#i can't believe so many artists saw a young Black girl and thought

[crumb]

the NO-SKIP albums: a tag game 🎶💖

rules: share the albums that you can listen to nonstop. those lightning in a bottle-albums that scratch ur brain just right. every single track, an absolute banger. u could not skip one if u tried. no notes. stunning, show-stopping, immaculate. ur no-skip albums.

🔎 bonus & optional (but imo, v fun) rules: 1) add a track rec for us to listen to! AND 2) share ur favorite line(s) from that track! 👀

This was so hard!! There are so so so many albums not included but I think 15 albums is enough to where I look crazy but not tooooo crazy (doubtful) and I wanted to make it somewhat varied genre-wise. A lot of these artists have like multiple no-skip albums as well so picking between them was extra difficult—on some I went with the underrated favourite of mine to mix it up. I don't know! It's kinda all over the place. Thank you so much to @ventiswampwater, @visceravalentines, @avrilsboy, & @actualfucking for tagging me!!! 🥹 I think there were a few others who tagged me but then removed my tag, probably because they saw I was tagged by others lol, so thank you to those ppl too!!<333

Tagging: @xoxo-gossipghoul (& anyone else! I think most people have done this at this point? But if you’re reading this and haven’t been tagged yet then this is me tagging you!!! lol) Album List & Track Rec:

🏴 Damaged — Black Flag (1981)

track rec: Police Story

↳ This fucking city / Is run by pigs / They take the rights away / From all the kids

🪑 Songs from The Big Chair — Tears for Fears (1985)

track rec: Mothers Talk

↳ It's not that you're not good enough / It's just that we can make you better / Given that you pay the price / We can keep you young and tender / Following the footsteps of a funeral pyre / You were paid not to listen now your house is on fire

💀 Collection I & II — Misfits (1986/1995)

track rec: Mommy, Can I Go Out and Kill Tonight?

↳ Rip the veins from human necks until they're wet with life / Razor-blades love teenage flesh, an epidermoty / I'll bring back a souvenir, for it's my mommy's dream

🍊 No Doubt — No Doubt (1992)

track rec: Trapped in a Box

↳ Ah trapped in a box my life becomes void / And all of the thought for myself's now destroyed / Controlling my mind, what to eat, what to buy / Subliminal rules: how to live, how to die / Trapped in a box

🌙 Dreaming of You — Selena (1995)

track rec: God’s Child (Baila Conmigo) (Ft. David Byrne)

↳ God makes us dream / But won't set us free / Hey, hey, hey, hey / God calls us dance to songs we can't hear / Hey, hey, hey, hey

🌊 Tidal — Fiona Apple (1996)

track rec: Sullen Girl

↳ And there's too much going on / But it's calm under the waves in the blue of my oblivion / Under the waves in the blue of my oblivion

🦷 The Distillers — The Distillers (2000)

track rec: Red Carpet & Rebellion

↳ The palace dialed in the streets were burning / The red horizon came crashing through the morning / There was no contentment, only bloodshed / Red blood and social discontent / Bruised by puritan, oh, puritan exempt / It's like a peasant uprising

🦋 Greatest Hits — Mariah Carey (2001)

track rec: When You Believe (Mariah Carey & Whitney Houston)

↳ They don't always happen when you ask / And it's easy to give in to your fears / But when you're blinded by your pain / Can't see your way clear through the rain / A small but still, resilient voice / Says hope is very near

😈 Antics — Interpol (2004)

track rec: Not Even Jail

↳ I pretend like no one else to try control myself / I'm subtle like a lion's cage / Such a cautious display / Remember take hold of your time here / Give some meanings to the means / To your end / Not even jail

🌆 The City Sleeps in Flames — Scary Kids Scaring Kids (2005)

track rec: The World as We Know It

↳ A virus known as rage / Is brutal in destroying / And spreading all over the place / Bleeding culture / The dying nation / When the money controls the tide / We won't get another chance this time / We won't get a second chance this time

🎺 Back to Black — Amy Winehouse (2006)

track rec: Some Unholy War

↳ If my man was fightin' some unholy war / I would be behind him / Straight shook up beside him with strength / He didn't know, it's you I'm fightin' for / He can't lose with me in tow (With me in tow) / I refuse to let him go (To let him go) / At his side and drunk on pride / We wait for the blow

🎸 Favourite Worst Nightmare — Arctic Monkeys (2007)

track rec: Teddy Picker

↳ And it's the thousandth time that it's even bolder / Don't be surprised when you get bent over / They told you, but you were gaggin' for it

3️⃣ Three Vol. 1 — Joel Plaskett (2009)

track rec: Gone, Gone, Gone

↳ In the middle of a lonely night / Got caught in the hallway light / For a minute you were gettin' close / I suspect I've seen a ghost / In the middle of a highway dream / You got caught in the headlight beam / Down the road with your tired eyes / Good old boys with your old goodbyes

🫙 Ignore the Ignorant — The Cribs (2009)

track rec: Emasculate Me

↳ Spent all this time chasing happy / But happy is boring to me / So put walls around our misery / And gently emasculate me

