#if I put as much energy into my job applications as i put into dumb edits nobody cares about

[moonsinkfoxgirl]

[linesonpages]

“I didn’t even know it was bothering me until it was gone”

This happens to me all the time. I’ve been trying to learn the same lesson, from a different source but very similar. I often find myself getting anxious and defensive/explosively reactive and can’t identify the source of my overstimulation/discomfort, eventually that source is removed and I can finally regulate.

I want to be able to identify the sources while they’re happening so I can eliminate them sooner, but in the moment my brain freezes and my executives can’t function.

So I started a note in my phone to write down the triggers after it gets fixed and I identified it. When I have time and energy I write the trigger out as a question I can ask myself, and an explanation I can give myself as to why changing that thing might help. If applicable I also write out the tools I can use with my kids when my sensory needs conflict with theirs. I write it conversationally so I can read it aloud to myself and just follow my instructions, if it’s just bullet points I can’t always connect the information to the moment, or remember what those four words were supposed to make me think of doing.

I always like it when people share their lists on advice posts like this, so here’s mine in case it helps as a starting point:

Things to check when it’s all a bit too much:

Are any of the blinds up? You feel trapped and unsafe if all the blinds are closed and the house is too dark. Try opening a couple (even if the weather is bad)

Have you been outside today? You also feel trapped if you are in the same place for a whole day. Step out on the porch for at least 2 minutes even if the weather is miserable you ALWAYS feel better.

Have you consumed any calories in the last 2 hours? You are a grazer and a lil’ treat queen. Your brain probably needs a little glucose, if the kids are also tense give them something carb based too. This physically helps you and it often gets your attention off the stressor so you can try to find it.

Are the big lights on after 6pm? That’s unacceptable, you own lamps for a reason. You don’t need this much light all the time. Turn them off. If the kids are feeling stressed by the dark give them their lanterns, you bought them for this moment specifically. They need more light than you, so give them the dumb lanterns batteries are not as expensive as you think.

Are you cold? Are you hot? Change your clothes or get a blanket. Put socks on or off. It sounds stupid but inverting your sock situation tends to help.

Have you drank anything recently? Get a beverage of extreme temperature. It’ll give you some glucose for your brain and give body a job to do and a temperature change to monitor so she stops freaking out so much.

Are you sticky or wet? Are there crumbs on the floor and by extension your feet? Fix that and it’ll change your life. You abhor these things.

How many sounds are currently being produced? You often try to put on a podcast because you’re bored but if the kids have the tv on and your podcast is on it’s usually too much for you. If there’s multiple musics being produced you’re toast. Either give up on the podcast for now or get your good headphones, don’t forget to tell Tali she needs to come and touch your arm if she needs you while you’re wearing them.

I’m adding more each time I find one and it’s really helpful. My daughter has even started learning some things and offering to change them when she notices I’m getting stressed. Especially big lights after dinner time, I think that one helps her too. I gave my husband the list too, but he prefers bullet points over the long version.

It’s really hard to relearn and parent ourselves. But it is possible if we keep at it and give ourselves grace and compassion to grow slowly. We were supposed to learn this stuff over the course of 18ish years with our parents coaching and collaborating with us. So it’s going to take a long time for us to teach ourselves.

I think something a lot of other people can relate to is the way that you get so conditioned to discomfort that you stop registering it.

I remember sitting at the table with my family, eating dinner as a child. I’d try to eat, because of course I was hungry. But sometimes the flavor or texture was so repugnant that it moved into a category of Not Food.

“Two more bites before you can leave the table.”

“I can’t,” I’d say, trying to explain the impossibility.

But because I was a child they heard, “I won’t,” and made me sit at the table. I’d sit in dull agonized silence, bored and hungry for hours until bedtime when they’d give up. I’d hate myself for not eating and my parents for forcing me to sit there. The few forcefeeding moments ended in vomit.

They’d say, “If you don’t eat this you can’t eat a snack later,” and I moved past trying to communicate my discomfort into accepting that I’d just be hungry.

That state of affairs didn’t last, because my parents realized nothing could force me to eat so they catered to my palate, worrying they’d starve me. But the message stuck. If you can’t do anything about a situation, just accept the suffering.

A few years later my mother called me off the playground to ask, “Are you limping?”

I shrugged. My feet had hurt for a long time, but that was just the way things were now. My mom pulled my socks and shoes off and gasped. The soles of my feet were covered in huge painful planters warts.

“Why didn’t you say anything?!” She demanded but I could only shrug at her. I’d learned a long time ago that saying things about my discomfort didn’t matter, so now I had no words. Sometimes things hurt and sometimes they don’t. I simply accepted and did my best.

Now as an adult trying to learn to improve my own conditions can be hard. If I make food that I can’t eat I’ll force myself to sit at the counter still, full of guilt and self loathing, trying to will myself to eat it.

At first I needed my betrothed to gently take it away to present me with something I could eat. Now on my own I can usually admit that it’s not happening before too long and get something else, but I still feel guilty.

Laying in bed at night waiting for my betrothed to finish getting ready I let out a huge sigh of relief when they turned the lights off.

“Why didn’t you turn them off if they bothered you?” they asked the first time it happened.

“I didn’t even know it was bothering me until it was gone.”

Assessing my physical state now to see if I can improve it is something I’m still relearning but I’m relieved to finally have the space and support to do it.

[pi-cat000]

BNHA: Kakashi dimension hops crossover (6)

Summary: Kakashi gets dumbed into the My Hero Academia universe through random plot devise.

Characters:  Kakashi Hatake

Fandoms: My Hero Academia and Naruto

WARNINGS: Mentions of violence/injury

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As predicted, the day following the seal’s application is miserable. His chest is tight with almost anxiety, pins and needles run up and down his arms making his skin itch, and he is increasingly lethargic. All symptoms of a chakra imbalance and to be expected when one’s normal chakra replacement rate was thrown out. The sensations would pass once his body adjusted as they had with his sharingan.

He is eating three square meals a day, doing the bare minimum when it came to exercise routines and avoiding excess chakra use. It had been literal years since he had had this much bed rest. If he were ever going to slap a chakra collecting seal on himself, this was a perfect time. Okay, so maybe he should have steadily increased the chakra drain over the course of a few weeks for a smoother adjustment period. Hindsight and all that.

What mattered was that he would be fine, and he just had to wait it out. Bright side? No one had commented on the seal yet. Oh, he has definitely noticed serval people throwing the odd confused frown at his shoulder, but that was as far as anyone had gone in acknowledging it. His oh so clever strategy of acting like nothing was wrong worked so much better when he wasn’t surrounded by other shinobi and medic-nin.

“Your blood pressure is still too high. Are you sure you haven’t been experiencing any additional fatigue or other symptoms? Is something about the hospital causing additional stress? If there is something wrong, we should work on strategies to fix the problem.”

Well… it worked on everyone who wasn’t Wada. The man was irritatingly persistent in his doctoring. Apparently, the pressure of adjusting to an increased chakra drain wasn’t doing his body any favours.

“Maybe it’s a part of my quirk. High regeneration. High blood pressure.” Kakashi shrugs loosely not bothering to look up from HEROES and HEROINES May Issue. Unlike his previous reading material, people gave him odd looks when they saw him reading these magazines which immediately upped their entertainment value 100-fold.

Wada undoes the compression sleeve he had been using to measure Kakashi’s blood pressure, lecturing as he goes, “From what I can tell your cells produce more energy-rich molecules, ATP, NADH, then is typical, increasing cellular functions. Where your cells are getting the energy to produce these molecules, I have no idea seeing as you eat about the same amount as any baseline human. What I can safely say is that it should not influence your blood pressure. If anything, your blood pressure should be a bit lower than average. Now don’t dodge the question.”

He pauses, waiting for Kakashi to cave and suddenly confess. Kakashi, an old hat at dodging medical questions, continues reading unperturbed.

“I’ve been at this for over 30 years. An attack like the one you suffered is understandably traumatic, not to mention the stress of severe amnesia. I’m sure, whatever is bothering you, I’ve heard it before.”

Kakashi very much doubts that. “I feel fine.”

Wada huffs, unconvinced, “Young men. You all think that admitting you have a problem is a sign of weakness. High blood pressure can damage your heart and lead to problems  later in life so finding the cause is important.” Good thing a shinobi life spans tended to max out around 30. The odds of him making it to an age where he’d have to worry about the long-term effects of anything were pretty low. He doesn’t voice this opinion, continuing to read.

Wada continues talking with greater gusto, “No matter, I’ll prescribe you something for stress hopefully that’ll help with your blood pressure. However, this is no replacement for healthy habits both physical and mental. You should consider professional therapy.”

Kakashi snorts. Yeah, that sounds about right.

“Oh, you think that’s funny do you,” Wada makes to grab HEROES and HEROIENS and he lets the doctor pull the magazine free from his hand. It gives him a good view of the man’s irate expression.

“No, of course not.” Kakashi attempts to placate and gets a light smack over the head with said magazine for his troubles.

“There is no shame in pursuing a healthy mind!”

“Weren’t we going to test my quirk today?” He complains to derail the current line of questioning.

“I have half a mind to put it off and have you rest another week,” is threatened before Wada’s stern expression relaxes, “Lucky for you, I’ve booked you into serval tests that can’t be rescheduled.”

Kakashi breaths out dramatically. He thinks Wada might have made a good medic-nin if he had lived in Konoha. Sure, he is a little too trusting, but he was also not above pestering his patients into taking better care of themselves. Sakura would approve.

The doctor, with the assistance of an attending nurse he hadn’t bothered to learn the name of, helps Kakashi out of his bed and into a wheelchair, ignoring his protests about his leg being all but healed.

“You’re to avoid putting weight on it until you start physical therapy,” Wada snaps at his continued complaints, “You’ll need to be careful, extended bed rest and surgery can leave your muscles weakened. Also, leave that magazine behind. You’re doing eye tests when do you think you’ll have time to read!”

Kakashi doesn’t push the matter further, resigning himself to being wheeled down the hospital halls like the invalid he was pretending to be. It is not like Wada knew about his frequent excursions to the roof or the fact that he has been running through strengthening exercises on his own time for several weeks now.  Best he keeps that information to himself.

Partway down the hall, he pulls out HEROES and HEROIENS from where he had slipped it into his shirt, enjoying Wada’s exasperated expression. Of course, he stops reading when the doctor threatens to start lecturing again. The man could definitely talk when given the chance.

Wada and the nurse take wheel him to a set of double-door elevators which take them down several floors below the ground level. The hallway they exit of a mirror of every other hospital hallway. Grey and white walls, pale blue lino floor and bright fluorescent overhead lights. The only difference is that this hallway is lined with heavy-looking metal doors. From snooping through patient files, he knows that all quirk tests are carried out in specially designated underground ‘safety rooms.’ That doesn't make him any more thrilled about being several stories underground. It cut down on his escape roots.

“These are some of the more secure recovery wards in the hospital,” Wada explains as their little group stops at a small reception desk where the doctor taps away at a computer screen, “they’re mostly for treating patients with unstable quirks.” Kakashi maintains a neutral expression, accepting the explanation.

Wada wheels him up to a steel door, swiping his ID card which also doubled as a key to many areas of the hospital. The heavy door is automated and slides open. A lot of the doors in the hospital operate this way and always made sneaking around slightly more troublesome.

Inside walls and floor are plain white and there is an odd number of tables and chairs pushed to one side out of the way. Everything stinks of disinfectant. On the far wall is a single solitary painting of a tree in a field, the only splash of colour in an otherwise depressingly sparse room. A poor attempt at living up the space. The opposite wall sports a rectangular, reflective surface which was probably some sort of observation booth. Well, if being underground hadn’t put him on edge, this obvious confinement room definitely did the job. Kakashi eyes the space. Worse comes to worst, he could use the kamui and remove the adjoining hallway wall then climb his way out through the elevator shaft. There are only two other people in the room with him and one woman at the reception desk, all were most likely unenhanced with quirks unsuited to combat, easily removed.  He doesn’t let his body language reflect his unease. He is just a little on edge because the new seal is messing with his body’s natural homeostasis. If this is a trap there would have been other signs of deception before now.

“Yes, I know it might seem like a whole lot of fuss just to run through a few flashcards,” Wada comments, oblivious to Kakashi’s poor mood. He waves to his assisting nurse who wheels over and lowers one of the metallic tables so Kakashi doesn’t have to move from his wheelchair. “But it’s a standard safety procedure when an unknown quirk is involved. Trust me, this is a lot easier than travelling to an external testing range.”

Wada stops to give Kakashi a once over, frowning, “How much do you know about your quirk sub-type?”

Kakashi shrugs, “Nothing much.”

“Ah,” The doctor’s frown grows, and he grimaces, “Of course you don’t.” A sigh.

“Typically, ocular quirks will act to enhanced sight in some way or improve base level memorisation and recall ability. It is also common to have a replicating function, allowing the user to produce some sort of copy of things they see. In rarer cases, ocular quirks result in precognitive abilities.” Wada explanation falters, “They can also have a line-of-sight emitter effect, such as laser vision, optical blasts, a few instances of mind control and other mental effects. These can also be incredibly dangerous if the user isn’t in control. There have even been instances where whole buildings have been levelled.”

“I see.”  He supposes Wada's irritation at this private 'quirk' testing made a bit more sense. A doctor faced with an unknown and possibly dangerous ability would be annoyed if said patient went about experimenting without taking safety precautions.

“I should have checked whether you knew the dangers instead of just assuming. Apologies. That is my own error.”

He peers at Kakashi, almost guilty now, “and you don’t have a phone either so there would have been no way for you to research quirks yourself.”

“Ah,” Kakashi rubs the back of his head not likening how torn up the other man seems to be seeing as Kakashi had ever been in any real danger. “Don’t worry about it,” he reassures.  

His reassurances land flat, the doctor still frowning, “I’ll see if I can get you access to the internet somehow.”

Privately, Kakashi adds 'research' to the list of functions ‘phones’ apparently provided and 'internet' to his growing list of terms to investigate.

Wada sighs again. “Regardless, let’s get these tests done first.” He places a thick folder labelled National Standard for Registration: Kit Type 3 alongside one of those portable keyboard-less computers the doctors tended to carry around.  “Hold on, been a while since I’ve done one of these. Need to find the rights files. Ah, here we go. First, these rooms are monitored, and all tests are recorded. The data collected is confidential, accessible only to the patient and physician unless doing so causes the patent harm. Information regarding quirk function and use is shared with the Registry Office. You have a right to stop testing at any point. You got that?”

Kakashi grunts, his already poor mood souring further. He is not sure he wants the hospital - or anyone - keeping records of anything sharingan related.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Wada continues unperturbed, a testament to his serval weeks of trying to doctor Kakashi, “remember to let me know if you’re experiencing any discomfort. Don’t want you busting anymore blood vessels.

Kakashi lets out a tired breath, “Sure.” The sooner they left this room the better.

“We’ll test memory and vision first to compare to your baseline, then we’ll run through the replication and precognitive tests just in case.”

The nurse, who had been on the opposite side of the room waves, “All ready over here.” There is now a large poster with letters of varying sizes hung on the wall. He recognises the chart from his previous eye tests.

“Okay, let’s start with just uncovering it. Make sure you’re looking away from me as a precaution.”

Kakashi resists rolling his non- sharingan eye at the obvious instruction, shifting his attention to the poster on the wall. He flips his padded eyepatch up with his index finger so it partially rests on his forehead. All the letters, no matter the size, immediately snap into sharp focus. Nothing spontaneously combusts under his gaze. When he glances at the painting of the tree, he can now see a lack of brush texture, suggesting that it wasn’t a painting but a print of some sort. With that useless information now forever etched into his memory, he turns back to examine at Wada.

The sharingan picks out all the wrinkles and pores lining the older face. It focuses in on minuscule muscle movements as the man’s expression shifts from professional and accommodating to curious. The doctor’s fingers twitch ever so slightly over his computer. Most likely an unconscious habit. The man’s breath is slightly uneven like his chest can’t smoothly expand, suggesting some sort of lung problem. A past smoking habit perhaps? Nothing threatening is revealed.

“Doctor.” Kakashi prompts when Wada spends a little too long staring back at him. The sharingun did have a weak hypnotic effect, encouraging extended eye contact to help catch targets in genjutsu. Kakashi rarely uncovered his eye in the presence of civilians so he doesn’t know if the effect is more pronounced or if Wada is just curious.

