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essaysbyciara · 3 years

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It’s Been A Long Time | Nebraska Williams x Black!PlusSize Reader [Part 1/?]

Warnings: language, smut thoughts (my ministry!)

So this has been in my drafts for a *HOT MINUTE* but that photo of Trevante in high school triggered a release. If people dig where it could be going, I will add it to my list of stuff to finish and open up a taglist. I’ll try my best to do so, I promise! lol

“God, I played this album out…” Lil’ Wayne’s seminal album, The Carter, didn’t age at all. Back in 2004, Wayne was a secret about to bubble over to superstardom, just years shy of lollipops and Static Major (rest in peace). Wayne represented the teenage angst of your time, even though you toiled in the suburbs while he wrestled with the streets. But as “On My Own” damn near explodes your factory speakers, a high pitch ping from your phone pauses your trip down memory lane.

Message from Sheena: Let’s catch up before the babies wake up.

You hit the call button on your dash once you stop at a red light.

“Girl, hey. You on your way to work?”

“Ain’t I always, Shi Shi? Damn near almost overslept. Thought I missed my flight.”

Sheena, or Shi Shi, is the epitome of a best-friend-forever. You two met in Ms. Grayson’s civics class, 11th grade. On the first day of school, you rolled into third period wearing a Scream Tour II t-shirt and if you were to describe Sheena in that moment, jealous wasn’t even the word. She stanned hard for Lil’ Bow Wow but her mom wouldn’t let her go to the concert because she got caught with a boy in her room. That boy is now the husband half-way responsible for the twin girls she’s hoping will give her some grace by sleeping a little bit longer.

“Damn. You wanna gift some of that sleep to these twins, God mommy?”

“Only if you gift me some of those post-pregnancy boobs, Mommy Dearest,”

“Can’t do that. Jarell been having too much fun with those!”

“Girl, eww. I don’t need to know all that.”

You kinda did. Sheena’s stories were always live, wild and uncut. And the only fireworks you’ve been adjacent to in months since you broke up with that lame stockbroker, Keith. You curve around the airport parking lot as Sheena starts digging deep into her latest soft-core episode with her husband since the six weeks ain’t up yet. In between interjections of how nasty Jarrell could be and watching planes taxi in the distance, you cruise through Instagram to take inventory of what your day might be like.

Managing social media for the biggest sports publication in the country was not the fulfillment of a dream after high school because, shit, social media didn’t exist when you were in high school. But it’s what has you just hours away from a flight to the NFL Combine in Indianapolis, sitting in a parking lot, listening to your BFF’s slow burn sexcapades. You break up the audio immersion experience once your timeline displays something else to ruminate over.

“Sheena! Shi -- shut up! I can’t believe - you remember Lisa from high school? She got married ...and it ain’t to Brasco.”

“Whaaaa… you can finally stop making u-turns in the hallway and snag your man!”

You didn’t appreciate the lowly dig from your friend about Nebraska “Brasco” Williams, star running back, track champion and boy so fine he made both Omarion and J-Boog look like ogres. Your high school crush had you shook to your pubescent core; pretty teeth, deep skin tone and two tattoos before the age of eighteen. You’d see him in the student parking lot with the rest of the football team and you’d rush to your car as if it would go home without you. He was too hot to handle. You were beyond envious that Lisa could.

“Lisa ain’t do too bad. Her man is crazy fine. I mean, not Brasco fine but still…”

“Man, he had high school going crazy. I wonder what happened to him after that fight? I should stalk him on Facebook while I pump.” You laugh so hard, the couple walking past your car stops their argument to stare at you.

Your laughs break once you realize you might actually miss that flight. You relegate Shi Shi to kiss the twins for you and to send his Facebook profile if she can actually find it. You tried years ago and failed.

“Aight, fave. I will. Love you. Text me when you touch down in Indy.”

As you weave through the terminal, your mind thinks back to the days at New Birth High School. While it brought you joy in a forever friend and the launching point for your forever career in sports journalism, it did bring you one of the most hurtful days of your life that took years to shake.