🧱 Brutalism — IDLES (2018)

track rec: Exeter

↳ It seems like no-one cares / I think I'll take the stairs / 'Cause nothing ever / He punched himself in the face / To prove he wasn't gay / 'Cause nothing ever happens

[seattlesea]

I can’t believe I even have to say this but here goes- DON’T DRAW BLACK ANNABETH WITH BLONDE HAIR AND GRAY EYES. Leah Sava Jeffries is a Black girl with dark hair and brown eyes. If you’re going to draw Leah as Annabeth, draw her CORRECTLY. I can’t believe this fandom is still so ignorant that they’re still White-washing characters, and now they’re White-washing ACTORS. REAL BLACK ACTORS. If you’re going to draw Black Annabeth, draw her with dark hair and brown eyes, as her actress looks. And I don’t care about ‘interpretations of characters’ or ‘ideas of how a character looks’, you can call it what it is- racism and White-washing.

[gabetheunknown]

With that post talking about same gender attraction being what gay and bi are… i gotta ask… given genders are culture … do you think it is cultural to be gay or bi or straight … or do you think orientation evolved and gender is evolved too? If so does that mean sex stereotypes evolved as real…? Does it mean “homosexuality” in other nonhuman species isn’t actually homosexuality because we are just going off of sex and not gender…? Or is there cultural orientation (gender based) AND innate orientation (sex based) in humans? And then other animals with sexes just have the sex based ones.

my sweet anon, I have searched the earth that is my blog and dash for you, but I can't seem to find the post that you are referring to and I will literally forget about everything I reblog or post as soon as I post it

however, I'm going to do my best to make my stance on this comprehensible for the outside world to read. To put my inside brain thoughts into actual legible words if you will, even though I don't think I can fully answer your question

alright prepare for a ramble *cracks knuckles*

now I don't have a lot of experience with cultural differences other than religious differences because I come from a christian conservative environment in rural Netherlands and all I can say about those *ssholes is everyone fully expects anyone to be cishet. you get born cishet, and you stay cishet till you die otherwise you go to hell. I'd say this is a huge (toxic if I may say so) heteronormative cult(ure).

that said, no matter how much my entire family bullied me into being cishet, I'm neither cis, nor het. Despite the bubble they wanted me to stay in, I still met other people, mostly online at the time. and that brings me to the following; I had non hetero thoughts for the first time when I was 11, but did not fully understand till I was 16 because I met other people. I met bisexual and gay people and something just finally clicked.

I am 27 now, and finally figuring out that I am nonbinary and actually way more masculine than I made myself believe throughout my life. I was a makeup artist for fucks sake. And the reason that I am only figuring this out now is because my family is strictly anti trans and I'm currently in a safe environment for the first time in my 27 year old life. I had my first encounter with a crossdresser/transgender woman (I don't remember fully because I was young and didn't understand) when I was 15. It was a unique experience because no people other than cishets ever visited our little village (or townspeople would shoo them out with torches and pitchforks)

People in my hometown weren't exactly encouraged to figure out their personal sexuality or gender identity and I'm afraid this is the case in many many manyyyyy places.

I'm sorry if you expected more out of this, but the only culture I've ever had to deal with is christian conservative and I only really started to get to know myself once I stepped out of that and stepped directly into LGBTQIA culture. I worked as a bartender at a gay bar in the city where I live these days, interacted with drag queens that later became my friends, met men with their own makeup brands, then suddenly a transgender man sat on my terrace when I was working, then I saw Jim in Our Flag Means Death, and Viktor in The Umbrella Academy and it all helped me figure out this repressed feeling in myself. Then I nervously dropped the non binary bomb with my cis boyfriend and his cis mom and they were just like "okay! good! beautiful! you're yourself and whatever that means for you, the most important thing is that you feel happy" and I'm only now realizing that I wore men's jeans as a kid, always played with toy cars, and was way more interested in "boy culture" than I was in "girl culture" if I might say it so black and white because that's how I saw it back in the day.

in the end, I think it's a feeling from within with every individual and the culture you're born in can either help you figure yourself out and love yourself sooner, or help you destruct that part of yourself and develop a deeply rooted self hate for whatever part of yourself that you're trying to repress to receive the bare minimum of affection from those who should actually love you unconditionally.

Who you are and who you feel attracted to, sexually, romantically, or as a friend (I expect anyone to find a type of person more appealing to hang out with than others)

I think the animal kingdom has figured out a lot more stuff about this than we have. I really believe animals don't fucking care who they're with? it's humans that make a huge issue out of sexuality and gender, not animals. It is the humans that go "oh my god those two animals have the same gender ajdkshdlfhal" but they'll still do it. whether we hate those animals now or not.

