#Which was literally the first ever fight on a misfits card.

[moaninmoonen]

"Swarmz doesn't understand whats coming!" - Ryan Taylor Exclusive Prime Card Interview

Misfits Boxing

[nothoughtsonlynat]

Human (Natasha Romanoff)

Human: Chapter 1

A/N: Troyes, France is 6 hours ahead of NYC so 7pm there is 1pm in NYC. For the sake of this fic we’re going to pretend that the Battle of New York lasted quite a few hours.

*This is my first ever fic and I wrote it at 3am so bear with me

WARNINGS: swearing; mentions of weapons; violence; panic attack; anxiety; my crappy writing; and I think that’s it (lmk if there’s anything I should add)

Barcelona, Spain; January, 2012:

The repetitive ticking of the clock registered in my brain before my eyes even opened. I didn’t need that clock to know what time it was, of course. It was 4:30 am— the same time I've woken up everyday for the past twenty-five years of my life. I no longer need to wake up this early, yet it’s a habit so deeply engrained in my framework that it’s seemingly unbreakable. I roll out of bed and make my way into the dingy kitchen with light footsteps. With some quick math I figured that I got barely two hours of sleep last night, but that’s more than usual. I started the coffee machine and asked with a sigh, “Would you like some coffee or are you just going to lurk in the corner?”

The leather-clad stranger with an eyepatch stepped up to the kitchen island opposite of me and responded, “I wouldn’t mind a cup. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that you knew I was here.”

“Well, you know what they say about old habits. You got a name?”

“You can call me Fury. We have a lot to talk about, Eight.” I slid him a mug of cheap coffee and gestured for him to take a seat. 

“Then we’d better get started so you can get the hell out of my apartment.” He simply chuckled in response and I could already feel my patience wavering.

Two Hours Later:

“Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division? Really, dude?”

“Yeah, it’s a mouthful. Trust me I know.”

“I’m sorry that you came all this way for nothing, Fury, but there’s no way in hell I'm working for some government spy circus.”

“It’s technically an extra-governmental spy agency-“

“Doesn’t matter. I’m not joining,” I said, cutting him off.

“So, you’re just gonna hop from one shitty apartment to the next until you die? That doesn’t seem like a great life.”

“Better than the one I lived before.”

“You aren’t the person to live in hiding. You’re the person who thrives in the action and lives to kick ass, and we both know it.” When I didn’t respond he continued, “I’ll leave you my card. When you change your mind, which you will, you’ll know where to find me. You don’t have to be the bad guy anymore, Eight.” With that he slid off the stool and left my apartment, leaving me with nothing but my rapidly spiraling thoughts and a black business card.

Troyes, France; May, 2012:

It had been four months since Director Fury came to my apartment in Barcelona. We’d kept in contact and he hasn’t given up on me joining S.H.I.E.L.D.. I'm living in my third apartment since then. Wow…those landlords must really hate me. I was watching the seven o’clock news when I saw something that made me choke on my Cheerios. “An alien invasion?! What the fu-” My Cheerio-muffled exclamation was interrupted by the ring of my burner phone. “Hello?”

“Eight, you watched the news recently?”

“Uh yeah, I'm watching it now. You fighting aliens now, Nicky?”

“Okay first of all, I told you to stop calling me that. Second, yes… aliens. I’m forming a team of…extraordinary people to help protect against these threats and they could really use a hand to finish off this fight.”

“I may be weird as hell but I ain't ‘extraordinary’, Fury. I don’t wanna join your band of misfits.”

“Alright, how about a compromise? You fly your fancy jet here right now and help them out and if you still don’t wanna join once the battle is over, you can go right back to France and I’ll stop bothering you about joining.” After a few seconds of silence I agreed. 

“Fine, but I’m not gonna change my mind. Wait, how do you know about my jet?”

He gave a hearty laugh and said “I know everything, Eight. You should know that by now.”

New York, New York; 96 Minutes Later: 

I flew my jet into the city, making sure to take out a few flying Chitauri in the process. We don’t need to talk about how I got my hands on a German jet that can fly 2100mph. I saw a few interesting characters standing in a circle fighting off an endless sea of aliens. I maneuvered the jet and— wait…is that guy wearing blue tights? Is this what Fury meant by extraordinary? Whatever. I landed in the street about 20 yards away and killed the engines. I hopped out and started jogging towards the group. A couple of them turned around, probably wondering who the hell the chick in the black uniform is and— whoa that’s a beautiful woman. After realizing my steps had literally faltered in a mini gay panic, I slowed to a walk and said “Y’all need a hand?”

“Depends on whose hand it is,” replied the redheaded source of my panic.

“I’m a friend of Fury’s. He practically begged me to come save your asses.”

“Fury doesn’t beg,” she said in a doubtful tone.

“Not typically, but I'm just that awesome. If you don’t believe me then call him up but I’m gonna go kill some aliens.” With that I took off down another street where there was a group of the repulsive bastards. After unloading all of my magazines into Chitauri bodies, I switched to my swords and daggers. After another hour or so of fighting, there were no more aliens in sight. I started jogging toward the rich dude’s tower when I saw said rich dude falling through the rapidly-closing portal. I stopped next to Mr. Blue Tights and the buff blonde guy with the hammer when the big green dude grabbed Mr. Rich Dude from the sky and landed next to us. The green guy yelled, waking Mr. Rich Dude up with a start. “What the hell? What happened? Please tell me nobody kissed me. Except for her, she’s pretty hot,” he said nodding toward me. Just then the redhead jogged over to us and eyed my blood-soaked form from head to toe. 

“See something you like, Red?”

“No. I’m pretty sure I'd be classified as a sadist if I liked the sight of that much blood,” she said with a raise of her eyebrow.

“Yeah that’s fair.” She shook her head at me with a small smirk. There was barely a second of silence when Mr. Rich Dude spoke up. 

“Anybody want shawarma?”

Three Hours Later:

I had gone to the Triskelion after the band of misfits apprehended Loki. Agent Hill showed me where to park my jet and directed me to a room so I could shower and stay the night if I wanted to. I had put on black jeans, a white tee, and a black jean jacket, all of which had been in a to-go bag in my jet. I was toweling off my hair when someone knocked on the door. I opened the door to see none other than the one-eyed-wonder standing there. “What can I do for you, Nicky?”

“The Avengers are being debriefed in Conference Room 6B in ten minutes. You should come.”

“The Avengers? Is that what you’re calling them? That’s cute. But I'm not an Avenger and I don’t want to be an Avenger, so no thanks.”

“You should come anyway.”

“I don’t actually have a choice, do I?”

“You know me so well, Eight,” he said with an amused grin.

I walked into the conference room and the Avengers were already there. Steve Rogers, Clint Barton, Tony Stark, Bruce Banner, Thor, and Natasha Romanoff—whose names I learned from Hill— were scattered around a large table, along with Fury. Romanoff eyed me from where she was standing and arched a perfectly sculpted eyebrow at me. I squinted my eyes and wiggled my eyebrows in response, and I could see her stifle a laugh. “What’s your name?” She accompanied the question with a blank expression, which made me feel oh-so-special. 

