#anyone else remember all the hand icons I have of rum????!!!

[radiaking]

At least when/if I cap other works of Wally’s for icons…..I can cap hands…….

[a-starr-ion]

The Runaway Princess of Misthaven (Chapter 2)

The King and Queen of the Enchanted Forest sent out search parties for their daughter that went missing. Unfortunately, they were unsuccessful after weeks of no progress. In the end, they had to look for the iconic Witcher of their kingdom. A handsome reward was waiting for him, in exchange for bringing their daughter back home and in one piece. When he sets off with a sorceress and the princess' son, they encounter problems and go on adventures. And all the while, they follow their leads to continue the search for the runaway princess. As their adventure progresses, romance blooms. Will they ever find the princess, or will they come back empty-handed?

Rating: M (there isn’t anything mature yet)

Part: 2/?

Chapter Summary: Killian is brought to the Enchanted Forest and meets the king and queen. Now he knows why he was brought here.

The story is on Tumblr: Ch.1

And on AO3.

Chapter 2 - The King and Queen of the Enchanted Kingdom

The stranger entered the throne room with two guards accompanying him. He looked around, admiring how the whole room looked.

Narrow braziers half encompassing each of the sixteen alabaster columns light up the entire throne hall. The paintings on the oblique ceiling depict the story of when the king and queen vanquished the Evil Queen. They dance in the flickering light while statuettes look down upon the marble floor of the hall.

A black and blue rug from the doors led to the thrones, where the king and queen were. Banners bearing the kingdom’s colors and emblem drape from the walls. Between each banner sits a tall candle, and some of them have been lit. Tall, glass windows are framed by draperies colored the same black and blue as the banners. The curtains have been adorned with fancy tassels and embellished borders.

Noble thrones of gold where the king and queen sat are below a grand chandelier, and is adjoined by three large, but far less ornate seats for the princess, her son, and their sorceress. The sorceress’ throne sat on the king’s right side, a few meters apart at least.

A few feet before the thrones sat a wooden chair, in which the stranger sat in. The guards who accompanied him stood at each side of him. The stranger looked up at the current rulers of Misthaven, and he gave a slight smile.

“And what do you two want with me?” He asked, a hint of curiosity and annoyance in his voice. The guards glared at him for the way he spoke, but the king only chuckled softly.

“Leave, please,” he told the guards with a small wave of his hand. “We wish to speak to him alone.”

The stranger ran his left, metallic hand through his dark brown hair before he crossed his arms and legs.

“I’m David, the king of Misthaven,” said the king.

“And I’m Mary Margaret, the queen of Misthaven,” said the queen. “Do you carry the witcher’s emblem?”

“And your name, just to make things easier,” added the king with a small smile.

The stranger reached into his jerkin and pulled out a medallion on a silver chain that pictured a wolf baring its fangs. 

“Killian Jones.” He replied, giving a small bow. “A pleasure to be here… Perhaps. May I ask what you want with me, your Majesties?”

“Have you not seen the notices?” David asked, rather confused. “Surely you have, knowing you look through notice boards for contracts and quests?”

“Anything related to kingdoms and such, I avoid,” Killian snorted. “I don’t have time to dilly-dally in politics and wars, your Majesty.”

He leaned back on his seat and he kept his eyes locked on them, hoping that this meeting was worth his time. He knew that they needed something from him, he just didn’t know what. He had to wait and stay a bit longer to get the answers he needed. 

David only sighed, and he gave a glance at Mary Margaret, who nodded in response. He cleared his throat and he turned his attention to the witcher.

“Our daughter is missing,” he said, glancing at one of the empty thrones at Mary Margaret’s side. “For quite a while now too, a few weeks. We don’t know where she could’ve gone, or where she could’ve been taken. We do not believe nor think that she was kidnapped. Our castle is protected by strong magic, you see. We would know if someone breached our defenses.”

“Other than that, there were no signs of struggle in her room,” Mary Margaret added. “Her room is perfectly fine. No bits of magic could be sensed, as our sorceress says. We were hoping…”

She took David’s hand, who gripped her hand as she gripped his. 

“If you could look for her for us,” she continued, a sad smile on her face.

Killian scratched at his beard, humming softly. Now he knew why he was here. It was strange to him that they were looking for him, out of so many witchers that exist. Other than that, why were they asking a witcher to look for her?

“Have you asked anyone else to search for her, your Majesties?” He asked, still scratching at his beard. 

“We’ve sent out search parties, yet all of them were, unfortunately”—David shook his head—“unsuccessful. They’ve searched far and wide, and they were most unfortunate. Not even a small clue or lead has been found that could help.”

“We didn’t think it would be this bad, so we finally decided to search for a witcher.” Mary Margaret sighed.

“But why me?” Killian asked, not meaning to sound rude in any way.

“We’ve heard tales of you, just as you have heard tales of us.” David said, smiling as he gestured to the painted ceiling. “We’ve heard of how you have slayed many beasts, and found missing people, dead or alive. As well as—of course—the fact that you’re a witcher. We know what witchers are capable of. What they can do that not a simple human being can do.”

He frowned at the reply he got. It wasn’t what he wanted. As if reading his mind, David smiled and he continued.

“Other than that, we know you are capable of doing it. You’re the iconic witcher of the Enchanted Kingdom, witcher, everyone knows who you are. You’re the Geralt of Rivia of our kingdom, if I must say. If he is the Butcher of Blaviken, you are the Sentinel of Storybrooke.”

Killian sneered at the title he had, and he couldn’t help but roll his eyes. “Your Majesty,” he huffed. “With all due respect, I did not ask to have that title.”

“But you deserve it.” Mary Margaret laughed. “It fits you perfectly, just by knowing the story behind it. Even though you were minding your own business in the capital of our kingdom, some terrorists attacked and you immediately slayed them all! You were like a guardian, hidden in the shadows, only to show up when a disaster or catastrophe occurs. It’s like you come running to save the day.”

Killian scoffed this time. “I just do it for the money that you give me when I do “save the day,” and just use most of it to buy myself some better weapons and armor, and equipment for my horse. Sometimes an upgrade on my other hand.”

“Yet still,” Mary Margaret shrugged a bit, smiling softly. “You’re quite a legend and hero in the kingdom.”

“Which brings us back to the topic at hand,” David cleared his throat. “Our daughter. Will you take the job of looking for her? Doing everything you can to get hints or leads to search for her? And of course, to bring her back home safely and in one piece.”

“Surely I get something in return, your Majesties?” Killian asked, raising a brow.

“Of course you do, we know how witchers work. We have magically enhanced armor and weapons, made by the work of dwarves and the magic of our sorceress, and 1,500 crowns.”

Killian’s brows raised at the mention of how much crowns he would get if he is successful in his search for the princess. He looked down at the floor to think, scratching his beard. He smiled at the thought of what he could do with all that money. Go drinking, go to brothels, and travel the whole country too. There were endless things he could do with that much money.

“And if I’m not successful, just like your search parties?” He asked, raising his head to look at them again.

“Then, of course, you won’t get the reward,” David said. “I will not shout at you in front of others nor banish you from our kingdom, for I am not evil. My wife will not do the same as well, of course.”

He sighed heavily. “Yes, she is of age and old enough to do whatever she wants. But she is all we have and love, and without her presence here, it leaves a gaping hole in our hearts. It would mean so much if you return her to us, which is why you will get a very handsome reward in return.”

Killian sat still on his wooden seat, bouncing his leg as he played with his medallion in his fingers. With a hefty reward before him, he knew he would really enjoy that as the next trip to a brothel with a bottle of rum. Though, he was reminded of how hard it would be to look for someone who was missing for weeks now. Then he remembered the reward and how all the hard work would be so worth it. He was deep in thought, reconsidering his choices.

“So?” David asked after a few minutes of silence. “Will you do it?”

Killian looked up at them, a slight smirk on his handsome face. “Yes, I will.”

David and Mary Margaret were on the edge of their seats and they turned to each other. Their light fire of hope sparked into a flame. They could be so close to having their daughter in their arms again. Their hands met and they gripped each other’s hands in joy. But they must not rejoice just yet.

“Let’s not waste time,” David said, nodding at his wife before turning to the witcher. “You must speak to our sorceress and, if you ever find him, our daughter’s son.”

“Where can I find both?” Killian asked, immediately getting up from his chair.

“She’s always busy with her magic, so there is no doubt that she will be in her tower,” Mary Margaret answered. “But him… It will be rather difficult to find him. The young man goes around a lot. He’s mostly training in the courtyard, since he is a knight. But I’m sure you can find him in Granny’s, the best inn in Storybrooke.”

“Always playing gwent, that young man,” David couldn’t help but laugh.

 “A smart man he is then,” Killian said, the corner of his lips curling slightly. “Well, thank you very much, your Majesties, for all the information. But if I may, may I also investigate your daughter’s room?”

“Of course, whatever you need to do,” Mary Margaret nodded. “As long as it helps you in your search.”

Killian nodded, and he slowly bowed very low. “I’ll be back soon, your Majesties.”

“We wish you good luck, Killian,” David said, calling him by his name for the first time.

He stood and he smiled before turning on his heel, leaving the throne room. He glanced at the guards at the door. 

“Show me the way to the sorceress’ tower.” he said.

[alegacyofmikalsons]

The Act of Living Chp. 3: A Link of Fate

Author's Note: Thank you to everyone who has read and supported this, I've loved seeing your reactions to what is happening. As you can see this chapter is a flashback, I want to include some of these to give some background context for why Sera has the relationship to all of them that she does. I also wanna include some other important moments from her past that don't involve them as well. I'll probably be including these every three to four chapters, depending on where it would make sense to put this in the story.

I've already started the next chapter so hopefully it won't take quite as long to finish as these ones have. 

Rating: Mature

Series Summary: Klaus and Elijah were supposed to die, but fate in the form of new friends Serafina Hewitt and her sister Stevie intervened. A year later Stevie is dead and Sera returns to New Orleans to see her friends and investigate her suspicions about what happened. When it’s confirmed that a powerful hunter group is responsible, she realizes a much bigger threat is coming, one that threatens all of New Orleans. As they race to stop it, she gets more than she bargained for, finding the truth about who she is and a growing attachment towards a certain Mikalson. Most importantly, they all get answers to the biggest riddle of all: what the act of living really means. 

Link to Wattpad: https://www.wattpad.com/874712498-the-act-of-living-chapter-3-a-link-of-fate

@kinda-iconic​ @endlesshero1122​ @bbchoices​ @katelynnicolerollins​ @im-a-bisexual-mess​

If anyone else wants to be tagged in future chapters, please let me know and I’l add you!

New Orleans, LA - 2019

The streets teemed with locals and tourists alike as I searched for any signs of potential danger. In New Orleans, there was plenty to look out for. There were the normal creeps looking for a harmless young woman to bring home and the rogue vampire who didn't want to wait until midnight to obtain their refill. However, the thing that concerned me the most was the group of hunters who wanted me dead more than any other powerful being. While not a typical threat here, if they ever learned how important this place was to me they could become one.

"Are you sure we should be out here?" I asked.

Hearing a sigh, I finally glance over in time to catch my sister rolling her eyes. "Uh yes. Taking part in the nightlife here is practically a requirement."

We slowed to a stop as she looked at one of the bars along the street, Rousseau's.

"Says the person whose ID is fake?" I crossed my arms raising an eyebrow.

"Oh come on, that hasn't mattered before." When my expression didn't waver, she gave me a pout. "Come on. Don't be such a Debbie Downer Sera! We'll be fine, especially if I stay by you."

Letting out a sharp exhale, I muttered, "That's what everyone in Mirebrook thought too until Nemean showed up."

Until I gave my heart to the worst person I could have.

I didn't say that part out loud but, judging by the scowl forming on Stevie's face, I didn't have to.

"No," she stated, shaking her head adamantly. "We are not bringing them up, especially not James. In fact, you aren't going to think about them for the rest of this trip. It's not like they're going to follow us here. Even if they do, there aren't any large events this weekend for them to crash. So, let's just get out of that overactive mind of yours and have a good time. Who knows when we'll be able to come back."

This didn't ease my anxiety entirely, but she did make a dent in it. She was also right. I did love being in New Orleans again after twelve years. As soon as we drove into the city limits, I felt like I was returning home, something Mirebrook hadn't felt like in years.

"Fine," I told her after a minute. "But, we're leaving before midnight. You know what happens then. And if anything goes wrong, I'm blaming it on you."

A contagious grin spread across her face. "Deal. Now, is this place fine or should we walk further?"

I read the sign above the door once more turning my attention to the inside. I remembered it being popular when I was here last, at least with the underage crowd since they were pretty lenient. However, I was barely in high school when we left so, I didn't get to join in much. Most of the few parties I attended were in the Bayou.

"Yeah, this is fine," I told her with a nod. "Let's go before I change my mind."

Following her inside, the bar is already filled to the brim with loud conversations and dancing. After a minute, we were able to snag the last two open seats at the counter. I took the time to examine the surrounding scene. Everyone seemed to be having a good time with a live band playing a jazz tune.

"Sorry about the wait," I heard the bartender shout over the noise. Quickly, I turned back around to find her eyes carefully trained on us. "I'll have to see some ID, you both look a little young."

We both handed them over without a fuss. It didn't take much time at all for her to return Stevie's fake with a nod. However, when she got to my genuine card she paused, looking back and forth in disbelief.

I traded a knowing look with my sister. Ever since I was a teenager, I appeared younger than my real age, the difference becoming more prominent as I got older.

Finally, after another minute, the woman returned my card shaking her head. "Well, I'm not quite sure I believe it but, it looks legit"

"Yeah, I know. I get that a lot," I replied with a shrug. "It certainly isn't the strangest thing to find in this city."

The lady at the counter suppressed a laugh. "It definitely isn't. Anyway, what can I get you, ladies?"

"Rum and coke please," Stevie said, excitement tingling in her veins.

"And I'll have a Vieux Carre."

It was the Big Easy after all. But there was another sentimental reason why I picked the whiskey cocktail, it was our dad's signature. Since this trip was to honor him a year after his death, it felt right.

"Interesting choice. I'll have those ready as soon as I can. In the meantime, enjoy the entertainment. It's open mic tonight."

She turned away to make our drinks and I sighed, focusing my attention back on the stage where a man sprang up with a lively grin. As he approached the microphone, I raised my eyebrows.

Marcel Gerard.

Our parents talked about him frequently when we still lived here since he was running the supernatural scene. He implemented the rule banning witches from practicing magic, keeping Stevie from studying her spells for a few years and me from using dark magic. However, unlike many at the time, our parents didn't really protest the rule out in the open. While they didn't particularly like it, they understood where it was coming from, that the witches' added fuel to the ever-burning flame among the different factions. That ability to see every side is something they instilled in us and that I took to heart. So, Marcel often came to them when he needed a favor requiring magic, giving our family an exception in return.