I do think both gender and sexuality, romantic feelings, or other kinds of attraction to other people, have evolved in a way! Like everything else around us has evolved. my boyfriend always picks a wrecking ball metaphor. if you hold the ball in one position, left or right, it will stay there, then you drop it, and it immediately falls all the way to the opposite direction, then back, and forth and it takes a while until it settles in the middle. We've seen a MILLION types of sexuality and gender identities over the years, I remember seeing LISTS of identities in 2012 and I didn't understand a single one of them, until I learned that gender, and sexuality, and the lack of it, are a spectrum. I believe we're slowly settling in the middle. You actually can't really label any identity in my honest opinion. Of course we do label them and some people strictly fall in that label but like I said before, I first identified as bisexual and later found out I'm actually pansexual, now I don't know which of these two is more true, because it's a spectrum. Truth be told I've always been in relationships with cisgender men. So who knows, and honestly who cares?

Again I'm sorry if this didn't fully answer your question, I might not have understood the question the way you intended it to ask but I'm very open to these kinds of discussions so my inbox is open for more of this!

[etlunainmorte]

Very brief mention of abuse and bullying. Read with caution. Thank you!

***

📷 Memories 📷

***

"I'll be home soon, Kyrie. I promise. Okay." Nero placed his cellphone back to his pocket just in time to see Nico's mysterious black - haired friend glancing at something outside the window of the trailer.

"See something you like?" The young Devil Hunter asked, his eyebrows knitted in confusion at the way the man stared.

"She has been at it for almost an hour and a half,..." The man answered with a low voice.

"I told ya, don't mind what she does." Nico, who was fixing the broken camera at the back of the trailer where her messy workplace was situated, answered almost harshly. She gave a quick look at her friend, saw him still staring outside the window, and rolled her eyes in defeat. Then, with a slightly irritated look at Nero, she added, "See? He just won't listen!"

"What are you looking at, anyway?" Curious, Nero finally gave a glance outside the window to see what the man was staring at. And lo and behold, he saw Mary sitting at one of the old benches outside not far from where the trailer was parked, doing something really,... unusual. "Oh, this is something new. What's she doing?"

"I saw her taking out a sketchbook from that bag of hers. And she started,... scribbling." The man answered.

"Huh. Really?" Nero scoffed and collapsed at the chair opposite V. "Well, that's something new. At least she's doing something really productive for a change."

"Meaning?" It was V's turn to ask a question.

Ever since he arrived at the location, V couldn't help but feel that there really was something very odd about what was happening. At first, he thought that Nico was only exaggerating things to make him come out of hiding, hysterically saying stuff like Demons appeared here and there, did this and that, and that she needs his knowledge to get to the bottom of this. Now, years of extensive studies on Demonology has taught V that the evil creatures would not appear and wreak havoc on the surface unless they are ordered to do so by a higher, sort of high - ranking, Demon. Or if they are seeking something of utmost value. Regardless, when V arrived, he proved Nico's words to be the truth. Demons did appear here and there and did this and that.

However, he can't say that his knowledge about Demonology is enough to solve this mind - boggling issue about these creatures appearing out of nowhere.

And Mary's odd behavior, and most probably his guilt of wrecking the damn camera, didn't help with the situation, at all.

"You see," Nero began. " ... Mary was - "

"Hey,... " Nico interrupted all of a sudden. The two men both looked at her and saw her pointing at something right outside the window next to her. " ... that's Morrison!"

Morrison? Thought V as the Artisan went out to greet the new visitor,...

***

It's unmistakable. Marsha heard the girl crying. And she has never even heard or seen the child do so.

The tall and perfectly poised woman abandoned her knitting and sped towards the living room to see her niece trying to patch up what looked like wounds on her palms with bandages.

And not just any wound,...

"Mary?!" Marsha called. The little girl almost jumped in fear as she heard her name being called and tried to hide her hands behind her back.

And this only made Marsha even more suspicious.

The woman sighed, strode closer towards the girl, bent down and grabbed her niece's arms. "You don't hide things from me, young lady!"

"But, Marsha, it's nothing!" The girl hopelessly argued, for she knew she was losing. Marsha finds out about everything, and that was a fact.

But, the older lady was having none of Mary's arguments. Marsha pulled her niece's arms from behind her back, held out her little hands, and saw, in utter fright and disgust, the lashes and blood painting the girl's little palms.

And the sight infuriated Marsha to the bone.

The next morning, Mary found Marsha knitting again on her little space in the huge library.

"I'm going to school." Mary announced with a loud voice over the Doris Day song that was being played on a vintage record atop one of the antique tables next to the shelves to her left. It was Marsha's favorite song.

And to what Mary just said, the older lady looked up from her handiwork and only raised an eyebrow. Raising her wire - rimmed glasses above her pointed nose, she said, "Oh, you're not going to school today, young lady."

Mary furrowed her eyebrows in disbelief. "Why?"

"Because, I said so!" The woman answered, her facial expression as stoic as ever. "Now, do come here and keep me company."

The little girl, although doubtful of Marsha's decision to not drive her to school that one particular morning, obeyed, putting her bag on the floor next to the iron table and sat across her aunt. 

Looking at the many colorful yarns and several unfinished projects on the table, Mary asked, "How about tomorrow?"

"No." Marsha answered, her eyes never leaving her craft. Her answer remained the same for a week that Mary finally took up the courage to pick up one of the green yarns and a pair of darning needles from Marsha's knitting kit.