It was the summer going into your senior year. Lisa’s sweet sixteen pool party. No way in Hell you thought you’d be there but your Mom and Lisa’s stepmom sat on the same deacon board at church and somehow thought you two were friends; Lisa paid you dust in those hallways. You fretted over every part of your outfit, especially the swim shoes you didn’t want but your Dad picked up at Sports Authority. But you were fretting the most over your swimsuit, a red one-piece with a deep open back. It was sexy for a 16-year-old, to be honest, but you secretly tried it on at the mall and fell in love with it -- especially how it made you feel.

You fell in deep love with your body that day. The way the swimsuit clenched your waist, giving your almost-pear shape some definition you’d never seen before. Your hips sat wide, your breast placed taunt, just peeking through the sides, showing off a crescent shaped birthmark right below your collarbone. It was Jet Beauty of the Week-esque and it made you feel on top of the world. Something that society kept telling you a plus-size teenage girl was not to feel. You used the last of your paper route money to buy it and hid your secret weapon in the back of your closet until the day arrived. You were hoping to get some boy’s attention -- especially Brasco. But you’d take anybody’s glare if you could get it.

You were in the clear once your Mom dropped you and Sheena both off at Lisa’s back gate. As you walked into the party, the sounds of the local hip-hop and R&B radio station blasted throughout her huge backyard. So much fun was had -- so much splash and dash -- that the faint sounds of “Knuck If You Buck” failed to erupt a party full of teenagers it was made for. The pool seemed tempting in 90-plus heat but most of the temptation came from the jacuzzi next to it. There inside sat Brasco, his lanky on-field wide receiver sidekick Kenny and Jarell, Sheena’s partner-in-bedroom-bust crime looking delicious in their highlighter-color swim trunks. You were still figuring out your body and the reactions conjured up from the sight of water droplets chasing down their backs confused you even more. But the heat of the sun -- and the heat from your body -- got too much to bear. That pool called your name.

You stripped off your t-shirt and denim shorts, leaving your swim shoes back by the picnic table. They clashed. Your nerves splashed together like the water you couldn’t wait to feel, battering against your heart. Were you ready for all this attention? Amongst the rest of the classmates, you disappeared. You weren’t popular. People knew of you but didn’t know you, only associating you with Sheena by proxy of Jarell. “My Goodies” came on the radio, providing you a soundtrack and a sign from God. Before you could answer the call, Sheena jumped into the pool. You tossed your glasses on top of your clothes and did the same.

The water felt golden. Sheena smacked your face with sheets of chlorinated goodness. Too much fun was had by all, even Lisa joined in the fun. Suddenly the entire football team did too except Brasco and Jarell, languishing on the edge of the jacuzzi because like most boys from their side of town, they didn’t know how to swim. Lisa saw her boo in isolation and tapped Sheena on the shoulder.

“Hey, Shi Shi. Let’s get in the jacuzzi.” Sheena grabbed your hand to guide you out of the pool. You weren’t expecting to see your Mom at the other end. Sheena didn’t grab you to join her in the warm bubbles, she got you out at the angry-faced-behest of your mother. You both were going home. The party silenced and stares followed as everyone watched your walk-of-shame to grab your clothes. You got what you wanted in the worst way possible.

Your unholy exodus commenced when Lisa’s mom called yours to report what she saw: this red bathing suit too revealing for a little girl to wear. It wasn’t the green ruffled mess-of-a-bathing-suit from last year. She claimed to witness stares and whispers and “boobs hanging out, butt all out.” Your mom got over there quicker than a church shout. She waited to scold you after she dropped off Sheena.

It was a Sunday School scolding like no other. Tears pooled deep like the one you were just having fun in. You tossed the bathing suit into the trash bin. You were never going to see it again.

The announcement of your flight breaks you out of your day nightmare. Grabbing the handle on your suitcase, you see a text with an attachment from Sheena.