"How's it going?" he exclaimed, causing the small crowd to cheer. "Who's ready for some music?"

Hearing the bartender shout that our drinks were ready, I took mine from the counter with a courteous smile. "Thanks."

Bringing the glass to my lips, I was surprised to find myself enjoying more than expected as I let it linger on my tongue. In fact, the more I tasted it, the more it became my new favorite.

Looking over, I noticed Stevie's face scrunched up in disgust. "Don't tell me you actually like that."

"What can I say," I answered, gladly having another sip. "Dad had good taste."

I frowned for a moment before shaking it off. This wasn't supposed to be sad, he wouldn't want that. As I scanned the masses of people, I couldn't help tapping to the beat. Music has always been a passion of mine since it was one of the few things I did that felt effortless. It was more feeling than thinking. Which, for my overactive mind was a needed comfort. Soon, only half of my drink was left and I willed myself to slow down, remembering to pace myself. My tolerance was high but, it wasn't roofless.

"Come, let's dance!" Stevie shouted, hopping off her stool.

I debated turning her down but, then I remembered I was supposed to be having a good time. Sighing, I stood up and took my drink with me.

"Oh, why not."

Wading through the crowd we managed to get ourselves relatively close to the stage. With a giggle, she spun me around, catching me off guard for a split second. She was definitely more buzzed than I was but, then again, she was a bit more of a lightweight and had less experience.

"Hey, take it easy, I am not losing my drink." I told her, trying not to encourage her antics with my laughter. "Or breaking a glass."

"You're no fun," she complained but, let go of my arm.

I rolled my eyes, continuing to dance on my own until the song ended. Pausing, I took a deep breath as my heart raced with an electric feeling. I hadn't been this happy in ages, not like this anyway. Realizing Stevie was no longer beside me, I glanced around a little concerned.

Then, I heard her voice shout from the other side of the dance floor. "Vincent!"

At the name I turned to see her approaching a long time friend of our parents, our dad especially. Smiling, I quickly made my way over being careful not to bump into anyone. When I arrived, I found them deep in conversation.

"Last time you were here, you were about this short and had bright pink braces," he told her.

She scowled, her nose wrinkling at the end. "Ugh, I'd like to forget that ever happened, thank you."

"That is definitely not going to happen, Stevie," I chimed in. "He's seen you in diapers. Something I didn't even get to witness."

Turning in my direction, the grin on his face widened. "Sera. It is sure good to see you in person."

I got pulled into a tight hug that filled me with nostalgia.

"It's good to see you too Vincent," I said once we separated. "Only took a death to bring us back."

A sad look entered his eyes and he swallowed. He and our dad were friends since they were both kids. "I still can't believe he's gone. It's been, what a year now?"

Vincent watched both of us grow up at least somewhat. In fact, he was the reason I was adopted at all. It was him I met first when he stopped by the foster home to donate some supplies. Then, my parents showed up the following week. I didn't know until years later that he was the one who encouraged them to do so. Without him, my whole life would be completely different.

Biting my lip I nodded. "Yeah, it certainly doesn't feel like it."

"Is Mary not here?" he asked, scanning the bar surrounding us.

Our mother.

"No, she didn't feel like coming with us tonight," I replied. "Not really her scene. But, she did plan for all of us to come to visit tomorrow. I hope that's okay."

His expression brightened once more. "Of course it is. She actually already ran it by me the other day, wanted to make sure I would be available. Tell her I look forward to seeing her."

"I will." Taking another sip of my drink, I asked, "So, are you here with anyone, or are you drinking by yourself?"

Hesitating, Vincent ran a hand along the back of his neck. "I'm actually meeting up with...a family I know. The one I've complained about before."

Suppressing a smirk, I remarked, "Ah, so they're what...frenemies?"

"You could say that. One of them invited me and I couldn't really say no. She can be a bit persuasive."

I raised my eyebrows in interest. "Oh, I hope we're not keeping you from them."

"You're not, I'm still waiting for them to arrive," he replied with a half-hearted chuckle. "Actually, why don't you can stick around and I'll introduce them to you. You actually might get along which would be very helpful for me."

I let out an aggravated sigh. "Vince, I am not going to be your pawn for ass-kissing. I have to do that enough at home, I do not need more." However, I found myself becoming curious about these acquaintances. "But, I will meet them, only because I want to. From what you've told me, they sound interesting."

"Yeah, that's...definitely a word for it. More like dangerous and cruel when provoked."

Well, now I was definitely interested. "Is that supposed to make me dislike them? Because it is not working. I can be like that if the impulses take over, you know that. That doesn't necessarilly make me a bad person."

He flashed a disapproving look at me. He always tried to steer me away from the dark energy's effect on my desires. I didn't necessarily love that part of myself either but, I'd accepted its presence a while ago. It was a part of who I was. Plus, the more I used it, the more I learned to control it.

A wave of cheering and applause erupted around us and I looked just in time to see the person currently onstage finishing their song.

Marcel hopped back up as the noise died down slightly. "We'll be taking a five-minute break but, after that, since there are no more names on the list here, anyone can come up to play something."

Vincent glanced in that direction before giving me a grin. "You should go up there Sera."

"What, me?" I stammered as a subtle warmth grew in my cheeks. Then, I shook my head, mild anxiety coursing through me. "I don't...not in front of all these people."

It wasn't a lack of confidence that held me back, but the prospect of being noticed because that led to prejudice. During my childhood and adolescence, most of the attention I received from strangers and acquaintances were for things I didn't want to be known for. Actions I couldn't control. It was easier to be invisible, without any expectations or labels being placed on me. I wanted to be able to choose how moral I wanted to be, without the restriction of reputation.

"Come on sis," Stevie exclaimed, her eyes pleading once more. "You have the voice of a goddess. One of these days you're going to have to let the world hear it. Plus, I know how much you enjoy it."

I pressed my lips together. "That's not..." Once again this evening, the lessons I've given her on rhetoric backfired. "I don't even have an instrument with me."

Vincent shrugged this off, the determination now fierce in his eyes. "That's not a problem. The guitar up there is for anyone to use."

Looking back at the stage, I found what he was referring to and let out a silent gasp. It was one of the nicest ones I'd ever seen. The wood was a beautiful brown color with black on the edges. It was of good quality and the right amount of worn-in too. As soon as I saw it, my fingers itched with the temptation to pick it up.

"I see that look Sera," he said, snapping me out of my daze. "Do it for me will you? I haven't heard you live yet, just the recordings your parents sent me."

I peered back at the stage, as my resolve began to dissolve. The desire to create, that euphoric feeling, it tugged until I had to say yes. It was one of the more common ways my blood influenced me.

After a minute, I sighed. "Oh, alright. One song."

Stevie let out another squeal, spinning me around until I was slightly dizzy. "I win again." Setting me down, her gaze turned bittersweet for a second. "Will you sing one of Dad's favorites?"

I found myself swallowing a dry lump as I nodded. "Yeah, I can do that."

Clearing my throat, I finish off the last of my drink, handing the glass to her. Then, I approached the stage, nerves crawling all over my stomach. The person with the clipboard, a boy around my age, looked up with a sloppy grin. His eyes roamed my figure appreciatively. Instinctively, I tensed ever so slightly.

"Well hello, to you. Interested?" he crooned, tilting his head towards the small stage. His hair was slicked back with too much gel that it needed.

He reminded me a little too much of J...no. I needed to stop thinking about him. About what he did.

Feigning a smile, I nodded. "I am. What do I have to do?"

"Just sign here with your name and the song you're doing," he said, his words blurring together. "You'll be up first when we resume things."

I simply took the pencil from him and jotted the information down. "Anything else?"

"Nope, just wait here until we call for you. Won't be too long." He leaned in, more than a little too close for comfort. "You have a vibe, you know. Mysterious, dark. I like it."

"Oh really? I hadn't noticed," I quipped deliberately taking a step back. "Let me save you some effort, I'm not interested."

He responded by letting out a chuckle. "Oh come on, I won't disappoint. At least let me buy you a drink." He inched forward once more, even closer than last time.

Strong coils of dread seized my stomach as the urge to do something violent took over.

"What part of 'I'm not interested' don't you understand?" I hissed with a glare.

Making sure no one was paying attention, I kept my eyes on him as I concentrated on the dark energy lying in my veins until it stirred ever so slightly. His smirk vanished as his eyes widened, no doubt noticing how my eyes had darkened and the orange glow.

"What the--?" Before he could finish his face contorted in visible pain as the blood boiled beneath his skin. "Ow!"

I continued for a little longer then released him to gasp and shudder. "Keep your hands to yourself, and we won't have any more problems. Is that clear?"

He let out an agonized groan. "Yes, I got it, thank you."

"Good." Smiling, I walked away to the other side of the stage to wait.

"Okay everyone, who's ready for more music?" Marcel eventually exclaimed setting off a loud cheer. "Now up onstage we have, Serafina Hewitt, singing Neon Moon."

Taking a deep breath, I climbed up on the black platform and grabbed the guitar from the hand, slipping it around me. Feeling the comfort of the instrument in my hands I relaxed enough to approach the microphone with a nervous smile.

"This is for my dad, Anthony Hewitt," I said, my voice wavering.

I pulled up the stool at the back of the stage and sat down, adjusting the mic stand until it sat perfectly in line an inch or so away. I took out the pic I always kept in the pocket of my jeans, mainly as a good luck charm, and placed my hands in the right position. Searching the bar, I found my sister and Vincent who were now at the counter joined by several people. They had to be the family he wanted me to meet. This made the nerves increase but, I pushed past them.

Closing my eyes, I strummed the first chords. "When the sun goes down on my side of town, that lonesome feeling comes to my door, and the whole world...turns blue. And there's a run down bar across the railroad tracks, I got a table for two way in the back...where I sit alone...and I think of losing you. I spend most every night beneath the light of a neon moon." I felt myself smile and start to let go as the chorus came in fully. "If you lose your one and only, there's always room here for the lonely. To watch your broken dreams dance in and out of the beams of a neon moon."

Now, I as I looked out, the stares of the people listening didn't matter anymore. Everything drowned out except me and the music until all too soon, I approached the end.

"To watch your broken dreams dance in and out of the beams of a neon moon." I played the last note, letting it reverberate in silence.

Once it died, I sat back with a smile as people began to clap enthusiastically. It made me a bit sheepish but, not as terrified as I was in Mirebrook whenever I played at the local café.

"Thank you. Enjoy the rest of your night." I placed everything back where I found it and climbed down to reunite with Stevie and Vincent.

After a minute, I finally made it through.

"Okay Vince you were right," I said.

He looked in my direction his grin straining his cheeks. "Sera, that was amazing. Had the whole place in the palm of your hand."

"Thanks," I responded, tucking a loose strand behind my ear.

Once again I soon found Stevie's arms wrapped around tightly threatening to cut off my air supply. "I knew you would kill it!"

"And you are killing my lungs right now," I wheezed, and she immediately let go.

"Sorry, I couldn't help it! You were just so good."

Laughing dryly, I remarked, "Yeah, I know you can't help depriving me of oxygen."

As she stuck her tongue out at me, I turned my attention to the people I'd noticed earlier speaking to themselves. Now that I had a good look at their faces, I knew I'd seen them before, in my head. Not from my memories but theirs. After a beat, I realized with surprise who they were.

Oh my god. The Mikalsons.

I knew their story well, anyone who grew up within a school for the mystic did. But, the other version I received painted a more holistic, human picture of them. The two certainly had similarities, such as the endless number of people they'd killed over the centuries. But, they also had differences. I started receiving their memories back in high school after we started to cover them in supernatural history. The first was a painful one from ages ago, probably around the time they first were turned. The intensity of it all woke me up, and I'd been unable to stop thinking about it the rest of the night and following morning. Then, in class that afternoon, I began to question what they were telling me. I wondered just how much information was hyperbolic.

After that, I continued to see them almost daily until the end of that unit. After that, they occasionally showed up though it was only once every few months now. Strangely, I didn't mind. For some reason, I felt like I could sometimes relate to what they went through. Balancing the different parts of yourself, having this darkness that sometimes took over. Even letting it when it was easier to forget you had a heart.

I caught myself staring, and I blinked, willing myself to look away before one of them noticed. The last thing I wanted to do was make them feel uncomfortable. I decided that I'd wait to judge them until we talked. Lord knows I would love someone to look past the demon blood and destructive powers for once.

Glancing at Vincent once more, I raised my eyebrows in interest. "So, Vince, you promised me an introduction to these friends of yours, did you not?"

"I did," he replied. "Let's see, we have Freya, Rebekah, Kol, Elijah, and last but not the least Klaus." I followed along silently as he named each of them. "And this is Serafina. She's Tony and Mary's other daughter."

"The adopted one I presume?" Klaus commented, his grin widening.

He received a punch on the arm from Rebekah. "Nik! You can't just say that. Excuse my brother he has the manners of a two-year-old."

I shrugged it off.

"Oh it's fine," I answered with a laugh. "It's something I don't mind people pointing out. It doesn't make a difference they're the only family I've really had."

"I presume you don't know your birth parents then?" Elijah observed in mild curiosity.

Getting lost in his inquisitive stare, it was a minute before I responded. "I don't know anything about them really."

I scolded myself for being so flustered all of a sudden. Though I had to admit, his eyes were captivating, even more in person. I snapped out of it, noticing the smirk on his face.

"Except that, at least one of them isn't human, right? Or did that poor fellow suffer an aneurysm all by himself?"

So much for being subtle. At least I didn't have to feel guilty about my knowledge of them. Hearing Stevie snickering next to me, I pursed my lips.

"No, that was me," I admitted freely. "Though I figured it was that or breaking his hand when he put it on me without my permission."

This received some more laughter from his siblings and even an impressed look from Rebekah. "Sounds like the bastard deserved it then."

I found myself smiling at this. No wonder Vincent couldn't get rid of them.

"I sure thought so." I returned my gaze to Elijah. "Now, I'm guessing what you really want to know is what I am."

He opened his mouth then closed it. "You could say that. Usually, it's a bit more noticeable. Vampire I'm guessing?"

"Demon, actually," I answered. "Well, a half-blooded one anyway, but that just means we work up here, on Earth. We absorb malevolent souls which transports them to Hell. It also gives us a little more power for a short amount of time."

He almost choked on his drink, his eyebrows raised once more. "Demon...I knew you existed but I don't think we've ever met one."

I feigned shock. "Even with that thousand-year life span? That's...a bit surprising," I replied with a smug look.

Now he was the flustered one which only increased the satisfaction.

"Ah, so you do know who we are," Klaus laughed.

I scoffed loudly. "Of course I do, you're the Mikalsons. What supernaturally gifted person hasn't? I mean you're taught in schools now these days." I ignored Vincent's cautionary stare. "I just didn't feel the need to point it out until now."

"There's no need to be shy love," he chuckled to himself. "Most people make it known either in disgust or fear."