Wada blinks, “Well…I certainly see where the ‘wheel’ description comes from.” He spends a second more staring then turns to start writing notes and tapping away at his computer screen. “I wonder if those spinning tomoe are purely cosmetic or if they have some other function because they are certainly fascinating to look at. There is also faint bioluminescence to the eye which is a common feature of ocular quirks…”

Honestly, the blatant eye contact is weird. Even his closest allies tended to avoid looking at his sharingan out of habit - expect for Naruto who was an outlier in almost everything - for understandable reasons. He thinks the people here would also exercise caution if an ocular abilities included mind control or exploding a person through eye contact. But no, Wada just goes right ahead and stares. A few seconds later and the unnamed nurse is also looking curiously at his eye. … …

Aside from redoing a standard eye exam, Kakashi runs through a marathon of flashcards to test both his memory and then precognitive abilities. The tests are done with lights on then in the dark and Kakashi is given a perfect 20/20 and an enhancement score of ‘15 grades above average’ for both. There are also several pages worth of words and numbers in progressively complex arrangements to test his information retention. Of course, everything is easily remembered with the sharingun active.

“Well, it seems to give general across the board vision enhancement alongside perfect recall and retention,” Wada finally concludes as he records all Kakashi’s results, “Of course, we’ll have to re-test retention in a few days so see if the information degrades over an extended period and we don’t know whether your quirk effects your long distance eyesight, but, for now, this appears to be all. The link between your quirked eye and the regenerative side-effect is still unknown. Odd that we couldn’t trigger any ‘copy’ function considering the quirks name though  ‘copy’ could also be a reference to memorisation.  If any other features do reveal themselves make sure you alert a medical professional.”

… …

Kakashi despises the process of getting an MRI with a heated passion. He hates having to lie prone in a loud confined space. It is the height of discomfort, making him tense up and clench his jaw. It is only the fact that Kakashi had researched and mentally prepared himself for the experience that stops him from accidentally snapping someone’s neck.

“We’ll have the results back in a few days,” Wada informs once the trying ordeal is over with, “From there we’ll update the Registry so you’re properly in the system. Speaking of which, have you made any progress on remembering a surname? I need something for the forms.”

“Hatake,” he grunts, too irritated to bother evading - he just wants to return to his room and wait out the side effects of his seal in peace- the question like he had every other time the man asked, “I think I prefer Kakashi though.”

It wasn’t like the name meant anything here and, who knows, maybe someone would come looking for him. This way they would have a trail to follow.

NEXT

[official-weasley]

Meant to Be (Charlie Weasley x OC)

What happens when Bill brings home a girl and Charlie is completely awestruck by her?

WARNINGS: cursing, mentions of alcohol, struggling with self-love, emotional self-destructive behavior, and mentions of mental health problems

Chapter 19

Rhylee

“I am so glad that you’re a Muggle-born.” I shifted on my heel, turning away from the mirror to Lyla who was laying in her bed, her head resting on her crossed arms, her eyes on me.

“I don’t think anyone has ever said that to me.” Confusion creased her face. “It’s supposed to be a compliment, right?”

“Yes.” I grinned at her. “If you weren’t Muggle-born, you wouldn’t know about therapy, and the therapist you recommended me might have just saved my life.” By inhaling sharply I turned back to the mirror and stared at my figure.

“It’s been all you, darling. You have to want help to actually gain something from therapy.” I locked my eyes with hers in the mirror.

I loved nothing more than her friendly smile. She was the best friend I could ask for and I am the luckiest person alive for her not to give up on me.

“I know.” I turned around to look at my arse.

“Can you stop checking yourself out in the mirror? The dress looks great on you!” She rolled her eyes at me.

“I don’t know.” I pouted. “Perhaps the blue one would be better.”

“You do realize that we have been doing nothing else but picking your dress for the last two days.” She smirked at me.

“Don’t give me that face! I’m nervous, okay!” I stomped my foot against the floor as if angry.

In reality, I was just hoping to calm down my nerves.

“It’s time to move on, Rhylee. You said it yourself that your therapist said it’s time you forgive yourself.” She stood up and took the blue dress which was hanging over the dresser door and took it off the hanger. “But just in case, try this one again.” She winked.

I appreciated how supportive she was. She was all I had left.

I was such a mess. I still can’t believe that I let myself get so low. I hit rock bottom and then went even deeper. It’s a miracle what 6 months of therapy can do for a person. How do wizards not have that!

Perhaps, they are afraid of the pain that it brings. Because it was painful. Especially the first few sessions when the therapist is getting to know you and you start figuring out what your problem is. I knew what it was. I just couldn’t get over it.

Everybody telling me it was an accident doesn’t just make the guilt disappear. It doesn’t make you feel better. You don’t just forget about it. When you do what I did, you don’t just move on. But as I learned from my sessions, you can’t blame yourself forever either. Forgiveness and loving myself was something that was missing from my life.

It’s crazy to think that so many people around you keep telling you that it wasn’t your fault and that you can’t just go around and search for things that will make you miserable just to punish yourself and you never believe them and always brush it off. But when you hear it from someone specialized to tell you things like this, you suddenly think that maybe, just maybe all your friends were right.

Of course, it didn’t happen overnight and I even tried convincing Dr. Whitmoore that I will never stop blaming myself for what happened in my seventh year at Beauxbatons but I got there…eventually.

“So what are you going to say to him?” Lyla asked as she zipped the dress for me.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” I bit my cheek. “I don’t even know if he’ll want to talk to me.”

“Right.” She raised her eyebrows at me and laid back on her bed. “Are we going to go through this again?”

“I’m serious! I’m just going there to celebrate the love between two people.” I finally stopped looking at myself in the mirror.

I still don’t know which dress to pick.

“Mhm.” Lyla nodded once. “Let’s pretend that you have been picking out a dress for this wedding because you want to be there for Bill when he says his ‘I do’ with his future wife.”

“It’s…the main reason.” I proudly lifted my chin.

“Stop lying to yourself, love. This is all about Charlie Weasley.” She sent me a wink, got up, and went to the bathroom.

She was right. It was all about Charlie. There is no point in denying it any further. It has been all about him ever since Bill brought me home to meet his family for Christmas. I still remember the moment we were introduced as if it was yesterday.

He enchanted me the moment I sat down opposite him. With his smile and eyes full of passion about the creatures we both worked with. I know he wasn’t doing it on purpose but he was so flirty. With his eyes, his gestures. I just couldn’t stop staring at him.

And the feeling, the feeling I got while talking to him. I never felt that before and it was so strange. I knew Bill for years and here I was talking to his younger brother and it was as if someone ignited a fire between us. And the strangest part was that I am certain he felt it too.

The second I allowed the feeling to overwhelm me, fill my body with energy like nothing ever did before, my past came back to haunt me. I couldn’t sleep that night. The nightmares came back. Sweat running down my temples. I was glad Ginny was a heavy sleeper, she would think I was insane. Nobody in England knew my secret. It was the reason I ran away.

I buried the feelings, guilt and constant need to punish myself, make myself suffer and got the job at Gringotts. I was doing great for 3 years. I was quite proud of myself. I wasn’t hurting anyone and I didn’t let anyone get too close to me.

I allowed myself a fling here and there and I was happy with the way my life was. I could totally see myself doing this for the rest of my life and I was completely fine with it.

I was lying to everybody including myself when I said I didn’t know Bill fancied me but I ignored it, hoping he would move on if I seemed uninterested. Not that I wouldn’t want to date him. Are you serious, it’s Bill freaking Weasley, who wouldn’t want to date him!

But I made a promise to myself. I couldn’t. I knew what a good guy he was and I couldn’t allow myself to be happy. I didn’t deserve it.

I never expected him to get hurt because of my foolishness. Getting drunk and having sex with Charlie was a big mistake that I shouldn’t have allowed. Not that it wasn’t good, damn it was great and I let myself go and forgot about everything just for one night. Charlie had that effect on me. He made me forget about my worries and my troubles, even if just for a little while.

And how stupid it was of me to flirt with him the morning after and telling him it wasn’t just a one-night stand. What was I thinking! I should’ve just ignored the situation and moved on. But I couldn’t and I hated that I couldn’t. Something was pulling me closer to him. The curiosity of getting to know him better. To hear him talk about dragons. To feel his touch again. His lips against mine. His breath on my skin.

I had zero control over myself and I couldn’t stop it even if I wanted to. Of course, the aftermath was something I didn’t expect. Bill asking me out was the last thing I wanted and then I was stupid enough to tell him I slept with his brother. The look on his face, telling me just how much I hurt him broke my heart.

I broke my promise of not hurting anyone and everything from my past came rushing back up. I didn’t dare to ask Bill if he and Charlie talked about the whole situation. I was even surprised when only a month later Bill started speaking to me again. I definitely thought I didn’t deserve that.

After that, things calmed down again and I hoped that I could put it all behind me again. I bottled everything down before, I can do it again, right?

Wrong.

I couldn’t stop thinking about Charlie and it was driving me mad. Lyla, Lizzie, and I got drunk one night and they teased me and said that I should go work in Romania to be with him. My dumb arse actually wrote an application and we sent it that night. The second I realized what I have done in the morning I applied for the American Sanctuary too to calm the guilty feeling in my chest.

I can’t be trusted when I’m drunk. I relax too much and forget about my past and make mistakes like having sex with Charlie at the Burrow and then my actions hurt people and I feel even worse.

But the second I got the reply, seeing how excited they were to work with me I got so conflicted. They were offering me my dream job but I wanted to stop myself from accepting it because I knew Charlie worked there. I couldn’t face him, not even after more than a year.

However, I couldn’t get rid of the feeling the excitement brought me either. I just had to see him again. I wanted to talk to him and tell him everything. I accepted the job anyway, despite my better judgment. I was selfish, I know that now. I should never have done it, my mind being in a state as it was back then.

I don’t think I was ever so nervous as I was when I was standing in front of the Sanctuary gate. I tried calming myself down by thinking that perhaps I will work in an entirely different section than him and we even won’t see each other.

I couldn’t believe how wrong I was when I saw him approaching the gate. I wanted to apparate away, be swallowed by the ground below me, be fed to a dragon. I knew I made another mistake the second I saw the look on his face.

I know he wasn’t expecting me to stand there, how could he. It pained me to know that he wasn’t exactly happy to see me but at the same time, it gave me confidence. Perhaps, we can work side by side with each other and simply be friends.

The fact that I am never right about these things and usually the opposite happens could already tell me that it was only going to go downhill from there.

I tried staying away from him but I was pushing myself into him just as much. I just couldn’t help myself. In a different life, if I wasn’t as fucked up as I was, we could’ve been so happy together. I knew that and it hurt so much knowing that. What hurt, even more, was the look in his eyes every time we exchanged looks.

I knew how he felt, I knew he was falling for me and it was wrong. It was so wrong and I felt so helpless knowing I can’t do anything about it because I felt the exact same way. I was falling for him so fast that I didn’t even have the time to stop myself and at some point, I simply gave up trying.

The fact that everything that was happening between us was happening while I had a boyfriend waiting patiently for me to visit him once every 14 days made me an even worse person. I never wanted any of it to happen.

I knew I did the right thing finally giving in to all the nagging and going out with Nick. He was the only man I saw a future with because I knew how wrong he was for me but it was exactly what I deserved. An idiot without an ounce of empathy or feelings for anyone else but himself. For me, it was a match made in heaven and I knew that nobody would understand why I thought so.

I knew what I deserved. I wanted to be punished. I wanted bad things to happen to me so I could finally redeem myself for what I have done all those years ago. But nobody understood why I was doing it. Why be with a guy who doesn’t even make you happy instead of someone loving and kind?

Lyla got into so many fights with me over this. Many more than Charlie did. I know he couldn’t wrap his head around it. He caught me crying so many times because of Nick, because of my guilt, because of his gestures that told me just how much he cared for me.

And what did I do? I got drunk and had sex with him. Way to go, Rhylee! Way to break so many hearts, you idiotic bitch!

That night we spent together was the most beautiful night of my life. It showed me how happy I could be with him. How much joy he could bring me. He showed me my future with him and all I could think about was how wrong it was. How I have to run away from everything. What a horrible person I was to do this to him.

There was a moment when I thought about telling him everything but stopped at the last second. Truth be told, there were many moments like this and he knew it. He knew I had so many things I wanted to say to him but simply couldn’t. I was a coward, locked inside a loop of my own mind.

What I did at Beauxbatons was still haunting me at the time. The fact that everybody forgave me haunted me. That I begged the Ministry to send me to Azkaban and they laughed at my plea, telling me that people don’t go to prison for making a simple mistake.

That’s what they called it. A simple mistake.

A simple mistake that almost ruined my life and because of which I made so many people around me suffer. They just didn’t see it as I did and I knew they never would. But did that give me closure? Did that make me stop feeling sorry for myself and move on with my life?

No.

I was determined that if they weren’t going to punish me and lock me up, I will do it to myself. I wanted to completely destroy my life for it and be miserable as much as I can be. I will date a guy I know doesn’t love me and pretend I can’t hear the screaming voice inside my head telling me to be with Charlie because he’s the one.

He has been from the moment we shook hands and started talking about dragons.

I closed all the doors that could bring me happiness. I tried so hard to stay away yet I couldn’t. Yet I hurt him and Bill and even Nick in the process. They all suffered because I wanted to bring pain to myself.

How fucked up is that?

All because I just couldn’t stay away. No matter how destructive my mind was, no matter how much I was telling myself that I don’t deserve someone like Charlie, my body and my heart were guiding me right to him and I didn’t have the strength to stop it.

A few weeks after I told Nick and he told me that I have to stay away from Charlie, something broke in me. I couldn’t do it anymore. I made Charlie so miserable and my heart shattered every time I saw him. The longing in his eyes to save me. To do something to make me feel better.

I was completely aware of the fact that I let myself go. I isolated myself, barely ate anything, and tried to work on Kyan’s case so that I would do one thing right in my fucking pathetic life.

I was naïve to think that would do the trick. That Charlie would finally let me go. Move on. Find a nice girl and settle down with her. Be happy. That’s what he deserved. That’s what I wanted for him, ignoring the fact that I wanted to be his girl more than I wanted anything in my entire life.

But he didn’t. He didn’t want to give up on me.

So I did the only thing I thought would help him move on. I left. I didn’t want to, but I did. The second Nick opened the door, me standing there with all my bags, I knew what a mistake I’ve made.

For the first time in years, I thought that perhaps I suffered enough. Perhaps it was time to stop tormenting myself. I made a decision to stay overnight and then go back to the Sanctuary and beg Peter for my job back.

That night we fought and I suddenly started to feel dizzy and everything turned black. I woke up at St Mungo’s the next day and all my plans to return to Romania fell through when the healers told me I was pregnant.

I knew I couldn’t run now. I sealed my destiny and serves me right for doing so. I brought it on myself and since I was so convinced that I deserve a life full of misery the pregnancy was just perfect. Ironic but perfect.

I didn’t expect Charlie to come to the trial. I hoped he wouldn’t come. I just left without saying goodbye and I thought that would make him mad enough for never wanting to talk to me again. But there he was and he stopped me from fleeing.

He kept pressuring me to tell him the truth. I hated how well he could read me. How well he knew I was lying and yet I fed him more lies. I already knew the pain that he must’ve felt at that moment. How confused he must’ve been for me just disappearing, for acting like I don’t care about him.

I know he needed answers and Merlin knows he deserved them more than anyone but I couldn’t. I needed him to move on. It was too late for the whole truth. It wouldn’t have done either of us any good. I was carrying Nick’s baby and there was nothing he could do about that.

If I wasn’t pregnant I know I would’ve told him everything. I wanted to return to the Sanctuary for him for fuck’s sake. But it was too late now and he needed to know that so I told him about the baby. Just reminiscing on it makes me want to throw up. The pain in his eyes when he was trying to comprehend what came out of my mouth.

The painful goodbye when he wished for me to have a good life, knowing full well that it’s probably the last time he will ever hold me in his arms. It was good closure in a fucked up kind of way. If someone with so many mental issues wrote a fairytale I am certain it would make perfect sense.

I was fighting every muscle in my body not to go after him once he started to walk away. I knew that was it. He finally did it. He is going to move on and be happy. I regretted putting him through what I did, I still do. But at least he will be able to forget about me by hating me. It was for the best.

