Dark hair spills down around her shoulders and John runs his hand down the length.
“Yeah.”
Yeah? What was he saying yes to? She couldn’t even remember what they had been speaking about seconds before because John was leaning down and his lips were on hers.
Fuck.
His lips were warm and surprisingly soft but he is far from gentle. Desperation lines his kiss as he tilts her head back and shoves his tongue into her mouth. Whatever noise of protest she tried to make is swallowed by John.
His knee nudges its way between her legs, pushing them apart. His thigh makes her skirt ride up as his hands travel down her body, stopping at her hips. His fingers dig into her and she can’t help the little cry that escapes her at his punishing grip. They bite into her before moving again, traveling south towards the hem of her skirt.
Helen tries to turn her head, to break the kiss but John just leans into her, warning her with a small nip to her lips as he drags the skirt up her legs, teasingly slow.
This isn’t right, she thinks. Yes, they’re both adults but she’s still his teacher. She manages to get her hands between them, to push John off her but he doesn’t budge. He’s like a fucking rock and Helen tries to ignore how his body feels against her palms.
He’s hard and solid and her hands are feeling the muscles she’s only imagined but it still isn’t right. Ethical duties and obligations distract her, make her heart race both with excitement and anxiety as John sucks at her tongue.
And then she feels his teeth, biting down on her muscle and Helen lets out a startled shriek as John pulls back.
“Stop thinking.” He tells her again but this time, there’s an edge to it. This wasn’t a tease or a taunt anymore. It was an order and she feels it viscerally, traveling down her body and resting in her core, warming her all the way even as her hairs stand on end.
God, she wants to stop thinking. She wants to say to hell with it all and let him fuck her right there, against the blackboard, consequences be damned. But this is her job. And she has ethical duties. Moral obligations.
Helen shakes her head as John’s hands slip under her skirt, dragging along her thighs and stopping at the edge of her panty hose. “You’re my student. This is wrong, we c--”
“What’s wrong,” John interrupts and he snaps the garter that holds her hose up, “Is you walking around this classroom in these tight skirts. It’s fucking sinful. Do you know what you do to me every time you bend over to help somebody?”
John grabs her hand from where it rests on his chest and yanks it to the bulge in his pants.
The breath leaves her chest as he flattens her palm over his clothed length.
“You feel what you do to me?”
Helen can’t pretend she hasn’t imagined touching him. Really touching him and feeling him. Peeling that fucking suit off him to see the body he hides beneath. To grasp at his long hair as she bounces on his cock.
Everything starts to shake and it takes her a moment to realize that it’s her, trembling against him. And John is moving his hips, gently, grinding against her palm.
She wants to reach inside his pants, to really feel him in her hand, not just through the stupid cloth.
Boundaries, boundaries, boundaries.
“Look at you,” he thrusts against her hand, “trying so hard to be good when you’ve spent all night walking around, looking like that.”
Helen bites her lip. Her outfit isn’t revealing. She’s wearing a pink blouse that buttons down the middle and it’s tucked into her grey skirt. They’re form fitting but not so tight as to be revealing, in any way.
“Everytime you bend over me, I keep hoping those tits will spill out. But maybe they just need a little help.” His releases her hand from his dick and reaches up to the top button of her blouse. He slips it easily, trailing his hand down her blouse, snapping each open with ease.
He exhales a growl at the sight of her white, lacy bra and Helen feels her panties start to soak as John takes her in.
“Un-fucking-believable.” He mutters, shaking his head. He grasps the sides of her shirt and pushes back and tears it down her arms, letting it fall to the floor.
Helen, at once, realizes two things. First, that she is completely exposed. Second, that her hand is still resting on his dick.
She quickly moves it away, a flush tainting her cheeks as she tries to cover herself from his sight.
John uses her covering her tits to his advantage, quickly unzipping her skirt and pushing it over her hips.
“Oh, sweet girl,” he shakes his head in awe at the matching panties and garter set. “Dressing like that, practically waiting for me, weren’t you?”
“No!” She is quick to protest, moving her hands so as best to cover herself.
“Then who’re you dressing for, huh?” And now his tone is taunting, “We both know you’re single, don’t we, kiska?”
She shivers at the bit of Russian thrown in at the end but she shakes her head, “I’m not.” She lies, quickly looking for another way out because he doesn’t seem to give a flying fuck about the ethical boundaries of her being his teacher. And guys have that code, don’t they? “I’m not single. I… have a boyfriend.”
He tilts his head to the side, eyes flashing dangerously as he clicks his tongue, “Don’t lie to me, Helen. Bad girls get punished.” He catches her chin between two fingers and forces her to look up at him. “Who were you dressing for?”
Helen wants to deny it, again, feeling that flush rush to her cheeks. Truthfully, she hadn’t put on the lingerie with John directly in mind but she couldn’t deny that she had thought about this. About John cupping her breasts and her sex through lace. But they were thoughts. Idle and personal and meant only for her imagination.
She tries to avoid the question, “We can’t do thi--”
He pushes her chin further up, pressing her back into the blackboard. It was cold before but it feels like ice against her bare back.
“You’re a good teacher, kiska, but I think it’s time somebody taught you some fucking manners.” He leans down, his beard brushing delightfully against her soft cheek as he whispers, “When I ask you a question, you answer it. Understand?”
Gone is the taunt. This is an order and, fuck her sideways, but she feels compelled to follow it. “Yes.”
“Yes, what?”
She licks her lips, “Yes, sir.”
John rewards her with a smile as he pulls back. “Good girl. I suppose you can be a good student, can’t you, kiska? Now, who did you wear this for?” His finger toys with the strap of her bra. “Hmmm?”
Helen swallows heavily, “You, sir.”
He rubs her shoulder, “Good girl. You’ve learned your first lesson.”
First? Of course, she realizes, John is far from done.
His hands trail down her body, ghosting her breasts and sliding down her torso roughly. A hand slips into her panties and Helen turns her head to the side, embarrassed as the state of her panties.
A grin breaks over John’s face as he teases her slit and finds it soaking. “You’re fucking dripping.” He tells her, easily slipping a finger inside her. She bites her lip to suppress a moan, “And you were really trying to resist it, weren’t you?”
She nods, helplessly, as John slides a second finger into her soaking pussy.
He groans in delight, “Second lesson, kiska, rules are made to be broken.”
“This is wrong. You’re my student…” His fingers curl inside her and her head shoots back, leaning against the chalkboard as she resists the urge to moan.
“We only got so many years on this Earth,” John murmurs, rubbing his thumb against her clit as his fingers rub circles inside her, “and you think we should deny ourselves pleasures because of a silly thing like ethics? Kiska, I’m going to tear down every ethic you have.”
John’s fingers slip out of her and Helen finds herself moaning at the loss. Before she can think too much on that, however, John’s hands find her hips and she is hoisted into the air and carried over the handful of feet to the desk. Her desk. Where she teaches from and grades from and sits as her students work. It’s clear, now, save for two small piles of paper.
John ignores them, laying Helen on top of the desk. On top of papers she needs to grade and she can’t bring herself to care anymore.
He climbs on top of her, undoing his belt and unzipping his pants. Helen licks her lips, staring at the space between them as John pulls out his hard, thick cock. He pushes her panties to the side and rubs the head of his length against her wet folds. She can’t help but watch, completely transfixed by the sight.