“That’s a very personal question, Miss Romanoff. Let’s slow the pace, please.”

“You know my name but I can’t know yours? That doesn’t seem fair.”

“The world isn’t fair, Miss Romanoff, and I love a good mystery.”

“If you two are done flirting, we have business to attend to,” interjected Fury.

“Right, my apologies, Nicky.”

“Don’t call me that, Eight.”

After an excruciating 43 minutes and 27 seconds, Fury finally let us leave. I was so close to freedom when that unbelievably sexy voice called to me. “Eight!” Romanoff hastily walked towards me in an effort to catch up.

“Yeah?”

“Is your name actually Eight?”

“If you want it to be.”

“Why are you so damn stubborn?”

“It amuses me, Red.” There was a brief silence during which both of us were trying to figure out if the conversation was over. 

I was about to leave when she continued, “So that’s it? You’re just gonna leave?”

“Well, no. I’m going to stay the night, steal some really expensive jet fuel, and then leave in the morning before Fury can get up my ass about joining his little team.”

She rolled her eyes and responded, “Why won’t you join the Avengers? And why won’t you tell me your real name?”

“It’s just not my style. I’d rather fly solo.”

“You ignored my second question.”

“Then maybe you should take the hint and stop asking.” With that I turned around and started walking away, but a hand on my arm stopped me dead in my tracks. Alarms started going off in my head, and I'm pretty sure Romanoff was saying something to me but I was too caught up in the memories of beatings, punishments, and psychological conditioning to register it. After a few of the longest seconds of my life, the white of my vision cleared up and the voice telling me ‘physical contact is strictly forbidden’ faded into the background. My heart was still hammering in my chest and I was trying to keep my breathing steady despite the inevitable panic attack trying to drag me under, I regained my neutral expression and said. “Sorry, did you say something?”

“Are you okay?” She had a concerned expression and if I wasn’t so blinded with anxiety, I would’ve appreciated how cute the furrow of her eyebrows was.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I’m just gonna turn in. It’s been a long day.” I turned around and walked back to my temporary room at a brutal pace. As soon as the door closed behind me, hot tears raced down my cheeks and I lost the ability to breathe. It was gonna be a long night.

3:21 am:

I finally managed to calm myself down and stop the panic attack after almost four hours. Well, I passed out because I couldn’t breathe but it did calm me down. Trying to sleep would be pointless, so I decided to leave before anyone woke up. I didn’t really have much to pack so I grabbed my duffel bag and left the room. I made it to the corridor attached to the landing pads and ran into the one person I really didn’t want to see. “What are you doing out and about, Red?”

“I’ve got places to be and things to do. Were you just going to sneak out in the middle of the night like a teenager with a rebellious streak?”

“Yes, that’s exactly what I’m doing, actually. Do you need a ride? Where are you going?”

“Madrid. Fury said I could hitch a ride on another plane that’s headed for Germany.”

“Well I’m going to France if you wanna ride with me. My jet will get you there a lot faster.” She studied me for what felt like way too long, probably debating if I would try to kill her or not. You know how spies are with their trust issues.

“What the hell, why not?”

And that is how I ended up in a jet with “Candy Shop” playing over the speakers and Natasha Romanoff in the copilot seat yelling at me to, and I quote, ‘slow the fuck down.’ “Why would I slow down, you psycho?! That’s the whole damn point of this thing!”

“Where did you even get a German jet this fast?”

“Germany.”

“No shit Sherlock. How did you get it?”

“I went to Germany, stopped in at the local speedy-jet dealership, and walked out with this beauty.”

“Sarcasm is a defense mechanism, you know? You’re only being like this to keep me from seeing the real you. You built walls. You want everyone to think you’re fine when in reality, you’re falling apart.”

“Okay…um…there was no need for that, Dr. Romanoff. I can find my own therapist, thank you very much. And don’t go pretending you’re all healthy in the head, Miss Assassin.” It was quiet for all of five seconds before we both burst into laughter.

Madrid, Spain:

I landed the jet at the local S.H.I.E.L.D. base and killed the engines. Romanoff and I removed our headsets and I stood to help her get her bags. “Welp, I’ll see you around I guess.” I really wasn’t good at this type of thing. Or any social interactions, really. Twenty-four years in a cell will do that to you.

“Will I? See you around, I mean?”

“Um, I don’t really know, honestly. I’m not part of S.H.I.E.L.D. so we won’t just run into each other or anything but…”

“Why won’t you join S.H.I.E.L.D.? I mean what else are you doing?”

“Ohhh, I see. You just love me so much that you don’t want me to leave. You’re gonna miss me so much-” I was cut off when she threw her backpack at my head. “Hey! You’re lucky I caught that! Freaking crazy woman.”

When our laughter died down she said, “Well I should probably go. Thank you for the ride.”

“Of course. Hitchhikers are always welcome aboard my beloved jet.” A small smile appeared on her face and she stepped forward to give me a hug but she must’ve seen my body go rigid because she stepped back. She might’ve said something but the voice in my head was too loud for me to understand her. I don’t know how long it was before I unfroze but when I did, she was gone. I walked to the front of the jet and started the journey to France.

[dulcetminds]

some (concept) playlists

find my spotify here ✨ & my fandom character/ship playlists

this page is updated monthly!!!!

💫 monthly, yearly & get to know me playlists:

 monthly mixtape: updated daily and refreshed every month with no correlation to anything what so ever.

twentytwenty: a song for each day of the year

the soundtrack to my life

my favourites

pass the aux cord, fool: car vibes

🍾🌉 playlists based off cliché concepts:

coming of age indie romcom soundtrack: cigeratte burns on film, a first kiss that tastes like beer and chapstick, and laughter falling on train tracks

not another coming of age soundtrack: red party cups and the never-ending feeling of nostalgia

Mother Nature reclaims: a soft apocalypse mix

tragedy in the dark: set in the 90's, you're driving at night on the highway, passing under street signs and street lights that illuminate your lovers tired face as they trace circles on your thigh

rise up!: (a futuristic teenage rebellion playlist) you live in a world full of holograms and plastic food, the government is corrupt and somewhere out there is a bunch of rebels that are fighting back

an angels kiss in spring: it’s the roaring 40′s and you hit the town in bold red lipstick, curled hair, flared dresses & traditional swing

a wispy field of sunshine: there's something alluring about falling in love under the sun, sipping on raspberry lemonade & kissing someone who tastes like chapstick

the air is fresh out here: i am lost beneath the earth; dirt and moss fill my lungs and i cough up ivy and rose petals as the trees whisper my name so soft, it gets caught in the wing of a butterfly floating by

3am dancing with my lover: fairylights are hung low around the kitchen, my lover has tired eyes full of wonder and we trip over our own two feet, laughter pumping our hearts alive

the last dancers at midnight: my prom could have been better so we're gonna visualise it like a teen romance movie; tired feet, starry eyes & a tender kiss under the disco ball in your high-schools' hall

even my phone misses your call: 'hey, this is [redacted] please leave your message after the beep!' 

