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witchlyboo · 3 years

Text

Definitely, maybe.

Part four: The one who loved you first.

Introduction. Part 1. Part 2. Part 3. Part 5.

Paring: Latina!reader x Logan Lerman x Tom Holland x Ben Hardy x Timothee Chalamet x Pedro Pascal x Michael B. Jordan

Warnings: Implied smut and mention of +18 content, angst??? language, misspellings, and me learning how to write properly. Spanish words, is that a warning?

Word count: 7k

a/n: All body type and skin tone friendly. You can also enjoy it as a no Hispanic reader. I'm a slow writer, what can I say? but I hate short chapters so you can take your time to read this and it'd be like different parts (?) all constructive feedback and misspellings correction is welcome as always. Thanks to everyone that pushes me to keep writing through messages and posts, this is especially for you.

“I don’t think you mentioned my dad yet.” Evan says jumping happily holding your hand. You told him not to bring it up outside the apartment but he’s too excited of hearing about your life and since he looks so happy, you let him win, you always do.

“What makes you think that?”

“It's not Logan because you never stay with your first love, everyone knows that. Ben isn’t like dad, he’s too... I don’t know, he sounds stupid.”You laugh and nod unwittingly, happy that you described the story well enough for your son to catch the essence of the characters.I don’t like Timothée and I don’t know much about Tom. I think you’re keeping him to the last moment to confuse me.”

“I’m not saying anything but people change, I changed, and the person your father was, is not who he is today. You have to be cautious with the details, young Padawan.” You argue caressing his hair softly.

“None of them sound like dad, I don't want them to be him.” He sounds sad for a brief moment, but get distracted by the sound of a dog so you don't worry that much.

“Have a child rocks your entire world, I used to be awake all night, drink a lot, I didn’t like kids, hung out with dangerous people, and I didn’t care for anything that wasn’t me” You start enlisting, not mentioning certain substances you don’t consume anymore... Except for special occasions. “The moment I got you in my arms I became better, and the only thing I cared about was you and I'm sure daddy feels the same.”

“I think you try to distract me because I found out your plan.” You groan audibly but don’t say anything else, he’s too smart for your own good and any other clue might be too revealing. “You kiss Timothée, Ben is outside the town, what happened with Tom?” You sigh not being sure if you are ready for all the stress that comes with this part of the story.

“Tom is one of those things that have to get worse before getting better.” Bad, terrible, horrible, devastating but better. Eventually.

Timothée’s hands slowly go up to your thighs until he finds the border of your underwear. Are you wearing nice panties? Omg, you wish you are, you remember having just two pairs of clean underwear, the black, small, thin fabric that’s not particularly nice but is ok to set the mood on and a white high rise brief with red hearts that you bought as a joke because you thought they looked like the ones the cartoons have, but you wore them and now you love how comfortable they are, that’s why you keep them for those days you feel especially emotional or when the perfectly normal ones are waiting to be washed. Like today, fuck.

“Wait!” You break the kiss and stop his cold hands under your skirt. He's always cold, chilly thin fingers that caress your skin like a cold shower on a summer day, you like it, something in the way you shiver every time he touches you is mystical. He looks at you with confused and urged olive eyes so adorable that you can't help but smile.

“What?” He says squeezing your thighs and giving you small kisses all around your jaw and blurring your mind in the process. You haven't slept together, yet, these daily twenty minutes make-out seasons are all you have of your frozen fantasy only existent in his trailer and nowhere else. A snow globe experience.

“I think we should stop.” You murmur leaning back a little to make him stop kissing you and to watch him, you're sitting astride over his legs on his makeup chair, you started doing his hair but something in between got you distracted and know he is half-dressed and half well... that'll take more than the five minutes you have before the call.

He stops his movements and straightens his back, you feel his grip on your legs ease off. “What’s wrong?” He asks taking his hands out of your skirt and hugging your waist. You know your request is confusing after you’ve been making out for the last twenty minutes, you locked the trailer’s door and unzipped his jeans but the idea of him seeing your ridiculously comfortable underwear is just unacceptable for the safety of your self-esteem.

“Nothing, is just that this trailer isn’t romantic at all.” That would have been a good excuse if this were the first time you get this intimate, but it’s not.

“You humped my leg on this exact chair two days ago and now this trailer isn’t romantic enough?” He asks with a mocked face and you just blush like an idiot. Since the first kiss you had everything changed completely, you passed from hating every cell of his existence to jump into his arms at every opportunity, touching, caressing, biting, and yes humping, all slowly increasing for the last days before shooting and college. You’re not proud of the way things came up but maldita sea, his lips are so damn good and there’s a gentleness on his movements that fix some of the scars of your dented spirit. “It’s ok if you don’t want to do it but don’t lie to me.” Another thing you discovered about Tim is his habit to take everything extremely personal and due to his background, you’re not surprised. He starts fixing his clothes and you find yourself stopping his movements with your hands, no one could tell since you don’t have a bulge to announce how much you want him as he does but you do.

“I don’t want you to see my... calzón” The word ‘panties’ doesn’t sound appropriate to that monstrosity.

“Your what?” He asks scratching in his poor Spanish until something connects, he couldn’t help but burst into laughs when he remembers the meaning. “Underwear? Now I MUST see it.” He tries to raise your skirt fighting with your hands not really pushing them away, just playing.

“I bought it because I thought it was funny, is not what I usually use, I swear, your head would explode just to see me in my regular undies.” You're obviously joking but something deep inside of you wants to believe it.

“Then, since is my first time I'm relieved that you're not using them” He carries you from his lap and sits you on the makeup table in front “May I?” He asks with his hands on your thighs, begging with his eyes for your permission to disturb your dignity, and you agree, obviously, there's not much left to protect anyway.

He lifts your skirt to see what you're hiding, you can see in his face he's fighting to not laugh and thanks for his incredible acting skills he manages not to but that doesn't fade the red of your cheeks “I love them” You whine and laugh in a mix of emotions while he kneels in front of you. “No, I'm serious, I think it's lovely, it's my new favourite piece of cloth you have worn, and you know I love that Powerpuff Girls jeans.” Now he laughs but it's not mockery, his laugh is as warm as his hands can't be “In fact, let me show you how much I like it.” He whispers while his face slowly gets in the middle of your legs.

↬☀︎︎

You have been drawing nonsense lines with your finger on Tom’s back for the last half hour, Contemporary Art is your least favourite subject, you love the concept but the class is absolutely horrendous, slow and you find it very pretentious to decide what is art and what’s not, that’s why you usually spend this class texting Tom, playing some notebook game, laughing and showing memes to each other. The only reason you survive to this class is that is one of the few you share with him since you study different careers.

People constantly ask you why you choose Arts and not Fashion Design as a degree, and the answer is as simple as ever: Commitment issues. Even when you know costume design is what you love to do the most, you're not sure if you want to do this for the rest of your life, you know you want but you're not sure if you will, and that's why you want to have all your choices on your hand.

Tom has been especially moody these last weeks, silent, absent, as if he has something inside that is slowly killing him but can’t tell, and feels like is killing you as well. He and Sheep are the only people you share everything with but she's busy with the new boyfriend and Tom ignores every intent of communication you have.

“Want to go to the apartment? I have a day off.” You tell him putting your things in your bag when the class ends, not that you actually wrote something. That's how your conversations with him have become, he shamelessly ignores you, you try to make a move and he cuts you right off.

“No, I have something.” There it is. He said so fast and without the courtesy of look at you.

“Really, what is it?” You ask not even trying to hide your annoyance, he seems to notice because his tone is softer the next time he speaks.

“I have to pick something for my mom and then send it to her, there’s a lot of traffic and it’ll probably take me the whole day.” He responds clearly lying, not sure where to look at and stuttering.

“I can go with you.” But you already know the answer before he says anything. He declines your offer, says something like a goodbye, and simply walks away.

“Don’t take it too personal, he’s been like that for a while, there’s this girl he got obsessed with and nothing else matters.” Your classmate interrupts your internal agony talking behind you. “I think she sneaks into his room because he's there all the time.”

“So he's not doing something for his mom?” You ask not truly believing what he says, Tom tells you everything, what he thinks and feels 24 hours per day, well, he used to until a few weeks ago. Why would it be different if he has a girlfriend? Unless she's a witch suckling his soul, time and doesn't want him to see you, but you don't think that's the case, Tom wouldn't do that to you... Right?

“Probably not, but you tell me, I thought you were close.” He ends with a mocking smile and gets out of the classroom leaving you with a bad taste in your mouth. Why does this random extra in the movie of your life knows about the mysterious girl and not you? This is a poor written script, it needs more secondary characters.

You see Tom walking outside the building through the window and an impulse pushes you to run after him, not sure why or how but you want to know if the girl thing is true, or if he’s into something deeper and darker. Is your responsibility to look after him as he has done for you since day one. Even if the cost is violating his privacy? Absolutely.

After a few minutes of chasing him at a prudent distance, he enters the dormitories building as the creepy guy from class said, but that doesn’t imply anything, doesn’t mean he’s lying to you. Your phone rings with Ben's face showing up on the screen, a sign from the universe to respect Tom’s decisions and go to your own place with a precious blonde man who promises to satisfy all your fantasies. Then why are you running after your best friend?

Tom’s door is half-closed, which means that he’s open to visits or is waiting for someone, something like it, you just lived in the dormitories for three weeks so you don’t fully understand the system, you just know that he’s not doing something for his mom. You try to see through the tiny crack of the door but you can’t see or hear anything, maybe you should wait at the end of the corridor in case his date comes, you just want to see her, make sure your friend is actually lying to you and then perhaps make a scandal, you haven’t decided yet.

“Look what the south wind brought, Miss Latin America!” Suddenly an annoying voice from behind interrupts you from your espionage mission, Ezra Spencer, the man that tried multiple times to take you out but doesn’t bother to remember which country you’re from. You jump at the sound of his voice and turn around to find his stupid face smiling at you.

“Hey!” You force a kind expression and start to walk away from Tom’s door but it’s too late, the British boy appears behind it clearly surprised to see you there and unnecessarily nervous.

“It’s been a long time since I saw you, I wanted to invite you to my calendar but no worries, you are still on time to be Miss November, sited on a pumpkin with a scarecrow costume…” He starts laughing and you make a disgusted face but you don’t have time to say what you’re thinking because Tom is softly pushing you into to his room holding your arm.