Girllllllllllll. I found Brasco and babyyyyyyyyyyy…

You gasp. Time did a wonder on him in all the right ways. He packed on even more muscle, chiseling out the navy thermal dressing his upper body. Teeth still bright, Moonlight-bright. His Omarion-Pandemonium-era braids were gone, now donning a clean fade with perfect waves. His stance meant business, a lot of it risky. You bite your lower lip to mask the “damn!” urging a release from you, staring at his picture so intensely that you damn near walk into the stewardess checking your boarding pass.

You couldn’t wait to get to your first-class seat. You needed a safe space to drown in your own splash waterfalls. You beg Sheena to send you his profile, looking to make some more of that mess and she obliges. Scrolling through his Facebook, you see nothing. You needed him to match your uncleanliness. Another text from Sheena breaks you out of your spell.

Ain’t shit on here though. I can’t find an Instagram or anything. That’s where the dirt is at lol

You put your social media skills to work. Ain’t an Instagram profile that you can’t find. Nebraska Williams brings up nothing. Such a unique name and nothing to show for it.

Maybe Jarell can follow him, Shi.

Jarell ain’t on this thing. He hates all this stuff. You want me to follow him?

Girl, yes! I need more pictures! I’m trying to find his ‘gram and no diceeeeeee. Ughhhh.

Damn the “no cell phone until after lift off” announcement. You then try “Brasco”, too many names -- rappers, really-- and a dog company to boot. “Brasco Williams” yields no results. You couldn’t wait what could be hours, days, weeks, maybe never, for a response from Brasco to Sheena’s friend request.

You pull up Google as a last ditch effort. The results bring up what only seems to be archives from your now-defunct city newspaper covering one of Nebraska’s record-setting games from 2005. You know to quit while you’re ahead until you see a Youtube video: “Nebraska Williams (RB) New Birth High School (MD). uploaded by Donyell Williams. You remember Donyell as this boy who played too damn much in Geometry class but right now, he’s Brasco’s cousin who's Instagram profile came up on the first search. Thank God his profile wasn’t private. You scroll back far enough to hit the jackpot.

I found it! @donniebrascowill is his Instagram.

Sheena was right about the dirt. His posts were bare but his stories carried enough. Enough shirtless, weightlifting, fresh-out-the-barbershop-got-to-show-you-the-fade dirt. You hit the follow button before the stewardess asked for your drink selection.

End of Part I

#trevante rhodes x reader #trevante rhodes x fanfiction #nebraska williams

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spiringempress · 5 years

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jonsa thoughts and the whole ‘duty is the death of love’

Hiya. So, I wrote this one night at 2am months ago and I let it languish in my drafts. I only just remembered it because I was reading a post about Jonsa, and the whole duty and love line then went “hey that sounds familiar.” Please forgive any similarities between this and other metas, but I do argue this from the perspective that Jon isn’t portrayed as being interested in protecting the realm and it’s another angle to put out there.

Early am thoughts. So, I’m having a midnight tumble and looking at this meta about the GOT script when I stumbled across a post that essentially argued that Sansa = love and Dany= Duty. I am blown away. And wondering how I missed that entire perspective. Now, this is super rough as a fair warning.

This entire time I’ve seen it from the Jon*rys perspective. In that, Jon’s love for Dany was placed second to his duty and it effectively ended it. But, I think there are a couple of important points to consider that are NOT clearly defined. One being: what exactly is Jon’s duty?

Sure, he wields some influence. It wouldn’t be hard to say that he’s supposed to protect the realm, but his whole arc wasn’t about the seven kingdoms. It was about the wall, the north, and Winterfell. For me, the only way to argue that Jon chose duty over his love for Dany would be if he saw himself as a protector of the realm but I really don’t think he does. I’m defining protector of the realm here as more in the sense of someone, who strives to use their talents and skills, to defend the kingdom from enemies, serve the sovereign and give their life to do uphold the word of the ruler. So, a knight in service to the king.