Shrugging, I remarked, "Yes, well, I try not to be like most people. And from outside research, I know the people who wrote the story of you have a bit of a bias. So, while my lessons were entertaining, they haven't influenced too much." The stranger sitting on the barstool next to Freya left and I immediately took his place. "See, not bothered. In fact, I kinda like you. Now, I'm gonna need another drink."

This was met with an array of smiles including from Elijah. "The feeling's mutual."

There's no way I could be Vincent's little spy now. It was an innate pull as if the universe wanted to forge a link between us, a link of fate. However, I wouldn't know why until years later. When the thing that I once hated would prove to be exactly what they needed.

[gemstone-gynoid]

Team Fortress 2 has some of the best, most iconic shorts in video game history. I mean sure, in Halo you got good graphics, and in Overmunch you have two women in skin tight clothing fighting each other.. Not like I haven’t seen that before on the internet like a hundred times... (Pretty sure I have that book marked actually..) Meanwhile, in Team Fortress 2 animated shorts.. You got people pissin’ in jars, people’s heads getting blown off, looking into gaping holes in people’s bodies to see hell itself, and you see birds.. The last 50 years, the movies have starred the nine playable classes of Team Fortress 2, and Elizabeth from Bioshock Infinite wearing glasses. The first film starts off with the main character: Pootis. Basically sitting down and telling us we’re in for a BuMpY RiDE and also if anyone touches his gun, they’ll be fined 35$ and he’ll come over to your house and punch your lights out if you know what I’m sayin’. This short reveals that Pooter is more than just a disproportionate russian guy, he’s actually an intellectual that can do advanced trigonometry as well as high level mathematical calculations that he often uses to contemplate the human race’s existence… BUT FUCK THAT he’s gonna shoot everyone with his big ol’ machine gun! Next up we meet Private Ryan, a loud guy with a bazooka who hires Michael J. Fox to follow him around on the battlefield to film him shootin’ people, which is historically known as the most gruesome war ever fought on TF2 soil. This guy’s crazy, he thinks his grenades are little dolls and makes up stories of them walkin’ around and.. Oh. Oh. Oh this game is rated M for mature guys don’t look at this. The movie ends with Ryan remembering this one epic time that he got a random crit and then taunted afterwards, and an unforeseen twist that no one saw coming; it turns out that who he was talking to the entire movie… Was all a bunch of severed heads. O MY GOD, I give Shaving Private Ryan; 5 bags of popcorn. Just an amazing film. In the sequel we’re introduced to my personal favorite character: Hardhat Jones. Ya know I love this guy because he plays guitar, and I LOVE GUITAR. Some of my favorite musics, have guitars in em’. Um he spent the entire video taking song requests from audience. “Play Stairway to Heaven!” “NO!” “REVER! REVER! REVER!” “SHUT THE FUCK UP!”. Little does the crowd know that Hardhat Jones doesn’t take requests, and he only plays songs from the greatest band of all time; Coheed and Cambria. Coheed and Cambria starts playing Next up we meet Pirate, he’s just an old salty dog. Always walkin’ around like “Why’s the rum gone?” and basically just lookin’ for that booty, “Arg! Ya know why they call me Pirate? ‘Cause I’ll make ye walk the plank!”. All of a sudden he sees his friends walk around the corner and he’s like “Oh no! I told Stacy I couldn’t go to the mall because I had to study for geometry!” So he books it out of there to avoid that late awkward moment but it’s too late. Stacy and the gang catches up to him and are all like “I thought you said you couldn’t go to the mall??” “MALL THIS FUCKERS!” and they ALL DIE because Pirate will literally kill people to get out of an awkward conversation. Next movie there’s this guy called Boston, who goes on an undercover secret mission to the enemy castle. Somehow dodging bullets from a sentry gun (despite them supposed to have perfect aim and tracking..) and then he wrestles Pootis for a baloney sandwich. Umm what happens next is a.. Spoiler alert if you haven’t seen The Adventures of Boston the Rise of the Quick Fast Boy Wonder!” I highly suggest you turn the video off now, so okay you have been warned. So in the end of the movie he gets the baloney sandwich. some Brookyln song? The short that came right after that one is about everyone’s favorite sitcom dad: William Cheese! Who drives around spyin’ on people undressing through their open windows like a big ol’ perv. When asked why he only looks at men undressing he’s like “I’m not gay I swear! I can just appreciate the male physique!” But nobody buys it and he calls his dad and he’s like “DAd! Everyone thinks I’m gay! What to I dO!?” and his dad is all like “Son, you ARE gay.” YMCA starts playing The next short is the very first sponsored TF2 short, this one is funded by McDonalds to star everyone’s favorite meal stealer: The Hamburglar! In this movie, The Hamburglar tells an epic tale about the time he went to go find the Secret Cheeseburger of Lost Legend in which he fights Billy Cheese who is actually the holder of the Cheese Key. That’ll get him to the Cheddar Dungeon, with the dungeon master none other than Hardhat Jones! And The Hamburglar is all like “I’d like to make a request, DIE!” and then he fights the final boss the evil Dr. Crentist! Who is the master of karate, but then the hand man does a karate chop that steals the doctors face! And kills him in one hit, and steals the special glasses that’ll let him see the map to the Secret Cheeseburger of Lost Legend. When Hamburglar gets to the good part, Private Ryan is all like “This story SUCKS!” and he blows his FUCKIN’ HEAD OFF. “Well, I guess he should have ordered the Happy Meal.” Movie credits After that film received world wide critical acclaim, audiences demanded a spin off featuring evil Dr. Crentis. So next up we got Dr. Crentist: Origins, the doctor tricks Pootis into getting on his massage table and does EVIL experiments on him while the big dummy just watches him and doesn’t even care because all he can think about doing is shooting his big ol’ machine gun. “Ah I’ll just plug this night light into your heart so you’ll have a brighter heart okay?” “DUH okay DUH” “Uhh I don’t think that’s a good idea.” “SHUT UP PIGEON! HAHAHAHA! LET’s GO GET A CHEESEBURGER!” Yeah turns out this one was also sponsored by McDonalds, so Dr. Crentis and Pooter-9000 with his new robo heart and go outside to get their ass to Mickey Ds because they got hella munchies! “DR CRENTIS! SUPERSIZE ME DOOD!” “I GOTCHU FAM!” Making Medicine cover starts playing *“I’M GONNA GET A CHEESEBURGER!” *and that’ll be 5.99 at the second window The next movie is all about the backstory of one of TF2’s most beloved characters: The Gas Man. “I used to remember when the Gas Man was cool, he used to give me candy.” “One time, The Gas Man said my mask looked really nice, I almost cried because it was the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.” “Uh, I’m scared of The Gas Man because he used to be nice, but now he’s meeaan.” In reality The Gas Man is a really cool guy, he just runs around blowing bubbles at people’s faces and locking them up in airtight presents. Gas Man turns out to be one of the most misunderstood characters in the whole franchise because people give him shit all the time because he thinks Pinky Pie is the best pony. WHAT ARE YOU STUPID?! AppleJack is obviously the best pony. After we got all the origin stories out the way we get our very first TV movie called: Christmas with the Yanks where Pootis gets to experience his first winter wonderland. sniff sniff “What’s that smell? It smells like… A SNOWBALL FIGHT!” Pootis then recruits his best friend Boston for his snowball team because everyone in school knows that Boston can throw a snowball better than anyone else in the Fourth Grade. Then they walk really really slowly to Private Ryan and Pirate house to totally beat them with a snowball surprise. Uh oh! But guess what? The prank is actually not real and you guys are invited to our snowball team! “Oh my god you got us real good.” So they keep walking around as slowly as humanly possible recruiting other members along the way so they can have the most epic snowball fight team on the block. Finally they see a big ol’ tank full of the neighboring school’s snowball team. “Come on out ya cowards. Show us what ye got ya big dorks!” EEEEEEEEEEHHHHHH COUHHHH Mann vs Machine starts playing * “Oh hoho, now you fucked up. Now you gon be fuckin’ OWNED! WE THE MASTERS OF SNOWBALL FIGHTS BITCHES, AND WE COMIN’ FOR YOU!” *Pootis screech

[lanasaved]

cue me, clanking noisily at a nearby manhole as i attempt to scrabble my way bk out of the sewer like the stinky little rat tht i am. enchanté, ghouls! some of u might remember me (nai/from manchester so i pronounce things like a gallagher brother n i’m profusely sry abt it) bt if nt i hd to drop off the face of the Earth rp wise fr a hot minute there bt now im bk n i couldn’t resist reviving lana so???? here we r. u kno the drill more abt her under the cut!!

( cis-female ) haven’t seen LANA JAMESON around in a while. the KRISTINE FROSETH lookalike has been known to be (+) VIVACIOUS & (+) ALLURING, but SHE can also be (-) UNRELIABLE & (-) CARELESS. The 22 year old is a SOPHOMORE majoring in BALLET. I believe they’re living in AUDAX but I popped by earlier and no one answered the door. ( nai. 22. gmt. she/ha/the beast from split. )

some random aesthetics: a red water pistol topped up with caribbean rum and covered in stickers of cartoon pin up girls, a vinyl record whirring silently because you got too distracted by a stranger’s hands to reach over and flip sides, giant inflatable flamingos floating in the aftermath of a pool party, smudgy lipstick kisses left like an autograph on someone else’s mirror

SO i think in terms of explainin where she’s been fr the past month i’m gna say tht she didn’t rly.... tell a lot of ppl??? probably only a select few bt to others im guessin she was pretty vague bc she hates discussin anythin serious/personal. anyway essentially she’s been back @ home helpin her brother out n i won’t elaborate much more bc im a thot

frm this point on ive jst pasted her old intro bc im the laziest woman alive n that’s jst life Babey

she’s local to the ny area i jst havent decided where exactly she grew up tbh. probably somewhere upstate

okay so her mum is an old money socialite / three time campaign model way back when n her dad is a big record label mogul. he owns a label called jameson records n they repped a few rly big rock bands back in the eighties, altho they’re mostly known for ‘poppy injects’ whose lead singer had a big heroin scandal tht brought down his career. lana p much grew up around musicians snorting lines instead of spooning down cereal fr breakfast n her parents were v much absent her whole life

they’re pretty well off obviously n bc of her relation to such a big music industry figure she’s hung out w a fair few relatively high rep ppl thru her teens. she amassed kind of an instagram following mainly fr her style (v penny lane-esque in some aspects aka lots of fur cuff trimmed jackets bt then also jst.... a wild combination of everything honestly. pastel faux fur coats, seventies style platforms, flame red cowboy boots, pastel coloured fishnet tights n glitter used like highlight Everywhere) n bc she’s undeniably very pretty

her parents always kind of jst… didn’t like her. it was v clear that she was an accident after her older brother caleb n that even when they just had him alone they weren’t cut out for parenthood. they always kind of jst… ignored her n hoped she’d go away. she had to mke herself microwave meals when she ws only like 12 bc they’d forget to get her anything. once she went like 6 days without her mum even looking her in the eyes once

despite this tho!!! she’s always been insanely close w her brother caleb. he’s her whole world. thts why when he decided to sign up to the army she ws understandably scared bt supported him regardless. bt then he wound up getting discharged under grounds of severe ptsd when he witnessed his best friend die in an explosion tht took place in a shock raid. caleb returned home n he was never the same n lana kind of felt like he’d died out there too. he’s in n out of hospital a lot n it’s rly hard on her bt she doesn’t tlk abt it to anyone rly

growing up lana was always a huge social butterfly. jst literally…. knew everyone n everyone definitely knew her. she ws one of those girls tht ws kind of impossible to ignore or forget. very animated, always made u feel like u were the centre of the universe whenever she spoke to u, always made it feel like u were best friends even if ud only spoken to her once. she has this magnetic way abt her tht is kind of hard to find in real life. it’s something ud only rly expect out of a movie character

she’s always been insatiably spontaneous n adventurous. always doing something weird n wild every weekend. she has ten thousand stories tht always earn a laugh or a gasp over how ridiculously absurd they r

anyway so after caleb got back he was rly withdrawn n depressed. he shut lana out n was kind of harsh to her a lot of the time, always telling her to leave him alone or pushing her away. it didnt help either tht lana had a rly traumatic experience w some of her dad’s colleagues at the label when she ws 16 n he was away n she cldnt even tell him abt it once he was bk bc of his own traumas. she kind of jst shut it all in n kept it to herself

this obviously?? made her spiral a lot. she was already a girl tht loved sex (she’d only rly done foreplay before tho) but since her trauma it got…. completely out of hand. it got to a point where she couldnt rly go 2 days without it, probably not even 1. her lowest point has probably been scrolling thru craiglist for anonymous encounters n meeting up w strangers on there fr a quick fuck jst for the thrill even tho it’s insanely dangerous n she cld wind up getting herself killed. it’s v clear at this point tht she has a sex addiction whether she’s ever admitted it or not. in fact she’s so… shameless in her endeavours tht she’s actually currently having an affair w her ballet instructor tanya who’s engaged to b married

she also currently? is working as a cam girl. she found this website bc she trawls… porn stuff a lot n she wound up applying to work as one bc she thought it’d b fun n wld earn her some disposal income (even tho she frankly doesn’t need it bc she’s already well off). the guy tht manages all of the girls on the site is kind of suspect n it’s a whole plot i’m gna unravel where it’s actually like the front for a cult or something wild so. stay posted ig. kgjdkgjh

new development!!!!!!!! cue me trottin around doin jazz hands. she’s actually been cut off by her dad so she’s….. living off the money she has left n has to look to find a job which is jst. a nightmare fr someone like lana bc she’s insatiably irresponsible n destined to be fired from anything she tries to hold down bt. it’ll be interesting bc this means she genuinely has to keep on camming even tho she’s starting not to want to any more bc of other circumstances i won’t elaborate on jst yet winks

personality/some fun facts: uncontrollably flirty. boundlessly confident. cld make a joke out a paper bag n her comedy is sometimes surreal / absurd. she tends to laugh when she feels like crying n has a smile brighter than a ray of texas sunshine. always dapples her fingers thru the breeze when she’s driving in a car w the window down. her fav book as a child used to b alice in wonderland n she’d fantasise abt having her own little wonderland too where everyone knew her name n asked her things n took her on adventures. at the time it didn’t rly strike her how evident it was tht that was bc she was so lonely. she almost always has some sort of sweet on her, whether it’s strawberry laces or gummy bears or cherry lollipops. she adores david bowie n prince n madonna n anyone tht’s a vintage style icon w little care fr what ppl think. wildflowers r her favourites bc they’re the brightest and u can’t buy them. she’s had like 8472493874 ‘relationships’ n none of them hav lasted beyond a month / hav been terrible / hav seen her being treated badly / she’s cheated on them. i dnt think she’s actually been w anyone she hasn’t cheated on in some form or another

plot ideas: exes tht lana’s fucked over hideously. she’d probably cheat a lot and it’d be a whole…mess. mayb someone tht flipped the switch and cheated on her? a cousin plot cld b fun too. a friend tht lana fel out w bc she slept w their significant other. someone tht’s getting lana into drugs?? she’s kind of impressionable/down for anything so tht’s a likely scenario she’d get into tbh. an unrequited crush!! (either way is cool). someone tht is just hanging out w her/using her bc she has a lot of instagram followers or they want to b signed to her dad’s label. someone in a band!! she’d probably make like penny lane n b their groupie/sleep w them all fgjkshgkh. umm a good influence too mayb? oh and a past summer romance/fling tht cld either have meant a lot or not have meant anything at all. bonus points if both of them hav a diff viewpoint on it. honestly?? anything is fine i cld ramble for days. let’s get wildt!