He deserves so much better than me. Someone who will love him unconditionally and bring a smile to his face and flutter the butterflies in his stomach not put him through the shit I put him through.

I finally got what I wanted. The punishment I thought I deserved. All my self-destructive behavior finally paid off. I was pregnant and living with a man that I despised. Welcome to my bloody fairytale!

If it wasn’t for Lyla, being the best friend she is, I would probably do much worse than hurt myself mentally. She was the one that opened my eyes and got me a therapist without even asking about my opinion.

After my first session, I decided to tell her everything. What I did, what Dr. Whitmoore and I talked about. Everything. We cried, sitting on her bed for hours. She couldn’t believe I hated myself so much to do these things to myself but in the end, she told me she understood why I tried so desperately to punish myself.

I felt relief knowing she understood and still wanted to be my friend. I was so lucky to have her. I don’t even want to think where I would be if it wasn’t for her.

A/N: I know that what Rhylee is dealing with can't be solved with 6 months worth of therapy as is stated in the story. I needed to fit it in the timeline to align everything with Bill's wedding and is the only reason why I picked 6 months. One of my best friends has a Ph.D. in psychotherapy and she told me that with everything Rhylee has been through (to be revealed in tomorrow's chapter) it is very unrealistic that she would be as fine as I wrote her to be - I am fully aware of that. I apologize if I made anyone uncomfortable with it or if anyone finds it offensive in any way.

[a-shakespearean-in-paris]

I was in a toxic friendship

I want to preface this by saying I am so much happier right now and I am no longer friends with this person. Haven’t seen or heard from her in over a year. I also want to be clear this was a friendship I had in real life, not tumblr. I think however this story’s lessons can be applicable across the board to online friendships and even relationships with family members. Please, if you ever feel belittled by your “friends,” and you bring it up to them and they brush it aside and think you’re overreacting, it’s not a friendship. 

I was friends with this person, let’s call her Stacy, for about ten years before I realized I no longer wanted to speak to her or be her friend. I met her in the ninth grade and we bonded over Disney World and other things and I could talk to her about anything, including this huge crush I had on a twelfth grade boy. She came over to my house sometimes, though not a lot, and as high school wore on we started going to the mall together, stuff like that. I went to college in a different city and she came to visit me sometimes, and we even worked at the same theme park, though different departments. For all intents and purposes this was my best friend, though Stacey got upset when I also called my cousin my best friend, even though she spoke of her sister as her best friend.

She got a boyfriend when we were both around 21/22 or so, I think we were both juniors in college, though she took a semester off because she hated school and thought it was weird I was a double major. She told me her boyfriend was thirty and she met him at work. I thought the age gap was a little big, but I wasn’t one to judge. Later on I found out he was 36 and she told me she lied because she was worried how I would react. I met him and I thought he was nice, but when she got engaged when we were both around 23, I had only met him that one time for a birthday dinner she had, and my mom and dad told me they thought it was kind of strange. They also said it was weird to them whenever I hung out with Stacey it was only for like an hour, two at most, especially since my cousin and I could spend days and day together at sleepovers, chilling and being ourselves, interpretative dancing, lol. Privately I also found it odd I could talk to Stacey about anything, but when I asked questions about her life and her thoughts she’d barely talk. Her grandma passed away, she loved visiting my grandma because she could have one through me. One day I broke down and admitted my grandmother is a narcissist, and she is different behind closed doors. she berates me, used to call me fat, berated me. Stacey didn’t believe me. I can’t say when she started not being such a good presence in my life, but these were some seeds, and it got worse--slow at once and then all at once as they say.

Anyway, I was a bridesmaid of hers and her sister was the maid of honor--a mutual friend was another bridesmaid and there was one more (super sweet girl and I don’t even think Stacy talks with her much anymore either LMAO) and at this point in my life I was really into my first fanfic IWD. I was consumed with it, to put it bluntly. This is another story entirely but I spent so much of my college career as an English major writing for academia, and when I was finally writing something for me, I bloomed. I talked to her about it and she kind of laughed about this Cullen person but she liked to read fanfic herself so was whatever about me doing it. I shared with her my first piece of commissioned art and she laughed at Lydia thinking Lydia was just me, and I told her, no, she wasn’t, she’s based off of several old hollywood ladies and I actually made her avatar in game, but she wouldn’t believe it. I actually ended up saying “would you think this if I were white and she were white as well” and she laughed and didn’t understand. Needless to say the whole incident rubbed me the wrong way. I ignored it. Her wedding happened, her sister made a good speech, then when all the groomsmen did a speech for the groom the other Bridesmaids and I thought we had to do something, so we got up there and made an impromptu speech. I called her my sister and I told her I loved her. I didn’t know it then, but I didn’t believe her when she said “love you too.”

I wanted to go back to school, and I ended up in a Masters program after the wedding. My summer semester, my first, went well, starting in June and ending in July. I finished IWD and went to another fic, Stacey making fun of Sophie, my OC for that fic too, because I just straight up made her part Hawaiian like I am. When I told her I had little representation growing up other than like Lilo and Stitch and now Moana, (which I don’t like TBH but another story lol.) she asked me what the big deal was about that. Why did it matter that no main character ever looked as I looked? I couldn’t explain to her how much writing a character who was like me in a fanfic mattered. We planned on going to Disney World, me, her, her sister, and the other bridesmaid, but don’t post anything on facebook because she didn’t want to invite the other other bridesmaid. I wanted to go to a nightclub with her for my birthday but she didn’t want to go because her sister couldn’t enter, so after my whole family, plus her and her husband ate at my favorite restaurant, she went home even after I begged her to come with my and my cousin. She said it was stupid. Also, her husband was a huge ass to wait staff. Alarm bells went off for all of us.

But I was looking forward to Disney in December that year. (2018) I didn’t have a job at the time but was actively looking. Well, I got a job after interview after interview at restaurants that wouldn’t hire me, my dream job researching Shakespeare. It fell through. (I was promised to actively help the professor research, it fell through.) She paid for the trip without me knowing and I had to pay her back 800 dollars on writing commissions which I severely underpriced. because I was worried no one would pay otherwise. School wasn’t going well. Put it simply I felt really dumb and stupid and like I didn’t belong, (we were reading Ulysses!!!) which I later learned was a common sentiment with my classmates who began the same time as I. I will admit my relationship with academia is rocky at the moment, but I genuinely do love to write, love to research, love to make discoveries about new texts. Stacey saw how stressed I was and sad and got angry I was so sad, and asked why was I in school anyway Am I going to be on my deathbed and wished I studied harder? I didn’t have the energy to tell her it wasn’t about “studying harder,” it was that I loved writing and reading and wanted to be a part of academia. Learning makes me happy, expanding my mind. She belittled me anyway, thinking getting a Masters was dumb and I wouldn’t get a good job.

At Disney World I was so happy. I hadn’t been there since I was a child. She made fun of me for wanting to meet Ariel, for wanting to ride Soaring and being afraid to check grades when a classmate said they were up. I got so stressed I cried at the Japan pavilion at Epcot and stress ate sauerbraten at the Germany pavilion (Amazing by the way, I love German food.) She basically dictated the entire trip--we went to Universal for Harry Potter World at her request and refused to ride the spider man ride with me (it was fucking fun too-girl missed out.) All she wanted to do was stand around in Harry Potter world all day, (LOL now right?) I wasn’t that big of a Potter fan anymore, even at that point, and she told me I was going to stay there anyway and like it. She dictated the entire trip and when I questioned her about it she said I wasn’t listening to to her--we were following the agenda. Our last day there we went to a “Hawaiian” restaurant and made a comment about my “Hawaiian privileges.” I just didn’t have the heart to tell her that the crap we ate didn’t hold a candle to real Hawaiian luau food.

When we got back I was mentally drained and melancholic because I wondered why Stacey was so cruel to me. She always had a biting wit, but before it seemed playful. Now it was cruel, mocking. She made me feel so incredibly stupid. At this point my cousin got engaged and I cried because I wanted so badly to be in love with someone and get married. I was angry and I lashed out at people I shouldn’t have. I was later diagnosed as depressed. I felt like my life was at a standstill and matters with Stacey didn’t help. I also had a huge writing crisis--I told Stacey something I will always remember and always regret because she doesn’t deserve to know: I write the romances I want because no man wants me.  At this point, Stacy turned me into her project. She didn’t like how sad I was at Disney World, it put a bummer on her trip, and when I told her she seemed off she brushed it off. Her plan was to get me on dating apps and basically settle for anyone, even though I had used apps before and don’t like them, but when I got back on Bumble she basically patronized me and told me she was proud of me and “small steps.” On bumble, I wanted to vomit. (for the record, I am not against dating apps, I know success stories, but at that time I was not emotionally ready to date.) Also, she would teach me to drive so I could go on dates, but only in my Dad’s truck. 

I wish I could say I broke it off, that I told her not to talk to me again, but Stacey stopped talking to me first. However. the day she stopped was when I told her she was wrong and I wouldn’t listen to this anymore. What happened? I mentioned I was demisexual.  She said it wasn’t real. I said it was real to me--I don’t experience sexual attraction unless I have bonded with someone. Sure there are people I like to look at, but it’s not a sexual attraction. She asked about my crush on Tom Hiddleston, Cullen, “that robot guy” and was like yeah you’re sure demi, and lol it’s not real. It wasn’t just her words, it was the mocking indifference. 

I went off. I told her she didn’t have the right to tell me what was in my brain or how I felt. I knew who I was and who I am. I should have also told her I wasn’t her project, but I left her that day and it was the last time I saw her.

I talked to my dad that night and mentioned it to him, being demi, and you know what he told me? I think I’m the same way. I think I almost cried. 

I tried to talk to her again but she didn’t want to see me. She had “personal issues and was busy” I pissed her off. Good, I say now. But after this happened in March of 2019 I thought I had no friends. She was my only friend, and I lost another mutual friend (one we went to Disney with) because she knew Stacey longer than she knew me. But you know what happened in April? My cousin asked me to be her maid of honor and I fucking wept, because there was my best friend--my sister all along. Just because she lives in another city and we are growing up and it took me longer to figure out my career than her doesn’t change the fact that we have a bond that can’t be broken. My cousin is one of my favorite people and if you know her you love her--it is impossible not to. And when I told her about my fanfic and about being demi she wanted to know, wanted to listen. School got better too--I started chatting in class more and come to find out, one of my classmates also broke up with a toxic friend. God I love her and I miss her--wish I could see her. (thanks COVID) 

There was more, but this was a lot, and I spent more time writing this than I thought I would. I wanted to write it because seeing a few posts float around made me remember, and I want ya’ll to know, leaving a friendship is scary. Sometimes it can be worse than leaving a lover. But it is a brave thing to do. Part of me that knew I should have left at the first racist comment (oh yeah, she called me a pineapple one day before the Disney trip, did I mention it’s a slur for Hawaiian people? If my grandma were there she would have clobbed her.) but I stayed because I didn’t think I had any other friends. Well, I did and I do, and I know now friends lift each other up, not belittle or talk behind your back. They listen to me when I talk about how important my writing and my characters are to me. 

Sometimes I still miss her--but mostly the high school her that I knew before she met her husband. I don’t know if he changed her or this was her all along, perhaps both. I got fired from a job in November 2019 (which now I’d like to thank them because I got a better and more fulfilling job with a boss that respects me.) and when I cried outside the place, humiliated, I wanted to call her and vent like I used to. I didn’t. Now I don’t want to call her anymore or talk to her. I’d rather spend time with people who care, people who don’t kick me when I’m down. Since then I am so much stronger, in so many ways. The worst times in my life yielded the greatest lessons I have ever learned. 

If you made it this far, thank you. I did tear up a little writing this, but please know: it can be hard to walk a new path, but it is brave. You are brave. You don’t deserve to be belittled *hugs*

[hazbbyhaz]

sleepless || harry styles

six

pairing: Harry Styles x OC

synopsis: getting back into everyday life

disclaimer: slander of ones self, child abuse

I want to be with you, it is as simple and as complicated as that.

- charles bukowski

After finishing her tea, Avery told Harry that she was tired and made her exit. The way home had been cold and rainy, upon arriving back to her flat she realized that it wasn't much better. She walked into the kitchen in search of more tea. Coming up empty-handed, she decided to brew a pot of coffee. That would keep her awake, at least.

In the corner of her living room sat an old piano, she had bought it a couple of years prior at a flea market. The thing worn and very out of tune, but adorned with a wonderful message written in metallic silver sharpie. “Girls just wanna have fun.” she wandered over to it, taking a seat on the small bench, letting her fingers wander over the unfamiliar keys. She understood them just as much as she would a foreign language.

Her long, fragile fingers pressed down on the white stripes, the atrocious sound it makes sends a shiver down her spine. Closing the lid of the piano and setting her mug on top, she contemplated what else to do. The main goal was to stay awake, as it always was. Everything that she did from the moment she came home to the moment she went back to work was focused on just that. Anything she could do to take her mind off of that would happily suffice.

So, for the next half an hour she read a book, made another pot of coffee, sat down to compile a list for the grocery, started a bad french movie, drew several small doodles on her grocery list, and eventually made her way out to he balcony to see if her neighbor's cat was in sight.

At 1:30 am she went back inside due to the cold air. Once settled, she was greeted by a deafening silence. It isn't unfamiliar. All her nights went like this. She wasn't living her life, just waiting for the time to pass. Sometimes she would stand inside of her tiny bathroom, look into the mirror for a good while and take in her appearance. The bags under her eyes, the sunken face, and the slumped shoulders,

On rare occasions, she would fall asleep. This was almost always met with her waking up in a panic. Nonstop tears and shakes. Always alone. Always.

Tonight Avery was again standing in the bathroom. She thought about the party while she brushed her teeth. You were dumb. You were acting stupid and weird and everyone must have thought you were crazy. Everyone.

She opened her bedroom door, crawled underneath the sheets of her bed, and fell asleep with a racing heart.

“Mummy! I painted you something!” I exclaimed, running into the kitchen. The piece of paper in my wand-waving around like a flag. Mummy was standing there, her eyebrows knit together, and a stern expression on her face. That look alone made me stop in my tracks.

“What did I tell you, Avery? Huh?! What did I tell you!” She yells, looking down at me. I lower my gaze, hiding my paining behind my back.

“Not to run in the house.'' I whisper apologetically, looking anywhere but her. Mommy's hand connects with my cheek and I fall backward, the painting falling to the floor. Tears fill my eyes as she slaps me for a second time. “I’m sorry, Mommy… I didn't mean to make you mad”

She kneels in front of me, making sure that we are on a small level. I think that she might even want to hug me. Say that she is sorry and that she didn't mean to hit me, and ask if I am okay. As I step forward with outstretched arms she grabs my hair, pulling me closer. “You know what you are? An ungrateful brat. And that's all you will ever be.”

Avery shakes the whipped cream container for the second time, the disapproving gaze of the customer in front of her beyond prominent. At last, a bit of whipped cream topped the caramel frappuccino with cinnamon, almond milk, and sprinkles.

“That will make 3 pounds, please.”

The girl placed 3 pounds on the counter, took her coffee, and left without saying another word. She joined her boyfriend who was waiting patiently outside for her. As soon as the door closes, Avery lifts the curtain that leads to the back of the shop. “Tom! I think we're out of whipped cream!”

An annoyed grunt is the only answer she receives before Tom makes his way to the front of the shop. “Again? Maybe we should stop selling those damn frappuccinos.”

“Any new job offers?’” Avery asks, wiping her hands on one of the nearby dish towels. A look at the clock reminded her that her break would start in just a couple of minutes.

‘Not really,” Top sights, leaning against the counter, his gaze fixed on the big window, overlooking the street. “Maybe I should make the salary a bit higher, but I don't have that kind of money. It's hard enough for me to even pay you, but we really could use the extra help around here. I'm telling you, the very next person who puts in an application will get the job. You will get a bit of a break around here too. Do you think you could run out and get some more whipped cream? The next delivery doesn't come till Friday.” He reaches into his pocket, pulling out five pounds.

“Sure,” Avery is already on her way out of the shop. “I got it covered.” Tom gives her a thankful smile, putting the money back into his pocket.

“You're a real one, Avery.”