you’re so nice to come home to: finally moving into a small apartment with your lover; succulents adorn the windowsills and you both have a love for vintage polaroids and dream catchers — a dreamers dream

I've been in love with you forever: best friends that live next door to each other & know one another like the back of their hand, connected windows, rooftop talks, sleepovers, & everything that comes along with we're best friends & i don't want that to change but i am definitely in love with you

found you in this life: my mother once told me that some of the people we meet in this life, we knew in a past life and it’s up to us to decide where it goes from here

raspberry stains: spring flings includes squashing raspberries between finger & thumb, and dancing under the sun

rollerskating disco rink fever: we're twelve years young & there's a disco ball highlighting our hair as we dance the night away & i'm pretty sure we've happened to scuff the linoleum floor

endless summer afternoon: hopping from shadow to shadow, blisters on our feet; summer, summer, summer!

summer ate me alive: and I want nothing more than to sleep through the next three seasons

ragtag band of misfits from the year ‘87: group of four trying to solve the murder mystery of their late best friend / everyone’s hiding something / he might be in love with the boy he’s known since childhood

[our hands are brushing against each other as we walk]: i want to slow dance with you in the middle of the street

hey, new kid!: its highschool and life is full of rumours and giggling girls & boys with sharp teeth and then english class rolls around ━━ and did the principal just introduce a new student?

🧚🏻‍♀️ specific concept playlists (mostly based on moments and emotions that I've experienced & can’t get over):

head’s a buzz!: stoned out of my mind, I'm pretty sure I met the girl of my dreams last night

 I should be sleeping: but i am walking aimlessly under street lights trying to forget your face, your taste, your voice; with vodka stained cheeks and chipped nail polish

pity party for two: the sudden realisation that the future is scary and we're two lost souls stuck in love with people who helped us grow

we’re under the same stars: It’s talking under the stars till the sun breaks through the trees with him, who makes your stomach ache full of laughter and although the wind is cold against your skin and the sleeping bag is thin, he burns just as brightly as the stars in the night sky, and you want to exist between 3 and 4am forever.

I fell in love for one night: he kissed my shoulder & held me tight

moments left unsaid: I love every part of you when it’s loud, when it’s silent, when you don’t know it at all (basically falling in love with your friends in the moment over the smallest of things like the way they dip their head back to laugh or hide their smile behind their hand or when they slow down waiting for you to catch up or pull you aside to ask if you’re doing okay, etc)

angel in disguise: can angels fall in love?

skate park shenanigans: I spent a the hours 8-11pm at a skatepark with my friends and we don’t even skate but this is the specific energy those hours gave off

you’re dreaming beside me: & I’m dreaming of you

how to be soft, sad & content at 4pm

I wish we could live forever: knowing someone you love is gonna die is the one of the hardest things you’re ever gonna witness

remember when we were in love?: 2015: yellow. open roads. a boy. a girl. my house. high school musical. clouds. stars. a pillow. sunflowers. beauty and the beast. skype calls. a bear. / 2017: a girl. blue, blue, blue. / 2019: a girl. a boy. picnics. skateboards. burgers. your house. an empty promise.

the pretty reckless: my friends fall in love too easily

the ceiling is staring back at me: it’s 1am and I'm thinking about everything and anything

me against the world, vol. 1

me & my apathetic brain: basically Russian roulette with I’ll die anyway by girl in red & just a girl by no doubt

🏳️‍🌈🌈 lgbt+ playlists:

this is for the gays!: for pride month 2019, gay bops to rock your socks to

all I see is her: girls r great!

we should fall in love or something: just kidding... haha... unless?

I don’t wanna b ur friend, I wanna kiss ur neck: yeah, it’s based off I wanna be your girlfriend by girl in red & also my ex but we’re gonna take the former

please look at me the same!: my bisexual teen angst

🦋🏹 ‘old groovy, 70′s, 80′s, 90′s etc music’ playlists:

butterfly dust: old time music that goes together

groovy, groovy: 70′s, 80′s, 90′s

lovestrucklovestruck: nothing goes wrong when you live in your head

she’s gold dipped & cherry wine kisses

funky glow

🥁🍒 genre specific playlists:

metamorphic: rock n roll

devils advocate: it’s like white noise before you enter hell (mostly ghostemane)

you’re not indie till: you skate, own a pair of hot converses, have good fashion taste, drink ice coffee and and and

monsters live amongst us: hiding in plain sight, the people we call our friends / a horror pop playlist

hazy affection: anxiety reducing songs and study beats

softly, sweetly: relax your eyes & dream of simpler times

bubblegum pop: the radio is overrated but here we are

glazed eyes, cherry skies

darkness looms overhead

magic under fingernails / under veins

state of mind: kinda like rap but not, definitely an easy listen to while stoned

moon rockets: fly me to outer space where we’ll become another star in the night sky.

dream & folk pop

my dreams reach the stars: my mind is far away from here / starry-eyed and captivated

local neighbourhood party: songs I'd bang my head to at a party

heavenly hymns

fluorescent heartbeats

take me away, into the night

if you see me listening to this, look away: literally Disney musicals mainly Disney’s descendants & zombies

autumnal breeze: a mix of bedroom pop & 80′s tunes

blueberry feelings: is this soundlcoud or tiktok?

untamed glory: the songs dont vibe together as well as they should but i guess thats ironic given the name of this mixtape

all strung up: my favourite female pop songs & then there's sunflower, vol. 6 by harry styles

candyfloss kisses: baby pop

and that’s on tiktok luv: literally what it says

candle lit afternoons: candles + rain = a gentle quiet in it’s purest form

tenderness: soft, quiet, yielding; murmurs at dusk & the playing of hair

my bed is the warmest place: for rainy days & the chill in your nose

🚀🍁🍓 playlists to listen to when your doing this specific thing:

classic picnic bitch: (cute songs that give me picnic vibes) and we bond over a pack of UNO cards and strawberry-filled desserts

beach bums, baby!: a beach-y playlist

hotboxing ur friends car: get high w/ me!

🥺💫🌞🌻🤩🐝 playlists to grow & fall in love with yourself to:

falling in love w/ myself !!!!!: I'm still learning how I work

then I defy you, stars!

seventeen: I made this when I was seventeen and getting over my first heartbreak and realising that I should never wait for people who can only give half back

no negative vibes here!