“Ready for lesson three, kiska?” He taunts. Helen opens her mouth with a protest, a last hail Mary, but before she can respond, John shoves inside her. “You belong to me.”
A shout escapes her as John coats himself in her juices, pulling out just a bit before slamming back in aggressively. His hips collide with hers and Helen whimpers at the glorious intrusion.
Her body struggles to adjust to make room for him as he quickly begins to thrust in and out of her.
“You’re mine.” He tells her, tugging her body against his, “my little kiska.”
Gone is the sweet, kind man who helps her put away books and clean the classroom. In his place, he has left someone dark and possessive. His words scream in her head you belong to me and that terrifies her and excites her all the same.
Hadn’t she wished for this? For the rules to just disappear so that she could have this man to herself?
The rules seemed so ridiculous now, as he fucks her into oblivion, letting the thoughts slide from her head until all she can think is yes and more.
John grinds himself down against her and she cries out in pleasure, arching herself forward and burying her head in shoulder as he brings her closer and closer to her own delightful ending. John teases her, adjusting his pace, before slamming back into her.
His arms go around her, holding her in place so he can better use her.
Helen moans and whimpers and delights him with every little sound that escapes her pretty mouth.
“Look at you, kiska,” he teases, “So desparate for me, hmmm? Do you know how hard it was for me not to take you that first day? Looking so innocent, like you don’t even realize there are monsters in the world.”
He grinds down again and Helen tightens her own grip on John, moaning as he continues to move against her.
“So sweet, so patient…” he continues, “Who would have thought you could be so needy.”
He slows his pace and Helen whines, trying to grind up against him but it isn’t the same. She hears a small laugh in her ear and then John begins again.
“I”m gonna take such good care of you.” He tells her, “You won’t need this night job to get by anymore. You’re gonna spend your nights taking care of something else.” He drives into her and Helen cries out, feeling that heat swirling around her tummy. It feels so good, she can’t even bring herself to try and remember if she’s told the class that this is just her night job.
Nothing matters except the feeling that he is bringing her.
It builds, it builds, and builds until it is too much to take. Until it comes crashing down around her and she screams against his shoulder.
John’s grip only tightens on her as she grunts at his own release and she feels the strong waves of cum spill inside her as he rocks out the last of his own orgasm.
Her body feels heavy and exhausted but John holds her close and whispers, “You’re mine now, kiska.”
....
taglist: @fluffyfirewhiskey @greenmanalishi
#john wick#kinktober#kinktober 2020#overheard at the continental#student / teacher#forbidden relationship#helen wick#helen x john wick#john x helen wick
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lord, help
After a little playground drama, Tony has to deal with the fact that Tali really is Ziva’s daughter—through and through.
For @why-did-you-just-lie-to-mcgee and @indestinatus, with whom I’m always getting into trouble.
Also on ff and AO3
________________________
“Before I start talking, do you three have anything to say for yourselves?”
Arms crossed, Tony paces the short length of the dining room, watched closely by three dirty, nervous children. They’re sitting side by side at the table, chairs scooted close together as they huddle in solidarity, and they remain determinedly quiet.
“Alright then. Go ahead and tell me what you’ve done.”
None of them respond to this, either.
Frowning, Tony pulls out a chair opposite his daughter and sits down. “Sweetheart,” he tries again, “I happen to know that you speak no fewer than three languages. I also know that you know I spent a lot of time in law enforcement… I’m pretty good at getting information out of people. You’re smart and you’re very eloquent when you want to be, so when I ask again, I expect a reply this time: what happened?”
Tali’s expression turns at once from anxious to defiant, and she matches her father’s earlier posture by crossing her arms. Then she looks away, silent as ever.
“Well, Tali?” Tony prompts, feeling distinctly Gibbs-ish as he leans in and narrows his eyes.
Finally, Tali gives an answer, but it’s muttered mutinously under her breath and Tony doesn’t catch any of her words.
“What did you say?”
“I said,” she growls back, looking distinctly Ziva-ish, “that it wasn’t my fault.”
“Whose fault was it, then?”
“Gabriel’s. He started it.”
“What did he start? This would all be so much easier if you would just start from the beginning, baby girl.”
Tali huffs, glancing between her friends—neither girl looks particularly eager to jump in. As always, she has to do every dang thing herself! “Fine. We went to the park to practice, and—”
“Practice what?”
“Dad, you said it’s rude to interrupt! Ugh. We went to the park to practice krav maga. Gabriel saw us, and he asked what we were doing. I told him. Then he said we had to stop—we couldn’t do it ‘cause girls are weak!”
Tony files the ‘krav maga’ thing away to circle back to in a moment and focuses on the rest of the story. “And that started a fight?”
“Sort of.”
“What do you mean, ‘sort of’?”
“Well, I said ‘maybe someday you can work your way up to “weak,” too,’ and that started a fight.”
Tony has to look away for a moment to compose himself, certain that he’ll laugh if he keeps looking at her. “I see,” he manages after a moment, his lips twitching dangerously but his face otherwise kept carefully blank. “Who threw the first punch?”
“Gabriel did!” Tali’s friend Geneviève pipes up, looking braver now that it seems for the moment that they’re not going to be yelled at.
“And how did you three respond to that, ladies?”
“We just did what Tali has been teaching us, all the krav maga stuff!” This one comes from the third girl, Dina.
Tony glances back at his daughter, who suddenly looks a little shifty-eyed again. “How long has that been going on?”
Tali shrugs uncomfortably.
“Are you qualified to teach krav maga, Tals?”
“No, but—”
“Do you know how to do it safely so no one gets injured?”
“No, but—”
“Wouldn’t you feel bad if Geneviève or Dina was hurt because you didn’t know what you were doing?”
“Yes! But—”
“But you think it’s still okay to hold krav maga lessons in the park?”
Frustrated, Tali bangs her palm suddenly on the table top, making both of her friends jump. “Yes!” she cries. “Because Ima said that every girl should know how to fight! She’s been teaching me!”
Well, that’s news to Tony. “She has, has she?”
“I just said so, didn’t I!?”
It’s a pretty common consensus around the David-DiNozzos that Tali takes after her father in most things, but… every so often, on days like this, she proves that she’s most certainly her mother’s child. Her temper is usually the thing that gives it away.
“Don’t snap at me, young lady,” Tony responds sternly, but honestly, he wants to laugh again.
“Hmph.” Tali makes her displeasure known with a glower, and she thumps back in her seat.
Letting her stew for a moment, Tony glances back and forth between the other girls. “Did she tell the whole story?”
There appears to be a little silent communication that happens between the two, and then they turn back to him and nod in unison.
“You sure about that?” he questions, his tone warning them not to lie. “You had to think about it for a little too long before you answered.”
Geneviève frowns, considering. “It’s just…” She pauses. “Gabriel plays in the park a lot. He doesn’t play like the other kids, though. He’s mean.”
“Yeah, he’s a bully!” Dina concurs earnestly.
A few feet away, the lock on the front door slides free and the door opens, but the girls have their backs to it and don’t notice. Dina keeps talking. “He pulls my hair sometimes. Gabriel, he…” she wrinkles her nose and says something else that’s definitely not in French, which is what they’ve been speaking from the beginning of this “meeting.”