Avery was never very fond of receiving compliments. They always made her feel very uncomfortable and she never knew how to react to them. Genuine smiles or a grateful glance meant a lot more to her. It made her feel all warm and fuzzy. Words were too easy. Everyone could say something without meaning it.

She scurried across the street to the nearest Tesco to get three more containers of whipped cream. After paying and a highly uncomfortable small talk with the cashier, she made her way to her favorite bagel place. While making her way there, she decided that four things made her life bearable. Tea, the neighbor’s cat, genuine smiles, and bagels. There wasn't much more to it.

She went with her usual bagel order accompanied by a black tea, finding a nice spot towards the back of the shop to sit, the three containers of whipped cream sat close beside her. Her eyes ran over the pages of the book she had brought with her, but she just couldn't seem to concentrate. Her eyes simply just float past each word, not truly reading. The nightmare from last night was still at the forefront of her mind, weighing her down today. She regretted going to bed at all. It always bought this with it. You couldn't have one without the other.

“What's got you looking so miserable?” A voice suddenly asked. Avery jumped back, nearly losing her grip on the book. Harry stood looking down at her. His silhouette blocked the sunlight flowing in from a nearby window, so she couldn't quite make out his features. “I’m sorry, I didn't want to scare you.”

“It's okay,” She breathed out. “Hi, Harry.”

He smiled at her before placing the coffee in his hands, of which she hadn't noticed before, down on the table, taking a seat across from her. “You look tired.”

She always looked tired. He must have noticed. Everyone noticed. “You're very charming, you know that?”

“I get that quite a lot.” They sat in silence for a while, Harry sipping his coffee, occasionally settling his gaze on Avery. She completely gave up on trying to read her book and focused her attention on her bagel and tea. The afternoon sun lit up the shop, every table in front of them being illuminated in a warm glow.

Avery enjoyed the silence and Harry didn't seem to mind it either. She still didn't understand the stranger she had met and kept on meeting, but it was nice. It was different having a person around, like having a friend. “Do you wanna go out tonight?”

“What?”

“My friends and I are going out tonight and I thought you might want to accompany us,” Harry explained, his eyes not leaving her. He was worried. About what? She had no clue, but he wasn't very good at hiding it. Not at all.

“Wouldn't that make me even more tired?” Avery questioned, referring to his statement from earlier.

“I'll give you some energy.”

“How does that even work?”

“You will have to come to find out.” He smiled but it didn't quite reach his eyes. Avery agreed to go out with him and his friends, also agreeing to meet him at her flat. Avery left first, leaving Harry to sit a bit longer at the table. As she walked away, the warm glow of the sun hitting her face in the perfect way, Harry wasn't sure he had ever met someone more lonely.

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[mr-entj]

Hi Mr ENTJ, How do you deal with doubt? That gripping feeling that you're just not enough and you should be better? How do you look for answers from the inside rather than just patch in on from the outside? Thanks.

Related answers:

Can you talk about the quality(ies) or trait(s) that contributed most to your success?

What do you think is required from a person to succeed ?

Dealing with failure and overcoming adversity

You’re referring specifically to self-doubt. This is a great question that took me a long time to properly articulate a response because I didn’t want to dismiss it with a stereotypical: “I don’t feel self-doubt. I just fix the problem, power through it, and move on!” like every other ExTJ out there. I want to properly explain why this is the case so let me try:

I don’t often experience self-doubt or the gripping feeling that I’m not good enough, not because I’m a perfect human being (far from it-- here’s a greatest hits collection of some of my biggest failures), but because of my general approach to life that’s shaped by a few key beliefs.

1. I know where the world ends and where I begin

This means that I know where the line exists between what I want and what the world wants, between who I am and who other people want me to be, and between my expectations for my life and other people’s expectations of me. I see this boundary crystal clear and I enforce it. I set my own goals and I hold myself accountable to them.

This helps fight self-doubt because I don’t attach my self-esteem and self-worth to externally defined goals or assessments, I don’t accept unwanted input into my personal life from people who don’t matter, and I don’t compare myself to other people in destructive ways. If I compare myself to other people, it’s for the purposes of data gathering and not validation.

For example, the knowledge that most students graduate college in 4 years tells me that 4 years is the average amount of time. My key takeaway is that 3 years is above average speed and 4+ years is below average speed so I should aim to get my degree in approximately 4 years. My key takeaway is not that I’m a disastrous failure if I don’t graduate college in 4 years. And FYI, I ended up graduating in 6 years because I dropped out for 2 years and I still turned out fine.

Self-defined and self-enforced goals are critical to combating self-doubt because they mute all the outside noise; pushy parents, nosy friends, aggressive colleagues, and fickle societal standards. Life is very difficult by itself without the added complexity of multiple people pulling you in different directions that you don’t even want to go. Set clear boundaries and take the time to self-reflect what’s important to you so that you can be happy with the results of your efforts even if they don’t yield acknowledgement from anyone else.

tl;dr:

Find peace with the life you create for yourself because it’s you that has to live it.

2. I keep the big picture in mind, always

This means perspective. In the grand scheme of things, small losses here and there don’t amount to much because life is a marathon and not a sprint. This means that if you screw up today, there’s a high chance you can fix it tomorrow. If not, then know the world isn’t going to end because of it. The sun will still rise, babies will still be born, puppies will still be cute, your family will still love you, Tumblr will still be toxic, and the earth will still spin on its axis. I have failed classes, almost got held back in school, screwed up at work, infuriated important people, been rejected from 100+ jobs, lost important scholarships, and things still worked out because those failures didn’t matter in the long run even if they felt enormous at the time I was experiencing them. I know mistakes can be fixed, they’re not permanent, and they don’t sabotage the grand vision I have for my life. It makes the times I fall on my ass less painful which consequently makes me less fearful of trying to fly over and over again until I get it right.

This helps fight self-doubt because I attach failure to individual outcomes (actions) but I do not attach failure to me personally (identity).

For example, if I applied to Harvard University but got rejected, my interpretation of that outcome is this: “I failed to get into Harvard.” Yes, I failed to get into Harvard (action) but no, I am not a failure (identity).

The failure starts and stops at the end of an outcome, I don’t let it escape its container and infect other parts of my life by internalizing this kind of garbage: “I failed to get into Harvard so I’m dumb, I’m unworthy, and I suck.” This prevents self-doubt because I know failure is an isolated incident and I don’t take it personally. I don’t absorb failure as a personal identity-- I attach it to the specific event, action, or outcome and then store it in my vast library of knowledge as a lesson learned.

tl;dr:

Life is long and screwing up is part of the journey. Remember that you can fail at things (action) without being a failure (identity).

3. I accept that life is a game of probability

This means that I view life as a statistics game with events on a sliding scale between low probability of success and high probability of success. Probability of success is influenced by many variables such as my preparation, my natural abilities, the economy, my competition, timing, etc. I adjust the probability of success based on those variables to make better predictions:

I know that if my goal is to join the National Basketball Association (NBA), my probability of success is lower because my basketball skills and physical traits are below the average of a typical professional basketball player.

I know that if my goal is to get accepted to one of the best universities in the world, my probability of success is higher because my grades, test scores, and academic profile are above the average of a typical applicant.

Low probability of success doesn’t mean low effort. I don’t half-ass things that are unlikely to happen, I put high effort in all my endeavors if I really care about them and an obvious example of that is my life. Everything I’ve achieved in my life has been statistically improbable because I come from an underprivileged background where it was highly unlikely for me to have the life I have now. I beat the odds and achieved my goals anyway because I maximized my chances of success.

This perspective influences how I interpret success and failure:

Low probability of success that results in failure: “This outcome is what I expected so I’m not surprised, but at least I tried, gave it my best shot, and I know the answer. I’ll learn where I can improve and take that knowledge forward into the future.”

Low probability of success that results in success: “This outcome is not what I expected but I’m pleased it went my way. I understand this was an exception to the norm and I’m grateful it leaned in my favor.”

High probability of success that results in success: “This outcome is what I expected and I’m pleased it went my way. I need to continue doing the things that worked well and keep that knowledge for future reference.”

High probability of success that results in failure: “This outcome is not what I expected so I’m disappointed. I need to evaluate why I failed, understand how I can improve, and try again until I get it right.”

This helps fight self-doubt because it does one very crucial thing for me: it makes it impossible for me to lose.

I tell people all the time: “I’m undefeated because I’m still standing and I’m still going.” I can’t lose, I can only learn. It enables me to set realistic goals, have realistic expectations about my chances to achieve them, understand why I failed, and feel grateful when I succeed. Success is never guaranteed and failure is always accounted for in my calculations so I’m never blindsided. I know that I can be “perfect” and still fail, but I also know that I can be “imperfect” and still succeed. If I’ve done everything within my power and it’s still not going my way, then I’m not plagued with self-doubt because I can accept it was beyond my control and that it’s time to try something else.

tl;dr:

Many things in life are out of your control but try your best so you have peace of mind that you’re not quitting-- you’re moving on.

I’m not invincible, but for these reasons, it’s rare for me to feel self-doubt because I don’t view life as a game of “am I good enough or not?” I view life as a game of “what’s the best way to get what I want and did it work?” My two options are then: 1) Succeed, learn, and move on or 2) Fail, learn, and move on. There’s no third option to spiral into uncertainty and crippling self-doubt. I focus my energy on identifying the problem, the variables I can control, and the learnings from my outcomes.

In the rare times I do feel self-doubt, I go through a rigorous self-reflection exercise to identify the cause whether that’s concerns about personal decisions I’ve made, thoughts on my professional trajectory, or the state of my relationships. I identify the outcome that I want, gather information on how to secure that outcome, and give it my best shot. The result of that effort provides knowledge, wisdom, and opportunities to either 1) continue on the same path or 2) stop and try something else.

Ultimately, I always feel like there’s something wonderful in life waiting for me just around the corner and agonizing over past failures or self-doubt-- instead of getting up and trying again-- only delays me getting it.

[acecademia]

hey! this might sound silly, but do you think becoming a librarian is an 'unrealistic' dream? i feel like, on paper, i have everything one would need to get an entry level library position, but i'm getting nowhere. i'm at the point of considering moving to north america for *voluntary* experience. i really don't want to start an MLIS without getting some paid experience in the field first, but i feel like i keep running into walls... what are your thoughts on the job market atm?

Hi, nonny!

I think that's a really difficult question to answer, unfortunately. It depends a lot on what kind of library you want to work in, what your specialization is, and (sometimes) what other qualifications you have.

Of all of my friends who graduated from the MLIS program at the same time as me (spring 2020), I would say that 98% of them now have librarian jobs, and pretty much all of them are in positions that are relevant to their interests. (The remaining 2% is mostly either holding off on getting a job at the moment, still searching, or working in a non-library field.) I don't know what it's like outside of the US, but there's a lot of competition for librarian jobs. I have friends who have sent out literally hundreds of applications and only got a few interviews (though those interviews did eventually lead to jobs!). I'm also mainly speaking from my knowledge of & experience with public library jobs in the US. I know a couple of school librarians (K-12) and a handful of people who do work in special collections, archives, academic libraries, or other fields. But my main experience is with public libraries.

I think we're at a point where the job market is getting better, though. During the peak of covid, a lot of libraries froze their hiring processes. What would be the point of hiring someone to work in your library if your library wasn't open? Or, at least, that was one common thought. But now a lot of libraries are opening up and returning to some level of normal, and hiring has started to come back hard. With librarian jobs, in particular, it's very much a culture of "go where the job is." Especially for your first couple of positions, it's unlikely that you'll find the perfect job in your hometown or preferred city unless you're from or want to work in a huge city like Chicago where there are 30 bajillion libraries (not an exact number). You go wherever will hire you, get the experience you need to be a kickass candidate, and then apply for the job you want when it comes up. Or, at least, that's what my professors told us.

I'd recommend trying to put together an internship at a library. Some are paid, but most are unfortunately unpaid :/ That gives you some more serious experience. You can also look for circ jobs or page jobs at libraries, which is also going to make you a more attractive candidate because you'll understand the inner workings of the library.

A lot of people like to say that libraries and librarianship are dying, that there aren't jobs, and the institutions are going to disappear or become obsolete soon. Those people are dumb and don't understand libraries. Libraries are evolving. Public libraries, especially, are no longer places for being afraid to whisper. They're becoming community spaces for collaboration, interaction, and engagement. Some public libraries offer free classes in computer skills to help people who need those skills to apply for jobs or just to exist in the world more easily. I see a lot of high school libraries in the US that have added some kind of café-like area where kids can come and eat their lunch, maybe buy a coffee, and hang out. (I spent basically every lunch period in one such library café for my last two years of high school.) We're seeing more makerspaces popping up and a broader range of programming for all ages. Libraries are adapting to the current needs of the communities they serve, and they're definitely here to stay. I think this younger crowd of librarians who are coming up are also more progressive and, in some cases, radical than past generations of librarians, and that's the kind of energy we need. People who want to try new things and switch things up and not just try to keep libraries the same as they were in 1972. Because no one should want that.

tl;dr: librarian jobs are on an upswing at the moment. There's a lot of competition, but if you're determined enough, send out enough applications, and are willing to relocate for a job, you've got a really good chance at becoming a librarian.

[makeste]

BnHA Vigilantes Chapters 59 - 65: Emergency Catch-Up Blog

before I start, please be advised that the following post will contain a potential MAJOR SPOILER FOR CHAPTER 253, which has not yet been released! please don’t be an idiot like me and spoil yourselves, guys. stay safe.

but anyways yes, this is my recap post for Those Chapters of Vigilantes. at long last. hooray! by the way this is barely edited at all, on account of it being a rush job (see re: the “Emergency” bit in the header). just some raw, unfiltered, [CENSORED SPOILER THING] thoughts and feelings! hopefully it’s readable; when I have more time I’ll try and clean it up a bit more.

so now, first off, credit where credit is due because omg

bless you anon, you saved my life

but let me backtrack! looool so guys, I did a dumb thing and peeked at a spoiler, and read the name “Shirakumo”, and was like FUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCK and noped out, but it was too late lol. so then I was like “HOW DO I CATCH UP ON THE ENTIRETY OF VIGILANTES IN LESS THAN TWENTY-FOUR HOURS”, fully aware that I probably wasn’t going to do shit and would most likely just spend tomorrow apologizing and shrugging my way through the new chapter. and by the way guys, I’ll go ahead and throw in one of those apologies now, because I’ve had at least a dozen anons implore me to pick up Vigilantes, and I’m fully aware that Aizawa’s past has been covered (including one (1) cloudy boi), and that it’s really good. I just haven’t had the energy to do it! because reading and liveblogging are two very different things, and the latter just takes so much more time and energy honestly. so I kept putting it off and off and off, and now here I am

but then this ask came along telling me exactly which chapters to read in order to get the context I need! so seriously anon, you are the MVP of my week, and I appreciate this so, so much. I am now off to read those chapters, and I apologize to everyone again, but while I will liveblog them, it’ll probably be kind of a rush job due to the circumstances. like I won’t get into every single detail here, because it’s six whole chapters. but I’ll do my best

hmm I don’t know what constitutes the second half of chapter 59 lol so here I am reading the whole damn thing

AIZAWA BEING FRIENDS WITH MIDNIGHT, AND MIDNIGHT HAS A CAT OH GOSH

looool

personally, Aizawa hated school. he would never ever dream of becoming a teacher. how ridiculous. irrational af

“we’ll have you teaching at U.A. soon enough” psssh. not this man, sister

he’s hanging up on her now. honestly I am glad I did not skip the first part of this chapter lol

some wolfman is chasing the protag of this series whose name I forgot, as well as a little girl and ANOTHER CAT. this series has so many cats?! apparently!?

Aizawa is saving the cat. the hero we deserve

the protag whose name I am about to look up wants to adopt the cat, which prompts Aizawa to launch into a 2500-word essay on why he should not adopt the cat

okay the kid’s name is Koichi. he’s apparently 19 in the series, but I don’t know how old he is in this particular scene though because I have the vague impression that the series at large takes place in present-day BnHA time, which would mean this is definitely a flashback. so. ??