💌💖 my romance / love centred playlists:

dancing in my room to the sound of you, you, you (middle school crush vibes)

love cluster: and i guess there are lot of love songs out there but there are also a lot of songs that aren't about love that got me feeling like i'm in love so which is it

lovelorn: (a unrequited love playlist) and we yearn for the hearts we cannot hold; lovelorn, lovelorn, lovelorn

our love has gone cold: I love & I loved

whimsical lovers falling out of love

baby boy blues: fell in love for a day with a boy whose smile is contagious and ever-lasting

you gave me panic attacks & I called it love: unsure if you’re in an unhealthy relationship? leave them.

regret in the simplest of forms: I could have loved you / I think a small part of me did

my favourite ‘what if’: soulmates who weren’t meant to be

seeking love among cruel hearts: perhaps we were friends first and lovers second. but then perhaps this is what lovers are.

it’s a long way down from your window: everyone’s favourite secret relationship trope

heartbreak hotel

i’m yearning for his heart while he gives me his body: I love you, don’t you love me too?

make out w/ me?: songs I'd kill to make out with someone too

miss you forever: sad pop love letter

I liked you better in my dreams: the idea of them has taken root in your mind and it’s much different to how they really are

little bit in love with u: alterous attraction? we KNOW her

drowsy cacophony of love

tracing you back to the roots of my house: I'm sifting through the memories of us, where did we go wrong?

love; a choice or a feeling?: and it is both I suppose, it is a feeling, it’s happiness and soft giggles, faint blush. and then it is a choice, a choice to stay with them or leave. it is a choice to not only love them, but yourself too.

tenderly, tragically: this used to be a collab playlist with someone who loved me fully and unconditionally, things have changed since, but this is whats left; it's our story compiled into a playlist

second chance at love: you make me hard, but she makes me weak

lonely in love: (it was supposed to be just casual sex but fuck, I think I'm in love with you)

silent lovers: skinny love (n.) a type of love where two people are in love with each other but are too shy to admit it

my first love: they say your first love never dies, and love, they’re right

my lover is a liar: victim to broken promises and false truths by a boy who died when he gave me his heart

love locket type of love: I loved you in secret !!

the charms of love: don’t fall in love with the moment & think your in love with the girl! (yes, she’s american by the 1975 lyrics)

almost lovers

💸💄💅🏻⛓ playlists that give off bad bitch energy:

rich girl$: my cash flow will never ever end

kiss the boys n make em die!: femme fatale, girl revolution, girl power

GIRLS. FOOD. GEAR: loosely inspired by people by the 1975

girl, interrupted

you’re like a rhinestone pick-up line: picture this — a girl with a hard attitude that you can’t just seem to get off your mind

back on my bullshit: just got my heartbroken; revamped!

👻👽 my halloween inspired playlists:

hallohalloween: basic halloween playlist

 the fae know my name: humans beware the manic pixies & lip curling fae for although they don't lie they are cunning creatures with kind eyes!

frothy vampire chick meets soft green witch: red fanged lover & a green house full of potions, spells & succulents

sirens lament: sharp teeth hidden under a pretty face

murder at the casino: (in breaking news: monster hunters just cant seem to catch a break!)

the howling

witchy renaissance

fuckin vampires, man!

🥀 if I were series (playlists that only feature one artist based off something specific):

if I were to dance in a faerie ring to hozier songs: maybe I want to fall in love with a faerie and be under Hozier’s rule

if I were to live my teenage years to Lorde songs

if I were to get high by the beach to skeggs songs: BIG greening out energy

 if I were to fall in love to tom rosenthal songs: tom rosenthal songs that make me feel like I'm in love!!

if I were to reminisce about heartbreak to LANY songs:

Hogwarts Houses:

🌻 Hufflepuff

🥊 Gryffindor

🐍 Slytherin

📘 Ravenclaw

[angrylizardjacket]

Run to Paradise {Nikki Sixx} Part 20

20. i’ve seen america with no clothes on

Summary: The tour is coming to an end. Lola and Tommy cause trouble, Mick finds out why Lola reacts the way she does to fire, and everyone decides it’s for the best if they move out of their shitty apartment.

Warnings: NSFW-ish. Mentions of parental abuse (physical and psychological), drinking, drugs, and PTSD triggered by fire.

ragtag bunch of misfits: @starlalove @toofasttofallinlove  @xrosegoldwolfx @obsessivesky  @trpwthme @lovehelpmewrite @colsons-crue​  @marvelismylifffe  @lilytalebi​ @glitterdreamsz​  @freddiessmallnipples​ @crazysaladchopshop @inthebackofmycarlaytheirbodies  @dramatique-moi  @missqueeniewrites @calspixie  @aryssav @catsoo12  @sweetshutter @silvertonguedserpent  @shamelessobsessions @lavenderbones22  @keepcalm-and-beyou @scarecrowmax  @nicholeh7 @unknownoblivion

{masterlist}

Lola's got her savings in a set of ziplocked bags, in a dufflebag, also stuffed with underwear and socks, that she keeps at the bottom of her suitcase. Thousands in cash that the others still don't seem to be aware of. And she still doesn't know what to do with it. The others have no such trouble; Vince buys the fastest car he can get his hands on, a cute little red thing with an uncomfortably small back seat, and all four of band members are looking at moving out of their shitty, shared apartment once the tour ends. They spend more on drugs and booze and girls than Lola's collectively ever had in her life, and she revels in being a part of it.

She can't remember half the shit she gets up to with the boys, just flashes;

"I'm bored." / "Where's my bass?" / "Dude, someone called the fucking cops!" / "Come help me throw this TV out the window!" / "You're on my hair!" / "That's so cool! Write that down, it could be a song!"

And maybe, just maybe, she considers Ozzy might be right, that the drinking and drugs might be fucking her up; in the moments between waking and sleeping, in the mid-morning light with blurry eyes she thinks there's people watching her. She can ignore it, she can ignore it all her life if she has to, people have always been watching over her. Maybe if she opens her eyes again, it'll be Doc, here to pull her to her feet, into the next day, or it'll be whoever she was with the night before, trying to move around the room without disturbing her. Maybe it'll just be nothing. A figment of her imagination.

But if she closes her eyes and goes back to sleep, she doesn't have to worry either way.

Sometimes she misses their grubby, gutter punk roots, but she's content enough replacing one brand of reckless hedonism for another, and she's never at a loss for a good fight. The band fought each other when things got boring and the drugs were running low, or they fought with Doc when they were feeling particularly rebellious. Mostly they fought with people in bars, or clubs, or people who looked at them funny, and Lola was right there beside them.

They had their fair share of assholes who consider the band to be a bunch of posers, and more than a few times during the tour, Lola found herself more than a little bruised. Once she disappeared for a whole night, and came back the next morning with a broken nose and a shit eating grin.

"You should see the other guy."

To Doc, more often than not it was like herding cats, and for all the good Lola did for the band, she was also right alongside them when Nikki was smashing lights in the upscale hotel they were staying in, all but cackling with laughter as Tommy sprints down the halls, terrorizing the other guests in his underwear.

"Lola! Lo-" Vince and Nikki had swerved into Doc's room, and tried calling her over to take refuge. Lola, wearing only her spiked, black bra and leather pants, grins, shaking her head and breathing hard. There comes another crash from the hall behind them.

"What did you idiots do now?" Doc groaned, as Lola took off down the hall, bottle of jack in hand, baggie of cocaine tucked haphazardly into her bra. The manager took off down the hall as Tommy came into view, tailed by two police officers.

Lola leads Tommy into a dingy stairwell, where the cops don't seem to follow. Later they'll find out that Mick had taken the fall since he managed to fit Tommy's description - pale as all fuck with long black hair - and was none too happy about it, but for now, they don't worry about it. The stairwell leads to the roof and they get fucked up and fuck under the stars until Doc finally finds them with Nikki and Vince in tow.

