childhood much

“I want you to tell me about every person you’ve ever been in love with.
Tell me why you loved them,
then tell me why they loved you.

Tell me about a day in your life you didn’t think you’d live through.
Tell me what the word home means to you
and tell me in a way that I’ll know your mother’s name
just by the way you describe your bedroom
when you were eight.

See, I want to know the first time you felt the weight of hate,
and if that day still trembles beneath your bones.

Do you prefer to play in puddles of rain
or bounce in the bellies of snow?
And if you were to build a snowman,
would you rip two branches from a tree to build your snowman arms
or would leave your snowman armless
for the sake of being harmless to the tree?
And if you would,
would you notice how that tree weeps for you
because your snowman has no arms to hug you
every time you kiss him on the cheek?

Do you kiss your friends on the cheek?
Do you sleep beside them when they’re sad
even if it makes your lover mad?
Do you think that anger is a sincere emotion
or just the timid motion of a fragile heart trying to beat away its pain?

See, I wanna know what you think of your first name,
and if you often lie awake at night and imagine your mother’s joy
when she spoke it for the very first time.

I want you to tell me all the ways you’ve been unkind.
Tell me all the ways you’ve been cruel.
Tell me, knowing I often picture Gandhi at ten years old
beating up little boys at school.

If you were walking by a chemical plant
where smokestacks were filling the sky with dark black clouds
would you holler “Poison! Poison! Poison!” really loud
or would you whisper
“That cloud looks like a fish,
and that cloud looks like a fairy!”

Do you believe that Mary was really a virgin?
Do you believe that Moses really parted the sea?
And if you don’t believe in miracles, tell me —
how would you explain the miracle of my life to me?

See, I wanna know if you believe in any god
or if you believe in many gods
or better yet
what gods believe in you.
And for all the times that you’ve knelt before the temple of yourself,
have the prayers you asked come true?
And if they didn’t, did you feel denied?
And if you felt denied,
denied by who?

I wanna know what you see when you look in the mirror
on a day you’re feeling good.
I wanna know what you see when you look in the mirror
on a day you’re feeling bad.
I wanna know the first person who taught you your beauty
could ever be reflected on a lousy piece of glass.

If you ever reach enlightenment
will you remember how to laugh?

Have you ever been a song?
Would you think less of me
if I told you I’ve lived my entire life a little off-key?
And I’m not nearly as smart as my poetry
I just plagiarize the thoughts of the people around me
who have learned the wisdom of silence.

Do you believe that concrete perpetuates violence?
And if you do —
I want you to tell me of a meadow
where my skateboard will soar.

See, I wanna know more than what you do for a living.
I wanna know how much of your life you spend just giving,
and if you love yourself enough to also receive sometimes.
I wanna know if you bleed sometimes
from other people’s wounds,
and if you dream sometimes
that this life is just a balloon —
that if you wanted to, you could pop,
but you never would
‘cause you’d never want it to stop.

If a tree fell in the forest
and you were the only one there to hear —
if its fall to the ground didn’t make a sound,
would you panic in fear that you didn’t exist,
or would you bask in the bliss of your nothingness?

And lastly, let me ask you this:

If you and I went for a walk
and the entire walk, we didn’t talk —
do you think eventually, we’d… kiss?

No, wait.
That’s asking too much —
after all,
this is only our first date.”

—  Andrea Gibson

I can’t believe that there’s people who don’t start crying when they think about their childhood

2

It turns out that it/she matters to me. Leia. Unfortunately. Sometimes I feel as if I’d rather concern myself with…almost anything. But as it happens I’ve spent the lion’s share of my life, starting at nineteen and continuing forty years on jauntily in the present, being as much myself as Princess Leia. ― Carrie Fisher, The Princess Diarist

my house my rules = I know you have nowhere else to go, so forfeit all your human rights and give all control to me if you want to keep living, having a house now gives me the right to treat you like my property

you’re not supposed to fall in love with your roommate.

it’s not just an Elsewhere University rule, one of the many you pick up during your first few months there; it’s an every-university rule.

but she is so pretty, and you are so weak when it comes to pretty girls.

at first, it is the way the sunlight shimmers on her feather-dark hair. the way her eyes sparkle, just a little bit too much like mica. the way she moves, like a shadow sliding over bricks.

but then it is the rattle when she laughs, like her chest is hollow. it is her endless fascination for anything human. it is the way she twists her neck to smile at you when you walk into the room. it is her dedication to finishing every homework assignment, even though someone like her doesn’t have to do any homework assignments, or go to class at all.

you’re not supposed to fall in love with someone who never sleeps.

but you’ve never been good at keeping to the rules– your religion is a time-worn mixture of judaism, agnosticism, and the bits and bobs of whatever your favorite grandmother is (she never quite tells you), and you’re still not sure what your gender is (or your sexuality). old rules, unflexible, unaccepting, feel like brittle prison bars.

besides, at elsewhere u, the normal rules seem a little more fluid. changeable. as long as you keep to the traditions of the school, everything else can slide by, just a bit.

you help her keep up with the homework and decipher a few of the more colloquial phrases that your american history professor likes to use. she helps you stay unnoticed on the campus. when you walk next to her, the shadows accept you as one of them.

you ask permission before you hold her hand. you ask permission to grab her dinner when you’re getting yours. you ask permission to look at her when she’s not looking at you. she tells you yes, again and again, and again. the fae cannot lie.