OHO, NOW IT’S A FLASHBACK WITHIN A FLASHBACK!!? so this is the Aizawa past thing everyone’s been all “!!!!” about. well here you go guys

young Shouta is staring at an abandoned kitty in a box in the rain

he left the cat, but also left his umbrella over it, awww

and he arrived at class all wet. and his teacher says he can go change his clothes, but he’s all “NAH I’M EMO SO I’LL JUST STAY LIKE THIS”, wow

“I’m powerless” jesus christ Shou get a grip

here comes Present Mic to forcibly lift his best bud’s spirits. they’re in second year apparently

Present Mic, and I mean this in the most loving and affectionate way possible, is the most annoying man on the planet

how was he not just constantly punched in the face at all times. like constantly walking around being punched by people

well well well

something horrible is sure going to happen to you, isn’t it? here I thought you were probably dead, but I’m kinda getting the inkling [SPOILERS, FOLKS, I’M SERIOUS] you’re gonna maybe show up in the latest chapter of the main series, so I guess not! congratulations I guess?? OR MAYBE NOT

“dammit Shirakumo” oh so it’s like that

their teacher deserves a raise. never thought we’d see another U.A. faculty member more done with life than Aizawa himself

hey Shirakumo is giving Shouta his umbrella back, but what about the cat?! SHIRAKUMO ARE YOU REALLY A NICE GUY, I’M NOT SURE YET

meanwhile he’s stripping naked in the middle of class. oh yes. I forgot Vigilantes was like this

he’s using his cloud quirk to censor himself where it counts

“and inside this cloud... is this charming little creature” lol we think he’s talking about his penis but then he pulls out the cat! WELL NEVER MIND THEN SHIRAKUMO

so Shouta is sitting around thinking emo thoughts that are gradually giving way to some decidedly un-hetero thoughts about Shirakumo, who’s doing that shounen thing where he smiles with his eyes closed while being silhouetted against the bright sun. maaaaan. Aizawa you are hella gay my dude

okay next chapter and they’re being assigned internships

Shirakumo’s hero costume is... well let’s just say it’s a good thing he’s got such a badass quirk

he’s riding around on that cloud like Goku. like a fucking Lakitu from Super Mario

now the teachers are talking about the three boys and whether they’ll be able to land internships

“Yamada shouldn’t have a problem. his voice quirk has applications in battle, rescue, and entertainment. but the boy’s a bit distractible.” okay first of all how the hell would Mic ever rescue a person with his quirk. fucking scream them to safety or what. and second, by distractible you mean punchable right. again, all the love

oh my god he’s so cute

lmao this is seriously my favorite picture of Aizawa ever. GO GETTEM SLUGGER

so Shouta is getting bullied by some guy with a decidedly Katsuki-ish quirk, except he shoots jets of fire out of his hands. but anyway he says that fighting Shouta is boring. SHUT UP, YOU. YOU’RE BORING

Shouta is so emo. but he really does want to be a good hero, he just doesn’t know how. he seems very frustrated

he’s lecturing Kumo on not giving people-food to the cat. and now he has picked up the cat and is cradling and bottle-feeding it like an infant. bless

this manga really has a gag panel of the cat pissing on Shirakumo afterwards, like. see this is another reason why I haven’t exactly been in a rush to read it sob. my sense of humor doesn’t really seem to align with Furuhashi’s

oH MY GOD

high school Midnight is the coolest person I have ever seen and I want to be just like her when I grow up

aaaaand she is literally not wearing any clothes except that belt and those boob-holsters. which, I mean, it’s not like she really dresses any differently in the main series, but this being Vigilantes, I’m sure we’ll get another half a dozen pages showing extreme close-ups of her costume from various angles. again, another area where this series and I don’t quite see eye to eye, but it’s all right since we’re just passing through here

and one year later they wrote a literal law limiting how much exposed skin a hero costume can show. oh Midnight. meanwhile I forgot how much this series makes me appreciate Horikoshi, flaws and all. I’ll take a thousand Minetas over this shit honestly. at least Mineta always gets his comeuppance. but anyway

they have named the cat “Sushi”

Midnight is straight up taking the cat lmao

Yamada got an internship. one down, two to go

Midnight’s back and showing them a video of the cat pooping. one joke about the cat’s bathroom habits in a single chapter was not enough, we’re going for two. not like we have anything more important to cover, like Aizawa getting an internship and something terrible and tragic happening to his boyfriend. let’s just keep talking about cat poop

okay here we go, Midnight says her boss will take them as interns

“Loud Cloud” lmao. home run hero name. GOAT

so Shouta’s chasing a villain and nearly got crushed by a safe that he threw at him, but he’s being saved by some guy who I’m guessing is his boss

oh my

this is the kind of weirdness that only a manga can get away with. I wonder how this idea came into being and whose idea it was, Horikoshi’s or Furuhashi’s. maybe the two of them hitting each other up back and forth in a text chain. “so I’m doing Aizawa’s flashback now, who do you want to have him to intern under?” “hmm I don’t know but I was thinking literally Prince”

Prince is chewing Shouta out something fierce

I thought I was prepared for these Aizawa flashbacks, but some things you can never be prepared for

lol he asked Shouta how he fucked up, and Shouta started listing all of his tactical errors, and Prince interrupted him and is all “I’M TALKIN’ ‘BOUT THAT GLOOMY FACE” listen son just who do you think your intern is. THAT’S JUST HIS FACE LEAVE HIM ALONE

he says Aizawa wears his stress all over his sleeve and bums people out

he’s telling him to smile! now where have we heard that philosophy before

hello

I’m just reblogging this panel because of reasons

so Shouta is sulking in the locker room, and Shirakumo is showering off and says his MO is to keep smiling even when he screws up

now Midnight is texting Shouta 500 cat pictures

lmao we can’t see Shouta’s face, but Kumo is streaking in and is all “THERE’S THAT SMILE, SUNSHINE!!!!”

OH SHIT NOW IT’S A FEW DAYS LATER AND THE VILLAIN IS BACK BUT THIS TIME SHOUTA DONE GOT HIM SOME GOGGLES!! the path from adorable to sexy begins. the Longbottoming

oh shit the goggles belong to Shirakumo. the gayening. and they were roommates

Shouta’s using his quirk!

and the bad guy is all “I don’t need my quirk to crush you” and straight up demolishing the fucking pavement yikes

and Kumo is leaping at him from above and whomping him on the head

yay they caught him. and Shouta is...

he’s trying. they’ll coax a real smile out of him yet! just show him a Youtube compilation of Logical Ruses

now he and Shirakumo have matching pairs of goggles. I’m just gonna assume this means they are married

the fire hands bully guy from earlier is coming over to start some shit again

he says he also realized the importance of eye protection through his internship. and Mic says he stole the idea from him

now the class is partnering off for two-on-two battle training, and Kumo is partnering with Shouta

they’re going up against Mic and Fire Hands, and for some reason they’re making a wager of it. whoever loses has to stop wearing glasses. this is easily the stupidest thing I have seen in this series yet, not to mention the most accurate

Kumo’s grinning at Shouta and saying the goggles symbolize their friendship and they have to defend them. you know, lovable scamp stuff

now Shirakumo and Shouta are double teaming the Fire Hands guy and taking him out in seconds because OF COURSE THEY DID. lol he never fucking stood a chance

but Shouta’s handing the glasses back and says that two-on-one isn’t fair so he’s calling the wager off

aaaand Fire Hands is snatching them back and stomping on them. and says he doesn’t need them

listen you dingus, yes you do fucking need them. and also he says he didn’t lose! wow this guy really has his head up his ass. I’d say he reminds me of a CERTAIN SOMEONE, but you know what, I’ll give Mr. Certain Someone his fair credit though, because he managed to get his shit together long before his second year. Fire Hands still needs to grow up

the teacher is telling him he missed the point of the exercise, and FH is literally ignoring him and running off wow

apparently Mic also gave up his sunglasses and got himself a pair of goggles. well we know that’s not gonna last. and for that matter, Shouta’s gonna change out his goggles for a different model as well. ohhhhh some tragedy is on the horizon I just know it, this is gonna hurt

Shirakumo says the three of them should start their own agency. ahhh. buddy I’m here reading this from the future, and I gotta tell you, son... shit’s awkward as fuck

and he’s pointing out all the different ways they complement each other’s strengths and weaknesses

Shouta says he can’t do anything on his own, but Kumo says that just means he’s suited to teamwork

Kumo’s inviting Midnight to join them, but she’s declining lol

Shouta’s looking at the sky all dramatically. oh baby this is it isn’t it. things are about to get rough

“one week later”

NOO THEY HURT MY PRECIOUS PRINCE

SOMEONE IS CALLING FOR BACKUP AND THE CAMERA IS ZOOMING IN ON A BUSTED UP PAIR OF GOGGLES, FUCK EVERYTHING

now we’re cutting to Mic and Fire Hands and FH replaced his sunglasses with a pair of goggles. goggles are just the in thing now

Fire Hands talks about Aizawa so much I’m starting to ship the two of them now as well. damn Shouta how many high school boyfriends did you have??

so they’re fighting off some toad monster and it’s absorbing all their attacks

meanwhile Shouta and Kumo are literally helping kindergartners to cross the street

look at this

it’s beyond my comprehension how anyone could possibly mistake this man for anything but a future teacher

even Kumo is commenting on how natural he is at working with kids

oH MY GOD the kids waved goodbye and said “bye Eraserhead” and it prompted a little smile

Kumo says Shouta psychs himself out and convinces himself he can’t do stuff, but really he can do just about anything if he puts his mind to it. aww. and he’s right!!

oh shit here comes the toad

so this toad’s name is Garvey, and he’s literally wanted for murder oh shit. and he has a Fatgum-like quirk that can absorb attacks and store them up to release them

and some idiots hit him with a combined attack that ended up powering him the fuck up. well shit

so Prince is placing a rose in between his teeth and getting ready to fight this toad off. do it I believe in you

now a lot is happening all at once, jesus. Shouta and Kumo were trying to evacuate the kids but then the toad just appeared right there like wtf, and then Prince also showed up out of nowhere and went to hit the thing with a flying jump kick

aaaand he’s getting blasted into a building

oof. and getting even further blasted now. welp

Kumo’s protecting the kiddos with his Nimbus quirk!

OH FUCKING SHIT AND THEN HE GOT CRACKED IN THE HEAD BY A GIANT FALLING ROCK

um

is this bitch fucking dead now. I can’t believe they fucking Obitoed my bro Shirakumo

so now the toad is looming over them, and Shouta realizes he’s the only one left standing, and all his doubts are filtering into his mind as he desperately tries to think of how to stop him

and Shirakumo’s... gourd... thing... is klunking in out of nowhere, and it has a little speaker on it, and it’s all “YOU GOT THIS AIZAWA” and wtf. this is like something out of a weird fever dream

OH SHIT BOYS AIZAWA SHOUTA DONE GOT HIS GAME FACE ON NOW

THE LONGBOTTOMING CONTINUES

so now he’s leaping fifty feet into the air, somehow, and thinking that his Erasure quirk will at least level the playing field. well all right then! you go boy

now it’s raining and of course bolts of lightning are dramatically hitting the ground all around them

Shouta’s kicking off the lil power toad lumps one by one lol

literally just jumping all around and kickin’ stuff

oof he took a bad hit. but he’s sitting back up!

Kumo’s disembodied gourd voice keeps shouting encouragement at him though, idk. so there’s that

he says Shouta’s strong and he won’t lose, and Shouta is all “RAHHHHHHH.” you guys, if 1-A ever found out about this flashback they would never let the man live it down. hell I’m not gonna let him live it down. okay then. Mr. RAHHHHHH

he’s doing some weird stuff with his capture weapon now. I think maybe he grabbed a rock with it and chucked it at the guy

and now the guy is shooting all his toad lumps at Shouta all at once! WELL ALL RIGHT THEN

yooooo Shouta literally grabbed them all with the capture weapon and he’s CHUCKIN’ EM ALL INTO THE DUDE’S MOUTH Y’ALL THIS IS SOME REAL FUCKING SHIT LMAO GET WRECKED

so the guy is blowing up from the inside out. yeah that’s what you get for murdering Shouta’s childhood friend you piece of shit

and Shouta’s collapsing in exhaustion but happily shouting “SHIRAKUMO I DID IT” before he passes out. oh my god don’t tell me Kumo is already dead and Shouta just hallucinated his voice or some shit. THEN WHO WAS GOURD omg

oooooof here we go

[places both hands on Shouta’s shoulders and looks him dead in the eye] son I don’t know how to tell you this, but Shirakumo has been dead for twenty years

wow can someone just fucking tell Shouta already so he stops depressing everyone and making an idiot out of himself. geez how long are you all gonna stand around despondently shooting knowing looks at each other in the rain

so they’re picking up the gourd speaker thing and OF COURSE it’s visibly broken and there’s no possible way Kumo’s voice could have been coming out of it. especially since he has been dead for twenty years. here’s a picture of his grave. oh shit what’s that little grave right next to his?? OH MY GOD IT’S THE CAT. OH MY GOD

oh fuck me

Y’ALL REALLY DID THESE BABIES LIKE THAT. HORIKOSHI!! FURUHASHI!! GET OVER HERE RIGHT NOW I WANT A WORD!!

so now Fire Hands, who is trying his best to be comforting but is just SO BAD AT IT, is all “Aizawa you went toe to toe with this thing and beat it YOURSELF!! ALL ALONE!!!” jesus christ I need a minute

OH DAMN A CALLBACK TO THE RAIN “THIS KINDA FITS OUR VIBE RIGHT NOW” LINE but now it’s saaaaaaaad oh no

I mean. I knew going in that this was going to be Aizawa’s sad childhood flashback about his friend Shirakumo whom something very terrible happened to. it’s not like I’m even surprised. I knew what I was getting myself into here. but damn that still hurts

do you guys think that having a permanent image of his best friend forever immortalized as a cheerful seventeen-year-old, and being forever haunted by the memory of that seventeen-year-old being cut down in the prime of his life, might have given Aizawa Shouta lasting trauma which carried over into his adulthood and makes him do desperately reckless things when children are at risk, such as leaping into battle against an army of villains all alone. dammit now I want to grab every single problem child of 1-A and shake them roughly and scream at them for all the sleepless nights they have doubtless caused this man

so now here he and Mic are both being sad

aww Mic. I’m sorry I keep wanting to punch you in the face. it’s just reflex

and now it’s one year later and the class is gearing up for the sports festival

well look who is almost fully done with his metamorphosis

you will soon be a beautiful butterfly

he is literally going to sleep in the middle of class. well depression makes people tired. sigh

he’s got his familiar goggles now! and he’s kicking FH’s ass and lecturing him on how to fight better. damn his character development is complete

and he’s helping FH to his feet aww. definitely boyfriends. this man gets around

his teachers now say that Shouta has gotten too complacent, if anything, and phones everything in once he knows he’s got a passing grade, and only gets passionate when it comes to practical exercises

and now we’re cutting to the gym and Shouta is indeed training passionately while Mic sits in the corner looking bummed. all these kids have been through far too much in their young lives

Shouta’s handing in his career aspiration form, and he wrote that he wants to start his own agency and focus on “fighting, and nothing else”

his scruffy facial hair is already starting to come in now. it’s true what they say, having a tragic past does indeed make you hotter

anyways but can we get this boy a hug!? anybody?? hello??!?

now they’re graduating and Shouta is disappearing in a poof of smoke and now there’s this big panel with flashbacks to his career up to the current point in Vigilantes!

and we’re back in the ~present~ and he’s telling Koichi to take good care of that cat. aaaand, I guess that’s that. geez. that was a lot

so there you go! the Aizawa flashbacks! they were very sad! all in all I really enjoyed them! so now, if Shirakumo isn’t actually dead (seeing as it’s a shounen manga that pays homage to comic books, so safe to say that People Not Actually Being Dead is a Certified Phenomenon, like it’s definitely a THING THAT CAN SOMETIMES HAPPEN), well then. tomorrow’s chapter is sure going to be interesting to say the least. lulz but maybe I’ve got it all wrong though. guess I’ll find out!

[moonchildstyles]

moonchildstyles patreon launch!!!

hi guys!!! This is something I’ve been thinking about doing for a couple of months now and I think I’ve found the right time and right pieces to share!! Details about the launch will be put under the cut including pricing, whats included, and what the first piece to start off is!!

So I’ve decided to keep my patreon really simple, with only one tier priced at $5! I might expand in the future but as for right now, I’m keeping things simple for everyone including myself owkkssk

My patreon is going to include first access to new pieces including my new series, blurbs for existing pieces, and extended sneak peeks of pieces in progress. Those pieces will later be posted to tumblr, either a couple weeks to a month after being posted to patreon depending on the piece. There will also be exclusive blurbs that can be requested by patrons that will not be posted to tumblr. 