Over the girls’ heads, Tony sees Ziva’s eyes widen as she walks in, and he knows that she must have understood whatever Dina just said. “Do you say words like that to your own parents, Dina?” his wife asks pointedly.
All three girls jump and turn around guiltily.
“I, um…” Dina stammers. Like Tali, she’s a multilingual daughter of immigrants, and she seems to have forgotten that Ziva speaks many languages—including Russian.
Ziva holds her reproachful expression in place for a beat before relaxing into a small, almost conspiratorial smile. “I will not tell… because I am sure that you are right. I think he did.”
Dina smiles shyly back, surprised, and Ziva joins Tony on his side of the table. It seems that she somehow knows the basics of what went down in the park, so he doesn’t bother to bring her up to speed.
“Well,” Tony continues, drawing the attention of all three ten-year-olds back to himself, “I’m glad that none of you are hurt—and I’m glad Gabriel isn’t, either,” he adds. “But while knowing how to defend yourself is a good thing, you should never resort to violence unless you have no other choice, okay? Three people against one really isn’t a fair fight.”
Dina and Geneviève nod seriously, but Tali just snorts and mutters something under her breath in Hebrew. Whatever it is makes Ziva let out a strangled noise—Tony’s pretty sure that the noise is an aborted laugh. This entire series of events has him feeling the same way, but someone has to be the bad cop here…
So he nudges Tali’s foot under the table with his own. “Okay, Tali-Tee?”
She sighs. “Okay, Dad.”
Feeling like his fatherly duty has been fulfilled, Tony relaxes a little. “Alright. Now that that’s cleared up, you can go play again, but please, Jackie Chan and co., at least try not to start any more wars.”
Tali perks up slightly. “We’re not in trouble?”
“Not this time. But if I ever hear about you initiating any fights, I’m shipping you off to live with Grandpa Gibbs. He’ll set you straight.”
Tali is well aware that Grandpa Gibbs is wrapped around her little finger, so she grins. “Okay! We won’t!”
“Yeah, no fights for us!” Geneviève agrees.
“We won’t punch anyone!” Dina finishes, and without another thought, all three girls have flounced back out the door to return to the park.
Left alone with just Ziva, Tony starts to laugh, scrubbing his face with both hands. “God... and to think I used to hate the fact that I never got to see what you were like as a kid! Now I not only know a baby Ziva, I have to parent her, too!”
Ziva chuckles as well, laying a hand on her husband’s back and drifting it up to squeeze his shoulder fondly. “You handled it well, do not worry.”
Tony lifts his head to look at her, amused. “I wouldn’t have had to handle anything if you hadn’t decided to teach her Israeli martial arts.”
Ziva shrugs, entirely unrepentant. “I think she should be able to protect herself, and besides… it runs in her blood.”
“I guess it does… Lord help me, the only mere mortal in the middle of two born-and-bred ninjas. If Tali’s already picking fights with bullies at ten, I’m not going to survive her growing up.” He rolls his eyes, but he catches Ziva’s hand from his shoulder and squeezes it comfortably. “Anyway, how’d you find out what happened?”
“I ran into Gabriel’s mother on my way into the building.”
“Bet she wasn’t too pleased, was she?”
“No, she was not. But I told her that if my daughter hit her son, she almost certainly had an excellent reason for doing so.”
“You’ve never liked that kid, have you?”
“Not at all.”
Tony snorts. “Well, maybe he’ll stay away from the girls now.”
“It will be to his own detriment if he does not!”
“I’ll say. Tali can be fierce when she puts her mind to it, and Dina and Geneviève… Those three have always egged each other on. You know they get a little crazy when they’re all together—it’s total chaos, more often than not.”
“I am glad that Tali has them.”
“Me, too. They’re good friends to her, even if they’re always getting each other into trouble.” Tony pauses for a second, remembering something. “Hey, what did Dina say?”
Ziva laughs. “To translate it delicately, she said something like ‘that reproductive-organ-of-a-male-walrus deserved to be hit.’”
“I like the creativity… very Russian. And what did Tali say, right there at the end?”
“She was arguing with you… you said that three-against-one is not a fair fight, but she said that is not true here because Gabriel is stupid enough for three people all by himself.”
That really makes Tony laugh, and in the end, all he can think to reply is a thought that he’s already expressed today: “Lord, help... that girl is going to be the death of me.”
He really doesn’t mind, though.
#ncis fanfiction#tiva#tivali#tony dinozzo#ziva david#cynthia writes stuff too#the biscuits#i just know tali and co get into shenanigans like we do#much to the dismay of their parents
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Spoilery rant why one shouldn’t read Eleanor and Park
Source: I am a Korean.
Jesus this book is so racist????? The way I could write an entire thesis on just one (1) piece of evidence alone (for example, Cho Chang had a comeback in the form of a male Asian-American with green, yes, green eyes) but you know, that’d be ignoring The Rest Of The Book which just gets worse and worse.
Aforementioned two-last-names!! (Seriously, what is Park Sheridan?) I am tired. If you’re going to create an East Asian main character, is it that hard to research? We have first names too??? Did Rowell even speak to a Korean when writing this book? This is La Croix level tasteless diversity. Park has green eyes? What? I mean I suck at punnett squares, but boo me, we can’t forget he’s half-white too!! ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Okay, but his physical appearance should be the least of our worries right? Wrong.
I??? I’m??? If you see me sobbing it’s because I need the tears to stop me reading this book. The blatant racism that comes from Eleanor is just so demeaning, ignorant, and not funny at all? I don’t understand how this is meant to be relatable and only seems like a shoddy attempt at being ~quirky, look at me im so funny haha causal racism!!~ and instead misses the mark by about an out-of-control huge continent. The fact that Rowell knows that these are racist questions and racist comments, yet continues as if its supposed to be a joke without Park ever being able to defend himself from Eleanor’s ignorance, is really a sign of bad characterisation and wanting ~diversity points~ by barely scraping the surface of discussing how harmful these stereotypes can be. Casual racism/Passive racism is seriously abusive because all people can do is say “Oh it was just a joke, you’re being too sensitive!!” and brush the victims off, gaslighting them into thinking their pain isn’t even worth acknowledging and making them think that this is just American Culture, therefore should be complacent in their dehumanisation in order to assimilate. I feel like with “progressively”-characterised Eleanor, she shouldn’t have half the racist commentary she does (or at all) because, hey not all Americans are racist,,,,,,haha,,,,, The fact that these comments are coming from Park’s love interest is seriously disappointing.
“His mom looked exactly like a doll. In The Wizard of Oz – the book, not the movie –Dorothy goes to this place called the Dainty China Country, and all the people are tiny and perfect. When Eleanor was little and her mom read her the story, Eleanor had thought the Dainty China people were Chinese. But they were actually ceramic, or they’d turn ceramic, if you tried to sneak one back to Kansas.” (Chapter 21)
Hooray Eleanor, comparing a Korean woman to a Chinese character... hooray....also can we stop comparing Asian features to dolls? Objectification and exotification much? (Oh and don’t even get me started on how Park dismissed exotification of Asian women in that “I’m Asian and therefore unattractive” scene. Ugh.)
??What is with Eleanor and her inability to use other adjectives?? Why is him being Asian so significant to her? It just seems so demeaning and dehumanising. Use his last name. I know Eleanor is being sarcastic but I her jokes don’t hit the way she thinks it does. :// Big pass, and big miss. No hits here.