And this did not go unnoticed by Marsha, herself. Looking at Mary's freshly bandaged hands, and the needles she's holding, she nodded, and said, "Very well. I could teach you if you want. ONLY if you want."

Mary gave a sheepish smile and placed the yarn and the needles back to the basket before her. She, then, took out her sketchbook and some coloring materials from her bag and went on to finish that Venus art she's been working on for a week since Marsha forbade her to come to school.

It was not until another week when Mary finally found out that Marsha tried to press charges to the school and that awful teacher who gave her those wounds. Getting little to no justice after what happened, Marsha gave up and, instead, had Mary enrolled to a different school that was very far from that accursed place full of bullies, not to mention that devil Burns ( who only received penalties so light it's ridiculous, considering what he's done ) still on the loose and freely roaming about that campus.

It was also during that time when Mary almost memorized all of Doris Day's songs about love and heartbreak, and how not to question Marsha's decisions ever again.

***

" ... please, call me, Mary. I'm so worried about you - "

With furrowed eyebrows, Mary ended the voicemail from her aunt and made her way back to the trailer where she found, yet, another visitor sitting on a chair across that tall, black - haired man who stepped on Nico's camera.

Stuffing her cellphone back to her pocket, she saw the new visitor standing up and offering his hand to her.

"I'm Morrison." The man graciously introduced himself as he shook Mary's hands. "And you must be Mary Suermann! New accomplice of Nico?"

"Ah, yes, you might say that." Mary answered quietly as she took her hand from his, trying to ignore the fact that she could feel someone staring at her from behind her back. She carefully turned around without having to face V and stood next to the door, seeing that her companions were discussing something.

"So, let me get this straight," Morrison began as he settled back to his chair. " ... strange Demons began appearing randomly in some specific locations in this city? And not just any Demon, you say?"

"Yeah." Nero, who was sitting on the sofa next to V, answered. "Ahh, V, what did you say that Demon's name was, again?"

"Niddhogg." V answered, his low voice sending shivers down Mary's spine. She would never, ever, forget that voice, no. "But it wasn't particularly a Demon. It was a parasite that lives in an evil tree called the Qliphoth, which thrives on Human blood."

"And this Qliphoth tree," Morrison spoke. " ... are there any of those growing around here?"

"If there is,... then this city could very well be done for." V answered, successfully drawing all eyes on him in curiosity. "You see, this,... demonic tree,... grows quite,... let's just say,... rapidly. But, never mind that. The point is: there should be no Niddhogg if there is no,... Qliphoth,... to begin with."

"Niddhogg,... " Morrison mused as he rubbed his stubble. "I'm not gonna lie with you but, that is the first time I've heard of that thing. I don't even know what that looks like - "

"Exactly why Mary had to take pictures of it!" Nico added, emphasizing on the name like she was some kind of a criminal who committed such atrocious deeds. "Isn't that right, huh Mary?"

With a deep sigh, she took out her sketchbook from her bag, opened it, and handed it to Morrison, who gazed at it with such unmasked awe.

Not that the Demon illustrated in it was such a looker, no.

"Magnificent!" Morrison exclaimed. "Are you the one who drew this, Mary?"

With a little sheepish smile, she nodded, and answered, "Yeah."

Morrison looked up from the sketchbook, held it up for the others to see, and asked, "Is this the one?"

And to this, V's eyes widened for a fraction of a second. It truly was an exact and very detailed drawing of the demonic parasite Niddhogg.

Who knew this girl had some kind of a hidden talent?

"Indeed." V answered, a bit of admiration getting past his monotonous voice, which Mary didn't miss.

Nico, who was leaning against her jukebox, took the sketchbook from Morrison's hands and stared at it with widened eyes full of wonder and disbelief. This made Mary smile a bit, and V, who was observing this entire scene, didn't miss the little gesture.

"Whoa. Ya really are an artist!" Nico exclaimed.

"Why?" Nero butted in. "Don't believe her?"

Even before Nico could fire up her own response, Morrison cleared his throat and said, "I want to take a picture of that illustration, if I may. I would show it to my associate in the Devil Hunting business and see if he could crack any sort of thing, anything, regarding this demonic parasite."

Seeing that Morrison's statement was directed at her, Mary nodded, giving her full consent. And as the man began taking photos of her Niddhogg art with his cellphone, Nero asked, "Where were you going, anyway?"

"To the office of the said associate in the Devil Hunting business."

"You mean, Dante?"

"Right you are." Morrison handed the sketchbook back to Mary and placed his cellphone back to his breast pocket. "I have some things to discuss with him. About a man who was found dead in his own house just this morning."

"What happened?" It was V's turn to ask a question.

"Reports say he died of cardiac arrest. Not that big of a deal, to be perfectly honest. Except that this man was linked to the disappearance of a few children in the last decade. There are no sufficient evidence to prove his crimes but, investigations are underway after they found some curious things in his home right after his body was taken."

"And those are?" V pried even further, and it was honestly making Mary a bit nervous.

"Some trinkets and clothes that belong to children. Apparently, they were hidden in a small compartment just behind his fridge. The authorities found the man's body, and some emptied bottles of water, right next to it."