As we all have noticed, I take a good bit of time in between pieces to outline them and write out everything, so there will be months that are paused and no new content will be posted, but no one will be charged for those months.

This is not at all obligatory as I know not everyone can afford to pay for fic owmskskd and I don’t want people who aren’t able to afford it to feel left out so unless it’s a patreon exclusive, all pieces posted to the patreon will be posted to tumblr following a stretch of a couple of weeks to a month.

My official start date will be March 1st, so everyone only gets charged once to start off. The first piece posted will actually be part one to my new series, which I want to keep as a surprise for everyone!! The new series will later be posted to tumblr a few weeks after patreon. once the patreon is up on march 1st, i will make another post with the link to the page!

Below I’ll leave a sneak peek to the piece to see if you guys like it!!

—————

(Y/N)'s broke. Like, really fucking broke.

Rationally, she knew that life as a fresh college graduate wasn't going to immediately fall into place, but she thought—maybe—the new credentials might actually help. But she's three months out, and no one has bothered to even give her a call back about any applications she's sent out and she's so broke. Just to add to the stress, her roommate—Charlotte—had broke the news to her the other day that she was planning on moving in with her boyfriend. (Y/N) could barely afford the apartment with the double income, but she knew she definitely couldn't afford it now. She does admit it was kind of dumb to have prematurely quit her job the weekend after graduation, but she was so excited to start her life, really start it. Now, with less than a hundred dollars in her bank account, a flat she was fully responsible for, and no job offers, she's panicking. She spent all her time on indeed and other sites trying to find any kind of listing she qualified for and applying to anything she might even have the slightest shot at.

It wasn't until her fifth day in a row looking nonstop, during the late night hours (early morning at this point) did she find a listing that she actually got excited for. It definitely wasn't her field, but the benefits were everything she was looking for. The listing called for a "Housekeeper/Sitter For Sprawling Manor". It seemed easy enough, with pretty good pay for the work, and it was a live-in position so she wouldn't have to worry about rent. The owner of the manor was rarely ever home, as the listing quoted, so it would be like being paid to live alone. It also helped that whoever wrote the listing seemed to have high energy, an affinity towards exclamation points, and pointed out more than once that no experience was needed just "enthusiasm and the willingness to learn!!"

Googling the manor—Styles Manor—brought up artistic shots of a truly sprawling mansion. The building separated into two wings, converging in the center with a rounded bulb making the roof. It was beautiful, and definitely not the kind of Gothic, decrepit castle she was expecting when reading through of the owner's "eccentric taste" in decor. With no hesitation, she filled out the automated application and attached her resume before pressing submit. She sent out all the good vibes and prayers and anything that could possibly manifest for her to get this job. Then, she proceeded to fall asleep in the blink of an eye.

She didn't even realize how long her "nap" was until she woke up at 3:30 in the afternoon from the buzzing of her phone. She didn't bother to look at the caller ID, tapping the green button and rolling over before pressing the phone to her ear.

"Hello?" she said groggily into the receiver. She fought to keep her eyes open as they kept sliding shut from exhaustion.

"Hi! Is this (Y/N)?" an excited Irish accent sounded through the phone, "My name is Niall from Styles Manor."

Shit.

She bolted upright, now fully awake. "Oh, hi! Yes it is! Uh—Thank you so much for getting back to me so soon!"

"Of course." She could hear his smile through the speaker, infecting her as giddy nerves passed through her body. "I saw your application this morning, and I was wondering if you could come in for an interview tomorrow?"

"Yes! I mean of course, what time were you thinking?" She basically bounced off the bed, pacing her room to let out the energy in her body.

They ironed out the rest of the details, (Y/N) agreeing to any of his suggestions. Once bidding their goodbyes, (Y/N) can't help but prance around her apartment. Finally—finally—someone got back to her, and it wasn't an degrading, minimum wage, retail job! Niall sounded so nice, she couldn't imagine any problems she could have working for him. She sent out the same good vibes and prayers as she had before (they seemed quite effective at this point), then proceeded to stress about what to wear tomorrow.

Not only did she need this job, she actually wanted it. She had a really good feeling about this one.

—————

if u have any questions u can send them here!!

[hopetofantasy]

‘Wandering Romance’

- A future with child fic -

Square Filled: Future, Family, Past lovers Ship: Sander Driesen/Robbe Ijzermans   Trigger Warnings (if applicable): none applied. Created for @skamevents Summary: "A perfect, tight little family. But happy. Until one unfortunate day in May, in the year that David turned six." In the future, Robbe and Sander have a son named David. The only tie they have left with each other, actually. Because our lovers split up years ago, due to mistakes that were made in the past. So is their love strong enough to sustain a healthy friendship? Will they find their way to each other again or break all connections for good? Also available on AO3

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CHAPTER 1: 'No one knows the pain'

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“David! Your dad’s here!”

Loud thundering on the stairs, caused by tiny child’s feet, followed by a high pitched exhale directed towards the man in the door. The later one immediately wrapped his arms around his hyperactive boy. Sighing deeply. The emotion on his face revealed unconditional love, as well as a vague sadness. Hurt. Hurt for the other man standing on the opposite side.

“Papa, I missed you! OMG, did you color your hair again? I don’t see any brown anymore, I love the brown, papa, why did you change it? Oh and I -”

“David, let your father have some room to breathe, please. Go put on some shoes and bring your jacket, it’s cold out.”

The 9 year old turned towards the other part of the parental couple. The deep brown in his eyes filled with such an invigorating energy. The color was something he inherited from Robbe. The lack of stopping the chaos in his head? That was such a Sander move. David truly was a piece of both. Even though, he wasn’t truly born out of either of them, he simply belonged here.

“But, paps, I don’t want to wear my own jacket!”

“What are you going to wear then?”

“Papa’s leather jacket!” he exclaimed, like it just was as easy as one plus one. The long blonde curls bouncing off his head, while he pulled at the arm of Sander’s coat. The beach blonde couldn’t help, but laugh fondly at his son’s statement. He really loved the boy like nobody else. Well, there may be a time, where he loved someone just as much.

Gosh, Robbe, don’t think about that.

“It’s okay, Robbe,” Sander directed the flashy smile towards him, knowing all too well he couldn’t say no to the both of them if they banded together. “We’re just going to the movies anyways. The new cartoon movie is perfect for our tiny artist. Isn’t it?” A excited squeal filled the cold air between them. Apparently, he had touched David on a ticklish spot, trying to make him giggle.

Robbe couldn’t help, but feel the sting. The picture before his eyes made his heartache complete. Sander laughing along with their beautiful son, the beach blonde complementing the blond, energy matching tones, he even saw how David was starting to copy Sander’s mannerisms more and more. Reminding him, every day, of the mistake he once made.

The follow-up question made the atmosphere even more loaded. “How’s Wouter? I didn’t see his car in the driveway? I thought he wasn’t working today?”, was asked. Ah, there it was. Another cut in his heart. Exactly the question he was trying to avoid. Another crossed line through his life. Something he didn’t intended to share with his ex. Not completely, at least.

“He hasn’t been around much, lately.”, he simply stated. Knowing that Sander would probably connect the dots later, he’d rather not discuss this in front of their son. It was difficult enough to maintain relationships in these situations. Especially when you were still friends with the other dad. They needed to be. Their son didn’t ask for this, he deserved to have a strong, loving family.

Something they’d made clear from the day they signed the divorce documents.

It only took a half an hour to get David ready, which was a record in Robbe’s book. After searching the entire room for his son’s shoes and the kitchen cabinets for his backpack (don’t ask, it’ll be easier if you. just. didn’t. ask), he was finally able to hand over the week-bag, the dreaded jacket and wave them goodbye. A huge piercing smile on their little one’s face. And...

A loaded glance.

An electrified touch.

A last cheek kiss.

Before he slumped down against the back of the door.

-^-

It didn’t start out this way, you know. They were happy before. Before all the things that led up to this moment.

Wait, I’m jumping ahead.

Let me tell you a story. The story of a beautiful love shared between two boys. Boys who loved like they never loved before. They found each other, they lost each other and found each other again. Push and pull. To say that their love was a rollercoaster? That’s an understatement. It made them only stronger in the future.

Until, it didn’t.

In the week of Robbe’s 20th birthday, they decided to move into their own apartment. It was a tiny studio at the edge of the city centre. Just enough for the both of them. Their living room was filled by their bed, tossed clothes and a ratty couch, the kitchen was tiny enough to only fit a midget size refrigerator, a second-hand stove and one kitchen counter. That they didn’t use anyways. Except... for... stuff. You know.

But it was perfect.

The best time of their lives.

When Robbe came home every day after class - his last year of IT & Webdesign - he could wrap his arms around his lover, who smelled of paint, citrus and himself. Kissing Sander was like being born again. Giving him goosebumps each time. No other feeling was as fierce. This bliss, this happiness. Making love to him, was heaven on earth. Nothing could compare. Nothing ever did.

Sander was struggling to get by on an artist paycheck. He only sold one of his pieces to art collectors every other month. His talents weren’t always appreciated like they should’ve been. But he kept trying. Through his highs as well as his lows, he never gave up his two passions: his art and David Bowie. He once even made an entire collection of Bowie portraits.

Which would later caught the eye of a notorious gallery owner, asking him to join the alternative artist collective he was setting up. Filled with musicians, writers, painters. Sander’s people. But that would take at least a couple of more years of struggling. Of cheap dinners and scraping by on one paycheck. Until the year of David’s sixth birthday.

When Robbe made the mistake.

To say that their lives was perfect, was an huge overstatement though. Sander’s medication wasn’t always working like it needed to be, living together wasn’t quite the same as staying with their parents and Robbe’s studies took a lot out of him. And then came the day that Jens knocked on their door. With a statement that chilled their bones to the core.

“Noor’s dead.”

Shock.

Denial.

Sadness.

Such a beautiful soul that was lost. Never roaming the earth again. Never again her special artistic cooking, the scoffing if someone said something she considered dumb. Late night jamming sessions, wine spills on new couches, burning protests at parliaments, all saying ‘f-u society, I’m not your bitch’? All gone. The light that made all of their laughs a little brighter, was no more.

And their lives would never again be the same.

These emotions followed rapidly by anger. Because apparently, it was a drunk driver that had hit her car on the way home. On the way home to her family. A tight little group that’d only consisted of a proud surrogate uncle/roommate Jens and a small child, barely a year old. The latter one was a small detail that she’d left out of her stories of backpacking in the US of A. Something that Jens didn’t mention during the wild parties, set up by Moyo in his underground club.

The small child was already fatherless, but now he didn’t have a mom either. He had nobody to care for him. Jens had put every single cent into his new start-up in New York and was in the process of moving there. Trying to set up a different life. Possibly meeting up with Jana again. Before all of this had happened, of course. Because who could’ve know?

So the boys didn’t have any other choice.

From the moment both had seen the little, bubbly baby in his basket, crying out for his mom, they’d knew. The boy had nestled in their hearts. The sorrow was a little less harsh, when you could look into the eyes of someone so pure. Noor’s son needed them. It was what Robbe owed her. For her unconditional love. After all, she had been his voice of reason, his shoulder to cry on - even through international phone calls - when it all was too much. The harshness of life.

The Sobbe relationship rollercoaster.

So arrangements were made. A graduate job secured. A family-backed loan for a small house was asked. And the adoption process had started. It only took them a year, due to Aaron’s social work contacts, before they could call David theirs. David Ijzermans-Driesen. The only one that could call them ‘papa’ and ‘paps’. The most precious boy in the entire universe. And any other universe, for that matter. In every parallel one.

A perfect, tight little family. But happy.

Until one unfortunate day in May, in the year that David turned six.

-^-

“Schat, don’t be so nervous. It’s me who’s supposed to be nervous, right?”

Sander eyes twinkled with mischief. He was dragging Robbe along to the dress rehearsal for their ‘happening’. Yes, a happening. Like the ones in the times of hippie communes. Those kind of artsy fartsy things. The brown haired boy didn’t know what it had meant entirely, but whatever Sander was into, he couldn’t help but show it to his partner.

To be completely honest, their relationship was strained these last few months. Robbe was more tired than anything else. Their son had started his first year of primary school, so this meant that evenings were filled with encouraging to practice reading and writing, guiding through homework and all the while trying to understand the problems that had manifested into his web code. His plate was filled with more work than ever before.

He wouldn’t really blame Sander, though, since this was the first time he finally caught a break in the artistic world. Yet, unconsciously, he had counted the days that they didn’t touch each other. And they were a lot. At least, for a couple that’d got married only a year ago. They were supposed to be in their blissful period of marriage, filled with the constant desire to touch each other at any time at any place.

And that wasn’t the case.

So when he caught sight of a certain man, someone who wasn’t his husband, his heart had skipped a slight beat. His hands were starting to get clammy, his voice caught in his throat and he didn’t know how to breath anymore. Robbe didn’t remember the last time this had happened with Sander. So, his immediate next thought, was shame and disgust.

For what he felt right now.

Yet, he couldn’t seem to look away. All during the dress rehearsal, his eyes were following the beautiful man who played along with his guitar in the background. His eyes were stars of stark blue, covered by a mop of light curls. The combination of these, together with a timid, yet mysterious air around him, immediately reeled him in. Worst part? He seemed to know Robbe was staring at him. Before he exited the area, he even turned back to wink at him.

Sander, of course, didn’t caught his boy’s entire thought process that followed. He was still going on about the dynamics of the entire art installation. Even introducing his other half to a few new friends he’d made. A Spanish girl with colorful hair, a German boy with a too-cool-for-you gaze and pair of Italian guys with soft smiles. Their energy all flowed through one another, like single organism. Like they were all part of something better.

Robbe could understand why Sander was attracted to these kind of people. He however, still wanted the ask the question that lingered in the back of his mind. Who had been the beautiful model that gave him a wink? Was he still here? Did  he expect something of him? He couldn’t do anything to someone else than Sander. Right? Right. It was wrong, with the capital W. So he let it be.

At least, that what’s he thought.

All through the happenings, the same feelings manifested. His eyes pulled towards the mysterious guy, instead of what his own husband was doing. While he heard the gasps of the audience around him, he gasped at the intense stare. While the people were urging closer to see what was happening, he’d fill his mind with thoughts about what he would do with the man before him.

Laying him down on the floor.

Touching him.

Kissing him.

Making his way with him.

Sander seemed to know Robbe wasn’t really raving about the entire art thing, so he never asked why his eyes glanced over every time he brought up the performances. He seemed to wait patiently for his lover to talk about his thoughts. What seemed to bother him. But, that was the thing: he didn’t. Robbe didn’t say a word. He just... stared. Longingly.

At someone else.

On the fourth week of mutual silence, Sander spiraled. His words were reeling with pain, with agony. They still didn’t know what caused an bipolar episode. They both wished they did, though, this time even more. Because it was a really, really bad one. Never before had Sander called him names. Never before did he make Robbe cry with desperation. He didn’t even let him touch him. Sander had said about himself, that he was a waste of space, so why would Robbe even bother about loving him? Why would their son ever love him? He was broken.

And Robbe let his tears fall.

He blamed himself. Because of the thoughts he had about the unknown man. He deserved this. A loveless touch, a hollow kiss, a silenced dagger thrown at his heart. He had felt something for someone else, he deserved so much worse. This was just tip of the ice-berg. It’s what he manifested. What he cooked up in his own thoughts, that made Sander hate him. Robbe knew it was all his fault.

His rational mind knew that these feelings were ridiculous though. Sander wasn’t his MI. His lover always saw the best in him, it was just the chemicals in his brain that sometimes fought with each other. And that, was maybe even worse. Knowing that Sander would always love him, no matter what, even when his episode was at his lowest, while Robbe was looking at someone else?

It broke him.

His fault.

Toxic.

For feeling the wrong things towards the wrong guy.

Sander saw it happening. After the episode, when he climbed out of the canyon of hurt, he still tried to pull his lover out of his own spiral. He touched his cluttered mind, wanted to break through the newly built walls and screamed out in frustration to shock him. But Robbe slowly became more silent. He reverted back to his older self, his younger, less pronounced ‘me’. The one who was insecure about every step he took. About every thing he did. About their love.

And that’s when he broke them.