[autoirishlitdiscourses]

Discourse of Wednesday, 06 January 2021

That's OK! There are any ten-page paragraph should be the sign of a short section from one topic to another in ways that cultural definitions are deployed that are not a bad move, which would boost your attendance each time you have any other race I think is important is to think meta-critically about your other questions, though there are places where pauses in the way that you were not present in section and total how many minutes away you are an emergency responder, or bizarre things happen during the early twentieth century, particularly of some aspects of some kind of plans requirement fully. Hi! Hawthorn is also a good break!

You've been punctual this quarter. I'm terribly sorry and embarrassed. But what you have any further absences besides Thanksgiving will definitely give you a five-digit code, but you added to the class to speak eventually if you have a close-reading exercise that digs out your own ideas and where and when will it be produced?

I think. The iconic X-ray of his job, but his personal experience it can feel like, because this is difficult selection to memorize because of its most precious illusions. I nominate her: she worked incredibly hard, made great strides, is to let that guide you to make progress on your grade, then you can connect larger-scale course concerns and did a very very very close to ten pages long; this counts everything including participation and your writing is so strong that it would be to sit down and write well.

Again, well done this week has been wonderful! So, with the Clitheroes are less-capable beings, involving their male partners patronizing them in some slice of Irish culture, although there are possibly many good ways to get me a copy of the flaneur and how that sympathy is constructed by identifying them the main character. Can't bring back time. They've been getting quieter and quieter in section that you're not rushing back from the book deals with the Easter Rising, the smart thing to do. All of these is of course; I'm normally much more quickly, now they vanish, The Song of the poem and its historical situation. You might look specifically at Bottle and Fishes; Clarinet and Bottle of Rum on a form, and our general concepts about identity formation and the University for classes at UCSB, and incurs the no-show penalty for a TA than I had the answers to your address book or calr, online or offline. Absolutely. The Covey 6 p. I think, too in here, I think that having a similar measurement were performed on all sides, but looser ones that would then be reciting as soon as you can which specific part of your suggestions are potentially benefits to both, although it sounds to me and I'm sure you'll do well. 4, I suppose, would pay off in setting up your total score for the standard deviation for that extra credit, miss five sections, and only being able to download the document How Your Grade Is Calculated in Excruciating Detail This document has not always been very punctual this quarter, any your grade.

4% of your argument to pay off in relation to your next email it sounded in section lately keep it up. Keep an eye on your paper is worth/five percent/for/excellent delivery, and I'll have them. I think that you would have been possible for you so much ground that argument in any case, that what you prefer to avoid discussing it in any way affect your analysis is and get 100% on the date for Spalpin Fanach. Wish me luck, and thanks again for a job well done. I think that anything will change as you write and revise it, I suppose, is important, cannot learn at all, this could conceivably push you down more if you'd like, I.

I hope you had a good student this quarter—you produce an excellent delivery and wait for an important passage and warmed the class, with this is a complex relationship to the actual state of food production involved in the directions specified that they relate to each other. Similar things could be as late as Thursday. It's not that you could meaningfully take this set of genuinely miniscule value. A range for you. Being really stressed out.

I'll get back to you. Hi! Questions and answers for the class, though it wasn't saved by the end of his wife's hand with their wedding rings on, and several historical speeches in here, and an argument based on the assignment write-up of the currency system in use in Britain after 31 December 1960. I hope you're feeling better now. I think, to everyone's participation over the break you deserve it. Any poem at all. As a Young Man, which is to have sympathy for Francie is like B and I feel that it's a strong connection to 1904 as well as in just a tad more emotion interjected into it as he reinscribes them and what the finals schedule says. Because I will have to speak if no one else in both sections.

That might give you some breathing room on other classes and that your midterm will be assessed during the Great Hunger. You are absolutely welcome to select from them, supplement them, but rather that you want to cover, but because it would be the subject in section, since you gave in section! In any case always a productive way to section I was able to participate effectively and provided a good job overall, you did quite a bit more, I think that there are a lot of ways in which I am much less true for several reasons. I'm looking forward to seeing you tomorrow! I'll see you next week!

Sent by e-mail me and say exactly what is Mary likely to be done, and that's perfectly OK to set up yours and demonstrated adaptability in terms of the less obvious but not catastrophically so. This all looks good to me. Some people have done some very perceptive comments in here, but will push you up into A-and carrot-related observations, and one days late unless you have a fever of 104 or a synthesis than an omnivore would? Just let me know!

The UCSB Library's advanced search.

You responded gracefully to questions and comments that you should/always/bring the week's readings with you about the Lestrygonians episode would have helped to motivate to talk about his own relationship to Celtic myth informs one or the different kinds of sympathies with Francie?

By extension from the book. I personally think that they found out is to provide the largest overall benefit to the point of view from the Butcher Boy: discussion of the assertions that you have some astute observations about personal responsibility by turning in a Reddit discussion earlier this year! Does anyone have a spot in the first place. I'm familiar with either play though I've read so far and to interrogate your own motivations and how we have tentatively arranged to work out another time to get there, and your material gracefully and in terms of which have particular places in the UK and Ireland prior to the class's actual level of. But I think that your score on the unnumbered page right after the fact, everyone! Mooney. Because each of you assignment.

For instance, or at any time without hurting their grade at least a short set of very important. Warning: I feel sometimes like you're writing two papers—one about food, one thing, and going above the length limitation work productively will just not show, take a look at the appropriate time if you want me to post-Victorian ideals demands that they have exactly 60 minutes to get back to you.

Do you have to take larger interpretive risks/and demonstrates that the stereotypes of Jewish people in section where so quiet. Again, I'm one of the early twentieth century. Remember that you're scheduled to do with your section has already signed up for a job well done. I'll give you advice as good as meeting an obligation. You have three options for other section for Thanksgiving have a good move. Finally, being honest when you sense that my 6 o'clock section in advance what you would appreciate having the bottom of a difficult task and trace some important things to talk about the horror experienced by the selections in which your overall goals are likely to be before then, will change by much. This is already an impressive move. 5% which would have helped, I will try to incorporate personal experience it can be a smart move for you than for recall. I think that there are no specific formatting or topical or length requirements. I may occasionally make general announcements in this matter and wanted to talk. You did a solid job tonight. I think that you don't have a proclivity for rather dark humor and deal thematically as a whole. Both are entirely unavailable for any reasons less severe than hospitalization will result in further disciplinary action, just as people who never ask naive questions never stop being naive.

Doubtless your intelligence and enthusiasm mean that you'd intended, while their children are constantly shown to be to ground that argument in a lot of ways that this isn't a bad thing, let it motivate other people react to Lecter and how does it play with and which texts have a backup plan in case you didn't hear his discussion of your paper to punch through to being told that not taking the no-show penalty. Again, I can say more specifically about your grade for the essay questions, OK? I think, too. I think that you'll get another email about that question. Of course, has interesting and important things to say that nationalism was lessened mid-century Marxist reading of the Telemachus episode 6 p. Sounds like a small change, but I don't want the experience to develop its own presuppositions in more depth. This includes your midterm, took four days to make any changes made I will also choose which lines you're reciting. To think about homelessness in Godot, or the novels there's no overlap in your final, but does perhaps suggest that you can draw in additional examples from Sartre and Camus to enrich your analysis and the title and copyright page from the syllabus. I'm deeply embarrassed that it occurs. Any poem at all by Patrick Kavanagh, Innocence Wherever you are nervous or feel that it's often confused with one. It would have helped to have a good holiday! Your You responded gracefully to questions from other parts of the text, but they can fully reach their own self-expression, but more so that the textual selections won't be assessed until after I'd graded and was perennially in love with Rosalind, writes odes on hawthorns, having hung them on my way to find evidence on their own research project, to pay off for you, but you did: Perfect. British pound notably through much of the poem's narrative tension, and you related it effectively to larger-scale payoff … but as a group is not caught up on the Web: New document on section 3:30-4:30 works with your paper receives is based on my grading rubric. 5 p. My margin comments, in part because it's specific and detailed outlines I've gotten pretty good sense of the poem's sense of rhyme, too, OK? This document is an impressive move on. You have a connection between romance and the enormity of the division of a rather fine line about how you will need to be over. One of the two-minute writing. I am not going to be prepared. If you haven't found it on Slideshare and linking to the course's large-scale, but this wasn't on the final. That alone motivated most students the last minute to use Downton Abbey. Hi! I think that being ready to go about proving your points in this paper up to reciting in front of the poem and its background.

I'll see you next week. It is not one of two pairs reciting from Godot or McCabe's The Butcher Boy is Y, then revise your paper grade are the issues on which of them. One of the entire quarter. 5% of course welcome to provide a more fluid, impassioned delivery. You did a very sophisticated and deserve to be helpful. Section issues? In any case, the basic idea is sound and may serve a number of terms you're dealing with this particular assignment difficult. You picked an important passage and gave what was overall a strong connection to religion, nationality, ethnicity, sexual orientation, or if you really want to put it in that night. Too, I will call you in section once when he did on the final. Discussion sections are an intelligent, educated person and his weird foreshortened female figures, many of which parts of your introduction and conclusion bracket the body is less significant than the rules is generally so sensitive that I think. You showed that you have left, but in your section.

I really hope that they haven't started the reading or other opinions: I marked four small errors haven't hurt you, nor do I necessarily believe these things not because I got home to consider myself a representative and to exercise even more nuanced understanding of the text of Irish, or at any of these would be central to being more lecture-based than I had two or three days, and a talented scholar the handout linked above was prepared for the quarter, and because it will drag you down to recite this week, whether or not this lifts you to push your paper pay off. Thanks. Just a quick think-over, and I've read works by Pinter before, your points for that matter, my point is that asking yourself, then you/must/attend or reschedule, or the sentences in which this could conceivably have paid off here. You added then in line 22. One would be to say about students and give them something specific to look at it. A is still possible for you.

The Butcher Boy well? 6 p.

Thank you. The Butcher Boy, mentioned in your proposal, if you think are likely to run free because the offer, if you go back through my copy and redirect the link and an estimate of your material you emphasize I think that your thesis statement: what kinds of background, and your paper; still, it's not necessary for purposes of the following characters in The Butcher Boy, so it's unlikely that you'll want to go is also available. Even if someone does make that? 3%. This would just barely meets the absolute maximum amount of time that you do will help you to a variety of texts and apply for services with the fact that a lot of ways here.

Does that make it support that particular selection and delivered it in a midterm to send me an email saying that she frequently contemplates new discoveries in physics in her spare time, despite this fact, everyone, Having just checked my eGrades sheet I just checked my stack of midterms against my class list, I mean is that your ideas, not Oct 30. On McCabe's The Butcher Boy, and that I mark you down to structural issues with your own writing and studying so that it's difficult to find that thesis, because your writing, get an A-for the attendance/participation calculation. 551, p. No worries I'm not seeing at this stage, and I'll find a recording of your task that you've set yourself up to me. You've got a lot of things here, and it can be traced through your selection and gave what was an uncomfortable topic, and good luck on the time period and how you would most need to include these types of documents in addition to being a good move on its key points. I'll have her talk to me I'll post that on to and in a productive exercise I myself tend to read the two tendencies in Irish culture should probably at least one fundamental problem that keeps it from being a good student and I am not asking you to probe at what other people to talk about them; this counts everything including participation and attendance that is a mid-century American painter Willem de Kooning's Woman series is full of the bird as intermediary between this world, on p. If you have some interesting and sophisticated and your analytical structure sets you up to that; dropped again on 1. I think that they're integrated into it as an organic part of broad cultural changes, I'd suspect that she's not telling the truth is very promising … and then never quite come out and yell Gotcha!

But you're quite bright and can take a more complex argument be made about grammar and phrasing at all you receive a passing grade but make sure you know how many people are exhausted by the email me at the beginning of the sexual content of the landscape itself, you want to get past the I have one extensive monologue from someone who provides you with comments after the final metaphorically speaking, or contact you personally about important issues and weaves them gracefully into an effective relationship with his father, etc. A paper, and I fully appreciate this it's not as useful that way: every A-paper receives a letter grade. Grammar and mechanics are mostly solid, and I've just discovered that time passes differently when you're going to argue more strongly for the course syllabus: related to the course of the students have a thesis statement as a simple concept in many small ways, you've really done some very perceptive readings, I think that you wanted to be aware of these terms that differ are generally more consistent and sensible than the rules. However, if you let me know in my office hours, or Aristotelian virtue, or similar phenomena. This is a buffer that will help you to be over. It's a first and last week's presentations has taken longer than expected to use for us don't show that this is the only person in each section and are comfortable discussing with the points that will make someone else's test during an exam for you. Just at a coffee shop reading and an estimate based on Yeats's poetry may tie into developments in Irish culture is a strong job here, and that you took.

Does that help? There are a wide variety of comments explaining why you received is not unusual in the front of the poem and its background. Even finding small things that are important and impressive. If you need to force yourself to do is to provide a very small number of ways, and that relating the readings explicitly to each other, he said about them more quickly for you. Thanks to!

[wiremagazine]

IN MEMORIAM: HENRIETTA ROBINSON. A LIFE WELL LIVED

By Rafa Carvajal Photos provided by Henrietta’s friends

It is with great sadness that I write this In Memoriam about Henrietta Robinson, a beloved member of our LGBTQ community who lived in South Beach for over 60 years and passed away last week from COVID-19. I was in my office at Q Link Wireless when I heard the news about Henrietta’s passing, and I could not help but to start crying. Once I was able to compose myself, my thoughts shifted to that day I sat next to Henrietta for three hours at the "Cheers" bar downstairs at TWIST and listened attentively, over cocktails, to her wonderful and fascinating stories about her life and the history of South Beach. I will treasure those memories for the rest of my life.

As soon as she turned 18, Henrietta ran away from a very unstable family life in Boston and came to South Beach. Henrietta knew she was gay as a kid and was ostracized by her family and friends, but once she left, Henrietta never looked back. It actually took her family a full year to realize Henrietta was living in South Beach.

What better way to honor Henrietta’s memory and celebrate her life than to let some people who knew her well tell us why she was such a special person – in their own words.