I am bothered. I hate this, the insecurity, the white saviour touch to this, the I-need-validation-from-love-interest, the Rowell-needs-inner-conflict-and-she-chose-the-worst-way-to-represent-it. If you really wanted to make this significant, impactful, and progressive (in the good ol’ year of 1986 [cue the eye rolling]), then you would have made Park realise his attractiveness shouldn’t be contingent on his love interest or anyone else but him. Give the boy some autonomy, please. I feel like I can’t breathe, but maybe Park’s green-ass eyes can convert carbon dioxide into oxygen for me. For a fellow Korean, please, Park, you can save my life with your so very Korean eyes.
tags: racism. Listen, even with my -2948147 eye sight I can see and feel the racism. Cal tried to make one racist joke (yellow fever), and instead made two. Racist mitosis anyone?
And here it is. Listen, I know gender stereotypes and gender roles are somehow the bread and butter of Asian households in both fiction and non-fiction, and I’m not going to deny that it exists. But. Why this one? Why this character. Why write her to behave this way? I hate the way that this only perpetuates stereotypes, and never breaks them down. I hate how this demonises Asian parenting, and the Asian immigrant experience. This to me, only seems like a token conflict point, rather than a well-thought out, nuanced commentary on Asian culture and their perspective on gender roles. The self-racism, the lack of critical thinking skills, the lack of commentary in an obviously commentary-needing scene. The complete ignorance. The glorification of white American culture (kindly represented by Eleanor). There could have been so much you could have done (Park standing up to his mum, scenes of his mum getting that very much needed development arc, the balance between Korean culture/traditions and healthy parenting––because healthy parenting isn’t just Eurocentric you know, it can coexist with Asian tradition [gasp]), but again, shallow and demeaning. Am I surprised at this point? Well, we’re pretty much at rock bottom and I’ve got a pickaxe.
The broken English.
I can’t. “Why she want to look like man? It’s so sad.” I am going to throw something. If you’re going to include the immigrant experience in your book, do it properly, otherwise it’s just racist. You’re making Park’s mum seem stupid, unable to change, a representation of a person who just doesn’t understand American culture and thus deserves no respect. After we’re (the readers) see that Park’s mum understands little about American culture, of its language, and thus will misunderstand and conflict with Eleanor’s very existence, we’re awfully inclined to see her as the somewhat antagonist of the story (especially as she offsets the main couple...in a romance novel, so yeah, antagonist), thus her opinion is invalid and wrong. Ah yes, because parents can’t learn and grow and become better people. This characterisation is the equivalent of nails on a chalkboard.
(Okay this is more of a minor point, but I uh, am very bothered by the doll-like appearance contrasted with the “simply-just beautiful Sabrina.” The only thing shallow here is Eleanor’s love for Park where half of her internal commentary is just pure racism, but haha racism is ~funny~) (C’mon Mindae, you couldn’t have prevented your son having two last names and no first name?)
Eleanor’s racism strikes again!!! Yes girl!! Shame Mindae for only buying brand-names!! Shame her assimilation attempts!! (Only because who knows what would’ve happened if there were Korean side dishes and meals in the fridge. Racism probably. Eleanor @ Kimchi: 👁👄👁) Next time Mindae goes grocery shopping, she should bring Eleanor for her white, American approval!! (Again, with the dumb-ification of Mindae, I hate it here. What was that Sofia Vergara quote from Modern Family?
Yeah, Eleanor, do you even know how smart Mindae is in Korean? :////)
God, Rowell, I’m begging, I’m on my knees, please don’t ever think about creating another character like Park ever again. I hated this journey and how it made me feel. Please, if you’re going to write a Korean-American character, have a Korean-American beta-reader. Rowell is trying to create a third-culture-kid and Asian immigrant experience, which aren’t stories for her to tell. This is exactly what happens when you don’t do the research for your own story (you can tell she barely put any effort into it). Instead, she perpetuates harmful stereotypes and further isolates Asian immigrants from interacting and being comfortable with American culture. Why should we, when we’re simply shamed for it? For just one extra editor, you can save another Asian character from having no first name. Just dial 888-google-it-god-888, today.
#rant#anti eleanor and park#anti park sheridan#anti eleanor douglas#i#how was this published#the racism?#just stick to fangirl please#listen im not saying you needed to make this political#im just saying you needed to make this not racist#i get it#its a love story#but the way my heart is broke#man :///#mine
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@newsiesgiftexchange
for @what-goesaround-comesaround for the Newsies Winter Gift Exchange 2020
aaaah ok so this unbetad because usually I bully you into betaing my stuff so it's quite stream of consciousness but whateverr. also maybe I took some creative liberties on the historical accuracy but who cares
(its kind of a shit show but shhhh Irish Spot)
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read on ao3 here
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While it was Jack's father who taught him not to starve it was his mother who taught him the value of his heritage. Which is why when the new kid at the lodging house was sitting at the end of his bed, distressed over a throwaway comment Albert had made, Jack was doing his best to comfort them.
"He said I was losing my accent" Rua had all but wailed. "How can I be Irish without me accent. And Granda said he used to have flaming hair like mine before it went dark with age. Then I won't even look Irish." they continued.
"But yer Irish by blood not by hair or by voice. I mean my hair ain't red but you'd be hard pressed tryna tell me I isn't Irish." Jack sighed. "Look, I've never stepped foot in Ireland, youse is ahead of me there, but my Mam kept it alive in the stories she told. Some were legends and some were just memories of her and her siblings getting into all sorts of trouble in the fields. And I can speak Irish just as good as the next guy, no matter what Spot Conlon says" he finished. Rua let out a short sniffle.
"But my Mam works in a factory. I never see her no more" they said wiping their face with their sleeve.
"We ain't the same, I'm Irish sure but I was born here. Youse is better off asking Spot about this, he was born in Dublin, didn't come here til he was about 8. And seeing as Albert started this whole mess he can be the one to go to Brooklyn to deliver the message after he's done selling. Now it's time for newsies to go to bed, you ain't no use selling if your half asleep." Jack declared.
——————————————————————–
To a bright eyed and bushy tailed Rua morning couldn't come soon enough and neither could the circulation bell nor could the final sell of the day. By the time Albert left for Brooklyn every newsie in Manhattan knew about it and was sick of hearing about it.
"Just because Albert's gone today, don't mean Spots gonna visit today. Heck he mightn't even visit at all. Do youse really think this is a big enough deal for the King of Brooklyn to take time out of his busy sche-
"Stop shit stirring Boots" Jack interrupted sternly. "Just because Spot doesn't like Brits like you doesn't mean he won't help out a fellow Paddy" he joked. At that Boots straightened his back
"I'll have you know Mr Kelly that Spot Conlon said I's is the best 'Brit' he knows" he said, smugly straightening an imaginary tie.
"Best of a rotten bunch" a new voice chimed in. Every newsie in the room suddenly started scrambling to look half presentable. "I got your message Kelly, now where's the young wayne?" the person continued. In response Jack stepped aside revealing Rua, who had been hiding behind his legs.
"I-I'm Rua" they stuttered out. The man crouched down to their eye level.
"I'm Spot Conlon, but I thought youse was supposed to be Irish. Where's me 'dia duit'? It's like you ain't even tryin'. No wonder youse losing yer accent" Spot said. That did nothing to help the already nervous wreck that Rua was.