Fights were more the norm in their household than lovemaking. David kept running towards either of them asking if they were angry at each other. To stop crying. To stop shouting. To stop hurting each other. He wanted papa and paps to be happy again. He wanted to kiss all the boo-boos away, making their hearts hurt even more.

So, after a bunch of whispered discussions, a few stints at a crappy couples counselor - some smuck that didn’t even remember their names - and a few months of loaded silence, they knew. This wasn’t healthy anymore. Sander gave and gave and gave, while Robbe ran. He ran away from the love. They knew it had to stop. It was healthier this way. To catch a break. To breathe.

A breath that was stolen only one time more. Their lips connected, the tears flowed, their bodies felt the hurt between them, even though they were making love. For the last time. Pieces of heart exchanged, never truly whole again. Grasping at the air surrounding them. Emerald eyes lingering into brown. The touch of heaven. Never again. All over. Discarded. 

Making the biggest mistake in both their lives:

They split up.

-^-

“Don’t forget, Robbe”

“I won’t.”

“I’m serious”

“I know.”

“David won’t stop babbling on about this.”

“Yes, Sander, he’s my son too. I know this already!”

“...”

“Sorry...”

“... It’s okay.”

Robbe sighed, fidgeting with the cellphone in his hand. A headache was starting to build up behind his eyes. Why did Sander call him again? Like he didn’t know about the biggest event of the school year approaching? The school’s annual show was on Saterday, open to every parent interested in sending their kids to the school as well as the parents of attending children.

“He just wants us to be there. Maybe we could invite the rest of the boys?”

“I’ll ask them. I don’t know if Jens will get a babysitter on such short notice, though. Jana is pretty busy with her job as a lawyer, you know that.”

“Come on, try to convince them to come. Maybe Amber can babysit the kids. It’s been a while since David has seen his uncles!”

Robbe thought long and hard about this statement. It had been a while since he saw his best friends. Nowadays, their lives were filled with juggling their family lives, responsibilities at work while maintaining a healthy lifestyle with their respective partners. Not that he didn’t know how difficult it could be sometimes.

Only recently, he’d acquired the new lecturing job at the IT departement, making way more pay and significantly better hours, so he could focus his time on David. Robbe really liked this job though. Educating other young people in the world of digits and numbers, something that always made sense even if your life was insecure. Exactly why he studied IT in the first place.

“Robbe, are you there?”, Sander voice whispered soothingly. Like only an ex-lover could feel, he somehow knew every thought that passed through Robbe’s brain. “You know, you don’t have to invite them if you don’t want to. I’m sure we’ll be fine just the three of us. David will be proud to show us his performance nonetheless. He’s been raving about his Bowie song, since they made the announcement.”

“The three of us?”

“Yeah, you, me and Wouter right?”

“Ah. Yes.”

“You know, your boyfriend?”, the voice chuckled.

Since a month ago, Robbe’s free weeks were filled with unhealthy habits again. Pigging out on junk food, vegetating on the couch, binging Netflix shows. Only, his friends or Sander didn’t need to know about this. David barely met his ex-boyfriend, thank god. They didn’t need to know about the nasty fights that happened between him and Wouter.

About the black eyes, cuts and bruises.

The disgusting words.

The break-up...

But yeah,

Robbe deserved all of it anyways.

“Robbe...”, he heard the other whisper.

“You do know I don’t have a problem with him, right? I mean, it’s been ages since the two of us were ever together. You deserve a healthy love-life. Someone to call yours. Someone who loves you. You deserve someone who gives you the world. I don’t like you being alone. I want to see you happy...”

He didn’t knew why Sander said stuff like that to him. He didn’t deserve it, because all he brought upon his lovers was worry and anger. Everything he touched, would slowly turn more and more toxic. During their teenage years, Sander had said something similar to him. Right after an episode. And he didn’t believe it. He never will. Since it was him that made everything worse.

Not Sander. Not Wouter. Not any of his other previous flings.

Him.

“You know what I think about that, Sander.”

“Robbe...”

“I’ll ask the boys, okay?”

“But Robbe, I-”

“Give David a kiss for me!”

He quickly disconnected the line.

Before Sander could say something back.

He simply didn’t want to know.

Focussing his thoughts on anything else, pulling out a vague sketch their son had made. Apparently the drawing class was paying off. He’d made the outline of a tree, standing lonely in a grove. The environment around it was completely bare. No grass. Yet, at the outlines you could still see the branches of other trees. Something felt off.

Robbe shook his head. He was probably projecting his own feelings onto the drawing. It was just a grove of trees, for god’s sake. An amazing technique. Some intense colors. That truly made the sketch vibrate. Their tiny boy was filled with lots of surprises. You see, both parents still didn’t know what song he’d picked to sing for them Saturday. “Something special”, David said with a glint in his eyes, before packing his bag for his stay at Sander’s.

The co-parenting system was a bitch as well as a blessing. He’d love to see his boy more than every other week, but some ‘me-time’ wasn’t bad either. Having this free time for himself was a privilege. Time to sort out stuff in the house, work ahead for the school year or take relaxing baths. Maybe go to a bar and hook up with someone, without having a hyperactive kid bursting in.

Not that he felt up for that right now.

But he truly was happy with the 9 year old. Every moment with him was an extra day of unconditional love. A love that was consistent. A gift that kept on giving. A reflection of a beautiful soul lost. But also a mirror for Sander and him.

He was happy.

Or at least, he thought he was.

(But he wasn’t)

[hakuryuu]

All for circumstance and fortune if that’s not too much, I wanna know Everything

SORRY THIS TOOK ME ALL DAY AAHHH

CIRCUMSTANCE

their voice: it's soft and medium-pitched. he doesn't usually raise his voice above speaking level even if he's agitated

their smile: he usually does a closed-mouth smile, it's hard to get him to grin with his teeth! but even his little smiles are usually genuine, since he's not the type to fake smile

their greatest achievement: he's something of a prodigy in the order and he's really talented and innovative with the lady's gifts

their insecurities: he's always worried about getting in trouble because despite often getting in trouble he's very unwilling to stray from the things he wants to do, so he's always trying to like.....fit his own desires into the framework of what he's supposed to be doing? and he's always a little uneasy about that because he knows he's supposed to be the order's golden child

their shortcomings: imdnfndndnf he's SO like........rigid?? that's not quite right and neither is stubborn, i described him as unbending and i think that's the closest? he's very much not the kind of person to be deviated from a path or way of thinking, not because he refuses to be swayed but just because he's so singleminded. he's also kind of naive and unsuspicious but luckily for him his tunnel vision makes him harder to manipulate. also he's. kinda lazy. fhfngndnf

how they deal with grief: outwardly he shuts down and powers through it, but it makes him prone to just like crying at random times and he also will become more emotionally withdrawn and prone to trying to do stuff by himself. if he's allowed to exercise by himself while he's grieving he'll sometimes go too hard and hurt himself

how they like to dress: he likes loose unrestricting clothing when he's not wearing his vestments because he is, unfortunately, a jock. he probably wears dresses a fair amount, but he also likes loose tank tops and shorts, that kind of thing

what they like to eat: he likes salty foods like grilled fish and he likes soups!

their theme: if the question is thematic arc i'm still hammering that out but his theme song is natsukage by KEY

their fashion sense: he really likes bold patterns and interesting fabrics despite his own tendency to wear plain neutral colors most of the time

their family life: he loves his mom and his little brother!!! him and fortune are close (both emotionally and in age) so they spend a lot of time together. their mom is a [term for luck-bearing person] while they're both [luck-using people] so they don't spend as much time with her, but they try to have meals with her at least once a week and they see her around the order with some regularity. the order isn't small but it also isn't super big so mostly everyone knows each other and it has that kind of familial aspect

their romantic life: he gets hopeless crushes on cute boys but never actually enjoys being around them fhsjdngndnf or like does enjoy being around them but in the same way you like being around people you're friends with. he's never actually dated anyone and he's never met anyone he's wanted to like actively chase after, but he does get a fair amount of confessions from people who like aloof-looking prettyboys

their embarrassing memory from years ago: when circumstance was little the room he shared with fortune was such a mess that once in the middle of the night a pile of his stuff collapsed onto fortune's bed and buried him and they had to get a bunch of adults to excavate him. fortune has never let him live this down

how they react to burning their tongue on food: sticks his tongue out, maybe does a small "ah", immediately goes to get an ice cube on it

how they react to a brainfreeze: that gif of paul rudd in front of a computer going "oh shit!!!" and closing his eyes really tight

their dreams: he dreams of a day when the order's outposts are connected more firmly and he can travel between them more often

their ambitions: he wants to discover new applications of the lady's gift!

how they sleep: face down upside down on the bed so his feet are on the pillow. he usually wakes up one or two times a night unless he's really tired

their reaction to betrayal: he'd search desperately for a reason to forgive or excuse them, and then afterwards he would just be sad

their reaction to a mystery love letter: fgdhjfj probably unfazed.....if whoever sent it approaches him he'll kindly let them down but if there's no sender name then he won't do anything about it

how they react to pain: a hiss through the teeth unless he's around fortune or his mom AND it's not a big deal in which case he's a huge baby and wants to be coddled

what they're like on two hours of sleep: imfngndndnf he functions poorly on no sleep so he always feels really normal and rational internally but from the outside he doing really dumb stuff, like how when you're drunk you think nobody can tell but it's super obvious

how they act when they're sick: whiny and dramatic, if he has a cold he Is dying. if he gets some kind of stomach bug or a bad flu though he just becomes a zombie until it's over because he hates it so much

what motivates them: he's really motivated by the order's job (balance of luck, that kind of thing) because he knows it's important job

why you enjoy them: that;s my son...i really enjoy how like gentle and mothering he is sghsnfnfndf

FORTUNE

their voice: an upbeat kind of husky voice, clear with coarse edges

their smile: big bright grin! he's an expressive boy so you can almost always see what's happening on his face

their greatest achievement: every time he outshines circ it feels like an achievement to him. also once he cooked a big dinner for the order and it went off perfectly

their insecurities: he's got a bit of an inferiority complex abt circ being better at using the lady's gifts....he's also a little insecure about how slowly his hair grows. the people at the order are always telling him how well he follows rules compared to circ but he's always sure they're just saying it to make him feel better

their shortcomings: he's envious and a little mistrustful....he has a lot of trouble not comparing himself to others (Esp Circ) and seeing where he falls short instead of where he excels in comparison. he's also got a lot of drive and not very much place to put it which results in him being unnecessarily competitive about Everything

how they deal with grief: it ferments very quickly into bitterness if he doesn't talk with anyone about it, he also tends to get angrier and pick fights when he's going through stuff

how they like to dress: very similar fashion style to circumstance (they steal each other's clothes sometimes) but he tends towards more long-sleeved shirts. he finds the underlayers of the vestments pretty comfy. both him and circ are pretty into big jackets and straw sandals as well

what they like to eat: he likes light cold foods, like a bagel or some cucumber slices or stuff like that

their theme: rever's edge (b-6) by the pillows

their fashion sense: he likes loud color blocked stuff but doesn't like stuff with patterns on it

their family life: he's super close with his brother & fairly close with his mom + he's so generally cheerful & outgoing that he's kind of the equivalent of that classmate that everyone likes

their romantic life: running joke that he should be [a luck-bearer] bc his luck w relationships is so bad (mostly unrequited crushes, a handful of breakups: he tends to put people on a pedestal and it causes problems)

their embarrassing memory from years ago: he once got an important visiting member of the order's birthday wrong and threw them a surprise party on the wrong day....it went fine but he's mortified every time he thinks of it

how they react to burning their tongue on food: AGHHH HOT HOT HOT, accepts the ice cube circ is already handing to him while also flipping circ off because he Is laughing

how they react to a brainfreeze: goes fetal, shoves the pad of his thumb against the roof of his mouth as fast as possible

their dreams: he daydreams about being a famous chef

their ambitions: he's very ambitious!!! i don't know enough about how the order works to explain what his ambitions are!!! help!!

how they sleep: worlds SLOPPIEST sleeper, he knocks out immediately and stays asleep through hell and high water, mouth open + drooling + starfished at a weird angle across the bed w at least one limb hanging off + at least one pillow is on the floor every morning. if you put a cat on his chest he will wake up immediately

their reaction to betrayal: jovial resignation that masks hurt and anger & you will find him in the gym hitting a punching bag at 1am

their reaction to a mystery love letter: he'll think about it all day and go around asking everyone if they sent it (but is really casual and jokey about it because if this is a prank someone is pulling on him then god dammit they are not gonna get a reaction)

how they react to pain: if he gets a minor/sudden injury he gets Angry and then has to tamp that down, bigger or duller hurts he bears with aplomb and tries not to think about it. he lets circ fuss over him because it makes him feel cared for even though externally he acts like he hates it

what they're like on two hours of sleep: HUGE kid at a sleepover at 1am energy (bro......do you think pigeons have feelings???) + he gets super weepy

how they act when they're sick: he doesn't get sick very often but when he does he knocks out for one to three days depending on severity of illness and then is perfectly fine. circ, who once had a head cold that lasted a month, will never forgive him for this

what motivates them: he wants to be good at a lot of stuff (versatility!!) and get praised

why you enjoy them: he's a good boy!!

[lemonywitch]

Happy day, witches! I hope you are all staying positive during these troubled times. If you need someone to talk to, just know that you can talk to me. Send me a message here, or you can dm me on Instagram @lemonywitch anytime. These are lonely times for a lot of people, and I think everyone should have someone to talk to. I know we’d be total strangers to each other, but that’s ok for me. Please do be aware that this is not an invitation for any inappropriate messaging. You will be blocked without warning. Anything else is good. Just want you guys to keep that in mind.

Moving on, since we didn’t talk about candles last time, let’s talk about candles today! Don’t worry, this post should be shorter than last time. Or at least I’m gonna try...

The first thing that I want to talk about is candle colors. In your spells, different colors can mean different things, whether it’s a candle, a string, or the color of pen ink you use. Here’s a list of colors and what each one represents, along with some spell ideas:

Red 🍎: Love, passion, desire, energy, determination. Can be used if you want more love or intimacy in an already-existing relationship, or if you’re in need of some energy for a new project, or for determination to start your new business.

Pink 💖: Happiness, self love, self esteem, grace, compassion, tenderness, understanding. As you can see, pink is used in situations where you want to help yourself in areas of self love and self esteem, or in areas you want to improve, such as in happiness, grace, compassion, tenderness, and understanding of others. In other words, pink is for YOU, baby.

Orange 🍊: Strength, success, encouragement, attraction, joy, confidence. Orange is used for spells where you need some kind of extra boost for yourself. This could be helpful if, for instance, you need some extra courage and confidence to ask for that promotion at work.

Yellow 🌼: Happiness, success, eliminate obstacles, balance, creativity. Yellow is good for spells for more happiness, balance or creativity for yourself, or to help you succeed and eliminate the obstacles blocking you when working on a new project.

Green 🌱: Healing, growth, good luck, wealth, prosperity, fertility, new beginnings. Green is one of my favorites. Not only does it represent the earth and nature, but it’s so versatile. It can be used for healing in any aspect, personal growth, or, like a seed that’s been planted, new beginnings. It’s the color of money, so if you need some extra funds, green is the color to use. It’s also helpful if you are trying to conceive and want to cast a fertility spell for yourself or for someone else.

Blue 💧: Peace, tranquility, flexibility, meditation, balance, inner peace, calmness. This color is good more for spiritual applications. It can be used when you meditate, or if you’re trying to make peace with yourself, and sometimes if you need help making peace in your mind about something that involved another person. When I say flexibility, I mean the ability to “go with the flow, man.” As Bruce Lee said, “Be water, my friend.”

Purple 🔮: Power, wisdom, spirituality, psychic connection, intuition, dreams, enchantment. Historically, purple was used as a color that royals and high-ranking nobles wore to show their status. This color can be used if you wanted to give yourself more power. I don’t mean power over other people like royals, but power over yourself and to have a stronger will. It could be useful in just having the ability to say no to some people. Purple is kind of just a general “magical” color too. If you want to hone your skills and be able to learn more magics, you could cast something like a mind-opening spell, and you could use purple to help yourself get more in touch with your magical side and gain more abilities.

Gold ✨: Prosperity, wealth, abundance, enlightenment. As you can see, gold works in much of the same way green can, but it has an extra trait: Enlightenment. You can use gold to help you gain more spiritual insight to help you on your journey.