“She’s busy being sexualized by another mediocre photographer, fuck off Ezra.” Tom closes the door with you two inside, he even put the safety on, making clear to your mutual friend that he is not welcome.

There are painful seconds of silence, you hiding your hands in your sweatshirt and looking at your own feet. This wasn’t part of the plan and now you have to explain why you’re there after he told you he wouldn’t.

“What are you doing here?” He asks after what seems an eternity and clears his throat because his voice sounded too weak.

“I came to see Janice, his boyfriend wants me to make a wardrobe from a play he’s making.” Very solid and detailed lie, you’re proud of how fast you thought of that. “Why? I’m disturbing you? interrupting something?” You don’t know why you feel so hurt, the mere idea of Tom lying to slip away with some random girl gives you nausea.

“Interrupting?” He asks folding his arms, his body is trying to protect himself of something, of you. You can see he’s as troubled as you, even more.

“You seem mad that I’m here.” That’s true but you’re inside begging he denies everything and hugs you, your need for his touch is a disturbing surprise, he never touches you expecting to go further and the lack of that kind of attention makes you missing him harder.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” He murmurs and sits on his bed, he seems calmer now but dries the sweat of his hands on his thighs, he’s so easy to read to you and that’s why you are so worried, he can’t even see you in the eyes. “Fine, I don’t have to get anything for my mom, I wanted to be alone and I didn’t want to be rude, that’s all.”

“You’re lying, you been avoiding me for weeks, I know you visit Sheep when I’m not there, I know you turn around every time you see me at the corridors, I understand if you don’t want to be near me anymore or if there’s some girl that feels uncomfortable with us being so close” He looks at you with shock but you keep talking surprising the tears “But there’s nothing I hate more than lies.” You take a stress ball from his desk and press it a little “Let’s play the truth game, want you? I start, I actually came here to spy you” You throw the ball at him and he catches it with a confused face “Your turn.”

He stays still for a few seconds and then sighs. “There’s no some girl.” He assures and returns the ball to you, for some reason that answer calms you a little.

“I hate your old cologne, the new one is pretty good though” You raise your eyebrows but he doesn’t seem surprised, just chuckles when you threw the ball back.

“I changed it because Sheep told me you hated it.” He stands up and gives two steps to you, at that distance he could easily reach you but throws the ball anyway. You’re not sure how to take that confession.

“I hate how you’re treating me lately.” Your eyes water a little but not enough for him to notice, you return the ball and he catches without looking at it. “And I miss you.” You finish dancing a little over your feet to take the anxiety out.

He stays quiet again, but way longer than before, a dead silence that vibrates in your ears and makes you want to jump from the window, the way his eyes are desperate to tell you something but his mouth doesn’t is painful to watch. “There’s a girl.” He finally says, the game is over, the ball falls from his hand because you don’t care to catch it.

“I knew it” You claim and intend to walk away but he interrupts you giving a step in the direction you were about to go to, not sure if he has permission to touch you.

“But she doesn’t want me the way I do” That’s enough to stop you, and see the agony in kindest eyes that ever looked at you. “And I want her so much. Sometimes it can be almost too much. It can be so painful.” He gives another step and your heart is trying desperately to escape from your chest, you feel so little and fragile that it feels like a possibility. “And I only exist when she says my name.” He gives the final step, now the air between your bodies wouldn’t be enough to one breath, you're shaking and the number of emotions can’t let you decide what you’re actually feeling.

He closes his forehead with yours not fully touching, just enough to feel the warmth of his soul emanate from his body and enter in yours. “I only exist when you say my name.” He whispers clearing any doubt, he’s talking about you. He holds your cheek with one hand, touching you like never has ever before, that simple touch is more meaningful than any night or furtive moment you had shared with Ben or Tim. “Please say my name.”

“Thomas…” You don’t say his name, it is pumped out of your heart with the rest of the blood that keeps you alive, in a whisper, with the rest of the phrase missed on the course. You really wanted to say something, you must, your best friend is opening your heart to you and the only thing that appears in your mind is how grateful you are for always mask some gum after your classes so you can have good breath.

“Thank you” He answers finally breathing after your not sure how much, and you know it because his breath enters in your mouth before he kisses you, deeply, loving you with his lips, saying between kisses all you saw on his eyes before. Your hands find their path to his neck, the one you hold to stay standing and he hugs your waist firmly.

It wasn't a hungry kiss full of passion and bitten lips, he was showing you how much he means what he said, taking his time to savour the sweetness of your cherry gloss. You can feel him holding himself back for the way his fist clench in your sweatshirt and his breathing accelerate quickly.

Your phone rings again and as a reflect you slap his ear jumping in surprise, he grumbles in pain while you search your phone in your backpack just to see Ben's name again, something that absolutely sets off the mood. Mood? With Tom? That’s not possible.

“I forgot how strong you can be” He murmurs still rubbing his ear and you just realize what you were doing and the panic incarnate inside you like venom, so, clearly, you walk away like a scared rabbit. “No, wait! We need to talk.”

“I know, I just need some time” You reach the door and open it ready to disappear but he's already next to you holding your arm trying to stop you from leaving, you can see the panic in his eyes thinking that he screw up your friendship or any bond with you and you want to say something to calm him down but the words were stuck in your head not able to put together a coherent phrase “It's ok Tom, we'll talk about it tomorrow.”You give him a soft smile to show him that you're not mad at him.

“Why do you have to run away at any conflict sign?” Ouch, even when it's true you don't want to be questioned about your defence mechanisms when you are in the middle of one “Can you just...” Your phone rings again but with it in your hand, Tom can clearly see the name and picture of the sender. “You're leaving for him.” He says frowning severely and tighten up the grip in your arm, not enough to hurt you but it's disturbing.

“No, I'm going home, running away from conflict” But you hide and silence your phone anyway. Why are you feeling guilty? You don't owe him anything. Is clear that he doesn't believe you, especially when his hand in your arm doesn't loosen a bit. “Would you please let...”

“Fine, sorry. Fuck, you can leave, we’ll do this tomorrow.” He doesn’t seem too sure but he knows you so well to tell that keep pushing you is not leading anywhere.

↬☀︎︎

“What are you doing here?” Ben is waiting for you outside the apartments door, handsome as ever but with some kind of mournful robe over. You feel like you were being chased by your Christmas ghosts.

“You’re ignoring my messages and it’s New York, I thought you were dead” He gets closer to kiss your lips but you move your head and ends with a kiss on your cheek, you're not sure why you did it but kiss two different people in the same day, even in the same hour is overwhelming. “What's wrong Pinky Pie?”

“I didn't have a good day Ben, I want to take a shower and sleep before starting the mountain of homework I have, maybe in a few days when the dust settles...” The door opens when you turn the knob but your way inside is blocked by his arm in front of you and his proximity to your ear, in a common day, with your feet on the ground, that would've been enough to shrink your stomach but right now you're somewhere else. “That's your bad boy move? If you want to hit a wall please hit Merissa's, she’s a terrible neighbour.” You look at him with a mocking half-smile but you don't find the same. He looks… hurt?

“Why are you ignoring me?” He asks taking his arm off your way but not the rest of his body, he's barely taller than Tom... But you definitely shouldn't be comparing them in any way. “You don't answer my texts, don't get my calls, and is like the twentieth offer to hang out with me you decline.”

“Don't be ridiculous” You mumble entering the apartment and leaving the door open for him to do the same, there's no sign of Sheep or his importunate boyfriend being there so you don't have an excuse to pass that conversation to another day. “You know I have a million things to do, there's not any actual reason.”

“You've been like this since I told you the friends thing.” He affirms walking inside and closing behind him, is the first time you see him like that, serious, with a lack of funny presumption in the face.

“I'm not a teenage girl with a broken heart that's throwing a tantrum because his crush used her to have sex. I just really want to sleep.” And cry probably, with no special reason, who needs any?

“Broken heart?” He asks with a troubled look, actually worried about what he thinks is a confession.

“I said that I don't have it. Are you even listening?” You don't really understand what's happening with him. Why is he here anyway? Everything feels like a clouded dream, but you're fully dressed and all your teeth in your mouth, that's how you know you're awake.

“Then why even mention it?” You have the feeling of having this conversation for the second time. Someone complaining about the lack of attention and the other denying the obvious. The difference is that you’re not that close, you’re just one of his many friends.

“Because you’re freaking me out! We were supposed to keep this cool but you’re here acting like a jealous boyfriend.” You don’t really think that, you understand the betray feeling of being ignored, even when there’s nothing more than a friendship, but you’re not thinking clearly and maybe the idea of commitment would make him uncomfortable.

“What if I am? Whatever I said doesn’t mean I don’t want to be with you and I don’t care about your life. Fuck, you make me feel like I used you and now you’re doing some kind of revenge.” You know he appreciates you, he told you some of the most intimate things of his life and you did it too. Once you stayed awake all night talking about your favourite childhood movies, the age gap wasn’t an impediment for it since you like old movies as well and at the end of that call, your cheeks hurt thanks to how much you smiled. That was before the thing he said and Tim… and Tom.

“I'm not, but I can't just give my whole free time to someone that thinks of me as one of many.” That was surprising, frightening even. Until a few seconds ago you were sure you don't resent him for what he said but your mouth gesticulated words that didn't pass by the security station in your brain.

“Then there's a reason.” Apparently, it is, fuck. Jealousy isn't a common feeling in you, and to be honest, doesn't fit you, you don't want to enforce the concept of toxic Latinas who makes a scandal for minimum things. Is not jealousy, of that you're sure, but if that's so, then what is it?

“That's not what I meant” But you can't elaborate (not that you have much to say) because the door opens with Tom behind with a tough face and you just want to throw yourself out of the window (again). The last time those two were together was incredibly awkward, with all you know today, is a hundred times worse “Hey.” You say, you know, like an idiot.

“Hey.” He simply responds but is not looking at you, a battle of green and brown eyes is taking place in your kitchen, Ben doesn't seem to appreciate have his only time with you in weeks being interrupted, Tom can see that and takes his time to walk to you and whispers softly in your ear before leaving. “I'll wait in your room.”

“I guess your homework just arrived.” The blonde male in front of you has a tense jaw, and something in the way he's clenching his fist makes you give a step back.

“We have some unfinished issues that apparently can't wait until I've had some rest.” You explain like it means something for him.