"Jesus, put some fucking clothes on - the other guests are complaining about the noise you were making," Doc's whole face is wrinkled in discomfort, while Nikki and Vince are practically falling all over themselves with laughter. Lola's stretched out, stark naked, looking like she's taking a nap, while Tommy's pissing off the side of the building.

"It's European," Lola replied breezily.

"It's night, you're not sunbathing, put on your fucking pants," Doc snapped in response, before his voice softened ever so slightly, "should you see a doctor?" He's seen Lola naked more times than he can count, but he always tries to avert his gaze, but here, under the moonlight, the bruises that litter her body stand out in the places that aren't tattooed.

"I'm alright, dude, it's fine," Lola snorted. She stood, stretched, comfortable in her own skin. She moved towards the pile of clothes by the door. "These two are from Tommy," she pointed to the ones on her collar, before identifying the rest, "I can't remember which are Nikki and which are from that bar fight in Cleveland," she shrugged, pulling on her underwear, "cards on the table, I don't remember getting the ones on my legs, but I think it was when I ran into the drum riser during setup yesterday-"

"But you don't know?" Doc asks, eyes wide.

"I was drunk! Sue me!"

"I could."

"But you won't," she grinned, before picking up her pants, though she paused with a Cheshire cat smile, "and these ones are probably Nikki or Vince," she kicked up a leg, drawing attention to the hickeys on her thighs. Doc looked like he'd rather be anywhere else right now; Lola felt absolutely no sympathy for him, he asked after all.

"I know it's idiotic of me to ask," the manager asked, as Lola pulled on her pants, "but can you try and keep these assholes in line for the night? I'd recommend somewhere childproofed, but I'm gonna set the bar low and beg that nothing gets set on fire." Casting his gaze to where Nikki and Vince had joined Tommy, starting a literal pissing contest off the building, it felt as if he was fighting a losing battle.

"Listen, you know I'm not good with fire, so I'll try my best," Lola nods as sincerely as she can manage, "but no promises." And with that, she went to collect her boys.

"And Lola?" Doc called out after her, and the dark haired girl turned with a chipper smile.

"Yes?"

"Don't forget your bra."

And with that, Doc headed off to do something about the headache that had come on very suddenly.

The only thing Doc can count on with Lola is that she'll do everything in her power to keep fires from being set. That was a precedent that had been set when she'd accompanied the boys when they'd set of a bottle rocket in a sleeping Mick's room, catching the curtains on fire. She'd watches with wide-eyed horror as the flames licked up the walls, and though the rest of the boys had left in a flurry of laughter, she'd been frozen, terror written all over her face. Mick had to pull her out of the doorway and down the hall as the fire alarms had been going off.

"Don't touch me! Don't fucking touch me!" Was the first thing she'd shouted once she'd been able to move again, trembling like a leaf. "Fuck you! Fuck off!" And Mick, who still had adrenaline pumping through his veins from waking up to his room on fire, doesn't know what to do as the woman is shedding her jacket and shirt quicker than he thought possible.

"Girlie, it's me, it's okay, we need to head outside-"

"Get away from me! Don't touch me!" And it's like she's not even seeing him, pulling the switchblade from her boot and holding it out with shaking hands. She doesn't even sound like her, voice angry and desperate and so painfully young. They can both still hear the fire raging in the other room, and people barrel past holding fire extinguishers.

"Lola!" It's Doc, voice firm, but the way he says her name has the skittish Lola reacting badly. He dodges where she throws her knife at him.

"Fuck you! I'm not staying here!" She hissed, voice flighty and panicked, before bolting.

Mick finds her sitting in the shallow end of the pool, arms crossed, still wearing her jeans and boots.

"Do you wanna talk about it?" Mick asks, pulling over a chair and sitting by the edge of the pool, making no move to get her out.

"No. Fuck off." But it's her, it's all her, Lola who fights and fucks and not the Lola who panics and runs from fire. "Did I throw a knife at Doc?" Mick hums in confirmation. "Why the fuck do you even put up with me?" She snorts, smirking, though it's humorless.

"Don't have a choice," Mick answers bluntly, and Lola appreciates his honesty, but it stings a little. Mick sighs for a moment before conceding, "and I do actually like you, girlie, Doc may not see it, but you do those boys a world of good."

"They're gonna be the death of me." Lola sighed, sinking a little further into the water.

"Probably."

A long silence stretches between them, and eventually Mick clears his throat, trying again.

"Do you wanna talk about it?" He asks. Lola's quiet, but it's not hostile this time.

"Do you really wanna hear about it?" She asks. Mick is quiet when he tells her that anything that he'd like to know what had fucked her up enough to throw a knife at their manager, and she can't help but laugh at that.

"When I was seven, my dad left without telling anyone, left mom to clean up the paperwork for his restaurant, for his whole fucking life with us, and she never forgave me." At this she gives pause, and as Mick processes what she's saying, his expression turns uncharacteristically shocked, "She always said it was my fault, you know? I was kind of a shitty kid, sort of lazy, a shit piano player, even though she spent so much money on lessons. I never blamed dad, I just... I knew I needed to be better; there was always this thought of 'if I was a better kid, he'd come back'. That's what mom used to say."

"That's fucked, Lola, a seven-year-old isn't responsible for a parent leaving; all kids are a bit shitty and lazy and-"

"Yeah well, mom kept this sort of shrine for him, like candles and shit that she always kept lit, photos and stuff, to show him we didn't forget about him if he ever came back," Lola sniffles a little, rubbing angrily at her eyes, "and it took me years to realise that the only reason he never came back was probably because of me, I was a shitty kid, then a shitty teenager, and I kept sneaking out and mom hated that, and she was really strict, but it's only because she wanted me to be my best, but- fuck, I don't know. I know she's crazy. Looking back I can see she was controlling as shit, but at the time it- it made sense. She just thought she was doing what was best. And I was never good enough. So I tried to leave, make it easier for everyone." She's crying now, tears streaming down her cheeks as she speaks, "but I was my mother's biggest mistake, and she couldn't let me go. I didn't mean to knock the candles, she shoved me into the shrine, and my backpack- I didn't mean to."

"Lola..."

"And she held me there, yelling 'How could you? How could you try and run like he did? How dare you ruin his memory like this?'" Her accent was thick, as she relived the moment and her mother's anger. The moment broke, and she sobbed, burying her face in her hands, "I was on fire, Mick, I was burning and she- she-"

Mick, despite his age and the pain that sits heavy in his bones, climbs fully-dressed into the pool beside Lola, wrapping her up in a hug. He's never been good at feelings, never been good at comfort, had always been adamant that people should work through their own shit in their own time, but somehow Lola had started to make more sense from this one story alone; her aversion to fire, her irritation when Doc gave her orders. Sometimes he'd questioned her work ethic, why she'd work so hard for so little recognition, but from the sounds of it, she'd really taken her mother's words to heart, and despite everything she'd gone through, she still loved her father and wanted to make him proud. The guitarist's heart ached for her, just a little.

"I'm sorry," Lola's voice is quiet.