Instead, what I am proposing is that Jon saw himself as protector of Winterfell, his family and most importantly, Sansa. What happens after Jon is resurrected? He kinda hangs out at the Wall until Sansa arrives and gives him a purpose: take back Winterfell, save their brother and restore the Starks to their rightful place. In the course of accepting this, Jon also inherently becomes a protector to Sansa, the seemingly last of the Starks. We see this in how he fights during the Battle of the Bastards and his interactions with Sansa, where he promises that he won’t let her got back to Ramsay. In the end, they are able to take back Winterfell and Jon creates a safe space for Sansa.

Now, you can argue that he loves her platonically/as a sibling or more interestingly, Jonsa. Of course, I’m learning towards the Jonsa view. When he goes off to Dragonstone and loses his personality, I still think that pol!Jon was real and it was an attempt to protect Winterfell from Daenerys. If I heard the Dragon Queen was coming and often liked to burn down cities that resisted her, I would definitely be taking a boat to see her and make peace. While Sansa is blatantly asserting Northern independence, Jon is subtly trying to lead Daenery’s attention away with the White Walkers and eventually, Cersei.

Jon succeeds in some capacity but the situation is complicated by his heritage and how Daenerys is not swayed by that. I think this is evident in the scene after the feast and even when she remarks that it will be fear when asked if Jon loves her. He has been called out on his ploy and hints at his ultimate priority being Winterfell. Now, the story falls apart in the last episode but if we look at the script and the actors, I think there’s no doubt that Jon chose Sansa over Dany.

Let’s break this down. If this story was really about Jon being forced to kill the woman he loves to save the world. Then Jon would have been more clearly depicted as a ‘protector of the seven kingdoms’ and we could also argue would have lead to him being king himself (that’s a post for another time). Again, Jon has really never shown an interest in the throne or the political intrigue. Maybe it’s the Night Watch drilled into him, but he’s never depicted as someone like Varys. However, the only way to make sense of Jon killing Dany for duty means that he has to see himself as a realm protector. He has to NOT do it for personal stakes or his family, but instead to serve the realm. It would make their ‘love story’ more focused on them and not on other players. Ultimately, it would’ve also made the story more tragic because Jon’s loyalty to the realm = duty is more important than his love for a tyrant, who is letting the world burn. Can you imagine that story? Jon would have been forced to realize that the woman he loves is b*tshit and that he cannot let her go on. That would have been a masterful performance as Jon comes to term with this and makes up his mind. BUT, this did not happen at all in the show.

Instead, what we get is interesting. Jon goes from questioning Dany’s destruction to having a mind-numbing conversation with Tyrion, where he looks like an ignorant fool. There are important things to notice. He goes from clearly being disturbed by Dany’s destruction to uttering ‘my queen’ until Sansa and Arya are brought up. Tyrion tells him that Sansa will never bow, Jon gets upset but he goes to the throne room and kills Dany. Other players besides the realm are brought into the equation. Jon was perfectly content to let her continue down her path until Tyrion and Arya reminded him about Sansa and Winterfell. If the story was really about Jon protecting the realm then why was it necessary to bring up his family? It’s because that’s what drives his motivation.

Jon chooses duty over love, but not the realm over Dany; he chooses his family and more specifically, Sansa. Whether you look at it romantically or not, Jon gives up the ability to return home and resume his place at Sansa’s side. He chooses to fulfill his duty, i.e. protect Winterfell and Sansa, and kill Dany, which ends in him being exiled once more. You can read this as either him giving up familial love or a chance to be happy with the woman he loves. Ultimately, Jon does not win, but he fulfills his duty and gives up love in whatever form he wanted it.

that’s my ted talk. I’m sorry if you already know this and I am slow to catch up.

#jon snow #sansa stark #anti-daenerys #jonsa

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berniesrevolution · 5 years

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In Dilley, Texas, there is only one grocery store, and that grocery store is Lowes. (It is not a Lowes, like the home improvement center. It is a totally different and legally distinct store that also happens to be called Lowes.) Lowes is a place of many mysteries. I once went there to buy vegetable broth for a sick coworker, and combed the soup aisle for nearly 20 minutes before being forced to admit that no, Lowes does not carry vegetable broth. The closest thing they had was a can of something called “vegetable beef.” Lowes does, however, carry bacon-flavored pancake syrup, quite a lot of animal pheromones in spray cans (including such choice selections as “raccoon urine” and “sow in heat,” which I assume are for agricultural rather than cosmetic purposes), and a large selection of devotional candles in glass cylinders.