“So do we” He says just standing there with wounded animal eyes that threaten to break your heart, that's why you look down at the ground with a growing feeling of guilt. “But I don't want to do it like this” He walks to you slowly, hunting, with a deadly seriousness that'd be scaring if he weren't that pretty. When he's a couple inches from your face you see him smile again, with the scent of tobacco filling your senses. “I get it, I wouldn't want to kiss you either if a just fucked another girl” You want to explain yourself, defend the honor you're suddenly so worried of but he doesn't give you space or time to do it. He kisses your cheek and hurries his way out the door. “You better answer my next call.”

What is that supposed to mean? But he's already gone so you decide it is problem of the future you, the one that is smarter, more mature, and luckily takes better decisions. You look at your dom room and take your time to go for it, yes, you were the one that wanted to talk about this but because you thought it was a jealous girlfriend thing. If you had the information you have right now, you wouldn't be so afraid to open your own door.

He is sitting in your bed but he's not as worried as before, there's some mix of resignation and confidence in his eyes, someone that can't lose something never had. You close the door and he throws a sock to you, a clean one, at least.

“Truth game 2.0, I ask something, throw the sock, you answer, ask something and throw it back. Are you dating Iván Drago?” He asks comparing Ben with that character from Rocky lV, and you laugh like it is another day of fun between you both, however, you take your time to think.

“No” You hear him breathe again and when you return the gaze to him, he's smiling at you. There's a lot of things you want to ask but not know how, or you do but you feel like it's another mission from your future you. “Would you stop talking to me if I was?”

“No” He answers immediately, not even thinking but the smiles fade away “But I don't think I could survive it again. You have to throw the sock.” He announces avoiding elaborate on his answer, it's obvious he's talking about Logan.

“That wasn't my question” cheater, you hear him mumble but doesn't do anything about it. “Why were you avoiding me?”

He sighs, catches the sock, and plays with it to kill some time.

“The day I was going to ask you out on a date you introduce me as your best friend to the lovely med student with a nice car. I know how the best friend role goes, I've done it a million times and was ok with it but I can't do this again. Not with you” Those words were meaningless to you, inside your irritation there's no space for an acceptable explication for his behaviour but you don't interrupt him.”A year later and you were free, sad, moody, and with no energy enough to exist but you still were my girl, I mean, the same as before. And I thought that if I give you enough time to take him out of your mind then it'd be a good moment for us, but again I waited too much and you found someone who spend time with” He is trying to find the correct words to not disturb you in any way. “But now I'm glad you did it because you're not sad and you have that shine in your eyes back. I'll always want the best for you, even when that's not me.”

“Answer the question” You insist again throwing an empty can of Diet Coke to his head, but he catches it before it hits him.

“I thought that if I was away from you long enough you could stop thinking of me as a brother and more as a...” But he doesn't finish his sentence, and you're sure is because he doesn't know how.

“A selfish asshole?” You are not sure how to act right now, how to be a proper human again, this is something you definitely didn't expect, and if he's saying the truth and he wanted to date you since you dated Logan, it's been a long journey. But you can't be that blind, can you?

“A friend! Someone that you don't feel that strange to date.”

“That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard.” You claim walking around the room with folded arms, it actually got sense but is mean. If hurt you to have what he wants from you is a price he's willing to pay then you don't know him as you think you did.

“Is it? because I'm sure that before the space I gave you, you would punch me to death if I dare to kiss you.” Not that tragic but now you can’t think what you would do because all the situation is different, you miss him too much but you're not sure if this is the way you want things to happen, and the truth is you don't love him that way.

“It was cruel and evil, you can't force me to miss you to take advantage of that and come back as the men of my dreams. Cabrón engreído, no puedo creer que me hagas esto” At some point of your long walk around the room he corners you with your back on the closet and he in front, he was so smooth and slow that you didn't notice until he talks again.

“Is a very bad moment to tell you that it really turns me on when you speak Spanish?” You punch him on the shoulder and even when you see in his face that it hurt, he doesn't move away. “I know it wasn't the best plan ever but please. Do you have an idea of how hard it was for me to see you with them? Your new Ken is bearable but Logan was torture, the way you looked at him, how your entire body language changed when he appeared. I couldn't go through all that again, that would be the evil thing to do. At least I wanted to know if you are able to do all those things with me.” He holds your hands and joins his forehead with yours, and you allow it because you need his closeness too and you don't have the heart to push him away.

“What if I can't?” You murmur in a delicate sound you're not sure if he catches but you know he does, by the way his eyes close and his lips press. But after a long pause, he answers.

“Then I'll be your best friend again, ready to see you with all of those guys over and over” He opens his eyes again to see you, and something in them makes you know that he really means it “Even if it kills me.”

Now you regret to call him evil, he's not, is a fragile human with feelings that can be broken, like yours, and at the end of the day you can't keep doing what is correct for the rest of the world, you are the exact example of that, you have done it hundred times, no matter the cost. But he accepted to do it for you anyway, that takes a lot of love to have.

You wonder if someday you could feel something that strong.

“Now what?” You ask truly wondering, this is unknown territory, usually when someone likes you, you know what to do, if is reciprocate, you can kiss, fuck or whatever the terms are, and if is not, you kindly decline the offer, you’re not the kind to give false hopes.

This is not reciprocated; it didn’t take you much time to realize that. But there’s something in the way he looks at you that remains you of another feeling, one that you believed was faded away. Being loved. Is it too bad to be loved without love back? Is it too horrible to just accept without giving? The warm touch of his hand traveling along your arm to your cheek sotfed you and for a little moment, you feel you deserve it. You know you don’t.

“I'm not sure, I've only had you this close in my dreams” You try to fight but you finally smile, a gesture he imitates, and suddenly the situation seem less tragic, more natural, like the eclipses the ancestors thought were the end of the world, but knowing of its existence, it’is even beautiful.

“And what do you do then when you have me like this?” Look at you, flirting already. You're going to regret this tomorrow on Monday when Timothée tells you how much he missed you or when you answer Ben's call to listen to all the dirty things he wants to do to you, but you like that, right? You're an attention eager, that's why you broke up with Logan because it wasn't enough for the rest of your life. Wow, is it sexist to slut-shame yourself? Stop it, you're enjoying yourself, there's nothing wrong with it, you don't hurt anybody... yet.

A glimpse of light appears in his eyes but you can't tell what kind because he cuts the space between you both in a kiss more intimate and passionate than the first one. His hands are full of you, one holding your wrist firmly against his and the other traveling around your back, not sure what to do with all the freedom you gave him, his caresses are clumsy and awkward, lost like a dog that finally catches his tail, what's the next step? He finds his path when he takes the back of your neck and pushes backward slowly to discover your bare skin, that's the place where his lips start the fire, one that starts where his kisses touch and spreads to the rest of your body, is like he knows the exact positions of your sweet spots, like if he had studied and planned it multiple times until he prepared the perfect routine.

His free hand finds your leg and puts it on his hip, beating the record of how close you have been for the third time this day. You can feel his bulge, although that's a very vague way to say it, his state is dangerously hard and you can only be there at the moment, a clay dough being sculped by his prodigious hands.

His breathing is heavy, and the speed of his heart is bumping violently against your chest, you can tell how much he wanted this, how desperate he is for your closeness, you didn't need any other proof to that but he gave it to you when a heavy groan escaped from his throat and his whole body tensed for two different reasons. Did he just...?

He hurries to go to the other side of the room looking at the window with his hand holding himself to the wall. You should say something, something comforting. It's ok, that happens all the time. No, that sounds slutty. I didn't know this was a race, but you won! Haha, no, but you mentally high five for that. He's standing there trying to get his regular breathing back, and for the tension of his back you can tell he's mentally struggling too. Say something, it's been twenty long and grievous seconds, say something, say something, please say something, anything, a word, a cow sound. And then, your phone rings again. Thank God!

“Sorry, I need to take this, is my boss” Which is true but at this moment even an unknown number would be an important and unmissable call. You get out of the room and hurry to hide in the bathroom, where you can finally breathe again “Hey, Mr. Chalamet.” You say when answering not sure why, and now you feel stupid, being formal after the way he ate you out this morning is senseless.

“Are we playing Mr. and Mrs. now? I like it, I thought that the whole señorita thing is so burned out already. But I'd like Papi, oh God, can you call me Papi right now?” What's going on? Why can't you have five minutes with a normal and casual conversation with a male specimen?

“Ummm, this isn't a good moment, Tim. Can I call you later?” Or not, that's also a good option.

“Right, no, I want you to come to a party with me, is to celebrate the end of the shooting, an exclusive actor thing. I thought you would like to meet some people from the media and maybe slip away a couple minutes with me in the middle.” He sounds really excited like this isn't something he does every weekend of his life and some of that thrill sticks to you, it actually sounds tempting.

“Can I bring a friend?” You immediately think about Beth and how much she would love to go with you, and maybe you wouldn't feel completely out of place.

“No, sorry, pretty bunny, it's a really private thing, I'll get in trouble just taking you there. But what do you say? Tomorrow at 10?” He doesn't sound sorry and you don't appreciate the nickname but you decide to go on anyway.

“Sure, I'll be ready.” You hear something about what to wear and stuff but you hung up before he finishes because you're worried Tom thinks you're there hiding from him, and even when that is unintentionally true, you really don't want him to feel bad.

But when you open the door, he's gone.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

Taglist:

@eridanuswave @cjand10 @deluxeplanteater @rorodendra @leviosatothestars @coxxxxxpi

Sorry if I can’t tag you, check your settings:(

Thanks for all the love and support, if you have opinions, suggestions or you want to be part of the tag list (Or don’t want to be part anymore) Let me know, I appreciate every message.

#tom holland x latina! reader #logan lerman fc #ben hardy imagine #pedro pascal #michael b jordan fc #michael b jordan #timothee chalamet fanfiction #timothee chalamet #tom holland #smut #angst #blurb #fanfic #imagine #headcanon

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crymeariveronceagain · 2 years

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Hmm... so you like blonde boys with trauma.. what are some character types you hate?

lovely question with many answers :D

Flawless jerks. Someone who can do no wrong, but is an absolute pain in the rear end to deal with or learns that YOU SHOULD ALWAYS BE YOURSELF, NO MATTER WHAT, At the end of the story. I especially hate "strong" women who can do no wrong and never fail.

Drug addicts. Something about them I honestly can't stand. Like, no matter what story, no matter what book. If they're heavily addicted to drugs, I usually will strongly dislike that character.