"Maybe they belonged to his kids, or something?" Nero tried to explain.

"Yes, except that this man had no children, or relatives living close by. And the only people he knew were his colleagues in a school he was teaching at. Now, don't you worry about this thing. You have your own problems to deal with. But, just to be sure that my hunches are wrong, I will speak to Dante regarding this - "

"This man," All eyes, including V's, all turned to see Mary looking wide - eyed and horrified as she stood near the door. " ... who was he?"

"His name," Morrison began as he stood up and gathered his things on the table. " ... was Roger Burns. He was a teacher at - "

"I know." Mary heard Nico's little gasp at what she just revealed. "He was my teacher."

"Oh!" Morrison exclaimed and put a hand on Mary's shoulder. "I'm so sorry for the loss of your teacher - "

"Actually, I'm not in the least bit sorry. In fact, he - "

"He?" Morrison and the others waited as Mary held out her hands to show them something. But, then, something made her stop as she somewhat stared in disbelief at her own hands.

V, who stood just in time to see what Mary was looking at, saw nothing but her smooth - looking palms.

"Girl, what are you trying to say?" Nico, who was getting a bit impatient, questioned.

Mary looked up, smiled, and brought her hands down. "Nothing! Just,... nothing."

"Alright, then! I'll take my leave. I'll see you around." Morrison, who pretended to not be weirded out by what just happened, tipped his hat and finally left the trailer with more questions than answers.

"Are you alright?" Nero, who placed a hand on Mary's shoulder, kindly asked.

With a smile, she answered, "Never better."

However, V knew that was a lie. Mary was hiding something from them. It was very clear to him. But, what was it?

And why should Mary open up to them in the first place? They wouldn't believe her if she told them that the scar caused by her now dead teacher was all but mysteriously gone!

***

📷📷📷

***

[diamondlovestoshine]

Mini Research Paper

Colored People Grid Portfolio by Carrie Mae Weems

Carrie Mae Weems Number 9 (1989-1990)

Carrie Mae Weems Number 10 (1989-1990)

Mini Research Paper

From Here I Saw What Happened and I Cried Portfolio by Carrie Mae Weems

Carrie Mae Weems Number 13 (1995–1996)

Carrie Mae Weems Number 22 (1995–1996)

Carrie Mae Weems was born in 1953 in Portland Oregon, Carrie later became an American photographer in 1978. She is known for creating installations that combine photography, audio, and text to examine many contemporary American life facets. She worked in a variety of media and expanded her practice to include community outreach. Weems was influenced by earlier African American photographers who documented the Black experience; as her work developed, Weems became more explicitly political, continuing to explore themes of racism and the African American experience. The following are two bodies of work that spoke to me on a divergent level-From Here I Saw What Happened and I Cried (1995–1996) and Colored People Grid (1989–1990).

From Here I Saw What Happened and I Cried, and Colored People Grid are both two amazing bodies of work. Both of these pieces of work are very similar but different in numerous ways. These two pieces of artwork represent African American people and their struggle throughout the years but yet want the audience to capture their beauty and grace at the same time. Both Bodies of work are very vibrant with color, and the message behind them being the focus of African American people's hardship and emotion. However, some of the techniques Weem's used for From Here I Saw What Happened and I Cried and Colored People Grid are slightly different. Carrie's technique for Colored People Grid was the advantage of the reflection of the sun off the model's skin, which created a glow in their face in some of the pictures; she also incorporated using shadows and blur images. On the other hand, From Here I Saw What Happened and I Cried, she uses words in her pictures to give a bit more understanding, and all of the images are red printed in circular mattes. Both of these pieces of work are outstanding and make me feel connected to my ancestors, and it makes me feel heard being an African American Woman in our society today.

The first Body of work created by Carrie Mae Weems that captured my interest was From Here I Saw What Happened and I Cried, published in (1995–1996). These photos display the catastrophic times of slavery in the South in the 19th and 20th centuries; Joseph T. Zealy took them in 1850 to support the racist theories about the inferiority of Black People; thus, Weem's elevated them into something more profounding. The choice of color with the words had such a deeper meaning to what they appear; Weems stated, "I'm trying to heighten a kind of critical awareness around how these photographs were intended." Weem hopes her strategy "gives the subject another level of humanity and another level of dignity that was originally missing in the photograph." Looking at these photographs, Weem's wanted us to see how "White American's" relationship to Black people were, as she states, "we're looking at the ways in which Anglo America—white America—saw itself in relationship to the Black subject." Weem's choice of adding text to the picture was a way to shine the light on the historical injustices that African Americans faced. She wanted to "give a voice to a subject that historically had no voice." I loved this Body of work; the choice of red adds a feeling of pain and anger, how the pictures are framed in circular mattes to suggest a camera lens. I thought it was brilliant to turn these photographs that seem so similar but tell different stories around. I also loved how the Body of work was constructed as a timeline making the women who says, "from here I saw what happened," looking at all the events, and at the end, she was there and said, "and I cried," I thought that was a brilliant concept.