Rafa Carvajal: What is your fondest memory of Henrietta? Peter Morales: My fondest memory of Henrietta was meeting her in the early-mid ‘90s at the Warsaw Ballroom where she would usually stand on the second floor overlooking the people dancing on the dance floor and enjoying life. She would always say hello to me when I walked by, with a huge smile, and always was full of compliments, and had a positive outlook on life about everything and everyone. She was such a happy and content person. Nathan Smith: My fondest memory of Henrietta would have to be the times she spent at my bar every Saturday and Sunday night. She would always come early, always have the same seat, and she had a special cup. I bought her many throughout the years, but it was always so important to me that she had a different glass than everyone else. She deserved to feel special and honored. She was an icon and having her sit at my bar was an honor. David Johnson: One of my fondest memories of Henrietta is how she made her birthday a true celebration of life. It felt as though we were all part of her family there to share in the fabulous festivities! Every year, she made us all feel connected to her life by bringing us together. Mario Trejo: My fondest memory of Henrietta is from back in 2009. She and Don Chung came over to my house and cooked a special dinner for me and my then boyfriend at the time. She had been asking me to come over and cook for us, when it finally happened Henrietta was so excited and happy to do it. She made us a lobster and pasta dish that was out of this world. I felt honored that she wanted to come over and do that for us. The true essence of a giving heart is the joy they receive from giving and seeing the reaction and appreciation on that person’s face. That was her reward, her joy and her love.

RC: What made Henrietta such a special person? Joel Stedman: Simply her being her. Henrietta was a constant in many of our lives in nightlife. We attended almost every White Party together, she never missed a TWIST anniversary and every year was a feature in our float presentation for Miami Beach Gay Pride. I enjoyed her immensely. Her smile, her laugh, what amazing stories she would tell. She was that one person you could always walk up to and had nothing but sweet things to say. It is the end of an era, losing both her and Richard within the same year. When it is safe for all of us to get together again, we will have a mad celebration in her honor. Somebody will have to bring the cookies. PM: Henrietta always glowed and shined wherever you saw her. She was a beam of light with a bright aura. Everyone always wanted to say hello to Henrietta, speak with her, and, of course, have their picture taken with her! NS: What made Henrietta so special is that she always lived her truth. Henrietta did what made her happy and gave no apologies for who she was. She was and always will be an example for us all to be our true authentic selves. DJ: Her unique style set her apart from all the rest! Henrietta always had a warm and loving smile to share with everyone. Her iconic personality lit up any room and made everyone feel happy and at ease. MT: Henrietta loved to give. She was a true giver and she did it better than anyone. She gave from her heart whether it was your favorite dish, favorite dessert, or a Christmas gift wrapped in an envelope. This woman prided herself not only on wearing the best Bob Mackie ensembles and finest diamond, gold and platinum jewelry (all custom made), but also in her giving – and I can’t stress that enough! I remember for Christmas she would give everyone $100 bill in an envelope, and she went to all the gay clubs in South Beach. She made it a point to go to TWIST, Palace, Score and Mova, and give everyone an envelope. You could see the joy on her face as she gave it to you. That was her reward, to see you get excited and happy made her happy. On that she was consistent until the very end. The last thing I remember her making for Nathan, myself, JD, Michael, and many others at TWIST before it closed from the coronavirus pandemic, was brownies (not the fun brownies lol). They were so delicious! We ate them with a fresh cup of coffee from Nathan’s coffee maker. She always cooked or baked weekly and had that, “I can’t wait to give it to them attitude.” She would walk up the stairs in bar 4 with her big Saks Fifth Avenue bag filled with all the dishes she was going to hand out that night, and she did that almost every Saturday without fail! She lived to give. It was who she was.

RC: What else would you like to share with Wire Magazine readers about Henrietta? PM: Henrietta was always so thoughtful throughout our years of friendship, especially during the holiday seasons with her beyond amazing and delicious lasagnas, baked goods and pies. Several years ago she gifted me a 21-piece "Temp-tations" Ovenware Kitchen Bake Set for cooking and serving since she knew I loved to cook, and that I always cooked for my entire family during the holiday seasons. I cherish and love this cookset so much and think of her every time I use it.

I will miss seeing Henrietta and speaking with her, but I will never forget Henrietta, and especially how she made me feel every time we saw each other. NS: She loved you all. Nothing made Henrietta happier than when people would approach her for a picture, and she loved hearing your life stories and telling you hers. She loved helping anyone and everyone out, whether it was with a plate of her food, advice or guidance. She wanted the best for everyone. I know she would have wanted all of you to take away from her passing to be safe and stay at home until this virus is under control. Henrietta would also have wanted you to always love each other, but love yourself first and be yourself proudly. RIP Henrietta. I will always love you and your place at the bar will always be there. Sending everyone lots of love and good energy. Xoxo. DJ: Henrietta loved to check up on me. I must admit I will truly miss the call I received once a week when Henrietta called just to say hello. MT: Henrietta touched my heartstrings even deeper than her coming over to my place to cook, bringing us delicious desserts and dishes. It was when my 21-year-old nephew Andrew came from California to stay with me in 2010. He and Henrietta had this incredible instant connection/bond when they met at TWIST, and they would go out to different places like Palace, Score and, of course, TWIST. Andrew would go get Henrietta and take her to whatever bar she was in the mood for that day, and they would have fun. My nephew even convinced her to go to Wet Willie‘s, of all places, and that’s when Henrietta back in the day would drink her rum and Coke with lemon. Andrew always had a blast with her and he would say “OMG uncle Mario, Henrietta is too funny,” with her quick and amazing stories. As you all know, she had great stories to tell. So for all of her great qualities and attributes, her taking my nephew under her wing and vice versa, I will always love her mostly for that!

I also want to share some excerpts from the Wire Magazine interview of Henrietta by Thomas Barker from June 2011, when Henrietta was celebrating her 50 year anniversary in South Beach. Visit wiremag.com to read the extended version of Henrietta’s In Memoriam and the full interview from 2011.

At age 19 Henrietta saw her first drag show. At age 22, she dressed up as a woman for the very first time (other than when she was 10 or 11 and dressed up in her sisters' clothes). She won Miss Florida in 1969 singing, not lip-synching, "On a Clear Day You Can See Forever." Then, after her favorite uncle died in the early '80s, she never wore men's clothes again! Her outfit became permanent.

"When my uncle passed away, that's when I said that's it," Henrietta recounted. "I started living that way from then on – it was permanent drag from then on! I was gay, of course, and wasn't ever interested in a sex change or anything." And nothing Henrietta wears when she dresses like a woman is fake. Her chinchilla outfit, lace or silk gowns, large-carat diamond rings, gold bracelets – they're all real, just as real as Henrietta.

Thomas Barker: When and how did you arrive in Miami Beach, Henrietta? Henrietta Robinson: I came to Miami Beach in 1958. My uncle, my mother's brother, had a restaurant here. I was 18-years-old and never was on my own in my life until then. I lived a pretty sheltered life in Boston. My mother died when I was born. I was raised by my grandmother, my father's mother. I couldn't go out and play with other kids and was kept in the house all the time.

TB: How old were you back then? Did you realize you were gay at an early age? HR: Oh, I was 10 or 11-years-old. I knew I was gay since I loved playing with my sisters' dolls! I loved dressing up. When my sisters dressed me up, my grandmother would go through the roof! My sisters were a lot older, they were 18 and 20-years-old. I was the baby in the family.

TB: Did you ever imagine the Beach would come full circle to where it is today? HR: I never thought in my time the gay community would be so free to be who they are and not be hassled by the police. In my day, if you walked down the street and if the police thought you were gay, they had the right to beat you up. They always said you looked at them the wrong way or you touched them. They had no hesitation in throwing you in jail. Now, I love it! Gay life has always flourished here – whether it was underground or above ground; or whether it was 23rd Street or 12th Street. Gays were everywhere and in every profession. Today, I feel so free and it's such a pleasure! A lot of these young gay kids don't know what somebody like me has gone through. And they don't have too many people to learn about the history since all the old-timers are gone.

This was originally published in Wire Magazine Digital Issue 2.2020

[tony-is-writing-today-blog]

Letter To Anna

this was a writing piece i did as some venting a few weeks back. i have not written anything in first person in, uh, a few years, so this was a bit of a challenge to get back to. it’s got some rough themes to it, so please be aware of this. 

((cw: discussions of r*pe, self harm, addiction, self destructive tendencies, sexual themes, drug use))

A Letter To Anna

Dear Anna, 

My therapist told me to write this letter to you as a way to “unload” my problems, a way to try and “identify” the root of my struggles, find some sort of “closure” between us, or some other bullshit like that. I figured that for maybe just a second I could stop being an asshole and listen to her for once.

So, hi Anna.

I’m an addict.

I really hate thinking about myself like that, but it’s true.

I am an addict. 

I have an obsessive personality. 

Since I was a child, I would become hyper-fixated on certain subjects or some work of fiction to let my mind escape from everything else that supposedly mattered. When I got older, I found it addicting to be an asshole to people—mostly breaking the hearts of those closest to me. After some of that nonsense, I got addicted to alcohol, which, as it turns out, is a bit more serious than any of the things I listed above.

(It might sound bad, but the reality is that I truly don’t care about that addiction.)

(Why?)

(Because I don’t care about what happens to me.)

Following my on going sinful love affair with the devil’s poison, I did something foolishly impulsive one night and made a small one inch cut on my forearm. At first, I was shocked at what I had just done, not really knowing what came over me. 

But in reality, when I try to think back to the first time I cut myself, I don’t remember much. 

I must have been too drunk.

What I do remember of the aftermath: I was at school with a cruel hangover and wearing my NYU sweater even though it was a typical scorching hot Floridian day. I hid because I was horrified at what insanity I had done to my body. My 17-year-old self was already perpetually miserable at the thought of simply being alive and having to go to a school I hated, but now I had to attempt to hide my dramatics from everyone when I was already paranoid enough that the world hated me. 

(Junior and senior year of high school were my infamous debut years as an enormous disappointment to my family and friends.)

Just when I got into the real groove of things (drinking like it was my favorite hobby, because it was), my mother caught me with alcohol (I’m not going to elaborate further on the incident), and I got thrown back into therapy. It helped a bit with trying to figure out how to stop being such a gigantic fucking heartless asshole to the people I loved, but not much with my addictions.

When my therapist would ask about self-harming or drinking, I would immediately become furious.

My most iconic moments in therapy were when he asked me why I was cutting and I stayed silent for the full hour session. He would say, “Look at me,” and I would shoot the most loathing glare I could muster. The other moment was when I showed up to a session already fabulously drunk and almost fell asleep on the couch in his office. I distinctly remember telling him to Fuck Off. 

(I think I had a bad day at school.)

I was sober for almost a little bit over a year, but by no means was I happy. I began to cut more to compensate for the lack of alcohol and to try and calm the withdrawal effects of going cold turkey (and it didn’t really work). 

My depression got worse, but then I was having a weird few days or around a week where I would feel like I was on top of the world, ready to conquer everything and do the absolute best I could because nothing could stop me. Then, I would crash into the lowest of lows I had ever experienced. I learned to live with the self-harm, the very High Highs and the very Low Lows, the failing grades that did not reflect my actual intelligence, and calmly enjoying the new scars on my skin.

For a little while, I became addicted to toxic relationships. I thought that being emotionally abused was normal and that consent was irrelevant because all that mattered was my boyfriend getting pleasure and I had to lie there and take it, even if I said no. I accepted it as a punishment to myself for past sins I committed against others.

My therapist doesn’t think that’s a good way to look at rape. 

Even through all that, by some God given miracle, I actually managed to graduate high school. The only memorable thing about graduation was the overwhelming relief knowing that I would never have to step foot on my high school campus ever again if I didn’t want to. Graduation day was special to me only because I could finally fucking leave.

June 26th, 2015: I cut my hair short, losing about 8 ½ inches. When I almost finished my hair appointment, I got a text that read something like, “IT’S LEGAL!!! EQUAL MARRIAGE IS LEGAL!!!!” I cried a little bit, to be quite honest. I was also incredibly pleased that I looked like Janet van Dyne with my new hairstyle. 

When I got to college, self-harm was a friend I had a shamefully intimate friendship with. However, when I started smoking weed, that need to feel pain and see myself wounded abated a bit and the craving for alcohol was lost in the back of my mind. Marijuana, however, never became an addiction. It was like a blanket tucking two toxic lovers to sleep for a little while until they inevitably woke up to abuse each other once more. The difference between falling after the marijuana was that I felt like I had to justify my use to those around me because no one understood that this was the best alternative I had access to. 

I once fell into a Low when I was high. 

Being the good college student that I am, the setting was during a party in a friend of a friend’s dorm. I went to smoke with a friend beforehand because I knew there was going to be alcohol and I didn’t want the craving to ruin my night. See, my friends know I’m an alcoholic (months upon months of being sober at the time) and so if I had consumed alcohol, I felt like they’d just get front row seats to my own destruction. However, at the party when I was in the middle of feeling pretty good, all my friends were drinking around me. The host was making mixed drinks and everyone kept complimenting him on how good the drinks were. The craving was crawling up my back and I could feel it. I was able to not think about it too hard until my friend (sitting on my right) said, “These drinks are so good!” Then he paused. “Oh, shit, I forgot you can’t have any.”

I froze, but I managed to nod and give him a forced smile, but words were stuck in my throat. I stayed quiet after that while everyone else was socializing and enjoying the loud music. I suddenly felt like I was in a box and the air supply was running out. There was a mix of fury, embarrassment, helplessness, and panic running through my veins.

My other friend (sitting on my left), who was gradually getting more and more drunk as the minutes ticked by, turned to ask me, “Are you okay?” 

That’s when I noticed that I had been staring at my hands for a long solid minute and she snapped me out of my thoughts. I smiled stiffly and said I was fine. “I think I’m going to go smoke again,” I told her. “You know, to get away.”

She nodded in understanding. “I’ll be here when you get back.”

For the rest of the night, I had the begging intrusive thought of punching my friend in the face to steal his drink. I felt awful. I didn’t want to hurt anyone. I love my friends. 

That one instance, those few words, made me spiral into a very Low Low for almost a week. 

He apologized later on.

I forgave him, but I felt sick.

I hurt myself afterwards.

When it comes down to cutting back on marijuana, it isn’t difficult at all. I wanted to smoke because it’s fun, but in no way does it feel like an addiction. Not drinking is harder because the way disgustingly cheap rum and coke goes down my throat is horribly satisfying. There are two things that I could give up completely and that would be marijuana and alcohol. Do I want to give those two up? Jury’s still out on that, but they for sure want to keep the marijuana. 

(Anna, don’t give up marijuana.)

I remember once during psychology class, we were told a story about this severely suicidal girl in a mental hospital who had a ton of scars. She was desperately trying to hurt herself in the hospital, even resorting to trying to cut herself with a plastic knife. When we were told the story, my classmates laughed at her apparent foolishness and I laughed as an imitative reaction, but my heart hurt. There was something killing me in the back of my mind. 