Diversity Play(personified). This is your token not straight/not white character.(Examples: gay best friend, black neighbor, Hispanic trans cousin, etc. etc.) They exist to win diversity points and I loathe <3 their <3 Every <3 Existence <3 Diversity should naturally occur in your story! Don't shoehorn it in, stars above.

Wimp. A cowardly character who stays cowardly. Who is faced with difficulties and instead of getting up after puking their guts out from anxiety like the REST OF US has a breakdown and cries about it for a couple years. Especially if this character is a guy. Ugh.

Toxic Bad Boy. Not counting, of course, Maven Calore, he's attractive af. But that boy from a rich family who breaks stuff when he gets pissed and yells at his gf like he hates her existence.

Flip-flopper. No definite sense of morality. Has no clue which way is up, could kill one of their best friends and cry about it the next day because their sense of what's right and what's wrong is so hinged on emotion, and not on anything concrete. Real jerkish move, honestly.

Pervert. I don't need to say more on this. If they're disgusting about how they treat other characters, they can die by my blade <3

Old Character that changes in an Illogical Manner throughout the series, and gets an unsatisfactory ending that leaves you screaming about how out of character that was and how it resolved nothing and how you want to have loud words with the author about how they thought desecrating such a good character was a good idea.

I have more, but these are just the main ones I know I detest.

#character tropes #things i hate #thanks for the ask!#character #character arcs #can you guess who i'm describing for each of these? because they're each def about a specific character #for instance the perv is mineta #ew ew ew

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almostdeath · 3 years

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14. “Show me where it hurts.” for cc!schlackity?

This one is shorter and...I literally never wrote anything for the cc....so...sorry in advance if this seems odd Haha.

Today promised to be good. Q got a free moment from studying and could finally meet up with Schlatt. And most importantly...privately! Without any cameras. Just the two of them. Allowing to relax.

Quackity knew exactly what they should do. It would be interesting, it would give the opportunity to let "steam out" and it would be something that Schlatt would enjoy. The last part is probably the most important one. Sometimes the Hispanic man gets worried about his close friend and well...boyfriend. This was still strange to think and even weirder to say. Nobody besides of very close friends knew about it. And Q really doubts that in the coming future this information will be publicly known. He already predicts all the shit that people would write, about how bad his decision is, how horrible of a partner Schlatt must be....but this was something, that should be pushed aside right now. He has a boyfriend to take care of. It was pretty easy to see that the older man was slightly less talkative and seemed to zoom out way more than usually.

This is why, Quackity decided that a shooting range on an open field would be perfect! Not that he himself had a lot of experience but how hard could it be?

-Ya did this before?- Schlatt asks with slight amusement, loading the gun.

-Pff, of course! Thousands of times!- this was....totally not the truth and by the look on the other man's face...he totally knew it, but still gave his boyfriend the gun. The Hispanic was fast to hold it with one hand, trying to aim. Schlatt already rolled his eyes, of course Q would start to pose, as if this is some kind of movie where....he would finish this thought if they wouldn't be interrupted by a gunshot and...the sound of very angry Spanish swearing. Most of it he could understand, but some...he never even considered to be actual words.

-Alexis! Are you crazy!?- almost throwing the gun away, the older starts to check on his boyfriend's wrist. It doesn't seem broken. Thank God....

-Show me where it hurts. Or...or say, does it hurt if I press?- he tried to examine the others whole hand, pressing on different places, earning painful whining.

-I....its okay....okay....- Q tried to argue weakly, while his partner made sure that the wrist is really not broken, his hands were shaking.

-I can't believe that you did it...why would you think that this is a good idea?...- after the panic and worry wore down, Schlatt actually talked calmer but with a hint of anger.

-.....Well....I....you like guns and....I thought that....that...- previously Schlatt never heard Q talking like this....maybe during more troubling times, while they still could speak only over the phone.

-That you would impress me?- at least that let to a small smirk and Alex nodded, his face was red, hands shaken.

-Idiot....you...fuck...don't make me go all mushy with you....but you don't need to try and impress me...especially with a broken hand...you impress me either way...- the last part was more murmured and Q could swear to any existing God...he wants to kiss this man till the end of times. He would do it again and again if it means that he can hear J speaking more...like this...open...with him.

-We should get you to the hospital still. Alex, this...you never hold a gun like this...-

-No!...I...I mean....we just got here. I don't want to ruin our day and...- maybe he would continue to ramble if those soft lips didn't shut him up. It was passionate, a little bit clumsy because of the worries but it was pure and this is what makes it the best sensation. Schlatt pulled back with a smile. It looked so wonderful...Alex could look at this the whole day.

-We can stay for a few minutes. You will not hold the gun yourself.....you shot one time and we go.- the step by step rules where listed and Q let out a little sigh.

-Yes "boss"- he rolled his eyes and they both shared a quiet laughter. After helping his boyfriend with the right position, Schlatt hugged him basically from behind, placing his own hands on his. Alex leaned back with a soft smile, following the instructions. His hand still hurt like hell....but J was smiling and Alex knew. He was doing everything just right.

-.... J ......I love you.-

#cc!Schlackity #answer #this was unusual #Be safe with guns people #And yes this is not how an shooting range works but...we will ignore that #I refer to Schlatt as J since I still dont know if I should use the name Jonathan or not...#cc!schlatt #cc!quackity #pumpkin husbands....my beloved

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bookwyrminspiration · 3 years

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Because distractions are fun and staying on one topic for too long gets boring!

Also sorry for messing up their pronouns! I was basing it off memory from the tags and Idk why my brain went "uhhh- uhhh- she-", but also wow- 50 names- I am giving them stunned applause.

Also hell yeah, and the best thing about having bright red hair? All I need is a green outfit (desaturated green hoodies count, right?) and then I'm all red-y (hah) for Christmas!

And yes bllody hair is correct, it's truely brilliant when I see the hair dye going down the drain and it looks like a watered-down blood.

But also how??? Is one place big enough??? For you to drive??? 24 hours??? And still have land????? God I can never come to terms with how small this place is. And I cna never comprehend how big the US is either. And I don't get the states either, like are they all just mini countries claiming tk be one?? Is it like Europe but with less actual countries?? All the politics I've heard from over there vary wildly from state to state

Also also, this just remind sme of how influenced my country is by others because like. Lot of our news is about the US (or the stuff I'm exposed to anyway), and in 2016 my entire class just stopped doing work to see if trump or hillary would win the elections (like the teachers didn't say we could, we just wstched the live polls), and same with the last election (my memory is failing me as to if it was this year or last yesr- everything is blurring together)

But yeah talking to hair dressers is anxiety inducing, I'm lucky to have found a nice place with nice people though! And I wouldn't trust myself to cut my own hair, it's like a wavy straight (moreso straight since I got it cut short, but it still goes everywhere)

And ahhh yeah, that is very understandable. I don't know like, how many Hispanic last names there are over here either, I know there's quite a bit of Scottish though

Also!! Ink is doing a very bad job at being mysterious, they're like my friend who also tries to be mysterious and stuff but they ends up coming across as having big cat vibes, like the 'hehehehehehhe time for atrocities' kind. It's a brilliant vibe, but I wouldn't call it mysterious.

Also also!! Since we were at some point tlaking about hair!! You got any headcanons for what the main cast of kotlc would do with their hair if they had to dye it for like,, disguise/identity change reasons?

Also Lihn with rainbow streaks throughout her hair along with the silver (Also apparently its metal-? How does metal dye hair??? Wouldn't it jurt burn the hair from the heat required to melt it??)

-Heathen

heathen! hello! I either stay on one topic entirely too long or barely touch on it before moving on and the in between is practically non existent, so i feel you and welcome random jumps between topics.

and don't worry about it! we know it wasn't intentional and appreciate you correcting yourself. and I don't think i'd ever specified their pronouns before, so making a guess is a reasonable thing to do. also yes they have a lot of names. I just counted and they're at 48 right now, and they've added Ink to the list! They use the notes app and checkmark the ones they're using at any given time, so not all 48 are in use at once. Still impressive though!

oo festive hair sounds fun!! my family's religion (which I am no longer a part of) doesn't celebrate Christmas, but we always participated a little anyways because all of our extended family celebrates. Though my main association with the term "Christmas" is chili. Because here when you go out to eat they'll ask you "red, green, or christmas style?" And that's how they ask if you want red chili, green chili, or both (a lot of food has chili here. it's a staple at every restaurant. my family goes green chili picking instead of apple picking--and I brought Ink along this year! . So if you dressed as green I'd probably think both of the holiday and the chili.

But also the association of bloody hair with the holiday...Christmas has gotten violent this year /pos. When I was rinsing out the dye the other day I just kept laughing at how pigmented the water was (because the drain was a little clogged and draining slow) so I was standing in a pool of orange the entire time. Luckily didn't stain the tub though.

also heathen, I hate to break this to you but the 24 hour drive across the country...is not the longest time you can drive here. That's just time north to south. if you're going more east-est you could drive 50 hours in a straight line and still be in the same country (there aren't any other countries to drive to east-west, only ocean, but you get what I'm saying). i personally have only done the 24 hour one, but that's been normalized for me at this point. Honestly "mini countries claiming to be one" is a great description. Every state is vastly different. Someone who grew up in Ohio and someone who grew up in Nevada might as well be from different countries. There's just so many people here--though I have no idea how anything compares to Europe as I know nothing about the culture there aside from stereotypes.

and yes, politics change from state to state. There are some things that are nationwide, but also each state has a lot of say in its own politics. Things like drug use and what age you can start working and the school year can vary. For example, the school year starts around the beginning of august for me, but the middle of September in other places.

(also damn I'm not really taught about other countries so it's interesting and unsettling to see just how much influence the US has on other countries. we didn't even watch the elections here. though my teacher did have a thing where she hosted an election in each class and saw which candidate won in each class....my period was the only one to vote for trump. unfortunately. as in I didn’t want him to win and was disappointed my peers voted for him)

I tend to want to get out of a hairdressers place as soon as possible and be as convenient as possible for them, so I never left completely satisfied. So I decided to simply stop going and do what I wanted to. I mean it's just hair to me, nothing to fret over. I don't care what it looks like at the end or if everything lines up because I'm having fun! But I'm glad you found a place that works for you! Cutting (and bleaching/dying) your hair yourself definitely isn't for everyone. But wavy straight sounds nice! I honestly don't know what my natural curl pattern is because I started bleaching it before i realized it was curly. My mother is completely white and has the straightest hair I've ever seen, so she taught me to take care of mine the way she cared for hers...which is not how mine should be cared for. I do like having colors, but I'm also looking forward for the day it's natural again so i can see what the curls look like!!

as for last names, New Mexico happens to have the highest percentage of hispanic ancestry out of all the states, but that doesn't really compare to the whole country. I actually have two last names (the hispanic thing again), and the other one is french or something like that. though it's now pronounced without the accent and sounds strange

honestly that's a great description of Ink. They seem to enjoy causing trouble but jokingly. This reminds me of an image I sent them the other day of two cats starting at a snail and said "us." Cats are excellent. and "time for atrocities" feels like something they would say. Also I know it's hard to believe based on what they've said before /s, but their reaction to being compared to a cat was an evil smiley face. I think they like it.

as for kotlc hair headcanons/thoughts, I have a few but this post is long so I won't share them here! but if you'd like to hear my thoughts on that please feel free to send another ask about it!! (also yes the metal thing is weird and has confused many of us in the past) but oo I just thought of a thing for that linh thing you said...