The Second Body of work that I found scintillating was Colored People Grid, published in (1989-1990). She composed tinted portraits of African American youths in their everyday lives as a means of parodying the simplistic construct of implementing a color term to any human being, no one of whom is white or black. Weems photographed her models at a range of ages, as she describes, "when issues of race really begin to affect you, at the point of an innocence beginning to be disrupted." Uses of the term colored to describe people go back to the 19th century. Weem's explored these terms by adding labels to each group of images, such as "Blue Black Boy" and "Golden Yella Girl." The Colored People Grid series Probe's the beauty found in the range of skin colors enclosed within the term black while also critiquing the hierarchy of social values assigned to skin tones within the African American community itself. I admire The beautiful overlapping tones of yellow, burnt orange, magenta, brown, blue, and purple. The brightness and shadows of the pictures add to the simplicity and beauty of the raw emotions that these youth kids are portraying.

One particular photograph from From Here I Saw What Happened and I Cried, that I thought touched me the most was the 13th PicturePicture which stated, "BLACK AND TANNED YOUR WHIPPED WIND OF CHANGE HOWLED LOW BLOWING ITSELF - HA - SMACK INTO THE MIDDLE OF ELLINGTON'S ORCHESTRA BILLIE HEARD IT TOO & CRIED STRANGE FRUIT TEARS," This picture makes me feel devastated for what African Americans had to go through, and the text in the picture has such a deep meaning of the abuse that Black people went through, having their brethren cry for the suffering that they endured is mournful, and the way the red makes the scars on his back pop out makes me even feel more upset because it's in the center giving me no choice but to pay attention to it. Another Photograph that stood out to me was number 22 that states, "YOU BECAME THE JOKER'S JOKE," with 3 African American Women sitting down in front of white people, and their lips were stretched out. This photograph makes me feel enraged as to how a human being with morals and a functional conscience forces another human being, regardless of skin color, to cause such uncomfort and pain. Even though this photo makes me irritable, I like it because it shows society how African Americans were treated with such cruel and unjust actions. I believe Weem wanted to dig into people's feelings and get them to understand the pain and unjust history that Black people went through and still go through.

The 9th and 10th pictures of Colored People Grid struck me with the reality of this is precisely what young Black kids feel every day. The 9th photograph shows a young girl who is sitting down outside her doorstep. The color and the shadows used in this picture give me a sense of sadness, and I couldn't help think of what the little girl was thinking about. When I look at this picture, it makes me think about all the little girls who have lost their fathers due to Police brutality. Kids should just be kids and not have to worry about being stereotyped because of their skin. However, they can't due to the ongoing hate in society, which I think Weem's was trying to reveal. The 10th picture captures a young Black boy who looks frightened, which makes me feel that he is frightened because he fears being targeted. I love how the color of the brown and the glimpse of the light help capture his emotions. This picture says a thousand words just by looking at it and knowing what society is like today.

Carrie Mae Weem is one of the most magnificent photographers that I have come across personally. Her work is splendid, showcasing the beauty, pain, and story of African American people and turning it into her own. "Her work speaks to human experience and of the multiple aspects of individual identity, arriving at a deeper understanding of humanity." Mary Jane Jacobs, "Ritual and Revolution" Weem's is a highly spoken of artist, and I genuinely wish to see more beautiful pieces by her if she wishes to continue photographing.

Work Cited

bodninson, sara. “MoMA Learning.” MoMA, 2010, www.moma.org/learn/moma_learning/carrie-mae-weems-from-here-i-saw-what-happened-and-i-cried-1995/.

Weems, Carrie Mae. “Carrie Mae Weems. From Here I Saw What Happened and I Cried. 1995-96: MoMA.” The Museum of Modern Art, 2020, www.moma.org/collection/works/45579.

Designed and developed by Lisa Goodlin Design, carrie. “Carrie Mae Weems.” Carrie Mae Weems : Colored People, 1989-1990, 2020, carriemaeweems.net/galleries/colored-people.html.

[ilovedhim-whydidyouhadtokillhim]

I did this... It's an embarrasing number5xreader

Title: That's bullshit in any Language.

(I don't mean to be rude. It's a line Five says to the handler. Ill put un this post part 1 and 2.)

So. This is Five living his life with the Sparrow Academy, and you are an editor that wants to publish his story. It's a few years After you came back to 2019... And it might have some of my ideas on time travel and the comission. Nothing canon or comic canon because i haven't had time to read it yet. Sorry for the grammar.

Chapter 1:

There are plenty of your reasons that I don't understand. Why did you come back? Was it really because of your family or was saving the world that matters? Did you came back just to help them? or because you love them?.-

Those words hit the brain of your interlocutor like a gold lingot adorned with a lemon peel. Effect only achieved by the Pan Galactic Gargle Blaster, which was very far from this part of the universe.