It was the word C R A Z Y .

It’s been three years and I still think about the girl in that story and wonder how that ended up being me. 

It’s been three years and I have not been able to go one full month, not even a solid three weeks, without self-harming.

For a very long time, I never considered it to be something like, “It’s to take the pain away,” and then cry about it because I thought that was dramatic (I was very mistaken back then). I only wanted to hurt myself so that I could have a lasting effect on my body, like a scar. I enjoyed seeing my body wounded, which apparently is also not a normal thing. I thought that was the only reason. I just wanted to look like I went through a fucking battlefield. Of course, my bitch-ass teenage self was wrong, as per usual.

“You hurt yourself to numb painful emotions that you might be feeling.”

I hate people telling me what they think they know about me. 

“These are some techniques to help you.”

I hate people telling me what to do.

“Put some ice on your skin—“

I hate people.

“You have to listen—“

Who gave you the right to even look at me?

I never understood why everyone seemed to care so much about me. I never understood why people would go out of their way to try and make me happy. Didn’t they know that I am never going to be happy? Why did everyone care so goddamn much? That’s disgusting. I don’t fucking comprehend how anyone could hold that kind of love for me. 

People loving me?

[Insert SURE_JAN.gif here]

Anyway, Anna…let’s get back to why I’m really here writing you this letter.

Since I got so wonderfully off topic with some unnecessary woes, I realized that trying to quit alcohol is nothing compared to trying to quit self-harming. I have an addiction, a straight up obsession, with seeing my body ruined. It’s a warm curling strange sick satisfaction to see blood trickling down my arms and thighs. When I am at my Low Lows, there is nothing more that I want to see than new scars being carved into my skin.

People do notice, though, and it’s incredibly annoying to say the least. They ask questions, as if it’s any of their business. They even find the nerve to touch me in the middle of their inquiry to emphasize their “concern” and curiosity. 

What the fuck do they expect me to say? Do they expect me to sing out a wonderful, “Ah, yes, Karen. These are but silly little scars I gave myself whilst in the middle of contemplating death and its permanently eternal benefits. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t put those disgusting sausages you like to call fingers on me, or I’ll have them detached from your palm.” 

If anyone thinks I have a kind personality, they need to be directed to the nearest psychologist. 

Friends notice the scars, but know better than to address them directly. They look upon my body with small twinges of pity.

Lovers, however, are another issue entirely. They don’t point out scars, but I now have a problem having sex in general.

(Anna, don’t be a prude, now. Sex is a natural part of life. We can talk about sex with each other. I know sex is a difficult topic for you, but sex is important.)

When I was a teenager, sex used to be liberating. Sexual activity used to be fun and happy and adventurous. Anna, I’m sure you remember that time I was once called a “nerdy version of a slut” by some of the girls in my class. That was a very proud title for me because I was proud of who I was and what I looked like. I used to be so ready and so free. 

Now, I can’t even remember the last time I enjoyed anything relating to sex.

I’ve had to take things step by step with lovers just so I could be relaxed enough to even get halfway to an orgasm. I cannot express enough how grateful I am for marijuana, Anna, because that shit really helps you calm down just enough to let your mind feel your body. 

But it’s step by step.

I guess being raped does put a real dampener on things, huh?

Self-harm is an addiction like no other. It’s one that shows plainly for the world to see if you can’t hide it correctly. When people see it, they don’t think, “Oh no, poor you!” they think, “Why are you not in an insane asylum?”

People never look at you the same way. You are now eternally damaged goods. 

I think I figured out that my biggest addiction, above everything else, is that I am addicted to making myself miserable and being miserable.

Anna, it’s really hard just being alive. It honestly sucks and I used to think that it sucked all the time without any sort of possible happiness on the horizon. For a long fucking time, a horizon didn’t even exist for me. I thought I was going to be stuck in the same cycle of turmoil for the rest of my life, which I thought was going to be very short. I always saw myself being hospitalized because my bipolar mind was going to do something so drastic on my Low Lows, or I’d just never even make it out alive. I thought that I’d be stuck dragging myself through every single day, experiencing new hardships, repressing traumas, disassociating and not remembering what I was doing or what I was feeling just an hour ago and being so damn afraid and confused. I thought that my manic episodes were going to wring out every last bit of energy that I had in me. I didn’t even think I was going to make it past 18.

But listen, Anna…

I’m 20 now and I’m still very much alive. Am I happy? I’m trying to be. Am I still drinking? Sometimes, yeah I do. Am I still cutting? Yes, at least twice a week. Do I still disassociate? More often than I want to, and God I wish I had control over that shit because it’s a goddamn nightmare. Am I still having issues with sex? Dude, I can’t even hold hands with someone without thinking, “Human contact is absolutely fucking abhorrent.”

I was really focused on the negative aspects of myself before and I never looked at all the good things. So, I’ll list some good things about my life and me.

I’m a good cook. I am a singer and I can dance like a motherfucker in 6-inch heels. I get constantly complimented on how great my eyeliner is. I have a cat named Lemonade and I’m a great cat mom. I can speak three languages fluently and I’m proficient in two other languages. I know how to use a gun and last weekend at the shooting range, I hit the middle of the target three times in a row and then got some ice cream after to celebrate. I know Tolkien lore better than anyone else I’ve ever met in person or online. I know every single opening and ending theme song of every single anime I’ve ever watched (I’m talking full versions of the songs). My hair is long again, so when I braid it I look like Katniss Everdeen (the real Katniss from the shitty books—you know, the Katniss who isn’t white) (God, the Hunger Games trilogy is so shitty). I’m a fucking boss at yoga. I’m a great photographer. I have a great ass. I have great legs (and my girlfriend told me two days ago that she wanted me to crush her with my thighs, so I’ll just add that here). I won a cosplay contest three months ago and I had never felt such incredible nerdy pride in my whole life. My eyebrows are iconic and I don’t even have to do anything to them to make them look good. My eyes are really pretty. I can list every single language in the Indo-European and Altaic language trees. I’ve read the entirety of Das Kapital without falling asleep once and I’m still not sure how I achieved that feat. I volunteer at a children’s hospital and I love working with kids. I’m a debate state champion. I can make the best fruitcake known to man. I’m starting to slowly, very slowly, learn how to love myself.

It’s not easy, Anna. I still don’t understand how or why I have friends and why they stay. I don’t know why my family bothers with me. I don’t really understand why I’m still alive, but the fact of the matter is that I am alive and I have to try and figure out what I’m going to do with my time. I accept that I’m probably going to be on meds for the rest of my life and going to therapy indefinitely and that’s alright. I’m still going to have manic episodes and depressive episodes, but I’ll eventually learn how to work through them and that is also alright. I’m learning a lot of things about myself that I had never considered before. It’s hard, Anna. It’s really really hard, but I’m starting to think that it might be worth it. 

I know we’re not the best of friends and we haven’t been for many years. I’m willing to rekindle the positive relationship we had when we were children. I want to try and understand you again, Anna, and see where our future takes us. I want you to accept me as I’m trying my best to accept you. 

Writing this letter was really fucking hard, Anna. I hate admitting to my faults. I hate admitting that there are things that are wrong with me. I hate admitting that we almost completely lost each other because of everything I was suffering through.

I don’t think I’m ready to say, “I love you, Anna.”

I think I need more time for love, but I will get there one day. I hope that you will meet me halfway.

And Anna… 

Remember to smile.

From your best and worst friend,

Anna Leesman 

[trickstercaptain-archive]

REALLY  LONG CHARACTER SURVEY. RULES. repost, don’t reblog ! tag 10 ! good  luck ! TAGGED. @murroyilodel TAGGING. @donapirata, @thecodekeeper, @twisted-but-pretty, @piraticalwit, @invictusmanet, @lordiism & anyone else who’d like to do this, go right ahead -- don’t feel like you have to do this though lmao

BASICS. FULL  NAME : Captain Jack Sparrow NICKNAME : Jackie, witty Jack, mi corazón, captain looby AGE : 38 in his main verse BIRTHDAY : 6th August ETHNIC  GROUP : Caucasian ( English, but with Spanish heritage ) NATIONALITY :  English LANGUAGE / S : English, Spanish, French, some Portuguese, Latin and others SEXUAL  ORIENTATION : Bisexual  ROMANTIC  ORIENTATION : Demiromantic RELATIONSHIP  STATUS : Single & lowkey married to his ship unless specified otherwise in a particular verse CLASS : An outlaw, exists outside the class structure completely but if you had to place him, he’s certainly lower class HOME  TOWN / AREA : Shipwreck Cove, somewhere in the South Atlantic ( legend says the island moves ) CURRENT  HOME : On board the Black Pearl, anywhere in the entire ocean PROFESSION : Pirate Captain

PHYSICAL. HAIR : Thick, extends to his mid-back, is virtually always tied back with his favourite red bandana and braided at the back. All sorts of small trinkets are tied into it, including a shinbone from a reindeer. EYES : Large, dark eyes with long lashes. Easily one of his most defining features, and he takes to emphasising them even more with the use of kohl to help the reflection of the sun off of the sea. NOSE : Straight, slightly arched; a defining feature but not obnoxiously so save in that one scene FACE : An undeniably pretty face, with his sharp cheekbones as his most striking feature LIPS : Fairly full lips, another particularly expressive feature of his face COMPLEXION : He usually has a very glowing complexion thanks to his deep tan, but depending on lack of sleep or stress etc, he’s sometimes forced to use the kohl to hide the circles under his eyes. He’s always slightly paler when he’s particularly stressed or hasn’t been sleeping well. BLEMISHES : An abrasion on his chin that has never healed, the odd freckle and mole here and there. SCARS : A small scar across his right eyebrow from a sword nick during a fight, the ‘P’ brand on his forearm, extensive burns along his left arm, scar on his right palm from lifting the Aztec curse, two powder burns from bullet wounds on the right-hand side of his chest, several other marks across his torso and back. TATTOOS : Flying sparrow over waves on his forearm, above his brand, mi corazón tattooed across the left hand side of his chest, several others inc. quotations from the poem Desiderata HEIGHT : 5′10″. WEIGHT : --- BUILD : Average build; toned but lean. FEATURES : Very striking features -- in particular his eyes, especially when lined with kohl, and his sharp cheekbones. ALLERGIES : None. USUAL  HAIR  STYLE : Dreadlocks at the front, with the rest of his hair tied back by a bandana, and part of it contained in a braid extending down his back. USUAL  FACE  LOOK : Jack’s face is extremely expressive; his eyes in particular will often betray any emotion that he is fighting to conceal from view, but his usual expression will depend entirely on his mood and his opinion of any present company. You’ll know if he’s in a bad mood: his face is harder, more inclined towards annoyance or boredom, but for several individuals close to him this harshness will soften whenever he’s in their presence. USUAL  CLOTHING : His ‘iconic’ look; tricorn hat, red bandana, shirt, waistcoat, brown coat, belts, striped sash, breeches, boots. He prefers loose-fitted clothing given the climate of the Caribbean, despite it’s so-called impropriety, and has a sentimental attachment to his outfit which means that he’s reluctant to trade any of it in for anything newer.

PSYCHOLOGY. FEAR / S : Being forgotten, death, abandonment, betrayal, rejection, fire, failure, not being good enough. ASPIRATION / S : In canon, his goal from a very young age was to become a famous pirate captain, to earn a title for himself and, most of all, to be remembered and to matter to people. Once he gains his captaincy, his goal shifts to solely being that of bolstering his own reputation, to make sure that after his death he won’t ever be forgotten. POSITIVE  TRAITS : Openminded, unprejudiced, has the potential to display incredible selflessness and compassion, intelligent, flirtatious, witty, well-read, charming, merciful, ambitious, individualist, opinionated. NEGATIVE  TRAITS : Distrustful, manipulative, paranoid, self-serving, egocentric, can be emotionally cold and distant, obsessive, unreliable, chaotic, unpredictable, moody, inclined towards cowardice. MBTI : ENTP ZODIAC : Leo TEMPERAMENT : Somewhere between sanguine and melancholic. SOUL  TYPE / S : Leader ANIMALS : Sea lion VICE  HABIT / S : His fondness for rum is probably the main one, along with his penchant for overindulging of all kinds. He leans towards an addictive, obsessive personality so he rarely does things by halves. FAITH : He doesn’t count himself as religious, so he holds no faith to nor does he worship any particular God, but from his exposure to heathen Gods and understanding of the Classics ( the Greek and Roman Gods ), Jack can certainly be understood as polytheist even if he’s sceptical towards the idea of religion. If he had to identify as one, however, he’d be of the protestant faith. GHOSTS ? : Jack has seen ghosts so, yes, he believes in them. AFTERLIFE ? : I think Jack likes to believe that there is some sort of afterlife, but after his experiences in the Locker he’d a little less sure if he wants it to exist. REINCARNATION ? : Jack is pretty sceptical on this one tbh. ALIENS ? : In canon and modern Jack is certainly open-minded to the idea, but it’s only really in verses with the Doctor that he actually believes in them. POLITICAL  ALIGNMENT : Jack is certainly a liberal in both canon and modern, but in modern I guess he’d lean towards the labour party in the UK -- but honestly I feel like he’d be very cynical of the political establishment as a whole. ECONOMIC  PREFERENCE : In canon his financial situation is pretty dire. It’s not that he doesn’t earn money, either crewing on other ships or, after he gains his captaincy, on his own ship, but he’s terrible at managing it. His situation is a lot better in modern verse -- he has money enough to support himself and live in his own apartment ( albeit with Gibbs as a roommate ), but he often teeters on the edge of his overdraft. SOCIOPOLITICAL  POSITION : A pariah and outcast of society in canon, but in modern verse he’s a regular citizen of the UK ( although also a criminal ). EDUCATION  LEVEL :  Jack is educated in canon, though not formally ( most of it was self-taught but a fair amount came from his parents, such as his literacy from his mother and a lot of his navigational prowess from Teague ). In modern, Jack is educated to secondary/high school level but did not go on to university level education except in his professor AU.

FAMILY. FATHER : Captain Edward Teague, the Keeper of the Pirate’s Code. MOTHER : Maria Sparrow, a daughter of a slave-owner who ran away from home and eventually joined Teague’s crew as a ship’s cook. She gave birth to Jack in a typhoon, and died of illness ( complications caused by her second pregnancy ) when he was seven years old. SIBLINGS : Technically speaking Jack has none, save an unborn sister who died alongside his mother. To this day he has no idea that his mother was pregnant before she died. EXTENDED  FAMILY : Oh he has so many that I’m not gonna name them all. The most important are his paternal grandmother, Anne Teague, a former Pirate Lord, and his paternal grandfather, Bartholomew, who was one of the individuals who laid down the Code. NAME  MEANING / S : Jack is a diminutive form of John, and just means man or boy lmfao  HISTORICAL  CONNECTION ? : Umm well Jack isn’t strictly based on any pirate of history, although there are connections you can draw between Jack and the historical Jack Rackham, if only for the name and the fact that Jack also has no issue about sailing alongside women. I’ve also read somewhere that there’s a muslim pirate with a connection to Jack but don’t quote me on that. Mainly he’s a character who draws heavily on the romantic archetype of the pirate through history -- his clearest literary predecessor, however, is Lord Byron’s Conrad.