#tumblr will you let me post this #sometimes its mean #regarding Ink: they like that people vaguely know about them #maybe like a cat observing a room and pretending no one can see them #i love them #also I don't know if you actually wanted responses to some of those questions but you got them!#random #quil's queries #heathen nonsie #quil and ink #long post

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novemberwasgrey · 4 years

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Last night, I had a dream about Leo Valdez and Chris Rodriguez drunk singing "La Cucaracha" with sombreros.. Is it a sign I should write a pjo/hoo karaoke one shot?

Remember that? Well, I actually wrote it. There's Chrisse, Jasper mentioned, Liper friendship, Piperisse friendship (is that even their shipname?). Sorry for grammar errors, English still isn't my mother tongue. Enjoy!

You can read it on AO3 too (link)

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Uh, Clarisse?"

Sighing heavily, Clarisse turned away from the dummy she was crumbling to pieces to face the person who had dared to interrupt her training.

"What is it McLean? I'm busy."

Piper approached, not the slightest scared of the daughter of Ares unlike most campers. She had learned to get to know Clarisse since she was in camp and if anything, this girl was just another example of a big heart well hidden under layers of steel (and she was also the only other person to side with when Drew was being a bitch).

"I, um, kinda need your help with how the karaoke night's progressing." she finally said, putting her hands in her jeans pockets.

Again, Clarisse sighed and put down her spear against a bench. This stupid karaoke was an idea of those dam Apollo kids and she had made it perfectly clear from the beginning that she wouldn't take any part in it.

"What now? If my siblings ridiculed themselves-"

"Oh no, we're past that, Connor and Sherman already did the stupidest singing contest on Final Countdown. Most of your cabin went to bed actually. But, um... The Stolls thought it'd be a good idea to steal some of Mr D's wine bottles...

Clarisse could already feel the headache coming as she ran a hand over her face wearily. Catching the water bottle Piper gave her, she followed her out of the arena to the Apollo cabin.

"How wasted everyone is?"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"LA CUCARACHA! HEY! La Cucaracha, la Cucaracha, hey hey, ya no puede caminar... ¡Porque le falta, porque le falta–"

"What... On... Hades..." Clarisse voiced, not even sure what to do or say right now.

On the small scene the Apollo kids had set in their cabin for the event were standing Leo Valdez and Chris Rodriguez singing (or rather, screaming in the mic) the most cliche Hispanic song that ever existed. Both were wearing sombreros and colorful ponchos, shaking maracas in all directions.

Clarisse loves her boyfriend, she really does. But right now, he looked like the most ridiculous fool she's ever laid her eyes on.

Next to her, Piper was chuckling.

"Oh. Well they weren't as bad when I went to get you."

Around them, everyone else was pretty intoxicated. Some were laughing at Chris and Leo's performance, others were making out, the Stolls were preparing new murderous cocktails with different wines and juice, and some who didn't seem to tolerate alcohol that good were already snoring on any comfortable surface of the cabin.

"Is that Drew with Kayla?!" Piper shrieked at two campers making out on the couch.

"Stay focused, McLean! " Clarisse reminded, feeling her patience wearing thin. "I'm going to kill the Stolls one day... I'll take care of Chris, you of Valdez?"

"Got it."

They got on the stage once the song was over and the boys practically jumped on them with exaggerated joy.

"Pipeeees! My favorite girl in the world! Oops, don't tell Cal' I said that." Leo shouted before he started to laugh hysterically, his sombrero falling from his head.

"Don't worry, it'll be our little secret." Piper promised as she was retaining a smile.

Lucky for him, Calypso had been gone for two days when Reyna and Hazel offered to make her visit New Rome.

Clarisse, however, was far from laughing at her boyfriend's antics.

"Clary!" The son of Hermes shouted as he smothered her in his arms.

"I told you not to call me that in public!"

"I missed you so m... What's the word again? Much. I missed you so much."

"Let's get you guys to bed." the daughter of Aphrodite reasoned as she eventually got a hold on Leo's frame – he was falling asleep anyway.

"Woooow, slow down McLean! You're not my type, I'mma go to bed with only one girl here and that's the drakon slayer next to meee-"

"Rodriguez, shut the Hades up!" Clarisse yelped, her cheeks red, with anger or because of what Chris had just said, that Piper will never know.

With a strength that wasn't even surprising anymore when you got to know Clarisse la Rue, she pulled her boyfriend forcefully to her side and helped him get off the stage, holding him by his shoulders.

At some point, Piper had to carry Leo on her back as he couldn't walk at all.

Reaching the Dionysus cabin – Pollux had made it the official cabin for drunk people to sleep in – had never been more difficult for the two girls. Leo, still perched on Piper's back, was loudly complaining at Chris that they didn't have time to sing Viva La Vida Loca and Chris was shouting the cheesiest love declarations to the poor daughter of Ares.

When they finally got to Cabin 12, the young Cherokee girl made sure Leo drank enough water to mitigate the horrible hangover that would come next morning while Clarisse helped Chris laying on a bunk.

"Mmh, Claryyyy. Come on, say it. At least one time."

Clarisse sighed. "Fine. I love you."

"Mmh, I luv you too... You're the love of my life..." Chris replied as he yawned and his eyes closed.

Piper was sure she had seen the ghost of a smile appearing on Clarisse's face but if she did, she didn't point it out. Soon, the two drunkards were fast asleep and all the girls could hear as they sat on a bunk facing them, was their snoring.

Clarisse turned to her, her face dead serious. "If you ever repeat what you heard tonight-"

"I won't! Cool down. Besides, you're not the only one. Leo rambled the entire night about how I'm the best supreme best friend he ever had, but that I can't tell Jason about it."

The war girl snorted. "Speaking of which, why didn't you have fun with your boyfriend and all the other fools over there?"

The Cherokee shrugged, leaning on her elbows. "I don't know. Sometimes I just don't like to mingle with the crowd. And I knew someone was going to have to stay conscious. Even Annabeth's drunk."

"You gotta be kidding me."

"Nope. Worth seeing." Piper laughed and Clarisse followed her.

And suddenly, that laughter reminded the daughter of Ares of another one she hadn't heard for a long time. Such a long time that she actually started to forget how it sounds like and that mere fact was saddening her more than anything.

Clarisse knew Piper wasn't Silena. She could never be. But Clarisse knew something for sure: she would have loved her new sister.

Piper stood up, stretching her arms behind her head. "What do you say we go back to this karaoke thing? I feel we're going to have to take care of more than two people tonight."

"Urgh. Do we really have to?" Clarisse moaned, her wish to kill the Stoll getting more intense every second.

It was true that if Chiron was to see all their drunk asses, they'll be punished for life.

"Well if it can motivates you, I heard before leaving that drunk Jason and drunk Percy were begging to sing Gangnam Style together."

"Okay you got me, McLean. I would never miss Prissy making a fool of himself."

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queen-mihai · 3 years

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My posts usually get buried, but I'm gonna make one anyway.

If you're LGBTQ+ and don't want to deal with a fight, I recommend, if at all possible, to move into a city. Doesn't have to be a major city. Just any place where it's not "everybody knows everybody".

Signs you're in a big enough place:

1. If you can't walk from one side of the grocery store to the other in 30 seconds, that's the start of a good sign, but let's go further.

2. That grocery store: if it's about a 10 minute drive (in favorable traffic) from ANOTHER grocery store of about the same size, that's a pretty good sign.

3. If you have to pass at least 3 traffic lights from one store to the next, even better.

4. Auto parts stores and liquor stores. If there's a liquor store the same size as the grocery store, that's a pretty good sign.

5. If there's more than one giant liquor store, that's a great sign. (In America, of course)

6. Take a look at the cars outside as you're driving/riding. How old are they? Mostly 5 years old or less? Another good sign.

5a. ***This is where I'm gonna say ignore the people. Looking at rich neighborhoods can sound a lot like "Look for the yt people", but forget that. There's rich black neighborhoods. There's rich Hispanic neighborhoods. There's rich Asian and rich gay neighborhoods. I've seen them. They're spread out across the country, but they exist.***

Back to 5: The point is, even in inexpensive neighborhoods, people understand that keeping their car up to date and running well will keep them employed and upwardly mobile. What else to look for?

6. Trees. Stay with me, here.

Nice neighborhoods, whether they're expensive or inexpensive, tend to have well maintained trees. Tree maintenance is expensive, and is one of the first things cities and governments tend to pass on if they want to "forget" about a certain part of town in their yearly budget. They'll pass it onto the neighborhood or individual homeowners who very likely may not be able to pay for the maintenance themselves. Are the trees somewhat uniform? Good sign.

Ok, so why a city? Why not the oh-so-friendly countryside? Well, the countryside can be nice, if you're a straight, white, Christian man. If not, you're kinda rolling the dice on if any particular neighborhood is going to accept you. There's some nice ones, but I wouldn't try my luck because being stuck in a neighborhood who is 100% against you can ruin you for life.

There are too many people in a city. That can work in an LGBTQ+ person's advantage because nobody has time to put any level of importance on what kind of clothes you're wearing or who you are kissing in the park. City people will see that and either take their biases and move on, think you look super cute, or get lowkey jealous that they're not the ones kissing in the park. But one way or another, they'll usually MOVE ON.

That's not to say there's no bias in the city. There's plenty of people with nasty upbringing who will, given the chance, try to make your life hell. But the difference is you are less likely to be completely surrounded by those people. And the people who do surround you, are too damn busy dealing with their own shit to be worried about you. "Did you look masculine yesterday and feminine today? Huh. Well, I don't have time to think about that right now, if I don't get my ass to my car, I'm gonna be late for work."