Spot shot up suddenly, shooing everyone but Jack, Rua, Crutchie and Race out. He sat down on the middle bed and kicked his feet up, gesturing for everyone to follow. Ever the rebel Race decided to lean against the bunk instead while the rest settled into the surrounding beds. "Look, Jack says youse is struggling with moving on with yer life while staying Irish. I went through the same thing when I first came 'nd look at me now, King of New York"
"King of Brooklyn" Race coughed out which Spot shot daggers at him for.
"I'se is the King of New York, don't let no street rat tell you otherwise" he spat "but I wasn't always, I was once a youngin like you, fresh off the boat with only my poor parents and a sack full of stuff between us…"
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The dock bustled with workers and passengers alike. Some leaving but most stepping off boats and into their new lives. Among those coming off was a young Seán Conlon. With wild hair and big eyes filled with the wonder and excitement of seeing somewhere beyond the slums of Dublin. It was an outbreak of TB amongst the tenements that did it in for his parents.
Seán didn't have long to admire the new world he had just entered before his hand was grabbed and he was dragged off into a long line filled with fellow immigrants. Hours passed before the tired young boy would make it through the front door to his new home. It was a small one room apartment completely unlivable by today's standard but to someone from the worst slums in Europe it might as well have been Buckingham. "Go bhfoire Dia orainn, tá sé linne!! Níl aon theaghlach eile ina gconaionn liomsa?" Seán gawked in awe.
"Tá, ach bí curamach, níl cead agat bí ag caint as gaeilge nuair a tá tú taobh amuigh" his father responded.
"Cén fáth?"
"Mar ní maith a lán daoiní, duine eile ag caint as gaeilge agus sin é sin a bhfuil."
"Ceart go leor"
That night Seán lay awake in his bed wondering why anyone could dislike speaking Irish. Well besides the British but Uncle Seamus always said that their opinion didn't matter and that he and a few of his friends from the Irish Republican Brotherhood would soon rid Ireland of them. Whatever that meant. His father would always laugh alongside and say 'that would be the day' while his mother would give out to him for encouraging Seamus.
It wouldn't be for a few weeks that Seán would find out what his dad was talking about. He was out selling papers to help make ends meet, as small as the room was all three of them had to work hard in order to pay for it. He stood there waiting at the gate for the circulation bell to ring, when it happened. On his first day one of the older kids taught him a few tricks and gave him a few pieces of advice. One of those pieces was 'stay away from Acton Williams'. An unspoken rule he had managed to avoid up until that point.
Acton had walked right into him, dropping a strange wooden item in the process. Seán liked to think that his mother raised him right so he apologized and bent down to pick up the trinket
"Brón orm" he mumbled as he crouched, item in hand.
"The fuck you say to me?" Acton grunted. Seán froze realising his mistake and everyone went silent at the sound of Acton's voice.
"I was just saying sorry" Seán rushed out, trying desperately not to get baited so soon after joining the newsies. Acton let out a laugh.
"That's not what you said though is it?" he said " see I think youse was speaking some stupid language from the stupid country you came from. So I'mma ask again 'the fuck you say to me?"
"I said 'brón orm', you heard me the first time," Seán said, gaining confidence. It was one thing to be intimidated by an older kid who would definitely knock your block off but his Nan taught him better than to let someone talk shite about Ireland. Acton scoffed.
"I pity the Mum who raised such a rude brat " he spat taking a step towards Seán.
"Yeah well I pity the Mam who gave birth to such an ugly ogre"
And they were off! Acton could easily outrun Seán's tiny legs so his only hope was to lose him with twists and turns through the back alleys and busy streets. After what felt like hours of running, Seán finally ran into a deadend. Turning to face a panting Acton, Seán gulped and started reciting any and all prayers he could think of to any saints that popped into his head. In fact it wasn't until Seán went to clasp his hands in prayer that he noticed what he had picked up earlier.
A slingshot!!
Grabbing the nearest rock Seán loaded the sling. 'Dear St Anthony, pleeaassee help me find the ability to aim well' he prayed as he scrunched his eyes shut and released.
The next thing Seán heard was the large thump an unconscious Actons body made as it hit the ground. Opening his eyes to examine the noise he had heard Seán was shocked to see his feeble attempt at fighting back was actually a success. Seán quickly pocketed the slingshot and left before Acton had time to wake up.
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"...and that's what it means to be Irish" Spot finished proudly
"Beating up British people is what it means to be Irish?" Rua said in awe of Spot's story. Spot grinned.
"See, this kid gets it" he joked, ruffling Ruas hair.
"That was a lovely story yer highness but how is that surppsoed to help 'em keep their accent" Race chipped in.
"Well what about you then Higgins if you have so much to say? D'you have any stories worth listening to?"
"What about being Italian? Well I-"
"Italian? Are ye not Irish?"
"No? What made you think that?"
"Yer surname is Higgins"
"Yeah, Higgins is a classic Italian name"
Jack and Spot made eye contact for a good minute before bursting out laughing. "Yer telling me this entire time youse never knew you was Irish?" Jack choked out between laughs. Even Rua stifled a giggle.
"My own mam was a Higgin, Racetrack" Spot roared. "Yee just can't make this stuff up" he said wiping a tear from his eye. Race's face was a brilliant red as he sputtered out excuses.
"Yer just joking, right guys? Right guys??"
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BONUS :
At the gates the next morning Seán stood there absolutely shitting bricks. What had happened yesterday had been a stroke of luck but if Acton decided to continue the fight he was dead meat.
"Wait, is that Williams? No way what's with the giant bruise on his forehead?" a voice spoke interrupting Seán's train of thought.
"No way that's a bruise, he doesn't get those" another shot back. Soon a whole symphony of voices were arguing over whether it was a bruise or not.
"Wait a minute, weren't you getting chased by him yesterday, newbie? How come there's not a scratch on ya, and why's there only a big bruise on him?" the first voice said piecing the puzzle together. Soon everyone was crowding around Seán, looking for the story of what happened.
"Look nothing really happened" Seán reassured trying to downplay the situation "he chased me for a bit before I eventually shot him with this sling and he passed out on the spot."
Apparently telling them he knocked out the bully of the newsies was not the right thing to say to defuse the situation. Some started cheering for him others just rolled their eyes at his story.
"He clearly made that up on the spot" one voice chiming in.
"Nah, look at Acton, that's a massive bruise, obviously from being shot with a sling" another rebutted. Eventually the crowd settled a bit and someone had the common sense to ask for his name.
"Oh! I'm Seán." he responded. Everyone groaned.
"Not yer real one, yer newsies one" someone said. After Seán told them he didn't have one, everyone put their thinking caps on.
"Let's call him Spot, 'cause we'll never really know if he knocked him down on the spot or made up that story on the spot."
#boots newsies#jack kelly#livesies#newsies live#crutchie morris#jack newsies#race higgins#racetrack higgins#albert newsies#albert dasilva#spot newsies#spot conlon#newsies holiday exchange
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Diary of a Junebug
Down by the fishing hole
The guys from Airy are back for a fishing tourney and more musical fun times! Joining them are Franny and little Ellie May, both who are enjoying the camp very much. It's been forever since I've seen the two so it's been great catching up with them.