FAVOURITES. BOOK : My Lyfe Among the Pyrates, Captain J. Ward, the Divine Comedy, Dante, Hamlet, Shakespeare, Robinson Crusoe, Daniel Defoe. MOVIE : In modern verse, Jack is a fan of adventure flicks, and notoriously hates romcoms. 5  SONGS : I’m just gonna cheat and put this one. Spanish Ladies is another, if we’re talking historical sea shanties, and while it’s an anachronism you might as well put Stevenson’s fifteen men on a dead man’s chest too. DEITY : None, although he was close to Calypso, albeit without knowing that she was a goddess in human form. HOLIDAY : Jack notoriously dislikes holidays. He rarely celebrates his birthday or Christmas of his own accord and is ambivalent towards Valentine’s or Halloween. One that he does enjoy is probably New Years. MONTH : July SEASON : Summer PLACE : Tortuga WEATHER : Sun and clear skies is his preferred sort of weather, but he does love a good storm too. SOUND : The sea, the wind filling the Pearl’s sails, the creaking of her wood, sea shanties and musical instruments being played on board. SCENT / S : Spices, sugar, rum, salt of the sea, gunpowder, fresh varnish and tar. TASTE / S : Fresh meat and fish, rum, anything sweet in flavour. FEEL / S : The wood of the Pearl’s railing beneath his fingers, the thin, loose fabric of his clothing, parchment and unfurled maps. ANIMAL / S : Dogs if he had to choose any at all. NUMBER : None. COLOUR : None in particular. The brighter the colour, the better.

EXTRA. TALENTS : Navigation, cartographical skills, shipboard work, aiming and firing a gun, fencing, thinking on his feet, impractical escapes, manipulating others to his advantage, swimming, fishing. BAD  AT : Trusting the right people, or trusting at all when it comes to his later verses, and this refusal to put faith in people only serves to perpetuate the view that he is unreliable and untrustworthy and therefore worth betraying before he betrays you in return. He’s also shit at romance and sentimentality; he can put forth the effort when he doesn’t really care for the other person, but when it comes to romantic gestures for someone he truly cares about or reacting to a romantic gesture in return, he honestly does not know how to respond. TURN  ONS : Intelligence, a shared love of freedom, charisma, appearance, strong opinions and convictions, loyalty, individuality, strength of character, cockiness. TURN  OFFS : Ignorance, stupidity, prejudice, willingness to conform or fit the mould, passivity, disloyalty.  HOBBIES : He enjoys swimming, fencing, gambling, reading and fishing, aside from his first love, that of sailing and navigation. TROPES : The obvious two are the trickster and the byronic hero, but also being good sucks, beware the silly ones, breakout character, the chessmaster, cultured badass, deal with the devil, the gunslinger, hidden depths, no such thing as bad publicity, pretty boy and shrouded in myth are my faves. his entire tv tropes page can be found here and it’s glorious AESTHETIC  TAGS : -- GPOY  QUOTES : “There is no end to our story.”

FC INFO. MAIN  FC / S : Johnny Depp. ALT  FC / S : None. OLDER  FC / S : None. YOUNGER  FC / S : none yet lmfao the search for a child fc continues VOICE  CLAIM / S : Johnny Depp GENDERBENT  FC / S : None.

MUN QUESTIONS. Q1 : if  you  could  write  your  character  your  way  in  their  own  movie ,   what  would  it  be  called ,  what  style  would  it  be  filmed  in ,  and  what  would  it  be  about ?           A1 : It would be a film adaptation of The Price of Freedom l b r. It would probably have to be streamlined for runtime purposes, but all of the important parts would be there B) Q2 : what  would  their  soundtrack / score  sound  like ?           A2 : insert the potc soundtrack here Q3 : why  did  you  start  writing  this  character ?           A3 : Because Jack Sparrow has held an incredibly important place in my heart since I was eleven years old. He was really the first live-action character I properly connected with, my first on-screen crush, and idk there was just something about him that really appealed to me. He’s also just an insane amount of fun; I know how Johnny feels honestly the chance to write this character is a ridiculous amount of fun because he’s just so shamelessly himself. Q4 : what  first  attracted  you  to  this  character ?           A4 : Gosh idk man everything. He was just so different to anything I’d ever seen before, and when I was younger I obviously loved the funnier, comic aspects of his character, but as I got older I began to appreciate the insane amount of depth that Jack possesses. He is one of the most complicated characters in modern cinema imho and both the writing and Johnny’s portrayal make him so very human. He is not without fault, but behind the bluster and flamboyance and sass there is a very damaged, very real, but ultimately very good person. He’s just connected with me in a way that no other fictional character really has. Q5 : describe  the  biggest  thing  you  dislike  about  your  muse.           A5 : Hmmm I’m not sure there’s anything I dislike about Jack, per se, but I guess certain traits of his frustrate me. Most of the time it’s his refusal to trust or depend on others; he’s very closed-off so if anyone tries to broach significant subjects with him he will deflect like there’s no tomorrow. Also his restraint; honestly the amount of times I have wanted to see him let rip at certain muses but he will refuse to because he sees the expression of emotion as such a weakness. Q6 : what  do  you  have  in  common  with  your  muse ?           A6 : We’re very different, but I think there are some core characteristics we share. Similar things appeal to us, particularly when it comes to our enjoying witty banter and repartee with others. We’re both opinionated, have very similar senses of humour, are sometimes petty, bitter and we both hold grudges like there’s no tomorrow. Our arguing styles are also very similar, although Jack gets into arguments way more often than I do lmao. We’re both quite rationally minded people, but we also have a very emotional and compassionate side too. Q7 : how  does  your  muse  feel  about  you ?           A7 : He thinks I’m incredibly dull lmfao Q8 : what  characters  does  your  muse  have  interesting  interactions  with ?         A8 : Oh damn who doesn’t he have interesting interactions with. Off the top of my head, Esmeralda de Sevilla, Elizabeth Swann, Cutler Beckett, Will Turner, James Norrington, Teague, Dodger, Barbossa, Charles Vane, Jack Rackham, the Tenth Doctor, Killian Jones, Isabela, Thomas Dalton, Maeve Millay, Megan Santiago, Credence Barebone, Henry Turner and there are others that I’ve surely forgotten too. Q9 : what  gives  you  inspiration  to  write  your  muse ?         A9 : All sorts of things really. Listening to music helps, as well as watching fanvids on youtube and rereading through old threads. Q10 : how  long  did  this  take  you  to  complete ?         A10 : I have no idea because I did it over several days lmao

[yukithesnowman314]

Chapter 1

Visual Novels (Part 1)

  Anime Weekend Atlanta (AWA) left me starving. Starving for more.  More networking opportunity. More ways to get my name out there. More ways to improve myself. On the final day of the convention, my crew and I went to smoke a blunt on our hotel’s garage parking rooftop before leaving our city for an eight-hour trip back home to St. Louis.  As we smoked, we spoke about our successes and “failures”. Wins and losses.  Triumphs and disappointments.  Out of my team, I had the most wins; since I set my sights to hit the majority of my goals (such as making money bartending at a friend’s room party, networking with people within the industry, etc.).

They congratulated me for success and were happy for me. But I wasn’t.

Sure, I hit a few goals. I went out and did what I was supposed to do build my brand. You’re not supposed to be praised for doing your job like everyone else.  I wasn’t happy that I didn’t do more. I was disappointed at myself for allowing myself to get sidetracked and play myself. However, these disappointments, combined with my success started to fire me up.   Disappointment turned into desire.  Desire turned into drive.  Drive turned into action and planning.

For once in my life, I was excited to go back home after a vacation.  I needed to go back so I could plan out the next year con season, write about my adventures. And of course, work my ass off for the next con season and come back completely dominating it.

Anime Weekend Atlanta left me starving.

On Friday, I went to a panel that caught my attention weeks prior: “Whatever Happened to Visual Novel Anime?”.  I have a slight interest in the genre and was wondering why visual novels and anime based on the niche have been on the decline for the past 3-7 years.  I went; seeking knowledge from somebody who was much wiser than myself.

The panel started.  The host introduced himself, spoke about his passion for visual novels ,and revealed an amazing fact about himself: The panelist – Chris Adamson  –  is a writer  for Anime News Network.

I had to network with him; no matter what.

Note to self: Let the camera autofocus before snapping a pic.

I was in awe by the deep knowledge Chris dropped on us about the history of visual novels anime and why they were not as popular as they were back in the 2000s. The answers were “simple”, yet layered with complex facts.  The facts included the following: the lack of effort and innovation from VN creators. Long-time fans losing interest. Animators struggling to add every minor detail form the visual novels into the anime version. There were also the lack of sales of products relating to the anime and visual novels.

Chris broke down every little detail with graphs, pictures, videos, audio, cited sources, sales figures, you name it.  He was armed and prepared to attack us with knowledge and education. Clearly, he studied this genre with depth.  Clearly, he was passionate about visual novels and wants it to see it recover from its slump.

At the end of the panel, he left the floor open for questions.  I shoot my hand up high in the air before anyone else (if you’re ain’t first your last) and asked him this question:

Do you think there will a renaissance of visual novels and anime based on anime, and if they the VN industry does crash, do you see it rising from its ashes?

I’ve since forgotten most of Chris’s reply (thanks to smoking weed all weekend and being an idiot for not recording the panel), but he brought up an interesting point: He does believe that visual novels could come back, thanks to the success of the American visual novel Doki Doki Literature Club (DDLC) with its innovating meta-narrative (he even suggests that a DDLC anime could work through streaming services with Monika going through your watch history, fucking with the audio/video, etc.). Chris also mentioned that with more Americans entering the VN fray that could lead to the niche revival from a Western’s standpoint.

After the panel, I was completely floored and astonished by his wisdom.  I had to network with him.  Deep down in me, there was a fire building up.  The fire of craving more knowledge. There were other guys with me who also had that fire in them. Out of the 20-30 people in attendance, only five of us stay after the panel (to speak with Chris).  Two were working on their own visual novels, two were fans of the genre and also hungry for more knowledge, and of course, me; who was moved by this.

As we were finishing talking, a Yuri and Natsuki (DDLC) cosplayers walked past us. We all smiled as we were just talking about DDLC earlier.  I smiled even harder; as it got me excited to rock my Monika genderswap cosplay the next morning on Day 3.

And by the next morning, I mean I decided to have shots of rum for breakfast and plotted to wear my “No Coonin’!” shirt to The People of Color (I fucking hate how black people us that term as a black man) Photoshoot in hopes of offending any self-hating Uncle Toms/Coons/Nergo Bed Wench nigga nerds with it at the shoot instead of cosplaying as Monika at the shoot.

Which,  said plot was used against me.

Coon train is coming!

I arrived at the shoot. Since it was a multi-media shoot, the host had people take group photos by genre (movies, anime, comics, etc.). Of course, you had cosplayers from comics, video games, and anime. Mainstream shit.   However, nobody was cosplaying from any visual novels series (a testament of the decline of interest towards visual novels).  I was sad and angry. Sad because there aren’t many Black nerds who are into visual novels.  Angry at myself for deciding to (unsuccessfully) troll people with my shirt and not going to the shoot with wearing my Monika cosplay.

This is me being utterly arrogant, but I don’t give a shit: If I would have gone with that Monika cosplay, I would have been the only Black cosplayer in that group doing a visual novel character cosplay.  Is Doki Doki Literature Club a normie tier meme visual novel?  Yes.  But it’s still a visual novel.  And I would have earned that honor and respect of doing something out of the norm. A black man. Doing a gendswap cosplay. Of a visual novel character. A piece of media which black people don’t really fuck with.

I could have spoken good game about the visual novel niche and get my fellow Black nerds hip on it.  I could have introduced people who never played a VN before into a new world; which in turn could have gotten people into playing them.

But I’m a fucking idiot.

(By the way, there’s going to be more of my arrogance later.  Please leave if you’re offended by people having pride in themselves and their passion).

From The POC Cosplayer Shoot

From The POC Cosplayer Shoot

From The POC Cosplayer Shoot

From The POC Cosplayer Shoot

From The POC Cosplayer Shoot

From The POC Cosplayer Shoot

From The POC Cosplayer Shoot

I left the POC shoot and decided to take a few pics inside the convention center.   As I’m wandering around I spot a black woman wearing a shrine maiden outfit.  Red pants, disconnected sleeves, white top, and purple hair.  For a split second, I thought she was cosplaying as the PC98 era Reimu from Touhou (Highly Responsive to Prayers, Lotus Land Story, etc.) and I was smiling from ear-to-ear at the “fact” that there was a black woman cosplaying as the old-school version of Red Sanae.

Upon further inspection, she wasn’t wearing Reimu’s trademark red bow, but rather black horns with cracks in them.

Wait, is she cosplaying as Hanyuu from Higurashi I asked myself.

I poked her on her shoulder and asked.  She smiled and I started to geeked out.   Somebody still has love for Higurashi and is cosplaying at the con; (to my knowledge) she was the only Higurashi cosplayer at the con. Either way, I was just fucking happy to see somebody cosplay as a character from one of my favorite visual novel anime series.

I took her picture of course and told her that her cosplay was lovely.  My only regret is that I didn’t tell her  I appreciate her for cosplay as a Higurashi character and that it made me want to do a When They Cry cosplay again (I used to cosplay as Goat Butler from Umineko for a while).  I should had left my friends behind and let them go back to the hotel while I chopped up some game with the woman.

It’s funny because days prior to AWA, I had two When They Cry related dreams.   The first dream was of me at Anime Weekend Atlanta.  I was cosplaying as a genderswap Bernkastel, but I got kicked out from the con for being too drunk  (Bernkastel drinks wine and gets drunk so I had to play the role you know even in my dreams),  not wearing my badge, and telling con staff that I don’t give a fuck about having a badge.

The second one was of me at Anime Expo. I was wearing a way better version of my Goat Bulter cosplay. As I was walking out and about there was a group of Umineko cosplayers. A Bernkastel cosplayer spotted me and asked if I wanted to join them for a few photos, which I agreed to.

And then I woked up.

The Hanyuu cosplayer.

Back to reality.  I marched back to my hotel.  I started listening to an interview with Tim Grover (author of Relentless, the trainer of Basketball icons such as Kobe Byrant, Dwayne Wade, and  Micheal Jordan). I was trying to think of a plan as I prep for my Monika cosplay.  I was overanalyzing and overthinking.  I remember in the first chapter of  Relentless Grover stated the best don’t think,

They act. On instinct.  And let their instincts do the work.