"Was that man wearing chaps and high heels? Oh shit, text....Fuck, my mom is in the hospital again, I better go make sure she's ok. Dude in the heels looked good though. I'll tell mom about him. That'll be fun. Maybe I should get some heels."

Cities have their downsides. They're busy. They're loud. They're expensive. But the very things that make a city a sucky place to live, make it a great place for an LGBTQ+ person to fit in. You're just another face in the crowd. Even if you stand out, it'll just be like a "Huh" reaction rather than people breaking out the torches and pitchforks.

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ramon-balaguer · 4 years

Text

#WhiteLivesMatter

To my White or light skinned folks, your color, your ethnicity, your heritage, your ancestry is Nothing to be shame of...be proud-from Vikings to being slaves to owning slaves to where you are today; your life matters. And if anyone finds that offensive, that's their Right, but it doesn't make it any less True and the question is, is it just about you as the hashtag suggests? 🤔

#BlueLivesMatter

To my Law Enforcement folks, the typical blue uniform your wear which may be tan, green, black, white, brown, camouflage, etc... is representative of title and oath you took to Serve & Protect and their is no shame but great honor it and you, independent of the few that might not take their jobs serious or have other mental issues, anger or Hate; those speak of themselves and Not you. But quick to report their bad attitudes and behaviors, and stop them in their Evil and Unlawful actions to prevent unnecessary harm and deaths, because the hand of one is the hand of all. Stand up against unlawful orders too, and walk away when your own are Not supporting you. You are Appreciated and needed, but No one seems to care till they need you. If this is offensive to anyone, that's their Right, but be proud that it is True and the question is, is it just about you as the hashtag suggests? 🤔

#BlackLivesMatter

To my Black or darker skinned folks, color, your ethnicity, your heritage, your ancestry is Nothing to be shame of...be proud-from kings & Queens in Africa to selling slaves to being slaves to owning slaves to where you are today; your life matters. And if anyone finds that offensive, that's their Right, but it doesn't make it any less True and the question is, is it just about you as the hashtag suggests? 🤔

#BrownLivesMatter #RedLivesMatter #YellowLivesMatter #LHBTTTABCDIFNQPPZLivesMatter

To all my shades of colors or gender beliefs that identify you or you identify with... your suffrage is known, I see you and you are ALL beautiful and you can create an innumerable amount of hashtags to cover your specific and exclusive plight...stay in the fight, Jesus Second Coming is yet to happen, so you Hispanics, Indians, Arabs, Asians, Aboriginals, in God's way or whatever way you see yourself I see you and love you ALL the same, but someone will be offended and that's their Right, but be proud that it is True and the question is, is it just about you as your hashtag suggests? 🤔

#AllLivesMatter

To all people of every nation in every ethnicity, color and creeds, to you males and females in however you claim to express that, and to you of every faith, belief and understanding... To Everyone that exists from within the belly of a woman to the eldest living person on earth, free or in bondage, rich or poor, healthy or sick, smart or dumb, weak or strong, Conservative, Liberal or somewhere in between and anything or everything else that can divide US as the One True Race that we are regardless of how much or little melanin we may have... to the Human Race, Humankind, You Are Beautiful and Priceless in my eyes and the Eyes of God, and He Loves You and I do too. Be proud of yourself and love yourself and then use that same pride and love on others that don't quite look, act, speak, dance, eat, etc. like you. Don't buy into the narrative that ALL means everyone but you because some folks made themselves superior by submission to power and might. Those things may last a while, but Not forever, and we have all as suffered some kind of injustice, inequality, and or Hate as a people by the people. Humanity can be so inhumane. No different one is greater than another, except as is conceived in the hearts and minds of mankind and the power they have to force that belief or lack of power the believe your inferiority. Together in Unity there's Nothing we can't accomplish or defeat; but divided we fall, and succumb to our own devices. Now some folks will find this offensive because it goes against their narrative that they alone are hurting and all must come to them and kneel and apologize and make reparations for the Evil that has befallen them or their ancestors. They will be offended because in their Sick minds, ALL means anything but them, that God and US have failed them and they must take matters into their own hands to Rewrite History, names and products... to Deface or Remove paintings, statues or monuments of anything that remotely represents their forefathers oppressors and anything else to somehow bring about change that No more injustices will occur, that Hate and Racism will disappear with it, that less or no more deaths will occur and Shangri-La will finally come to fruition for them. Well, I beg to differ, but that's their Right to believe Only they and their hashtag are true and good, and anything else is a distraction and Hate; and the question is, is it just about you as your hashtag suggests? 🤔 ALL means ALL regardless of what other may think or have done. All includes Everyone and Excludes Nobody. 😍🙏❤️🇺🇸 REBTD 😇

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whimsically-ominously-auspice · 4 years

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If i had to pick an American Cookie that can be bought in the store today, hands down it would be this one.

Living in New Mexico for 20 years, i rarely see a black person. I can go 785 days without seeing an African American. Because i have.

So, it's shocking to go to Arkansas or even Oklahoma and see large groups of Black People and i stare. I don't forget they exist due to the internet.. But I never see them so it's like visiting Mount Rushmore or the Grand Canyon. Its this natural amazing marvel. And I just stare usually with my jaw dropped like some social retard. Which I'm not typically. And Hey -- I'm not the only New Mexican that does that shit. We simply have a serious minority of African Americans here. I understand places like Mississippi don't think they're a minority. But if i can leave my house every day and not see a African American, then you're a minority. Just as in higher areas of African American Domination, i like to call it, there isn't many Latina or Hispanic or Mexicans as there are here. In Mississippi, they're a minority and here they're all "bitch we rule this shit! We own New Mexico!"

So due to actual minority being true of African Americans (in the 90s i picked it because it was always claimed officially so I just accepted as NYC is a huge vast mix of all kinds of culture. I figured they actually went out and counted them. But i wanted to explain to those whom don't travel and don't experience life in other places in the United States.

So in the 90s the Harringtons and I and as he preferred to be called, Captain Negro, his super hero name. Captain Negro del ela Ponte if you wanted to get legal about it. Decided to pick an "American Cookie" we could easily purchase for Sunday nights. And of course it had to be absolutely perfect.

"Taste Great but Look the Part as Touched by a negros heart and soul" said Captain Negroponte as I called him or Captain Negro Party or Captain Negro Parte especially when i didn't know how to explain something.

I tell you. I've always been smart. Miss Leena always hides and plays dumb and just tells history. But to compare and contrast and make analogies i truly learned from this man whom was my English Compilation Teacher, a True Super Hero.

For the cookie experiment. I talked to Miss Leena but she wouldn't explain. She just gave me the type of cookie and told me I would know what to do.

William Harrington said, "I dont know to me a cookie is just a cookie and my wife makes them great!"

And Willingima. we called her, Harrington, at the (jokingly) threat of our own lives said she did not know either she just had to bake she had said as when quietly embroidered under the table a gift for the Captain Hero's family.

So he came over and we told him and his eyes lit up and he was bouncing around with excitement at the table. "So the cookies are.... But I sure don't know how to explain anything but the chocolate"

"Okay explain me"

I did

"And these are just regular old fashioned chocolate chip, not chocolate on chocolate dough or white chocolate chip?"

"I could ask miss leena but im sure it's the old fashioned."

"Lets call her"

She said that the Chocolate dough (black/dark brown dough) with white chocolate chips would be An African cookie -- for their culture here in America and in actually Africa.

So we were all at the phone all listening in, the phone turned all the way up. Now this is the 90s wall phone no speaker phone ability.

So Captain Negroponte told me back at the table, "so you know the old fashioned. Idk why she wouldn't explain the chocolate on chocolate because of the two different browns. But you know I'll stay out of it. I think i do know the sugar but let me just check. What did she say on the phone to you when she called?"

"Well she called just out of the blue. Asked for Sabrina and i thought she was asleep and so i said she was as she hadn't came down (stairs -- our bedrooms were up and i was just living there For the summer or however long until i had to go back to work into the city i moved out October 9, 1991 due to riots in Brooklyn because i had to go help as i spoke about this last week. Officially moved in July 4th of the same year) and she said and i quote "well just tell sabrina this, that i called and she needs to do a cookie experiment. A white old fashioned cookie of chocolate chip flavor and a sugar cookie. She should know what to do with all of your help" she sounded old and she said her husband wasn't home and she was just resting. So i said "well ill let you go" and she said no and wanted to know all about our enterprise feeding the Street neighborhood kids and asked about money and she said "well Sabrina can help" do you -- do you have money? I sure am tired of eating hot dogs myself. This is getting expensive! I mean for us"

I replied "i do have some... Ill talk to Steve to see what we should do and how much and the best way to go about this"

"No now you seem nervous and she said you have a lot"

"Billions" she said the same time I said "millions"

"And you said some.. You said what? What you got now hon?"

"You said I'm a billionaire and i wouldn't ever lie to anyone but Steve explained to me, hes my lawyer, he said that i needed not to explain how rich i am but if someone needed money I'm to say i only have one million dollars and that is it. And i said "but that is a lie!" And he said "but no it is not not when I'm not allowing you to give out more than thousands without my approval" and i was mad!!! But in the end i saw what Steve said i should see. Its dangerous to advertise how rich i am"

"Bull shit! We probably have the richest girl in the world here sitting at our table and im telling her to penny pinch! Babe! We're having steaks next week! Put that on the list!"

"I'll pay you guys all back!"

"No!" "No!" "No!"

"No. Yes i mean i know you all did it from the goodness of your hearts but you shouldn't suffer. And i didn't realize that you were. I mean i thought you just wanted to eat hot dogs. I didn't know there was any difference"

"Blah!"

"So what I'll do. Because Steve said I'm allowed up to thousands and you're still in hundreds last i checked. $991 for the last three weeks for the entire house budget. So I'll at least double that and give Captain Nero the same. For the time y'all have spent working and then what i meant i would have to talk to Steve is that I would have to design a plan for the future. What he's talked about is supplying a credit card with a limit capable of exceeding the design purchases. So like if you need $900,000 a month then the credit card would allow $1 million. That's what hes explained to me. Then he would supply 12 blank checks for the year then all you would do is call the number on the back of the card once monthly to find out the balance and get the address, write the check and then mail it to the credit card company. Easy as that. He would get the bills to look over to see you're not scamming me. Then he can stop payment on the rest of the checks if you are and cancel the card. That goes for everyone. So for this i think that is what he would pick. It sounds simple. Of course, I don't pay bills or anything like that. Steve always handles it for me. But I'll still have to talk to Steve to get that program under way. And I'll make sure he pays you and you and of course you for past supplies and your time"

So they agreed to the extra payment but wanted to do work free. Mrs Harrington got $15 per day for taking care of me. And still does although she doesn't take care of me anymore, her influence still lives within me and is what made me who I truly am today.