-What do you mean by that?-. He replied annoyed, you were sitting next to a window, in front of you there was a young adult. You were wearing a white blouse and ankle-length skirt. -Well, if you have powers that go beyond reason, and you are capable of leasing with the physical laws that bind everyone else, shouldn't you understand that these are simply events that had to happen in a certain order so that your brothers and everyone else should simply disappear? .-

-What?- He said sissing, with a very pissed off look. You had spent the afternoon listening to his fantastic story. As an assistant to the chef editor at a science fiction publishing house, you thought the young man was trying to sell you his story. Mostly because of the effort he made to make it seem real, he probably wanted to give it a transmedia approach. You thought that perhaps it could work, uploading an internet page, a video game for smartphones and several Facebook pages would sell well too, you saw the future and it was probably easily adapted to the cinema or to a series, you even thought about the fanfiction. If you hadn't detected so many narrative problems… Which on the other hand gave realism to these misfits.

The expression on Five, the pseudonym under which he introduced himself, made it clear that he couldn't believe what he was hearing. But that's how new artists are, they live in their stories, their delirium. And it's understandable. You began talking again. -What Mr. Reginald told Diego, seems to me, it's true for everyone. But at least he's honest about it. In all their actions, these guys are all marked by their father, it’s really their main drive to act.-

You felt a slight guilt, someone so fanatical about their own creation had to put a lot of himself into it, so probably Diego, Klaus, Vanya and all of the others were just a human personification of a hurt part of his adolescence. -Excuse me for telling you this but even with fifty-something years you went to your father for advice. A man who was not older than you in his timeline. Even in the middle of all that conspiracy. You chose to believe in him. -

The young man seemed somewhat nervous, he was sweating a bit and his eyebrows were narrowing in a strange way. -Are you from the association?- he said sweating - Is this a new kind of psychological attack?-. These clarifications gave you a bad feeling, but you decided to joke: -Do you see me with a briefcase?-. It didn't seem to work as you liked. His face showed a terrible aversion and you felt fear. You took your things and left enough money to pay for your coffees, on the table.

-I think it is an excellent work of fiction, Mr. Five. But I think you should solve your problems and calm down a bit before you want to publish it. I don't know what had happened to you to come up with all this but it seems to me that with a good medication and a correct edition you could go far. You are still young and you could even have a great future as an author. But I can't work with someone in your current state.- You took your card out of the bag and gave it to him somewhat shakily. His face changed from rage to disbelief and you left a bit angry and scared.

He scrutinized the white card, it was made with a fancy paper. It had “Dark Horse Books" printed in black. -In my dimension these are "comics" instead of books - he smiled. He hit his head on the table "> your last name <,> your first name <",> phone number <,> office address <.

He realizedrealizado were just a smart girl. -She's probably right. Maybe in all this time I have just lived as a scared child under the table of a man who is not even my father, but the one from Sparrow Academy. After all, even the idiot Luther decided to make his life of his own in this world ...-.

Five called Diego. -Hello brother, another Apocalypse? - Five heard a tone that wanted to be playful but actually sounded concerned. -None, I just want to chat. Are you available for dinner? .-. Five had started college not long ago. Mr. Hargreeves had gotten the adoption papers of Five just as he would have been one of the boys he previously adopted. So everyone was amazed when that young man who looked about 20 "was actually 34".

When you were at home doing office work, you were surprised to know that your appointment for that day had been canceled and that you had stayed all afternoon listening to a poor schizophrenic or drug addict speak.

Chapter 2:

The uneasiness of the meeting with the boy passed and a few weeks later you had time in your schedule for a new interview with the young man who was supposed to arrive on that occasion. You have had coffee and the middle-aged man left.

Nothing out of the ordinary. More stories about zombies and society, it would be edited because it was an acquaintance of the manager. You were beginning to rethink working with that strange young man and his story. You remembered that sometime in your teens you heard about some babies that were born a without their mothers having been pregnant. And a kind of low-profile superhero league that most people took as a hoax to divert attention from things like Watergate, the White House affair among other things.

Probably if the boy was right you were looking at an excellent informant. And it could be an amazingly revealing book ... Especially with all the mythology surrounding JFK. You turned to the window and the young man was watching you from the other block. That again, gave you the chills. You saw him cross the street. It was fortunate that your cup did not have more than the sip you took or you would have spilled it all over yourself.

The young man sat in front of you, the husband of the owner of the cafeteria asked the young man what he wanted. The boy looked stunned. "HAZEL?" The man looked at him for a moment, because that was his ñame but the man was no acquaintance of him. "Excuse me young man, I don't remember meeting you." The boy laughed. -Don't worry, you reminded me of a friend, but it can't be you. It's good to see you anyways.- The man served their coffee somewhat puzzled and walked to talk to his wife, the woman turned her head the table and denied knowing him. Ultimately, neither of them knew who the young man was. This definitely raised several questions but you didn't know which ones. Mostly mportant, what would the young man talk about now?.

You were silent for a while. Five had his hands in his pockets. And you kept looking at the street. You saw how the steam from the coffee made waves above the cup. Again you wear a shirt and skirt. This time a white one with polka dots. Nothing that you could know of but the boy had been a bundle of confusion the last few days. He was not very enthusiast about human company, but he decided to separate from all his previous life experiences and for this he began studying economics. So meeting you at that moment in those clothes made him really dubious about why he was talking to you. Was he really addicted to the apocalypse as you and Diego said?.