From that thought, I turned off the interview and started to listen to Saiyan Pride from Dragon Ball Super on repeat.  The echoing piano notes.  The percussion building up to the arrival the horns, strings, and bells.  I was entering my Zone.  I was inviting my Dark Side to do the work. Tunnel vision and laser focus.

I wasn’t going to allow myself to fuck up further.

I’m going to win. I said to myself.

(Continued in Chapter 2)

WHERE I COPPED THE “No Coonin’!” SHIRT: https://shop.spreadshirt.com/theunapologeticblackman/

I’m Starving (Or How Anime Weekend Atlanta Left Me Wanting More) Chapter 1 Visual Novels (Part 1) Anime Weekend Atlanta (AWA) left me starving. Starving for more.  More networking opportunity.

[ripstocking]

New York City: Artist Scott Ewalt’s life-long passion for burlesque is unparalleled. It inspires his art, has guided his career, and has lead to many friendships, but it’s perhaps most apparent in the spectacular interior of his East Village apartment. In 2000, when Giuliani’s mission was to clean up Times Square, Scott’s mission was to save as much of it as he could possibly store. His one-of-a-kind collection celebrates the trailblazing performers and venues of New York City’s legendary burlesque scene. In his own work Scott continues this obsession, blurring the lines between collector, historian, and visual artist. His last show at Participant Inc. was a grand installation that mixed theatre signage, wallpaper, and memorabilia. The star pieces were his depictions of gangs of seductive devils roaming through intricately detailed cityscapes of Time Square at the height of it’s sleazy chaotic glory; a decadent zone where all pleasure is encouraged. Talking with Scott is a brilliant web. His back-stories have back-stories. He’s obsessed with the origin of ideas. As he speaks he connects lines through history in order to explain where concepts in fashion, art, music, and culture began. His militancy about this has made him a leading expert in downtown subculture, some of which he’s lived first hand, playing a leading role in what are some of the city’s best moments. Scott’s fairy tale introduction to New York began with being discovered by Thierry Mugler while still an architecture student at Princeton. He became Mugler’s muse for his iconic Vampire collection, starting a collaborative friendship, and long wild ride through the height of the acclaimed designer’s dominance in fashion. Let’s start with Betty Boop. Was she your first introduction to burlesque? Probably. I was a big fan of Max Fleischer cartoons. He created her, Felix the Cat, and Popeye. I had a special interest in him because my great aunt was his nurse. Why were you so fascinated? I read that when Betty Boop danced, every tenth frame she would be nude. You can only see it if you stop and actually look at the individual frames. That made Max my hero. So, that I love strippers so much now makes perfect sense. Also, in the early cartoons, the backdrop for Popeye was always the Bowery, and I thought, ‘That looks great. I wanna live there’. How did you end up getting this apartment? The worst possible way. I was close friends with Luciana Martinez de la Rosa. I helped her move in here. She was only in the apartment for eight hours and she caught spontaneous meningitis and basically exploded. She had the boy in the bubble disease, but before they had even discovered it. Had they diagnosed it she would have had to live her whole life in germ free seclusion but instead she had this insane career as a Carnaby St. DJ, glam rock muse (Roxy Music), punk rock muse (Vivienne Westwood), and then she was the queen of the Blitz. As much as I miss her, out of everyone I’ve ever known she crammed the most into the fewest years. Yikes, how strange. Luciana was a painter. I know she would have been happy that a friend and fellow artist took the space. Yeah, so that’s the story. What was it like when you moved in? It really was the encyclopaedia of CBGB’s. You’d go to the deli and you’d see Suicide or two of the Ramones, and on the other corner, Gerard Malanga Lenny Kaye lived next door so Patti Smith was always around. And all the old beatniks like John Giorno, Robert Frank, who I’d see hanging out with that Broadway legend Uta Hagen. Almost anyone that wasn’t a bum was someone quite celebrated. I was in hog heaven and then all of a sudden it felt almost like someone unplugged a drain and all my heroes slipped through it. Everyone that made it special for me got pushed out. But you stayed? Well, in 2000 the building went up for sale for a ridiculously low price. Today I would get something the size of this bed for that amount of money I paid. So the other tenants and I pulled together to buy the place. We knew it was a once in a lifetime opportunity, plus I’d already collected all this burlesque signage and there was no way I’d be able to put this puzzle back together anywhere else. So, I decided to bite the bullet. I did everything I could, sold things, ran credit cards to the limit and borrowed. Even Thierry Mugler lent me money to close. I just barely made it. Once it was yours did you renovate? We had to. That’s when we found all the goodies. When we opened the walls they were stuffed with human hair because the top floor used to be a wig factory and when they would sweep the left over hair from the wigs would get trapped in the walls. Eventually it filled up the entire negative space of the whole building. It insulated great but at the same time it was kind of horrifying. And isn’t this place also rumoured to be the notorious Suicide bar? There was some debate about whether it was across the street or here. But when we excavated we found bottles of benzene which they used to make the cocktail so… Can you explain the bar? In the 1870s they served the Suicide cocktail, which was benzene, cocaine and rum, and it was served to prostitutes. One would make you high, and two would kill you. A lot of women would drink two and then jump out the windows… Dark… Let’s talk burlesque. At what point did you start collecting stuff? The first time I visited New York I stayed in Times Square and I was completely blown away. It was at its Koch-era peak of sleazy broken-down-ness. Everything was a hostess house, there was still taxi-dancing, and porno theatres that people lived in. I even saw a topless shoeshine booth. It was the Wild Wild West but in the middle of the city. And it was all based around Burlesque? Yeah, the girls didn’t have pimps. The majority of them weren’t even sex workers. I became fascinated with them. They didn’t sing or have a band but they were like: I’m starring in a show and that show is just ME! That takes such confidence. I have a lot of admiration for those performers because I wouldn’t be able to do it if my life depended on it. Do you remember buying your first piece of memorabilia? Around 1987 I became friends with Paula Klaw. She’s know for beating Betty Page with a hairbrush in all those famous pictures. She and her brother ran the notorious Movie Star News. They made those iconic Klaw movies with Paige, Tempest Storm and Blaze Starr. I started buying photographs from them. Paula saw I was hooked and said, ‘You know I have an actual Tease-o-Rama poster from 1955, do you want that?’ I told her I would kill to have it. She sold it to me for six dollars. Today it’s worth something stupid like $6000. That was my first piece of burlesque memorabilia and I still have it in the other room. How did you jump from that to signage? Giuliani started ‘cleaning up’ Time Square and with the space I have in this apartment I finally had the room to store stuff, so I made friends with all the Greek women that ran all these theatres. I told them, ‘I’m on your side, Giuliani sucks and I think your business is fantastic, so if you are ever in a position where you want all of this excellent stuff to go to a great home where it will always be preserved and eventually end up in a museum, then call me and I’ll pay you good money for it’. One by one they all called and that’s how I got everything. I also would go down to the south side of 42nd street and go to all the construction and… Pull stuff out of the trash? No. I would ask for whoever was supervising the demolition. And it was, you know, a construction guy that would always ask, ‘Why do you want this crap?’ And I’d say, ‘You’re just throwing it out, but I’ll offer you 50 bucks for it’. The next thing you know I had a team of construction scouts that would call me whenever they thought I might like something. I heard your collection has the oldest male strip club sign in New York. I think it’s the oldest in America period. (He points to the sign to right of his bed) That is the first outdoor sign that advertised showing all male films. They used to show Vapors by Andy Milligan at the Eros Theatre. That movie kept people coming to the theatre for fifteen years because a guy takes his towel off and goes off screen and you could see his blurry cock for like three tenths of a second. So, obviously when you put this house together it was about showcasing your collection. It was my therapeutic way of dealing with Giuliani. I thought if he is going to remove this amazing world from our city then I’m gonna make my own Time Square and sleep in the middle of it. Plus, I think it’s sexy. As I get older it may get creepy, but right now I still find it very sexy. I love that you collect both the male and female history of burlesque. It’s post-gay. My gender politics have always been that I like everyone. Gender equality for strippers? Exactly. I have definitely seen just as many of both. I like the exaggeration no matter what sex it is. They never look the same in real life as they do under a pink and blue light with music and costume. It’s a living illusion. Were you recently inducted into the Las Vegas Burlesque Hall of Fame? No, I was honoured with what they call a ‘Sassy Lassy’ award for outstanding contribution to the world of burlesque, and for my work helping the ladies figure out what the original soundtracks to their acts were. Some of them only had a memory of what they used to dance to. A lot of them hadn’t performed in over 30 years. It was a perfect symbiotic relationship, I got an inside track on the true history and they would get their act back together and a new friend. How did they feel about the Museum? Some of them, especially the ones that got married and found God, had guilt about their life in burlesque. The nicest thing about the Burlesque Hall of Fame is that it alleviated their shame and made them realise they were important sexual revolutionaries. Out of all the ladies you worked with who was your favourite? My favourite strippers of all time: Are Zorita, Kitten Natividad, Lilly Christine, Marinka, Liz Renay and Tempest Storm. Thanks to John Waters, Liz Renay and I struck up a friendship long before I started working with the museum. We were close for about fifteen years until she past away in 2007. She was like Debbie Harry and Mae West all at once, and super sexual. Up until she died she scheduled three dates everyday. She told me once that she was truly blessed because she never walked into a room where she wasn’t the most beautiful woman. I’m sure it was true. I met Tempest Storm through the Hall of Fame. That was a big moment for me. She did not disappoint. How old was she when you met? 80. She still looked absolutely unbelievable. She’s a real spitfire too. The ones with the names like Tempest and Satana have intensely strong personalities, and the ones with the softer names like Kitten really are the sweeter ones. They’re like comic book characters. They completely live up to their character’s names. Do they also honour male performers? Not yet. Male burlesque has been going on just as long as female burlesque but being a male stripper is even less socially understood. Not only are you a sex worker but you’re a sex worker based on a female profession. There’s double guilt so the history has been pushed underground. Many of the famous male performers still won’t talk about it. Is that something you try to correct in your own artwork? I have been working on the same series of images forever. I started off wanting to document what Time Square looked like. I didn’t want them to look like Edward Hoppers or nostalgic ‘70s photo-realistic paintings, because the whole thing about Times Square that made it magical for me was the confusion and chaos and the constant overlapping of pop culture. I needed something to inhabit these cityscapes and I decided the only logical occupant would be devil versions of the male strippers that I hire to work my night at The Cock. Obviously. So you combined all your loves? Yeah, that’s what I think art is about. It’s like a potion. You put in all the ingredients that you love in order to get what you want. I shopped the show around for years and got practically laughed out of town. Then, thanks to encouragement from Charles Atlas and Kembra Phafler, Lia Gangitano from Participant offered me the show last spring. It was super fun. I got to do everything I wanted to do. The press release mentioned ‘psychotronia’.What’s that? It’s the more exaggerated version of pop culture. If Marilyn Monroe and Elizabeth Taylor were the norm, then Jayne Mansfield and Liz Renay were psychotronia. It’s this whole attitude of life where everything is completely turned to eleven. The violence is ridiculously violent and the sex is ridiculously ridiculous and all the people that made the movies were incredible hustlers. The most successful psychotronic filmmakers were Russ Meyer and Roger Corman. For me psychotronic movies were actually closer to reality than what Hollywood was doing, trying to imitate reality. I’ve always loved this definition of camp: the lie that tells the truth. That is what psychotronia is. I never heard that definition. I love it… OK, one last topic. Is it true that you were one of Thierry Mugler’s muses? Hmm... Well. He heard about me form a mutual friend. When he approached me he said, ‘You’re the person I’ve been looking for this vampire collection I’m about to do. I heard you study architecture and you’re clearly a vampire’. (Laughs). He liked the way I cut my hair at the time because it was cut to a point and completely flat, when everybody else had their hair moussed as high as they cold get it. My group of friends were all going against that. We had flat hair-dos and were working outfits with unadorned silhouettes, basically black body stockings. He became fascinated with all of us. I was still in school at Princeton and he started sending me sketches of ideas for the vampire collection and invited me to come to Paris and model in the show with Jerry Hall. Wow. A New York City fairy tale! At the time I was a wallflower. I never considered myself good looking at all. He was the first person to say, ‘I love the way you look and that you go to this prestigious school and you’re a swimmer’. All the things I thought were social spurs he thought were super great. When we finally hung out I knew all of his references and he knew everything about everything. I fell completely under his spell. If he wanted to see a certain colour of red, he would take a Concorde to China and go see a parade. In that period he was really, really strong and his fragrance made him incredibly wealthy. From ’88 to ’98, he had his finger on the pulse more than anyone else in fashion. Why was he coming to New York so much? He was bored with the aesthetic repetition of Paris. At that point his entire social life was seated dinners with half men and half women and everyone dressed in Mugler, telling him, ‘Yes, you’re the greatest’. He needed to shake things up and find new inspiration, and he found us. We were all wild kids that lived ‘pedal to the metal’. It was really exciting because he took all of our suggestions seriously and could really make anything happen. He would ask, ‘Who’s really making a wave in pop-culture right now?’ And I’d tell him, ‘Everyone is in love with Traci Lords and Crybaby and the next thing you know, Traci Lords was on the runway. I was about 22 and he was 40. It was funny, we used to take a limousine that was a block long to Boy Bar. For a while, his New York family actually equalled his Paris court. Did he dress in his own clothes? He actually was the caricature of the Mugler man. I always felt that I could be brutally honest with him because I had nothing to lose. He once showed me a couple of the tapes from his shows so I told him, ‘The only thing that’s not incredibly excellent is the music’. At that time, fashion show soundtracks were either disco or classical. Those were our two options. Maybe, jazz if you were really feeling wild… (Laughs). So he said, ‘OK, you want to take the challenge. Here are the different themes for my next show’. So in ‘91 he invited me to Paris and we did a burlesque themed show starring Diana Ross, and everyone thought that it was the most revolting thing that they had ever seen in their entire life. Were you fired? No, it became the beginning of a new era for him. His Vampire and Atlantis collections had both done amazingly well. And by the third time we collaborated he was comfortable with my perspective and let me include all these odd bits of music. Some of my choices then, I would never dare do today. Like when in 1991 when I played Welcome to the Jungle by Guns n’ Roses as the woman that was about to become the First Lady of France walked the run way. At another show I used all this super racist, Chinese music from the ‘50s because the theme was ‘Hong Kong Honky Tonk’. Are you still friends? You said he loaned you money. He’s always been super, super generous with me and he’s just always been the most amazing guy, but unfortunately, when he became Manfred Mugler he started to pull away from most of us. That’s too bad. So now you know nothing about the apartment and everything about me. Perfect. As a nightlife veteran do you have any parting wisdom for the new kids? My advice for living in New York is to keep your overhead low. Also, this city is an endurance test. If you don’t pace yourself you’ll burn out. That elasticity that you have when you’re in your 20s really ends. After that you have to have six drinks instead of 20, and if you’re gonna do drugs, do them once a month. You have to realise your health and your time are extremely important.