If it wasn't for her, I wouldn't ever asked criminals how they wanted their ending to be. I would have ripped them off the streets and tortured them one by one ripping off pieces of their body while injected with a chemical that made them highly alert and aware of what was happening. For 6 years and 600 days. Them never knowing when it would be the day to lose something they deemed important.

Instead of dungeons and torture chambers, they have a chance at luxury and happiness.

Those asking for death instead have a right to live in peace and make their amends and do as they need. The miserable are killed first to stop their pain and suffering. 72 wanted vacation before. They got that.

If it wasn't for the Harringtons and Captain Negro, never would that occurred.

They saved a wretch like me and in turn, I saved those worst than me. As Jesus would. She taught me all about the belief of Jesus and who they believed he was

Over Captain Harrington's right shoulder was a cross with me looking down or asleep. They eyes were closed. I felt it was the most accurate representation of me. It even had lumps on it's chest. And I always felt so much responsibility. She believed the Unorthodox Jewish ways with a Catholic overcoat. She was non-religious before marriage so she had a mix of views and dabble in all spirits of religion. Also, the occult.

So when her cheeks were pink and her bright blue eyes lit up, and she told me about Jesus. I always prayed to the Lord in Hevaen that I would live up to her expectations.

And often I would look at that cross and feel the thorns cutting into my forehead. "I hope we can do it. Change the world as expected" I would say.

There were times i would take it off the wall "i feel Jesus should watch some T.V., too" i didn't want to say who i was. Mrs Harrington thought i felt that crown of thorns because Jesus was telling me that i knew things and i should act. Of course I didn't really know who I was, either, at first. Mommy thought it was too much but Daddy told me and said I should keep it secret. But I could tell who or what I want. So I decided to honor mommy and not say. But incorporate Jesus since he was such a big part of Catholicism and decor in the house, daddy said that would make Jesus alive in the house and keep my secret. But allow my full powers to bloom.

And it worked.

So Captain Negroponte said that day that he kept getting questions from one particular kid as tall as me about White Supremacy and how his family taught him that all white people were bad and "only play with nigger kids" so he was certain he knew how to explain the white sugar cookie as long as i could do "the chocolate chip without fail then it would all be good and life would be perfect for this particular child"

"I can. I know just what to do. It will be perfect"

"Okay don't tell me. I dont want to hear until that day"

So he left with a bounce and his eyes glittery. His soul full of tears for this young man, looking back where he left all his hope and faith, walked down the short dark hall and into the sunlight of a cool brisk Saturday afternoon.

"Hey now i might need some help. I know i need to show the white dough and then how it tans when baked. I got that talking to her on the phone"

"Well she didn't say --"

"She said Bake. And i was transformed back into her kitchen and had a white plastic bowl which i put into the oven -- it was empty and out it came a clay not crystal like ours but ceramic Brown bowl with the white inside. So i know what to say about White people tanning to make 2 races so we all have to support the black"

"You you get!! So not all white people are the same!!! Good good!!"

"Shew! Thank you! So I was at the kitchen in the sink.. I mean -- i said that backwards -- so anyway I'm in the kitchen and i see the silver sink and the bowl appears before my eyes and suddenly im holding it in my hands and i went to hand the phone to you as i tried to hand the bowl to her in my standing hands and she didn't sound old like she did in the phone, she sounded very young and sing song. And she said "no the children" so what we have to do is give the bowl to each of the children and let them mix it themselves. That will help white supremacy in however that means. So then the black kids all add the chocolate chips. And then when we bake. That will represent the Muslims that i used to help when in was younger and who framed me to be as i am today. But the kids don't all know that so it will represent all the darker but lighter skin than black you know like Puerto Riccans and Vietnamese and Chinese and all those sorts of people and how the African Americans have inserted their "language" into us to make the world such an amazing place. Without them we wouldn't be the cookie we are today here in 1991. Isn't that right, Jesus?"

"Oh don't look at him so harsh. What do you need me to do?"

"Bake the cookies. At the start we will mix then he will tell a story then we will do the baking. We can do two days in a row or we can help you here in the kitchen. Megan and i can take turns like we always do and so if we wanted to spread the word for two weeks since its getting so cold, we can start in the afternoon instead of dusk. And do the two different cookies the same time -- No i mean in the ssme day"

"Okay that could work. We will just let Captain Nero know and I'm sure he could come up with two great stories to pass the time. And you will pay?"

"Oh yes. Yes of course. And when I talk to Steve I'll ensure Miss Harriet Tubman is getting her cut although she always paid on her own and said she was on solid woman and could make it doing all she pleased, her husband is still working. But he's a police sergeant so I know its not for money. But she could buy her something nice with his pension."

"Pension?"

"Oh he has two. He works a lot. One thinks she's like 80 and the other 102 or 103 i think it is. So one will be cut surely i assume. She said she doesn't think she can make it to 120 without them getting onto her"

"And his paycheck?"

"Oh he donates it to science. They own their own trailer and car and BBQ"

"BBQ?"

"BBQ Grill. Of course though if i gave her money she would probably just clothes the whole entire neighborhood. I'll ask Steve if thats what she wants or that i could do. She said that was the only thing she had left in life to apply for. I guess she always knew i had money thats why she gave me the evil eye. She always provides them gloves in the winter -- except she buys them in the summer when they're cheaper and puts them in a box to save them till it gets cold again. I tell you. She is smart. So about these sugar cookies. I sure hope it works. It seems the opposite of what we set out to do. All white with beautiful crystals on top. She said to make them look so worthwhile and be as perfect as possible..."

So while the White Supremacist cookie is after all just a cookie that we used to explain to a child that was deeply courageous to learn more and actually educated his parents and they hugged me with forgiveness, myself being white.

I have explained the example. And to further educate, the Sugar Cookie in all other reality when not used for a demonstrations, is just a cookie we bake when we have no other additives.

But as Captain Negro (you may call him Captain Nero as Mrs Harrington would as she refused to "see" any color other than the colors of the rainbow") explained we should always try to find something good to add to something that is empty of extras. Be it fruit from like the Garden of Eden or be it nuts or seeds like Big Bird from Sesame Street, prefers, we should always fill our life and our cookies with as much goodness as possible. But some days, he said, some days its okay to have just a plain ole bit of sugar. As long as it's full of love and not hate.

So please do enjoy your plain white sugar cookies that are made with love. Black Panthers nor "all" white people do not encourage prejudice -- even if it's just against a cookie.

God bless us.

So we picked for our "American Cookie" the cookie below: because of the way it looks and the way it tastes. I encourage you to buy some today. As you can see the chocolate chips are hidden just as African American Heritage is hidden. And when we take a bite a beautiful explosion of chocolate erupts and elivenes our spirits.

And to top the cookie off, all of this occurs inside. Hidden away. Just like our souls are.

Thank you for listening. If these people could touch you just one percent how much they changed my life and gave me love and education and pride and so much faith in other people. Then you will be so better off

I hope you allow them to touch your souls.

Now here is the cookie you all have been waiting for:

We would laugh. And call it the "Soft Bitch" we may be going hard and fighting loud but we always have time for a tear, a hand to hold, a face to hug.

Because this is The United States of America. And she ain't all that bad. Not her citizens. Her government. Yes. But her citizens are blessed by her rich history of which she had no control over.

The American Cookie. A brown cookie, like a white person tans with perfect pieces of Black African American heart and soul baked in. Cookies of the United States of America. I always called them "American Cookies" We even had kids sit and mix up chocolate chip dough from scratch, each child getting to mix and have an ingredient added while they mixed. They all got to see the raw dough was White. Then They were baked with love by Momma Harrington and they came out tan. Like white people do in the sun. So they could see for certain how the African American were and are in the souls and minds of white people. And how without the African American pieces of love they were not complete. To prove this we made cookies without the chips and they were bland. "But What about White Supremacy? Because that was just America without us. But What about how they think?" I was asked. "I guess we could try Sugar Cookies then and see what happens. So we made beautiful sugar cookies with sugar crystals on top. Thank God our Black Panther Leader knew the words because i was at a loss.

"We all mixed and made those cookies. We saw what was in them! Sugar! We made them appeasing to the eye and different looking and more special looking than an old Chocolate Chip with those crystals. But those crystals?!? They ain't nothing. We got them in chocolate chip and that is all they put in the White Mass cookies. Then we sprinkled a little on top to make them look clean and beautiful like a real treasure. But the Treasure is Truth!!! They're missing the real thing! Sure they look beautiful especially in the sun, the crystals reflecting the lights all over but those crystals are Blinding us to the Truth!!! They are all a fraud!! But go ahead, eat them. I would too. White supremacist and all. Now let's growl!!"

Reminder Established in 1991:

Miss Leena has a different fund called ""Harriet Tubman's Self Worth Working Still Today" and she has 778 users of my funds whom also feed the people of their neighborhood and streets. They do collard greens, steak and potatoes soup daily. Saturday and Sunday add hot dogs and Sunday Morning they do their African American Heritage Stories. Of course 68% are certified Black Panthers as well but no one has to pledge to an organization to feed children with love m they just follow their hearts.

The account labeled "Black Panther Food Allocation - For the Street Kids" 962 people across the globe do this on their personal streets nightly. Feed kids collard greens, hot dogs and/or hamburgers (with cheese and iceberg lettuce, tomato, onions, relish and so on). And on Sundays tell the stories of Black American Leaders that intended to destroy prejudice and mistreatment and succeeded and the listeners all get cookies.

Of course I bought the secret Cookie to represent our Nation. The United States of America.

The United States was founded officially on July 4, 1776.

Due to this i requested our policy be to employ no more than 77% of African American and no less than 76% the remaining percent be of at least 4 different shades of white.

We start at $18 per hour as that is the adult age in the USA to represent freedom. We employ 2020 in each factory setting arena.

Then we changed the recipe, to take out the lumps. To promise a better and smoother future for all.