"Don't apologise, girlie," Mick said, his voice gruff but soft, rubbing her back gently. She rested her head on his shoulder, still sniffling, letting herself find peace in the moment. Mick wonders if he should get one of the others, probably Nikki since he'd known her the longest, though all of them knew Lola's aversion to fire, yet they'd still had her tag along. It didn't take him long to realise that none of them knew why she was so adverse to fire.

From then, whenever Lola was in charge, no fires were to be set; because Lola would freak out, Mick would knock out whoever's fault it was on her behalf, and Doc didn't enjoy having knives thrown at him in general. That being said, Mick gave him a bullet-point summary of why Lola had reacted the way she did, and Doc was gracious enough to forgive her.

Back in the present, on the roof, Tommy was pulling on his underwear, and the others were arguing about which strip club to go to, and Lola was drinking whiskey from the bottle with a grin.

"Vince, my man, what are we gonna do with Miss Gone here? Running off and making noise complaints with our drummer," Nikki slung an around around her as they walked through the halls of the hotel to Tommy's room so he could at least find some pants before they hit the town. Nikki pinches her cheek when she laughs, and Vince's arm wraps around her waist as he falls into step beside the two of them.

"Really, she's a terrible influence," he grins, pinching at her hip, and Lola seems a little giddy from all the attention, "but the way I see it, we can do whatever we want with her."

"Is that a promise?" Lola grins sharply, and it's all Nikki can do to laugh.

Lola's always just sort of gone along with whatever the others were doing, at least at night. She's found herself at home in countless sleazy strip joints, B-list celebrities thrilled to have a rock band partying with them, and shitty motel rooms getting high with groupies and dealers alike. During the day she's usually either trying to work off her hangover by exercising in whatever the nearest gym is, or stealing whatever's not nailed down wherever the band is required. She doesn't think much about her future in LA until Vince brings up that he'd bought a house.

The tour had been going well enough that the label was practically funneling them money, and Doc keeps handing Lola checks that she keeps putting in the ziploc bag with the rest of them, which she still carries around with her. She's aware that she should probably open a bank account at some stage, but she's not exactly sure how.

"A house? Like a whole fucking house?" Lola's incredulous where she's sitting in Nikki's lap at a bar after a show. Her hair's a mess and her makeup's streaking a little, but she's beaming with pride.

"Not just a house, a whole fucking mansion," Vince grins, his arm around two different groupies. Tommy's somewhere in the crowd, sans shirt probably, but he can take care of himself.

"Holy shit; you're really moving up in the world," Lola mused, gaze a little glassy, "god, I haven't even really thought about our shithole apartment in ages."

"Tommy's been talking about getting his own place too, you should get a house or something, babe, move out of that cockroach infested hell hole." Vince grins, and Lola pouts, playing at being put out by the suggestion.

"Oi, I like our hell hole," but she breaks out into a grin, "I dunno, I hadn't thought about it, I guess. It's probably a good idea." Instead of looking to Vince, she finds herself turning to Nikki, who's zoned out, his hand on her thigh, the other holding a bottle of whiskey.

She brings it up on the tour bus the next day; Nikki's sitting at the back with his notebook, poring over some lyrics for a song he's working on, and Lola had been laying with her head in his lap. The tour only has a few stops to go, and when she considers what happens next, all she knows is that at the very least, Nikki is there with her. The other boys are of course there too, but they're getting places of their own, and she and Nikki have lived together for years before they even came into the equation.

"Do you think we should get, like, a fancy Hollywood mansion or something?" Lola asks, and Nikki's eyebrows raise in surprise, moving his notebook so he could see her face, see her looking thoughtfully up at him.

"What?"

"When we get back to LA, we should move into a place that's less, ah," Lola pauses for a moment, smile turning amused, "less condemned, probably."

"I figured you'd get your own place," Nikki admits, and Lola frowns a little, bright mood dampening, "we don't need to keep living together, you don't have to keep paying the rent for me."

"I figured we'd buy a place, you dumbass," Lola laughed, "between us we've got enough to buy a small country, I thought a house wouldn't be off the table." But her smile fades, "but if you don't wanna live with me anymore that's fine too, we've spent more than enough time in close proximity, I get it if you want space or-"

"You know," Nikki says with a slight smirk, reaching down to card his fingers through Lola's hair, "when we ran away to LA together, I honestly never in a million years thought it would come to us talking about buying a house together." He admits. Something in Lola's chest grew warm at his words, and she smiles softly up at him.

"So that's a yes? We're cool to keep living together after the tour?"

"Lo, it's a 'yes, we'll start looking at houses and shit when we get back to LA'."

[bookandcover]

[Note: I wrote this post in its entirety in September 2020]. 

Our August book for the family Anti-Racism Book Club (and the choice of my historically-minded mother) was Black Boy by Richard Wright. I was a bit skeptical about this choice, because of its publication date (1945), and a feeling of urgency to read and think about the pressing issues and questions around race in America today. Ultimately, though, I was very glad to have read this poignant memoir and to take a closer look at a certain time period in Black American history through the lens of Wright’s direct, astutely observational style.

From this novel, I learned a lot about historical context: the experiences of Southern life under Jim Crow in the early 20th century, the urban/manufacturing context of the North that presented its own set of charged racial issues, the educational and occupational framework in pre-Great Depression era and during the Great Depression, the rise of Communism in America and the overlap of this with the Black experience (I had no idea that many Black men and women were interested in and drawn to Communism as a means to reinvent the system of oppression under which they lived). While I felt, at the end of the memoir, a gap in my understanding (how do we go from this point to 21st century racial tensions?), I was able to trace and draw certain, important connections. 

This memoir is, of course, the perspective of one person on his experience growing up as a Black man in the South in the early 20th century. Wright does have an interest in capturing the larger Black experience beyond himself, of observing and cataloguing the impulses of his generation and the emotional psychology of his setting and situation. He speaks often about psychology, explaining how he perceives the groups and categories of people around him. He does, it seems, want to capture something that is intrinsic and universal about Blackness and about his time period and context for Black people in America. At the same time, there are aspects of the memoir and his perspective that, I assume, must be unique to Wright. His perspective is bleak. He goes through phases of more or less hope for the future of race relations in the U.S. He writes that “for white America to understand the significance of the problem of the Negro will take a bigger and tougher America than any we have yet known.” He links issues of race to larger, over-arching problems in American psychology and economic philosophy. He expresses a desperate need for more in his own life, but sees no tools to take him there, no model or example for him to follow. This need for more echoes his physical hunger, a repeated motif throughout the memoir, and the source of the memoir’s original title (American Hunger). 

At certain points in the novel, I felt baffled that Wright (with his passion for change, his strong conviction that he could be cowed by no one) was also the author of Native Son (which I read years ago, and which I recall as being a bleak, grim portrait of the terrible way the world is stacked against young Black men). While this stacking and this bleakness is true (there is overwhelming evidence in support of this truth), there is a bleakness that pervades Native Son’s tone and outlook to the point that I was struck repeatedly by that alone. By the end of his memoir, though, I could see the link from Wright’s life to Native Son. Over and over again, the hope Wright holds up to the world is shattered. By the end of the memoir, the bleakness expressed in Native Son seemed to me to be well-aligned with his experiences. His falling out with the Communist Party, in which he had hope, seemed like some kind of final nail in the coffin. 