Ellie May's full of spirit, she's a lot like her dad and aunt. I'm surprised that she kinda remembered me a little from when I last visited Airy, which was maybe four or five years ago - not too long before I came to the camp so around that time period. She was probably around two as she was walking and talking by then.
Sam says that Ellie May couldn't wait to come to the camp so she's been marking down the days until the tourney on the calendar. It's no surprise that she's into the great outdoors like her parents. At home she would tag along with Sam, Buddy, and Storm on their fishing trips at Sawyer Lake right outside town. And like the guys, Ellie May has a knack for fishing.
Franny's a bit of an outlier as she's not an avid fisher, but she does like hanging out with the guys. Though it's more so she can keep an eye on them. Buddy and Storm have a way of attracting trouble while Ellie May has Sam wrapped around her finger so it's up to Franny to be a couple steps ahead when their antics drive them up a wall.
What I love about Franny is that on the outside she looks like the kind of person who's got her shit together - the sole braincell of the gang. Independent, intelligent, creative, badass - there's a reason why she's a force to be reckoned with. Though on the inside she's just as crazy and eccentric as the others - and that's why everyone looks up to her.
While fishing, we got to talking about what's been going on in Airy. Ellie May's on the soccer team at school and taking piano lessons with a neighbor. Sam and Franny's dad is semi-retiring from the Airy Gazette, which is slowly phasing out newspapers to go completely online by next year. The community choir album is progressing while In Hopes and Dreams is a hit, prompting Storm to work on recording more music. Buddy's running the gas station/auto shop as usual. Franny is filling prescriptions and keeping up with current events. Sam's balancing town council and home life as well as dabbling as a songwriter.
Airy's one of those small towns that has adapted and changed over years while still retaining its heart. People like Franny, Sam, Ellie May, and Buddy are rooted firmly to their town, their families having been there for generations. Franny and Sam's grandpa, Andy Beryl, was a well known townfolk. He was the good samaritan, the kind of guy who takes the time to help others and actively worked to make the town a better place. There's a plaque in the courthouse dedicated to him in the office where he worked - it was brand new when I last visited.
We also got to talking about Andy Beryl a bit as it's been almost ten years since his passing. Imagine if he had lived a few more years he would've gotten to know Ellie May. Sam and Franny speak highly of him, talking about fond memories of him telling stories of the shenanigans he and his friends got up to in town. Among his friends included Buddy and Storm's grandpa, who was also known for getting into sticky situations that involved Andy stepping in to save the day.
Being part of the town council, Sam and Franny feel a sense of responsibility for the town. Since taking on the role of head council, Sam has kinda followed in his grandpa's footsteps - even mirroring his life in a way. Along with being the go-to person in town, Sam, like Andy, is also a single parent who's trying their best. The Beryls hold pride in their family name but at the same time avoid putting it up on a pedestal. After all, they're regular folks just like everyone else - something that seems to get muddled over the years but the message's clear enough. They have a legacy that they're proud of and want to keep it up, to make things even better for the next generation.
Speaking of generations, what's interesting about Airy is how different things were thirty years ago. During Andy's time, the town was mostly white - English, Irish, Scottish, German - most who have been living there for generations. Now most of the people in Airy are mixed, mainly white and Asian like the present company. Sam and Franny's father, Andy's son, married his college sweetheart, a Cambodian immigrant. As a result, Sam and Franny grew up with a mix of both cultures and know how to speak Khmer. It's fun seeing them bickering in their second language, because even if you don't understand what they're saying, at least you get what's going on.
(Also I'm lowkey jealous of how well they speak Khmer. I can barely hold a basic conversation, plus my pronunciation totally butchers the language. They say theirs isn't that great either but compared to mine, it's nothing. Sorry Mom, I'm trying but Khmer is hard.)
And as for Ellie May, her mom, Ellie, was born from Mexican immigrants. Ellie's parents visit often so Ellie May's picked up Spanish from them, making her trilingual. It seems early, but her grandparents want Ellie May to have a quinceañera, though before we know it, that day will come soon! It's good to see Ellie May proud of her heritages as well as showing off her impressive language skills!
Again, I find it interesting how much the demographic? culture? of Airy has shifted so much over the past 30-40 years, which is basically Sam, Franny, Buddy, and Storm's generation. Pretty much everyone around their age is born from a longtime Airy townfolk and an immigrant. I wonder how much more Airy will change with Ellie May's generation.
In between fishing sessions, we did a bunch of fun activities. Buddy was in his element at OK Motors tinkering with engines. He's a bit unconventional when it comes to fixing cars but he's got his ways. Storm messed around with engines too while looking for songwriting inspiration. He and Sam have written a couple songs over the past few weeks so they'll be dropping by the island in the near future to record. I'm happy that Storm's getting back into writing music, especially now that things are finally working out in his favor in terms of creative control.
Franny and Ellie May enjoy hiking and foraging, they've gathered a lot of berries so we're gonna be making something with them. We're debating on whether to make a pie or a bunch of little tarts - either one sounds good. Sam brought his guitar, prompting spontaneous jam sessions throughout the camp. Like Storm, he's been getting into music too, especially since discovering his talent as a lyricist. We've heard live performances of the new songs - Out of Reach, Dandelions, and Where the Ferns Grow - all which sounded fantastic. Hopefully there's more where that came from.
Since working on In Hopes and Dreams, Sam has also been seeing a counselor. With the song being about grief and loss and now that Ellie May's become more curious about her mom, Sam finally realized that he needed help. Talking about Ellie has been difficult but he knew that he can't keep avoiding it forever, especially for Ellie May's sake. I haven't known Ellie for long but her absence is felt, which I think says a lot about her.
While the others fished, Franny collected seashells and took a bunch of pics. Sam managed to catch a lot of doubles as well as a shark during the off hours. Despite almost getting yeeted in the middle of the ocean, he managed to drag the shark to shore - with our help, of course. Ellie May drew a cute sticker for him that says "I fought a shark and won!" with a funny doodle to go with it, which he stuck on his jacket for all to see. The two have such a sweet bond, it's fun seeing Sam carry Ellie May up on his shoulders as they laugh and run around the camp.
Earlier today we took a short hike along the thornberry trail behind the camp. That probably wasn't the best idea as the path's kinda narrow and we had to watch out for thorns. Sam had to go after Ellie May, who was running around, and both ended up stuck in a bramble bush. Thankfully their injuries are nothing serious, but they looked painful. As soon as they took off, Franny knew that something like that was gonna happen as both have a tendency to be too curious while easily distracted. It doesn't matter how grown up you are, the older sibling never stops being the caretaker for the younger one.
Just for the record, Ellie May was a lot braver than Sam - and she has more scrapes and bumps than him. Though for him, it's less the pain and more that the sight of blood puts him off. There's a reason why Franny followed their mom's footsteps to study medicine and he didn't.
Aside from that little mishap, everything else has been going well. Franny, Daisy Jane and Norma made fish pies that turned out great. They're basically like seafood chowders with a puff pastry layer on top. Stu and Buddy helped Reese and Cyrus build a gazebo that's ready to paint so that's what we're gonna do tomorrow. Storm, Candi, and Tipper hung out at Sunbust Island and harvested coconuts to make smoothies. Sam and Ellie May helped me run errands while sightseeing and stocking up on supplies. Just another fun and busy day at the camp!