your best friend, aeryn, has always been fascinated by the fae. she tells you not to trust your pretty roommate. she tells you that their rules are too complicated to understand. but your roommate, but she is like you; she was not made for rules. you begin to think that perhaps she and aeryn have a lot in common; aeryn came to elsewhere u for the fae. your roommate came for the humans.

so she tells you yes, when you ask her things; and then she starts to make requests of her own. she asks if she can hear about your childhood. she asks how much you know about other cultures. she asks if you really like her, no, like-like her, she thinks she heard the term from one of the human kids in her biology class.

you blush. you tell her yes, again and again and again.

you’re not supposed to date one of the fae. that IS an elsewhere university rule, but one that’s so obvious that nobody would ever even think to tell you.

you don’t think much of the rules, the two of you; sometimes you walk through Elsewhere with her to get to class faster, and sometimes she uses your laptop (with you as a conduit) to explore the internet. you get rid of the iron and salt, you have; except a few nails near the door (even if your roommate is fae, that doesn’t stop anyone else from trying to take your stuff).

she steals your sweatshirts. you take some of the pebbles on her bedside table to play with when you can’t pay attention during class. she teases you with extremely stretched truths, which is the best she can do about the lying rule. you buy her increasingly outrageous types of soda on amazon.

she lets her glamour drop, junior year. it is an accident. you come into the room you share, and find her studying, seven feet tall, with antlers and spindly fingers. her shimmery eyes look scared when you approach. you smile, and tell her the truth– you still like her without the glamour. how could you not, when she tells the worst puns on campus and keeps you up until 3am watching vine compilations?

you didn’t know that your first kiss would involve three rows of teeth.

you are not supposed to take the fae with you when you graduate.

but would any of the staff dare to complain if one of the students leaving campus on graduation day happens to have a suitcase full of seaglass and feathers for eyebrows?

and if the neighbors think you and your wife are a little odd, they’d probably be justified. but it’s quite okay with you, you think as you fall asleep with a phantom tail wrapped tightly around your leg. after all, nobody else in town has as much fun just looking at memes. nobody else’s s.o. can make the fire in the fireplace turn blue just by winking at it.

you’re not supposed to fall in love with your roommate. but you do it anyway, and so does she.

Harry Naming His Children

I just can’t stop thinking about James and Sirius and Remus in the afterlife, watching over Harry. And when he has his first child, James and Sirius are ecstatic that Harry chooses to name him after them. And Remus smiles benevolently and doesn’t say anything of course, but maybe feels just a tad left out. Sirius can tell and he pats him on the shoulder, saying, “Next time! You’ll see!” 

And then next time arrives and what does Harry choose? Albus Severus. And Remus understands, and he’s really not upset. But Sirius is. Sirius just cannot believe that Harry would choose to name his son after Snivellus, the man who had made his godson’s and his own life miserable (so what if he loved Lily), before he honored Remus. Remus, who had been a mentor and friend to Harry. Remus, who had named Harry godfather of his own child. Remus, who was one of the best men Sirius had ever known despite having a childhood that was probably much shittier than Snape’s. Remus, who deserved to be honored by Harry every bit as much as Sirius did, and certainly a thousand times more than Snape.

And for the first time in his life, Sirius is truly disappointed in his godson. And he can’t even let Harry know. And he just has to live with this awful feeling for years and years, and nothing Remus says can make it any better.

Until one day Sirius notices something. He notices how there are always four kids at the Potter house. He’d always thought it was just Harry being nice because Andromeda was getting pretty old by now, but once he starts paying attention, he notices how every time Harry talks about “his kids,” that includes Teddy Lupin. How Teddy is in all of the Potter family portraits. How James, Al, and Lily refer to Teddy as their older brother. 

And one day Sirius is watching as Teddy risks himself to save Albus from falling off his broom, and then proceeds to fuss over Al without once worrying about himself. And Harry runs over in a panic, and goes immediately to Teddy, who took most of the damage, checks that he’s basically alright, looks at him with tears in his eyes, and says “Teddy Remus Lupin, thank you. Thank you for saving Al. You are so much like your father.” And then he hugs him tightly and doesn’t let go for the longest time .

And Sirius’s anger evaporates just like that, and he looks over and sees that Remus has been watching too and now they are both silently crying as they watch Harry, their Harry, take care of two of his sons.

And it’s suddenly so obvious why Harry didn’t name his youngest son after Remus: because that was already the name of his oldest.

dave strider realizing hes gay/bisexual and coming to terms with his abusive childhood makes him so much more of a character than he was as the token “main character’s best friend who is cagey, funny, and a dick”

fandom often headcanons or reads labels/experiences like these onto lots of mediocre, kinda funny, and assholish dude characters – but dave is the real deal. dave strider expressed softness and kindness and introspection in canon in a way that was not corny or forced, and most importantly did not come at the expense of women (i would argue he was 100% more of a stepping stone for terezi’s arc than vice versa) and for that i appreciate him a lot

despite all of andrew hussie’s flaws and questionable/problematic/bad writing, he did a good thing by bringing dave strider into text. he did even more good by allowing his character to have depth in a way that is uncommon for boy characters.

homestuck broke so many molds (at least from my fandom experience) by having a super likable male character who was funny, witty, and complex… AND a gay/bi self-admitted survivor of abuse.