Despite phases of hope and a burning hunger for both literal and spiritual resources, Wright feels eternally misfit for his circumstances—no one seems to see him and accept his truth. This is not something that is born in him over time, but something he always faced. Piled on top of this are continual disappointments. The North presents as many challenges as the South. The Communist Party—which he embraced as a real framework for change—expels him, casts him out. This misfit-feeling—while also evidencing a world designed to uplift white men and ensconce them forever in positions of power, while keeping Black men outside of this framework and these opportunities—is one of the things that I perceived to be specific to Wright’s experience. While other Black figures in the book also face a world designed to dehumanize and oppress them, Wright experiences being an outcast in every way. One good example of this is Wright’s experience being run out of the Negro Theater by the Black actors, who feel that Wright has turned against them in trying to present realistic dramas. Wright’s vision doesn’t align with that of the other Black people around him. The Black Communists respond with similar criticisms of Wright, and these criticism focus on Wright’s reading and learning (he is branded an “intellectual” by the Communists). Wright’s passion for writing and his commitment to thinking in a sweeping, analytical style shaped and developed by his reading seem to put him “out of step” with a lot of the people around him, Black or white. The more he reads and thinks, the bigger the gap seems to grow, moving him beyond the experiences and thoughts of those closest to him.  

While it is, of course, an oversimplification of Wright’s misfit feeling to reduce it to the self-education he pursued compared with the poor, working class people around him, I thought it was interesting to see elements of his perpetual misfit feeling be traceable to Black experience, while others are traceable to other aspects of Wright’s upbringing and personality (such as his passion for self-directed learning). Interestingly, Wright does not engage whole-heartedly with school. Many times, he prioritizes other things in front of school (and not just employment, money, and food). He leaves his home with Uncle Clark, the place where he has the best support for his education, because of his fear of his room (where Mr. Burden’s young son died) and his family’s insistence that he overcome this fear. Wright’s stubbornness is clear. He’d rather leave this place, where he has not only opportunities for schooling but also enough to eat, in order to return to his grandmother and mother, face hunger, yet feel the independence to enact his way. He also stands up strongly against his principal when he’s told to deliver a speech he did not write when he’s elected as the Valedictorian and asked to speak at his 9th grade graduation. Despite the principal’s threats that Wright might not graduate and that he’d no longer “think of placing him in the school system, teaching,” Wright delivers the speech he wrote. He says to the principal—faced with his offer to help him go to college if Wright “plays it safe”—that “I want to learn...but there are some things I don’t want to know.” This stubbornness and conviction characterizes Wright even before he follows his interested in reading, before he expands his worldview. It sets him apart and alienates him from others by pitting his will against theirs. 

Self-directed learning, unlike formal education, draws Wright’s complete and utter commitment. While Wright clearly doesn’t find enough in formal education to fight for (and it’s interesting that his Southern public school didn’t inspire this passion in him, although this perhaps has something to do with the communal aspect of learning, and the challenges such as the conflict with his principal), but he does find something worth fighting for in self-directed learning (independent, directed by his own pathway and choices). One of the most memorable scenes of this book—as also discussed in the Introduction—is Wright’s plan to forage a note requesting books from the white man who gives him his library card. Wright’s fear that he’ll be found out does not overcome his attempts and the books he chooses immediately demonstrate his interest in thinking and reading outside the box, as he chooses books that would be seen as highly controversial reading for a Black man.  

Before Wright becomes an avid reader, he already experiences feeling like a misfit. As a child, he seems continually out-of-step with his family. The way in which this is repeatedly evident is through his rejection of their punishment system. Something inside him makes him refuse to accept beatings. In a similar fashion, in his first encounters with white people, through his part-time jobs while a student, he refuses to be cowed, intimidated, or accepting of belittling treatment. He leaves many jobs because he cannot stand the way he is treated. He chocks this up to experience, saying that he encountered white people too late in life, and that he had not learned, instinctively, how to interact with them, how to make them feel his deference when he did not feel this nor believe in it. Time and time again, Wright is not willing to sacrifice ideals of pride, independence, or instinct in favor of long-term goals or schemes. He seems to wear his heart on sleeve, while others read in his eyes and his face how he truly feels, even if he stays silent. His spirit is perceived and it’s a threat. 

Throughout the book, my primary question was: how did Wright get like this? How does someone, anyone, who is driven and passion develop those characteristics and mindset in an environment that not only does not encourage or teach those things (creativity, vision, analytical thinking, independence), but actively discourages them? I have wondered this about some of my students, as well—both Upward Bound students and international students—who seem to burn with a fire for something without any reason to have had this fire lit or sustained. What fuels them? What keeps them fighting against their situations and circumstances? How did they ever lock onto this pathway out of and beyond their context? Other people make some sense. In spite of very challenge circumstances (poverty, race, abuse, disability), they had some positive reinforcement at a critical time period (a strong parental figure, a teacher or mentor who fought for them, a community who said “hey, you are doing something important”). But, in Wright’s narrative, I saw none of this, and, in fact, much of the opposite. His family treats him with very little love. His mother is strong-minded, but not compassionate. She does not push or challenge him or inspire him (unlike, say, Trevor Noah’s mom, as depicted by him in Born A Crime). And Wright’s mother falls ill early and seems to become back-drop in Wright’s narrative. Wright’s energy seems to come from the opposite of support—a furious defiance of those around him, starting with his own family and expanding to the world. And while the oppression he feels from his punishment-oriented family is vastly different than he oppression he feels from a community designed to stratify race and class, his response to these forces has some similarities. Watching his strength and passion, his stubbornness and sense of self, proclaimed loud and proud again and again, I kept circling back to the question of why he was this person...in an environment that seemed pitted fully against these characteristics ever coming to be. 

This is the first book read for our Anti-Racism Book Club by a writer (self-proclaimed, prioritizer of writing). Trevor Noah and Bryan Stevenson, while incredible advocates and compelling storytellers, are not writers. They use writing and story-telling as tools, to share their points and their perspectives, to entertain, to engage, to expose, to reveal, to motivate, to rally. But Wright is a writer, caught up in the literary moves of his own life, themes and motifs, development of character, the psychology of humanity, language and its frivolities and necessities. This may seem like an unnecessary or unimportant comparison among the authors we’ve read so far, but Wright’s literariness (his love of literature/reading/writing) was something that compelled and engaged me about this novel. While, as discussed, this passion is one of the things that made him misfit from those around him, it’s also something that connects him (to others throughout the world and history, to others writing since his time period and drawing on his literary depiction of the life of a Black man in American, inspired by and challenging his tools of memoir and narration). Wright writes (pun? almost) in direct, clear prose. His words don’t get in his own way. I loved moments, though, where he dropped into beauty. Early in the memoir, he uses a literary device of listening phrases and descriptors that capture his changing awareness of the world and his own expanding mind and these, list-like, border on the poetic:

“The days and hours began to speak now with a clearer tongue. Each experience had a sharp meaning of its own.