In between those activities, we met up at the beach for another round of fishing. The tourney fish seem to gravitate towards the area near the cliff so we called that spot the fishing hole. It's a nice area to be situated in, kind of like our own little nook in the ocean.
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Silent Love Part 4
Aldidjdbdj it's been a while huh? I got a lot more asks than I was expecting so hopefully that filled yall up while waiting for this
Fandom: the umbrella academy
Pairing: axel x Irish!OC
Time and place: Spring 1990 San Patricio
Summary: over 1200 words of kelly, axel, and Nikolas just at the pub
Last chapter was really short, so plz enjoy this longer one! I hope it was worth the wait.
Plz rememebr that the only character who's first language is english is Dick from part 1, so the dialog is spoken all wich accents and doesnt have a wide variety of vocab if its english (aka black colored) especialy for Axel cause he knows the least of them
Green dialog is Irish
Blue dialog is Swedish
A small bell chimes with the opening door, notifying nearby people of the new person. Axel looks around the pub to see people drinking, talking quietly, and clapping and stomping their feet to the beat of the music while people dance in a cleared out area. This place is so warm. He thinks to himself. Almost a little suffocating, if I think about it. Axel decides to take a seat at the bar closest to the door.
“Welcome to the irish pub! My name is Sean, and I'll be the bartender this evening. What can I help you with?” A man says, cleaning a glass in his hands.
“Waiting” Axel responds simply, while Sean gives a nod of acknowledgment. The pub is not going to stay open forever. Most people have already left for the night.
“Very well then, please feel free to ask for help. I'll come by later” The bartender sets down the glass behind him and walks off towards the other end of the bar. The music ends, and the dancers bow. Another song starts up as the door opens again with another chime.
"Thank you Again for agreeing to meet with me" Nikolas says, taking a seat next to Axel. "I know swedes prefer to stay out of other people's business, so I'm sorry if any of this has been an inconvenience for you. Were you waiting long?"
"No" he responds curtly. The bartender comes over again at the new man's appearance.
"Welcome to the irish pub! My name is Sean, are you ready for something?" The lad jots down Nikolas's order on a notepad then turns to Axel. "Anything for you?"
"Same" he says.
"Good choice gentlemen, I'll get right on that" Sean walks over to prep the drinks on the back counter.
"...So, do you know the woman who helped at all, or was it a factor of chance?" Nik says, deciding to start the conversation once their drinks arrived.
"No. I was walking nearby and heard Adela call out...." I thought it was my family. "...I thought..." Axel trails off, sipping his drink in between pauses.
"This country isn't all it's Cooked up to be" Nik says with a sigh, taking reign for the poor lad. "You have to be a pure american to fit in. Walk, talk, and look like them. What they seem to forget is that this country is made almost entirely of immigrants. They pushed back, suppressed, stole, and killed the natives of this land to claim it as their own. People like us... who are different... have it rough, we need to look out for each other. No one else will" Axel nods solemnly. Discrimination is everywhere. “That's why I like places like these...” Nik says, gesturing to the entire pub with glass in hand.
Glancing around, most every person there is Irish or some other immigrant. In the corner behind the bar, Axel spots your head of red hair as you prep something on the back counter. The front door opens with another chime of the bell, and a small boy darts right though the door, smacking straight into Axel. The boy falls down with a thud and a gasp, making your head swivel over to the 3 boys' location. You throw your hands up and mumble something under your breath, walking towards them.
"That's her. The one with the red hair" Axel points out to the man.
"Levi, what did I tell you!" You scold him, briefly checking for injuries. After concluding there aren't any, you turn to the 2 men at the bar. "I am so sorry, gentlemen-" your eyes meet Axel’s, and your face lights up with recognition. She does remember. And she's speaking slowly for us to understand better.
"Don't worry about us, is the lad alright?" Nik asks.
"I'm fine, thank you. Sorry for running into you" Levy answers him, speaking softly enough for only them to hear.
"Why don't you go upstairs. And use your walking feet!" You suggest, a hand on Levi's shoulder. “I am so sorry, again-” You start, interrupted by the elder man.
“It's alright, he's just a boy and will learn with time” You smile kindly at him, thanking god he’s not upset. “You're a kind lass for helping my granddaughter last week” He says, this time sending you a kind smile.
“You’re her grandfather? Oh, I’m so glad she found her family” You turn your attention to Axel this time “I’m sorry I couldn't help more. Is your arm doing good? I could rebandage it for you” You offer, motioning where he was wounded on your own limb.
“Arm is good” How does her face just.... Relax like that?
“Thank god, I'm glad”
“My name is Nikolas, but you can call me Nik. It's very nice to meet you” He extends his hand for a shake, and you lean in to take it.
“Please call me by my last name, Kelly”
“Don't like your first one?” The old man questions.
“...something like that” Nik nods his head in acknowledgement.
“How long have you been in the country?”
“Well, my parents moved here with me after I finished schooling... but they moved back after 15 years. I have a job here because it's run by my best friends family, and that's what I've been doing ever since”
“I see... it must have been rough when you first moved here” Nik comments.
“Yes, it always is. That's why immigrants help immigrants, right? We all have it tough”
“That is exactly why I like places like these” Nik continues his earlier topic with a smile. “You’re much more likely to find kindness here than with a ‘real’ american - as they like to call themselves” You smile with a small laugh.
“Well, what's your name? How long you been here?” You say, directing your attention to the Swede.
“Axel. 1 year” Technically it's been a little less than a year, but I don't know how to say that in English. You nod your head sympathetically.
“It is a hard language to learn, my parents had the most difficulty. Part of the reason they moved back”
“In my experience, it's easier when surrounded by the language” Axel zones out of their conversation momentarily, not very interested in their business. Why are they both so friendly? He ponders, glancing around the pub again to see that the population has dwindled.
“...You dance?” He asks you finally, gesturing to the dancers up front who have all stopped for water. You turn your head to glance over at the girls, before responding and turning back.
“Not a lot anymore. I teach and help make new dances though. In the morning before the pub opens we let local dancers practice here”
“My, that's so cool! Adela was always interested in dancing” Nik responds with enthusiasm.
“It's a lot of fun. Levi has a lot of energy, so I'm trying to make him like it more”
“Maybe if he and Adela met they could like it together?” The older man suggests, your face springs with an idea.
“There's a big show soon. They could meet then?” You propose, emphasizing the size with your hands.
“Yes!” Across the room, a clock chimes for the hour and the excitement from your face deflates.
“Pub closes soon” You say, sadness tinging your accented voice. “Time to go home. But next time?”
“Yes, I can not wait!” Nik stands up with a newfound happiness. “Thank you for talking to me, I am sorry if I was interrupting your job”
“Of course. Good night, be safe!” You pat his shoulder eagerly as he heads towards and out the door.
“Arm... bandage?” Axel questions, motining to his injured arm. You look back to him suddenly, eyes widening in recognition yet again.
“Yes. Wait please” You then make your way behind the bar and trek up the stairs with vigor. As he waits, Sean comes up to take his empty glass.
“Done?” He questions before picking it up. Axel simply nods and the cup is taken to be cleaned. Soon enough you return down the steps, glidings over to him with supplies. Setting the small jar of slave down, you start unwrapping his bandages with such delicacy it almost scares him. It's as if she's afraid something will shatter with her touch. Revealing the wound, you are relieved to see it truly has gotten better - if even a little.