The Original cookie to represent the past is gone is pictured on the box as well as an elf. It is not misrepresentation of what is inside, unless you expected to find an elf as well. In no way is there any identifying words that says that is the what the cookie looks like inside. But it is the Original cookie artwork packaging as i bought it in 1991.

We have been sued over the artwork not representing the contents. Once i sued myself and won. I got good game. Y'all. Persuaded everyone to see it my way! It was a mock trial. And so it was to prepare for a real trial which did occur and we did win. We simply told the truth of our packaging and said we were not ready to reveal it. It was 2007 and we hadn't done a full reveal since 1991 and so why not leave us alone as we couldn't promise the change?!?!

We did word of mouth and some soft T.V. programming to indicate it. But never The full storey as I have today in pulic.

So again here is the Original cookie it did actually look like but did crumble more -- we kept that chocolate chip explosion. But bake them twice to have an outer coating of smoothness.

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omgsatisshroffme · 5 years

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Book Review: Satis Shroff Book Review-Kathmandu Blues: The Inheritance of Loss and Intercultural Incompetence by Satis Shroff 'My characters are purely fictional,' says Kiran Desai. In her book (The Inheritance of Loss) she has tried to do exactly that, namely to capture her own knowledge about what it means to travel between East and West, and to examine the lives of migrants who are forced to hypocrisy, angst of being nabbed, and have biographies that have gaps, and whose lives are constructed with lies, where trust and faith in someone is impossible, as in the case of Sai and Gyan. Migration is a sword with sharp blades on both sides. The feeling of loss when one leaves one's matribhumi is just as intensive and dreadful as having to leave a foreign home, due to deportation, when one doesn't have the green-card or Aufenthaltserlaubnis. Everyone copes with such situations differently. Some don't have coping solutions and it becomes a traumatic experience for the rest of one's life. Some pull up their socks, keep a stiff upper-lip and begin elsewhere. The problem of illegal migration hasn't been solved in the USA, Britain, France, Germany and other European countries. It is an open secret that the illegal migrants are used as cheap laborers according to the hire-and-fire principle, for these people belong to the underclass. In the USA it's chic to have Hispanics as baby-sitters, just as Eastern Bloc women are used by German families to do the household chores. Nepalis work under miserable conditions in India as darwans, chowkidars, cheap security personnel and the Indians have the same arrogance as the British colonialists. The judge, Lola and Noni are stereotypes, but such people do exist. It's not all fantasy. I'm sure the Gurkhas looking after photo-model Claudia Schiffer and singer Seal's house and guarding the palace of the Sultan of Brunei are well paid and contented, in comparison to other people in Nepal and the Indian sub-continent. What does a person feel and think when he or she goes from a rich western country to the East? And what happens when a poor Indian comes to the USA (land of plenty) or Germany (Schlaraffenland)? Is there always a feeling of loss? I've been living thirty years in Germany and I have met and seen and worked with migrants with biographies from Irak, Iran, Turkey, Nepal, India, Pakistan, Vietnam, Kosovo, Albania, Croatia and East Bloc countries. The worst part of it is that the Germans ignored the fact that it had already become, what they call 'ein Einwanderungsland.' They thought they'd invited only guest workers after World War II, with limited stay-permits, not realizing that they'd encouraged human beings with families and emotional ties, hopes and desires of a better future in the new Heimat with for their children and their grand-children. Kiran Desai flashes back and forth, between Kalimpong and New York, and she uses typical clich's and Indian stereotypes that have also been promoted by Bollywood. She's just as cynical and hilarious with her descriptions of fellow Indians in the diaspora, as she is when she describes the Gorkhalis in Darjeeling. Her portrait of the Nepalis in Darjeeling is rather biased, but what can one expect from a thirty-six year old Indian woman who has been pampered in India, England and the USA? Her knowledge of Kalimpong and Darjeeling sounds theoretical and her characters don't speak Nepali. She lets them speak Hindi, because she herself didn't bother to learn Nepali during her stay in Kalimpong. The depiction of a Gorkhali world might be true, as far as poverty is concerned, but she has no idea of the rich Nepali literature (Indra Bahadur Rai, Shiva Kumar Rai, Banira Giri to name a few), and folks music in the diaspora. Gyan's role was overdone, especially when Sai demands that he should feel ashamed of his and his family's poverty and so-called low descent. What is Gyan? Is he a Chettri, Bahun, Rai Tamang, or even a Newar? Describing a country, landscape is one thing, but creeping into the skins of the characters is another. The Gorkha characters remain shallow, like caricatures in Bollywood films, and she overdoes it with the dialogue between Sai and Gyan. For someone like me, who also went to school in Darjeeling, Kiran Desai's book was a pleasant journey into the past, where I still have fond memories of the Darjeeling Nepalis, their struggle for recognition and dignity among the peoples of the vast Indian subcontinent. I'm glad that peace prevails in the Darjeeling district, although I wish Subash Ghising had negotiated more funds from the central Indian government, and a university in Darjeeling. Gangtok (Sikkim) also does not have a university. The recognition of Nepali was a positive factor, but a university each for Darjeeling, Kalimpong and Kurseong would have given more Nepalis (pardon, Gorkhalis) the opportunity for higher education and better jobs, if not in the country, then abroad. To eat dal-bhat-tarkari at home and acquire MAs and PhDs within one's familiar confines would have immensely helped the Gorkhali men and women, even more than the recognition of Nepali. We can regard it as a small step towards progress. The description of Gyan's visit to Kathmandu was extremely superficial. Kathmandu is a world, a cosmos in itself, with its exquisite temples and pagodas and stupas and the culturally rich Newaris families from Lalitpur, Bhadgaon and Kathmandu. Kiran is, and remains, a supercilious brown-memsahib, like the made-over English characters of Varindra Tarzie Vittachi's fiercely satirical book 'The Brown Sahibs' in her attitude towards Gorkhalis and the downtrodden of her own country. I can imagine that the Nepali author D.B. Gurung is piqued about Desai's portrayal of the Nepalis in Kalimpong as 'crook, dupe, cheat and lesser humans' and his own emotional rejoinder regarding the Bengalis as 'the hungry jackals from the plains of Calcutta.' Since D.B. Gurung is known for his poetic vein, perhaps he can treat the long standing problems between Indians and Nepalis, or as Desai puts it, Bengis and Neps, in his lyrical verses. But please, less of the vitriol and more of tolerance, because even a poet and novelist can make or break human relations. I, for my part, am for living together, despite our differences, for variety is the spice of life in these days of globalization. Vive la difference. The story is served like a MacDonald's Big Mac for the modern reader, who has not much time, and there are multi-media distractions craving for his or her attention. As small morsels of information, like in a sit-com. I found the story-pace well timed and interesting, and she has a broad palette of problems that migrants face when they leave their homes, and when they return home. You can feel with Bijhu when he embraces his Papa in the end. A foreign-returned son, stripped of all his belongings. It was a terrific metaphor. I'm glad that there are women like Kiran Desai and Monica Ali (Brick Lane) who've traveled and experienced what it is like to be in the diaspora and try to capture the emotional and historical patterns in their lives as migrants. When you read the last page of the Desai's book you feel a bit dissatisfied because you wish that the unequal love affair between Gyan and Sai will go on and take a positive turn. There are so many Nepali-Indian couples who live happy conjugal lives with their families. I know at least three cases of Nepali women who're married to Bengalis. The Nepali women speak perfect Bengali, but their husbands don't speak Nepali, even though they live in Gorkhaland. They are proud that they can speak English instead. Nepali (Gorkhali or Khas Kura) is such a colorful and melodious language and we ought to listen to Sir Ralph Turner's when he says: 'Do not let your lovely language become the pale reflexion of a sanskritised Hindi.' Dinesh Kafle calls Desai 'schizophrenic.' Well, when you talk with an Indian he always praises the achievements of India in terms of the second Silicon Valley (Bangalore), the Agni and Prithvi missiles, the increasing nuclear arsenal, the expanding armed forces etcetera. But, Gott sei dank, there are Indians, who like Gandhi, are humble, religious, practice humility, are poor, deprived, castless, untouchables and, nevertheless, human and full of empathy, clean in their souls and hearts, and regard this world as merely a maya, an illusion, an earthly spectacle to be seen and felt---without being attached. D. B. Gurung is wrong when he assumes that Desai seems 'unable to acclimatize herself to either the western milieu or her own home.' But where is her home? She's a rootless, creative jet-set gypsy, who calls India, England and USA her home. The gypsies (Sintis and Romas) were originally from India (Rajasthan), weren't they? Even V.S.Naipaul (Half a Life, The Mimic Men), J. M. Croatzee (Youth), Isabel Allende (The Stories of Eva Luna) and Prafulla Mohanti (Through Brown Eyes) haven't gone so far in their description of a race or nation the way Desai has in her book. What is missing in her writing is the intercultural competence. Instead of taking the trouble to learn Nepali and acquiring background knowledge about the tradition, religion, norms and values, culture and living style of the Gorkhalis in Darjeeling and the Nepalese in Nepal, and comparing it with her own Indian culture, and trying to seek what is common between the two cultures and moving towards peace, tolerance, reconciliation---she just remains adamant , like her protagonist Sai. She does not make an ethnic reflection, but goes on and on, with a jaundiced view, till the bitter end. The dialogue between Neps and Bengis, between Neps and other Indians (Beharis and Marwaris and others from the plains) or between the British and Indians cannot be described as successful intercultural dialogues. The dialogues are carried out the way it should not, because there's always a fear that one is different in terms of social and ethnic status, even between her two main protagonists: Sai and Gyan. There is no attempt to reveal the facts behind an alien in a new cultural environment, no accepting of the problems of identity and no engagement for equality and against discrimination. If you're looking for frustrations-tolerance, empathy and solidarity with the Gorkhalis in the book, it's just not there. The characters necessary for intercultural interaction are joy in interaction with foreign cultures (not arrogance and egoism), consciousness of one's own culture, stress tolerance, tolerance of ambiguity, and bucketfuls of empathy. Had she shown empathy towards the Nepalis from Darjeeling and Kalimpong and made a happy-end love story between Gyan and Sai, the Nepalese would have greeted her with khadas and marigold malas. The way it is, she has only stirred a hornet's nest. Kiran just doesn't have empathy for Neps, despite the Booker Prize. Great women are judged by the way they treat the underprivileged and downtrodden. Perhaps it's time for meditation and self-searching in Rishikesh, like the Beatles. Pic of Kanchenzonga, courtesy: pixaby

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