There was the breathlessly anxious fun of chasing and catching flitting fireflies on drowsy summer nights. 

There was the drenching hospitality in the pervading smell of sweet magnolias.

There was the aura of limitless freedom distilled from the rolling sweep of tall green grass swaying and glinting in the wind and sun. 

There was the feeling of impersonal plenty when I saw a boll of cotton whose cup had split over and straggled its white fleece toward the earth...” 

This early expansiveness in Wright’s mind prepare us for the elegant motif of reaching—beyond circumstances and obvious information, for truths (fundamental, enduring, portraits of humanity). Wright’s project of interviewing and writing profiles of his fellow Black Communists seems to come from this same poetic impulse: a need to reflect the complexity of the world and reveal it. He does, on some level, have faith in the potential improvement of the world, in the idea that communication (through writing and reading) could move us to a place of better understanding of each other. Writing and reading become the things he still follows and pursues, even in the face of major disappointments and disillusionment, and he—aptly—ends the memoir on this note, having cemented reading and writing as the central, enduring things for him. He writes, “I wanted to try to build a bridge of words between me and that world outside, that world which was so distant and elusive that it seemed unreal.” Both Wright’s stubbornness and his misfit feeling seem brought to bear here...even in the face of that feeling (of not being able to understand the world, to relate easily to others, to see his perspective aligned with and reflected in others), Wright continues, stubbornly, to try. “I would hurl words into this darkness and wait for an echo, and if an echo sounded, no matter how faintly, I would send other words...” He ends on this note of conviction, of striving in spite of everything stacked against him. And it is not idealism. It is not blind-faith. It’s his stubbornness and inability to not rise up and talk back. It’s an unusual and specific motivation. 

[halfbreed-hawkins-blog]

Favourite band(s): Of Monsters & Men, Tegan & Sara, Paramore, The Wonder Years, The Beatles, Queen, Arctic Monkeys, The White Stripes, Nirvana, Sleater-Kinney, MGMT, Led Zepplin, Metric, The Yeah Yeah Yeahs, The Runaways, Halsey, Fleetwood Mac, & so many more.

Favourite song(s): Hurricane - Hamilton (the musical), Gold Dust Woman - Fleetwood Mac, Fangless - Sleater-Kinney, Your Eyes // Seasons of Love //  Will I - RENT ,  House of the Rising Sun - The Animals, The Shade // Love Is A Place // Help! I’m Alive - Metric, Across the Universe - The Beatles, Interlude: Moving On // The Flames Begin & Part II // Misguided Ghosts // Last Hope - Paramore, Wolves Without Teeth // I of the Storm - Of Monsters & Men, Rapt - Karen O, Control // Gasoline - Halsey, Steady As A Beating Drum // Listen to Your Heart I // Just Around the Riverbend // Colors of the Wind - Pocahontas (film), City of Stars (instrumental) - La La Land, 400 LUX - Lorde, Rabisoa -Shakira & hundreds of others.

Favourite book(s): FU CK. The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo // The Book Theif // Neon Angel: The Memior of a Runaway // Coming of Age in Mississippi // Love, Castro Street // The Mayor of Castro Street // Fightin’ Words // Dharma Bums & literally hundreds others.

Favourite quote: Always be a first-rate version of yourself instead of a second-rate version of somebody else. - Judy Garland.

Favourite movie(s): Juno, On the Road, The East, Meet Me in St. Louis, Giant, Rebel Without A Cause, Princess Mononoke, SLC Punk, Lords of Dogtown, Chasing Mavericks, Nausicaa of the Valley of the Wind, Akira, Across the Universe, Whip It, Runaways, Giant, Cat on a Hot Tin Roof, Funny Face, Practical Magic, Funny Girl, Bring It on 1&2, The Godfather, Pocahontas, RENT, 10 Things I Hate About You, Sunset Blvd. , Spotlight, Amelie, Cinema Paradiso, Inglorious Bastards, The Grand Budapest Hotel, Hello Dolly! , She’s Beautiful When She’s Angry, Frances Ha, Adventureland, Wild, The Endless Summer & tons more

Favourite tv shows: Supergirl (thanx Kari), The 100 (up to s3 e7), Skins (ALL OF THEM, ASK BEE ABOUT MY LOVE FOR SKINS), Game of Thrones T R A S H , Orphan Black, Young Justice, Stranger Things, The Crown, Misfits, Dollhouse, Carmilla (webseries), ATLA & LoK

What fandoms were you active in? : Harry Potter, Skins, GOT. I’m not really active in any fandoms anymore cause it always ends up being a shipping war and I’m too old for that level of shit.

What tv shows or movies did you watch as a child that were fundamental to how you grew up? : Pokemon, Sailor Moon,Harry Potter, Kim Possible, Lizze McGuire, The Kathy Griffin show she had on E! for a long time, Say Yes to the Dress, SNL, anything Studio Ghibli, Rodgers & Hammerstein films, anything with Judy Garland, Julie Andrews, Audrey Hepburn, Elizabeth Taylor, James Dean, Fred Astaire, Ginger Rodgers, John Wayne, Gary Cooper, Clint Eastwood, Burt Lancaster, Gregory Peck, Montgomery Clift, Marlon Brando, Natalie Wood. 

What’s one thing you collect(ed): Pokemon Cards

Spotify or youtube? : Both!

Netflix or those sweet, sweet illegal downloads? : I love Netflix, but seriously, I want a shitton of movie & tv, so I always end up illegaly watching/downloading

Have you ever been to a concert? If so, whose? : Paramore, Fall Out Boy, Weezer, Panic! At the Disco, The Wonder Years, Jesse McCartney, Ed Sheeran & Sara Barallis from a tree, Halsey kinda when I gate-rushed Outside Lands, 

OTP: I’m trash, Clexa & Princess Mechanic trash specifically, I’m trash for Supergirl ships–> Kara/Lena & Kara/Cat, Korrasami, Gendrya, Stargaryen (Daenerys Targaryen & Arya Stark), Margaery Tyrell/Sansa Stark, Jon Snow/Ygritte (fucking KILL ME). Neptune/Uranus from Sailor Moon– FIGHT ME OVER MY SPACE LESBIANS. RIGHT NOW. Also Rei/Usagi because I’m a bitch for that relationship oh-KAY?!! Hollstien (Laura Hollis & Carmilla Karnstein) from the webseries Carmilla!! High SUGGEST***

NOTP: Harry/Hermione, sorry, can’t do it guys. Bellarke, fuck that ship, Flarke too while I’m at it. 

Currently watching: Surprisingly I’ve finished all my current shows, so I’m gonna delve into my queue sometime soon.

Currently reading: Upwards of 20 books, too many to list, too lazy.

Currently listening to: at the moment? Santigold, at least that’s what my Spotify is playing. But lately alot of Metric & The Wonder Years.

If you could make everyone read one book, which would it be? : Coming of Age in Mississippi by Anne Moody.