“Not big” You say, applying the same salve as last time. “Will heal fast. Thank you” That's almost exactly what she said last time too. You quickly wrap the new bandage around his arm, satisfied with your work. But... “Done!” You quip with a smile. Every cat has claws... and I don't plan on being fooled again.
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Battle of The Majors: Engineering vs. Philosophy
I just read a really interesting article by a clever writer named Kristina Grob, a Philosophy instructor at University of South Carolina Sumter. The article discussed the long-term benefits of a Philosophy degree in terms of paying ones’ bills and earning a living, as opposed to other majors like Engineering, which is obviously more geared towards practical applications and material success.
https://www.americamagazine.org/politics-society/2020/08/06/want-good-job-major-philosophy?fbclid=IwAR3mE_MT25ZboA7pdoquawknRH9AvhykYrLSTUW1ZLzUv2Vdobs38NXot-k
I read the article with particular interest because I majored in both fields, at separate schools, to obtain two Bachelor’s degrees. The first was in Philosophy at Princeton, and the second in Chemical Engineering at Cal State Northridge. Even though my family had been engineers for four generations before me, I was the rebellious one who wanted to have a broader mind and wanted to set out on a new path.
My father and grandfather both had Mechanical Engineering degrees from Cornell, and my grandfather was even a Cornell Instructor. My paternal great-grandfather was a Military Engineer from West Point (top in his class, except for the fellow-student he tutored). His name was James J. Meyler and he won perhaps the most important public debate of the early twentieth century vs. Leland Stanford, known as “The Free Harbor Contest”, and was responsible for picking the location and beginning the dredging and construction for the Los Angeles Harbor, which was the largest harbor ever built for many years. There was a street named after him in San Pedro, near the harbor. He also had Army ships named after him, and his portrait stood in the L.A. Army Headquarters for 50+ years.
Even his father, my great-great grandfather (also named Nickolas Meyler, like myself), who was an un-degreed Irish immigrant of the potato-famine, was a master carpenter who successfully filed his own patent for a roof-forming machine –- technology which I have been told by Construction professionals is still used on multi-million dollar mansions in Malibu today.
So, why would I study Philosophy instead?
I didn't want to conform to my family's expectations. And, probably because I badly wanted an education in the Humanities. In fact, I took 13 classes in Philosophy at Princeton (more than any other undergrad I knew) and another 6 in Comparative Literature. Philosophy was the highest-ranked department in the World at the time, so it appealed to me because of the challenge. The thought of earning a living never even occurred to me at the time, I was so impassioned to learn the truths of the Universe.
Towards the end of Senior year, I had some conversations with people about “the real world”. One friend who was a fellow Philosophy major in many of my classes was the grand-daughter of two Nobel winners on her mother’s side, while her father was President of Harvard. Even she, with a mother who was a Philosophy professor (and later a best-selling author), made remarks like “We Philosophy majors are the most worthless people out there.”
After I graduated, I began to realize that it might actually be hard to get a job when Philosophy hadn’t really exactly prepared me for one. I had heard of Philosophers in Europe putting up a shingle and charging $100 an hour for providing advice on Life, etc., but I didn’t think I could make that model work for me. I ended up taking the next year off and read 160 books. My parents were incredibly generous with me, very tolerant and understanding. They realized that I had been through an ‘existential crisis’, trying to find some sense of self-worth and meaning in Life. I also had a peculiar psychosomatic ailment which was attacks of hiccups that went on and on intermittently, for many months.
Finally, my parents insisted that I get a job. Since I was contemplating a possible career in Law, it seemed appropriate that I should take advantage of my family’s personal lawyer being the Executor for the J. Paul Getty Museum Estate. I got a job in the mail-room at a company called Musick, Peeler, and Garrett which entailed mailing enormous checks and documents to members of the Getty family.
I could read a book on the bus to the office, and had hundreds of attorneys to talk with and ask questions about Law. I learned a great deal, met some great people, and eventually began to understand that I was not the type of person who should be a lawyer. This was probably a good way to learn that I was not cut-out for that particular profession.
Eventually, family tradition began to influence me, and I resolved to study Chemical Engineering. I think there were several reasons for this, including my family’s predilection for Engineering, and the fact that I had always liked Chemistry. I also was fascinated with the music of Iannis Xenakis, a Composer/Architect who wrote music about Chemical Engineering, Mathematics, and Physics. I was led back into Engineering by way of the Humanities. I had always been especially good in Science and Math, so I thought it made a lot of sense; plus, it seemed pretty assured that I could manage to make a living at it.
So, a few years later, I did graduate with a Chemical Engineering degree and was able to find an entry-level Chemist job in the Electroplating industry. Here I was working with people who were shop-owners that made $500,000 per year… this was obviously something that made money. I also realized, though, that repeated exposure to toxic chemicals, cyanide, sulfuric acid, hydrofluoric acid, etc. was not really all that appealing.
For that reason, I eventually transitioned to a sales career-path – selling plating chemicals for an esoteric but fascinating process of auto-catalytic deposition of nickel phosphorus (i.e. “electroless nickel”). I learned that the communication and language skills I had acquired while studying Philosophy actually had value in terms of making it easier to explain concepts and make persuasive arguments. I was able to use reason and logic to achieve sales of product.
This was something I hadn’t really expected. All of the sudden, Philosophy actually had a practical application. I could use logic and reasoning to present rational reasons for customers to buy the products I was hawking, and could make them feel good about using them.
Eventually, of course, I transitioned into the career of Executive Search, where I have been for the past 30 years. I use my skills in Engineering and Philosophy both, on a daily basis. Philosophy is very helpful for strategic thinking, ethics, and selling of ‘intangibles’. Engineering, equally, is a passion that is fortuitous to have. Nothing is more exciting to me than cutting-edge Science and Technology being applied at the highest competitive levels to achieve commercial success and successful productization.
The truth, is, at least according to Kristen Grob, that Philosophy majors earn more than their counterpart majors, and maybe as much as Engineering majors. I was shocked with her statement, but it seems to have some facticity. I found it hard to believe that the pursuit of Non-material Wisdom could somehow equate with Science based on the nature of Matter (i.e. Chemistry).
In 30 years of placing Scientists and Engineers, I have only once encountered another person with Bachelor’s degrees in both Chemical Engineering and Philosophy. Only one other person, and I have about 30,000 resumes on file, with probably over 200,000 personal contacts over my career.
What do the facts really say? Since I work with Engineers and Scientists, of course I’m not so likely to see resumes of other Philosophy majors. That doesn’t mean they can’t make money. Some statistics say that the average Philosophy graduate makes $80,000 per year. Certainly, this is comparable to what Engineers earn.
Realistically speaking, would I be the Engineering Headhunter I am today, without having had a Philosophy degree? Probably not. I think that the communication skills alone that I learned were priceless. Having the ability to communicate well is not always common among Engineers. Both disciplines involve problem-solving, but only Philosophy focuses on persuading others of the correctness of one’s viewpoint. This element is neglected in most Engineering curricula. I do think that there should be more of a hybridization between the two fields. It can only help.
Meanwhile, I must also admit that I am the most-followed “Philosopher/Engineer” on Twitter in the World.
Is that worth any money?
Probably not. But it’s a whole lot more fun!
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