Tired of the silence, you asked him a question that seemed uncomfortable for both of you. -The previous time, you only told me your nickname, Mr. Hmmm.- The man looked at you with surprise and smiled at you. -Francis... Reginald, Hargreeves.- you raised your eyebrows. Behind all that delirium, the young man did not look like a Reginald, although on a second thought he dressed like an upper-class young man. He was probably one of those rich young men whose excessive education, gets them a little upset with the world before they should be done with it. -You can call me Frank ... or Five. My siblings, they usually call me Five. So as not to be confused with my father. - The young man seemed somewhat annoyed.

-Oh, it's okay Frank. -, -What do you think of the proposal? . Despite the trust that the young man had placed in you, there was something that prevented you from treating him as a young man of his age. He obviously was not over 23. You didn't know if it was his story, where he is over 60 years old, if it was perhaps his possible mental illness or the aura of presumption that accompanied him.

-Ohhh. I discussed some of that with some of my siblings. They do not agree.- You imagined him sitting at an empty table like the last supper. Except he was just talking to himself. -I see you still don't believe me.-, the young man took out his phone and showed you a picture of him with his family. You could see a huge man, a condecorated policeman, a renowned violinist, an underground model who had worked for several covers with your publishing house, an actress who had just won an Oscar and the little brother. Now that you saw him next to all his family, his story was starting to make a little more sense. Besides, they were all obviously different. Now you thought that the young man could not be more than 21 ... And that it must be difficult to be good by the side of those successful siblings.

The young man seemed to guess your thoughts or maybe it was the pious look you gave him. -Whatever you are thinking, is not the case. I just study for fun. I actually work in a government agency. And believe it or not, for a couple of years I have been in therapy for the post traumatic stress that living so many years alone caused me. Stranded at the end of the world Dolores!-. The young man clapped his mouth quickly, that seemed to hurt. He turned completely red. You didn't know if it was because of the hit or if he had said something embarrassing. While he was telling you his story, his subconscious was quite careful to hide all the details from you about his wife, named Dolores.

And that was. Curiously, the point that he had discussed earlier days with his psychologist, apparently he had not understood (or had not wanted to understand) that the talk he had with you reminded him of his Wife. Only this time, it was really a person outside of himself who answered him with such sharpness and intelligence. And he wasn't going to accept it.

Not knowing all that internal debate, you took another sip of the coffee. "My name is in case you are interested." You said upset. He lowered his hands from his face, it was completely red. -Yes, I know , I just remembered someone while talking to you. - There was no going back after that statement. "Thank you for taking an interest in my story and for listening to a complete stranger say nonsensical things." He now seemed like a completely different person. This boy's range of emotions is a carnival.

-Don't worry, it's part of my job. To tell the truth, I confused you with a young writer and I was quite tough because he is a recommended person to whom we must publish.-. You smiled at him. Apparently the young man liked your comment. -Wow, I must be flattered then.-, -Pretty much actually. We are a very famous publisher present all over the world.-, -And timelines ... it's a joke.-. The young man said when he saw your expression. -For such and such a reason. I look very young. But I think there is something that is not clear to you ... I am also 34. I am not really a young person.- Five had decided to start living according to the age of his brothers. Since he had that opportunity.

You had a pleasant talk, and exchanged phones with the young man. Since the one he had was your work phone number. Probably something good had come out of this confusion. It had gotten quite late, and you had to be on the other side of the city. To finish a part of the work you needed to get up early the next day, a taxi would cost you a lot. The young man saw your concern. -I can take you home, if you want,-. He said with a mischievous smile. You didn't know what he was planning. But you accepted, and walked with him to a parking lot, while you were walking, he asked your address and places near your house, -Oh! I understand, near <>> and that <<< >>>, of course I do know what building you are talking about.- He said while rubbing his chin and doing some imaginary calculations in the air. Being quite far from people, he asked you to take him tightly by the arm. You took it and suddenly you felt something pull you back. You closed your eyes. Next, you were in front of your building.

"What had just happened?" You saw him up, he was a little taller than you and he had a mocking laugh. -I'm sorry that teleportation is not a gift that everyone has. But at least you already tried, right? -. You felt how your intestines took their place again and you got a bit nauseous. You ran to some nearby bushes but you were lucky that you weren't as sick as you thought. You wiped yourself with your sleeve. And you thanked him a bit puzzled. You saw him inquisitively. You had so many questions, but none seemed prudent to be the first. He laughed. He actually seemed like he was quite nice and smart when he wasn't an arrogant know-it-all. If all the things he said to you were true, then he probably did know a lot more than your average citizen.

He accompanied you to your door, said goodbye to you with a kiss on the cheek. He disappeared in front of you with a beam of blue light. Now you had an existential crisis knowing that the world had already ended twice in a past and a future that were actually the past of the present that you lived. And that was nothing at all digestible. After seven years working without missing a single day due to illness, you decided to take a week of unforeseen rest.

I had this posted here too: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26520721/chapters/64640455#workskin