I had never paid much attention to the candles, but a friend of mine was in town, volunteering at the child internment camp where I work as an immigration lawyer, and he wanted to bring back a candle for some eclectic ofrenda-type situation he had set up in his D.C. apartment. He is a meticulous and thoughtful sort of person, and took a long time debating between various candidates. I had come to Lowes primarily to buy Cheez-Its, and was getting impatient. I picked up a candle at random. “How about this one?” I said.

The candle had a picture of a Little Lord Fauntleroy-type in a plumed hat and a white ruff, with a pink seashell pinned to his cloak. I glanced at the label on the back. Glorioso Santo Niño de Atocha, it said, patrón de las que están injustamente en prisión, protector de viajeros y que das la mano al que se encuentra en peligro…

I didn’t know anything about this saint at all, despite having grown up Catholic, so I looked him up on my phone. I soon discovered that he was not really a saint, per se, but a special Limited Edition version of baby Jesus. Wikpedia offered up the following backstory:

In the 13th century, Spain was under Muslim rule. The town of Atocha, now part of Madrid’s Arganzuela district, was lost to the Muslims, and many Christians there were taken prisoners as spoils of war. The Christian prisoners were not fed by the jailers, but by family members who brought them food. According to pious legend, the caliph ordered that only children under the age of 12 were permitted to bring food. Conditions became increasingly difficult for those men without small children. … Reports soon began among the people of Atocha that an unknown child under the age of twelve and dressed in pilgrim’s clothing, had begun to bring food to childless prisoners at night. The women of the town returned to Our Lady of Atocha to thank the Virgin for her intercession, and noticed that the shoes worn by the Infant Jesus were tattered and dusty. They replaced the shoes of the Infant Jesus, but these became worn again. The people of Atocha took this as a sign that it was the Infant Jesus who went out every night to help those in need.

This all got me rather excited, because I am very fond of medieval history, and regularly drive around rural Texas blasting 13th-century Spanish pilgrimage music. Who would’ve thought that a little vestige of the medieval world would turn up in my local grocery store? Secondly, what better patron for someone who works at a jail for child refugees than a child-saint who defends both travelers in peril and the unjustly imprisoned?

And that was how I first ended up buying a Holy Infant of Atocha candle for my kitchen table.

Later, when I researched the matter further, I found out that the Wikipedian history of the Holy Infant was—shockingly—likely incorrect. The medieval origin story was a post hoc invention, an attempt to give an older European pedigree to a wholly Mexican tradition. The Holy Infant’s mother, as it turns out, was an authentically medieval character: Holy Mary of Atocha appears in several of the 13th century Cantigas de Santa Maria (a.k.a. the sick beats currently blaring from my Kia Forte), mostly as a patroness of field workers. When her shrine at Atocha was selected for special favor by the Spanish monarchy in the 17th century, she was transformed from a saint of the people into an emblem of Spanish governance. It was in this capacity—as a defender of Spanish colonial might—that Mary of Atocha found her way to Mexico. Sanctuaries in her name were built in the state of Zacatecas, in Fresnillo and Plateros.

But through some obscure evolution of local devotion, it was the image of her child, the Holy Infant, that became the primary locus of worship. The Holy Infant of Atocha eventually came to be revered as a protector of ordinary people, especially of miners, travelers, and prisoners. An 1848 novena written by one Calixto Aguirre was instrumental in popularizing the cult of the Holy Infant, and the cover illustration of the printed pamphlet version was the first to show him as a pilgrim rather than a prince. Instead of a crown, a globe, and a scepter—the traditional iconography of power—he had a big hat, a food basket, and a traveler’s staff with a gourd hanging from it. The first episode of the novena tells of a legal miracle. It begins with the tale of a poor woman by the name of Maximiana Esparza, who wanders to four different cities, seeking succor. In each city, she is imprisoned for her malas costumbres—some unspecified bad manners—and, having no family or other advocate to speak on her behalf, she languishes for years in prison in each place. At last, after being in prison a year in Durango, she prays to the Holy Infant of Atocha:

…who listened to her kindly and took her out of her captivity; for in all the time that she had lived there, there was nobody who would defend her, until the Holy Child of Atocha, dressed as a handsome youth, visited her in that prison and gave her some bread in the name of his mother, saying to her that same afternoon she would see the judge and he would take up her case, which caused no little amazement among the rector and the other inmates; and when the time arrived that the Child had named, she was set free.

Mary of Atocha, the former people’s saint, may regrettably have become more conservative in her waning years, but she nonetheless succeeded in giving the world an even more radical son. We should all be so lucky!

It’s actually pretty absurd that I knew nothing about the Holy Infant of Atocha until a few months ago. Once he was on my radar, I soon realized that he’s a pretty standard figure in Mexican and Chicanx Catholicism. But I stumbled into immigration advocacy three years ago knowing next to nothing about Latin American cultures, and even now there are huge gaps in my understanding. My Spanish, too, is still pretty atrocious. I have been working at it for three years, but it’s like speaking through a mouthful of broken glass. I muster my words with pain, and my meaning comes out all mangled. I now feel a strong affinity for all those immigrant grandparents who understand English perfectly and never learn to speak it; I am sure I would be just the same if I were ever to immigrate to a non-English-speaking country. I often feel that any bilingual person, with or without a law degree, could do most of my work a lot better than me. But I am here, so I do my best.

Sometimes I wake up in the mornings very anxious, usually when I have to draft a big court filing or an important request to the asylum office, to try and stop a detained family’s deportation. I come up with soothing little rituals to ease my transition from fretful sleep to focused work. I put on some music. I make a big pot of coffee. I light my Holy Infant of Atocha candle. It’s really because I like the way the candlelight makes me feel, not for superstitious reasons. I’m really not one for good luck charms, astrology, or premonitions. I remember that shortly after Trump first announced the family separation policy this summer—this was when I was still in Massachusetts, getting ready for my move to Texas—I was walking down a familiar street near my home, feeling very disturbed and heartsick. All of a sudden I saw a rabbit on the sidewalk a few feet ahead. It was standing quite still, and it let me walk up close. For a moment the encounter felt almost magical. Then the rabbit loped off, and where it had been, I saw two small baby bunnies lying dead on the pavement. When I bent to look, a little cloud of flies dispersed, then settled again. As omens go, that was some Roman-level bullshit. But I don’t think it was anything but coincidence.

The area of south Texas where I live now is teeming with strange sights, and sometimes everything I see feels pregnant with meaning. The drive from my apartment to the internment camp is only four minutes, but the road is always strewn with strange corpses. A dead dog or house cat is an everyday casualty; but I have also seen bodies of armadillos, bobcats, and javelinas, all mowed down by a speeding truck, or a passenger-bus of incoming detainees, or one of the heavy tankers that barrel continually to and from the nearby oilfields. No waste collection service ever disposes of the animals, so I watch their corpses bloat and distend and then disintegrate over a period of weeks. I have heard a rumor too that there are zebra on one of the ranches around here, flown in and kept in captivity so that deer-weary hunters can have something exotic to shoot. I’ve yet to see an escaped zebra lying dead by the side of the road, but give it time.

Also on the same road as the child internment camp, if you can believe it, there is a Texas state prison. It lies alongside a large ranch, and in front of the jail there’s a field of watermelons. Sometimes in the early morning, on my way into work, I see a group of prisoners in white jumpsuits and white caps, working the watermelon field. Ringed around them are three or four heavily-armed officers on horseback, in case anyone tries anything. The thing is so ludicrous it’s hard to know whether to laugh or cry. It’s as if this tiny town has been selected as a kind of roadside showcase of human cruelty.

(Continue Reading)

#politics #the left #current affairs #immigration #immigrant rights #immigration reform #detention centers #detention camps

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