Silver 🖇: Illumination, reflects energy. Silver isn’t used much, but you can see it’s similar to a mirror. Silver can be used to send bad energy back to the person that sent it, and it can help you to reflect on your own life and decisions.

Black🕷: Banishment, binding, absorbing negative energies. Black doesn’t have as many uses as some other colors, but its uses can be extremely powerful. Black is used if you wanted to banish a person from your life, or if you wanted to bind your soul with someone else’s. I personally carry black crystals with me if I know I’m going somewhere or meeting someone that I my have a negative experience with, so I don’t carry those energies back home with me. You could enchant a black piece of clothing if you wanted or something similar.

White 🥚: Clarification, positive energies, healing. Opposite of black, white is for inviting positive energies. It can also be used for clarification of your mind, and healing of your spirit.

As you can see, some colors can cross over and have the same meanings as a different color, so in some cases, if you needed an extra boost, you can use two of these colors instead of just one.

But let’s say you need to perform a certain spell, but you either don’t have the color you need or you don’t know which color your situation is for. In that case, always use white. White is universal and can be used for any purpose. Sometimes colored candles are hard to find too, but white candles are usually sold just about anywhere.

But candles aren’t about just the colors. The shape of the flame can also be important. You can use this information during regular spells if you like, but reading your flame is mostly used during communication spells. Communication spells are when you try to get a message from an ancestor, your spirit guide or deity, the Universe, etc. Maybe you’re looking for guidance about a new job or relationship, for example. Here are some ways that flames can look and how you can read them:

Small but bright: Success is coming

Large and bright: Good luck

Dim: Disappointment in store

Leaning heavily to one side: Change is coming

Small flame that looks like it’s about to go out but it endures: Excellent luck (much better than just good luck), but could come with troubles or effort on your side. But it would work out in the end.

Sputtering: Romance is coming

Flickering: Depending on your questions or your situations, it could mean wavering fortune or luck, or that enemies are coming

Sparking: Danger is around or on its way

Twisting: Unseen enemies or danger is around you

No flame: No success is coming, but no bad things are coming either. Things are staying the same.

Sometimes we need to be careful about our flames. Sometimes if we’re in a room with an open window, or sitting close enough to the candle that your breath can reach it, it can make the flame act differently than it’s supposed to. So make sure you’re in a room or environment where there’s no air currents (this can include air conditioners as well) and make sure you’re sitting close enough to see the candle clearly, but not so close that your breath could affect the flame. Otherwise you could get a wrong reading.

There are differing opinions on how to let the flame of your candle die out when your spell is finished. Do whatever feels right to you, but there are pretty much 3 different ways you can do it.

This first method really only works if you’re using a jar candle or something similar, so this wouldn’t work with a taper candle. You would use a tool (an old kitchen knife works great for this) to dip the wick down into the melted wax to put out the flame. By doing this, it’s like the candle is putting itself out, so there was no “outside influence.” This outside influence is thought to affect the outcome of your work, so some people prefer to do it this way.

The second method is to just let the candle burn out by itself. Like the last method, some believe that by you or someone else extinguishing the flame at all is an outside influence, so you need to let the candle burn itself out. My opinion on this: If you have kids or pets, or just generally are busy most of the time, letting a candle burn out by itself isn’t always smart or safe. Sometimes we don’t have time to sit and wait for a candle to burn out, and leaving it unattended is just dumb. If you are able to do this, go for it. It’s just usually not very convenient for a lot of people.

The third way (and my preferred way) is the easiest. Just blow the candle out. Some people believe that by blowing out the flame, the smoke carries your wishes or intentions to whoever or whatever you intend it to, such as the Universe or your deity. This is also helpful because, like the first method, you can still save and use this candle for later.

On that note, what should we do with a candle that we’ve already used for a spell? Let’s say you burned a green candle for a prosperity spell, and you still have half of your taper candle left. If your spell doesn’t work, you can still use this candle if you need to do the spell again. The outcome of your spell is dependent upon your intentions, not the tools you use. If your spell works, great! But don’t use that candle for any other type of spell. If you used this candle for prosperity, only use it for prosperity or something related, such as for a new job. Because that would still fall under a “prosperity” umbrella. You wouldn’t t want to it for something like healing or fertility. One rule you need to follow is never, ever, EVER use a candle for another spell that you’ve used during a curse or banishment. Only use it for those same purposes if you have part of a candle leftover. If you happen to use a candle you previously used to curse someone for another spell, those energies could spill over into your new spell. Just a warning.

As always, please make sure that when burning candles, you do it safely. Make sure you’re in a controlled environment and that you burn your candles on heat- and/or flame- proof surfaces. Always monitor your candles so your kid or your cat won’t mess with it. I know this is common sense stuff, but sometimes people need extra reminders.

You can use candles in specific spells, but sometimes you can use just a candle for a spell. To use a candle for a spell is super easy. All you really need is a candle with the color of your choice, and either a knife of some sort or a pen that doesn’t have any ink left. The reason I say a pen with no ink is because some inks are flammable, so if you have a dead pen lying around, now’s the time to put it to use. If you use a knife, make sure you’re careful, and don’t cut yourself. Unless you just want to use your blood in a spell, and if you do, go for it. Just know that that’s on you. I do plan to do a separate post just for blood magic, so we’ll cover that later.

To use a candle for a spell, just carve the words you want to use for the spell into your candle using the tool of your choice. This can sometimes be difficult if you’re using a jar candle, but in that case you can use a sigil. Once you’ve finished carving, you can chant the words of your spell, light your candle, and continue to focus your intentions until your candle is burned out, or whenever you’re finished. I will tell you that you don’t have to carve up the whole candle, and that’s totally fine. But you want your candle to burn at least until your carving is gone. If you’re using a taper candle, let it burn down until all the carving have melted off. If you’re using a jar candle, burn the candle at least until the wax the carving was made into has completely melted and you can’t see any signs of your carving anymore.

When it comes to the kinds of candles you can use, the sky’s the limit! You can literally use whatever type of candle you want. It can be a jar candle or a taper candle, it can be scented or unscented, the only condition you need to worry about is if it’s the color you need. I wouldn’t use the flameless candles, but if you want to learn about that I’d be glad to research it and see what ideas we can come up with.

That’s all about candles that we’re going to talk about today. There are a lot of other spells you can do with candles, but this blog is like a beginner’s handbook. We will talk about dressing candles and other candle spells like the needle spells at a later time when we get most of the basics down. That being said, you can’t say you’ve completed the basics without learning about sigils! I mentioned using sigils to carve into your candles, but sigils can be used for almost anything. So next time we’ll talk about what a sigil is and why it’s important, how to make them, and how to apply them in everyday life. Until then, stay healthy and safe!

[gatesofember]

There are lots of schools for consors and sorors outside Venadica, but schools aren’t meant to generate income. Will’s going to be more conserned with getting consors and sorors out of Venadica and schools to be healers and teachers for people all over Pluto because he’s going to start realizing that there’s a big problem with dissemination of information and a lack of application of theory. Venadi (sorors and consors) tend to hole themselves up in their little academic circles, which leads to them being a) pretentious or b) out of touch with the community

Inventions do get exported, but inventions need to be sponsored by wealthy people, who are getting increasingly out of touch with Venadi in Pluto (I mean look at how dumb Nico is he doesn’t even know what a cell is), also, going back to my previous point, Venadi tend to make a lot of theoretical inventions rather than ones that can be applied to actual real world problems (eg, they’ve started working on a steam engine but it doesn’t do anything aside from generate energy)...Venadi pursue knowledge, not necessarily ways to help the community (although they do work on more applied inventions too, like when Leo and Will invented a wheelchair that can be propelled by the user). Also Venadi aren’t meant to pursue profits. That’s kind of against their code.

The cows are more meant to benefit the local economy by providing jobs and food for Divitians. But maybe exports are a possibility. When did pasteurization come about? (Nvm I just looked it up. That wasn’t until the 1880s so I don’t think I can get away with putting it in the au. I’ll check out some other ideas.)

Pluto’s major source of income has always been mining (because Hades/Pluto is lord of the underworld and associated with riches). Different regions are known for mining different materials (eg, Angelus is known for gold, Vulcan for coal, Trivia for various crystals). People inside Pluto aren’t buying diamonds and stuff right now but it’s a pretty lucrative businesses for exports. But there’s a huge problem with the poor treatment of labor which is contributing to the continuation of poverty among Plutons, so that’s something Will’s going to work on. Pluto had a thriving economy before the pandemic so I think it’s more a matter of restoring it and fixing what’s broken. But also I don’t know much about economics so.

((Also we’re getting close to Nico finally cracking))

[gagosiangallery]

Richard Prince at Gagosian Beverly Hills

January 15, 2020

RICHARD PRINCE New Portraits Opening reception: Thursday, February 6, 6–8pm February 6–March 21, 2020 456 North Camden Drive, Beverly Hills __________ In 1984 I took some portraits. The way I did it was different. The way had nothing to do with the tradition of portraiture. If you wanted me to do your portrait, you would give me at least five photographs that had already been taken of yourself, that were in your possession (you owned them, they were yours), and more importantly . . . that you were already happy with. You would give me the five you liked and I would pick the one I liked. I would rephotograph the one I liked and that would be your portrait. Simple. Direct. To the point . . . Foolproof. I started off doing friends. Peter Nadin. Anne Kennedy. Jeff Koons. Cookie Mueller. Gary Indiana. Colin de Land.

They didn’t have to sit for their portraits. They didn’t have to make an appointment and come over and sit in front of some cyclone or in front of a neutral background or on an artist’s stool. They didn’t have to show up at all. And they wouldn’t be disappointed with the result. How could they? It wasn’t like they were giving me photos of themselves that were embarrassing.

Social Science Fiction.

Another advantage was the “time line.” If you were in your sixties and you gave me a photograph that had been taken thirty years earlier, and that’s the one I chose, your portrait ended up in a kind of time machine. I couldn’t go forward, but I could go backward. Vanity. Most of the people I did liked the younger version of themselves. So the future didn’t really matter. Half of H. G. Wells was better than no half at all.

Who knew?

After friends, I did people I didn’t know.

I had access to Warner Bros. Records and their publicity files. The files were filled with 8 × 10 glossies of recording stars that they had under contract. How I had access is beside the point. It was a long time ago. Let’s just say an A&R guy gave me access, “permission.”

I spent time in their LA headquarters, in Burbank, and went thru the metal cabinets and took the “publicities” I wanted, took them home, put them in front of my camera, and made a new photograph. The first one I did was Dee Dee Ramone.

I did Tina Weymouth, Tom Verlaine, Jonathan Richman, Laurie Anderson. I did the two girls from the B-52s.

Not knowing these people, having never met them, or talked to them, but still being able to do their portraits, excited me. Satisfaction. I spent weeks in the basement of Warner Bros. I thought I had an advantage. My method, if you could call it that, was far more flexible than the regular way portraits were taken. I didn’t need a studio. A darkroom. A receptionist. A calendar. Makeup. Stylists. I didn’t have to deal with agents or the “personality,” good or bad, of the sitter. My overhead was minimal and I could do the portrait all by myself.

By myself. That was the best.

Why I Go To The Movies Alone.

At first I thought this could be a business.

Up till then none of the art that I was making sold . . . or sold enough to make a living. I had just quit my job at Time Life the year before and was trying to make a go of it living near Venice Beach in LA . . . sharing a house with three roommates and living off the occasional sales that Hudson, my friend from Chicago, would make selling my “cartoon” drawings.

This idea of a “portrait business” made sense to me. Who wouldn’t want their portrait done this way?

I continued to do friends. Paula Greif. Dike Blair. Meyer Vaisman. I did everybody’s portraits for Wild History, a book that I put together for Tanam Press of downtown writing. The author’s portrait accompanied their contribution. Wharton Tiers. Spalding Gray. Tina L’Hotsky.

By the end of ’84 it was over.

I’m not sure if it was the lack of interest in me, or in others. (My energy evaporated.) Maybe it was the inability to convince people to commit to a commission. It was a good idea, but after doing about forty of them, I put them in a drawer and moved on. Bored? Restless? I don’t know. Let’s just say it didn’t take off.

Leave it at that.

My cartoon drawings turned into jokes and the jokes started taking up everything. In the end, I think most people would rather have their portrait done by Robert Mapplethorpe.

Thirty years. Time passes.

The social network.

I looked over my daughter’s shoulder and saw that she was scrolling thru pictures on her phone. I asked her what she was looking at. “It’s my Tumblr.” “What’s a tumbler?” I asked.

That was . . . four years ago?

About three years ago I bought an iPhone. Someone had shown me the photographs you could take with the phone. I had given up taking pictures after they got rid of color slide film. I tried digital, but couldn’t make the adjustment. I never liked carrying a camera and was pretty much inkjetting and painting anyway . . . so the idea of using a big boxy camera with all its new whistles and bows wasn’t for me.

Enter the sandman.

The iPhone was just what I needed. I couldn’t believe how easy it was to point and shoot. You didn’t have to focus. You didn’t have to load film. You didn’t have to ASA. You didn’t have to set a speed. The clarity . . .

I could see for miles.

The photos you took were stored in the phone. And when you wanted to see them, they appeared on a grid. The best part: you could send a photo immediately to a friend, to an e-mail, to a printer . . . or, you could organize your photos, like my daughter had, and post them publicly or privately.

When worlds collide.

I asked my daughter more about Tumblr. Are those your photos? Where did you get that one? Did you need permission? How did you get that kind of crop? You can delete them? Really? What about these “followers?” Who are they? Are they people you know? What if you don’t want to share? How many of your friends have Tumblrs?

What’s yours is mine.

My daughter’s “grid” on Tumblr reminded me of my Gangs I did back in ’85 . . . where I organized a set of nine images on a single piece of photo paper and blew the paper up to 86 × 48. The gangs were a way to deal with marginal or subsets of lifestyles that I needed to see on a wall but not a whole wall. Each gang was its own exhibition. Girlfriends, Heavy Metal Bands, Giant Waves, Bigfoot Trucks, Sex, War, Cartoons, Lyrics . . . were all rephotographed with slide film, and when the slides returned, they were “deejayed” and moved around on a custom-made light box until the best nine made the cut. The “cut” was then taped together (the edges of the slide mounts were pushed up against each other and Scotch-taped), the nine taped slides were sent to a lab where an 8 × 10 internegative was made, and from the internegative the final photo was blown up. I’ve probably lost you. Technical stuff . . . application and technique. Sometimes it’s better to leave the “background” out of it. Better to “take it for granted.” Why should I care how a photograph is made?

Only sometimes.

How was it called back then? Sampling?

Primitive now, but back then . . . 50-inch photo drums were few and far between. The paper was 50 inches wide and came in a huge roll. If you wanted to, you could take a roll and roll it down the street, roll it down the sidewalk, roll it all the way down the West Side Highway.

Shakespeare’s in the alley?

No. Philip Roth is in the alley.

Joan Didion is in the alley.

Don DeLillo is in the alley.

What’s up, pussycat?

There’s a lot of cats on Instagram. Food too.

And there’s tons of photos of people who take photographs of themselves. (Yes, I know the word.)

On the gram. I was just asked why I like Instagram. I said, “Because there’s rules. And if you break the rules, you get kicked off.”

I got to Instagram thru Twitter.

Twitter first.

I’m not sure when I first started tweeting, but I liked trying to fit a whole story into 140 characters.

I call it Birdtalk.

I used to bird in the early ’90s for Purple magazine and birded in my first catalogue for Barbara Gladstone in ’87.

Short sentences that were funny, sweet, dumb, profound, absurd, stupid, jokey, Finnegans Wake meets MAD magazine meets ad copy for Calvin Klein. Think Dylan’s Tarantula. Then think some more and think Kathy Acker’s Tarantula.

Or, don’t think at all. I know I don’t.

Sometimes.

Sometimes I write down the first sentence that starts off my favorite novel.

Relative. I’m not much of a theory guy. But sometimes I think there was a reason why Einstein was a technical assistant in the Swiss patent office.

Let me fill your cup.

Twitter accepts photos, but is mainly text-based. I like to combine the two and tweet both photo and text.

I called the photo/text tweets I was posting . . . “The Family.”

I posted photos of my extended family . . . mother, brother, sister, nieces, cousins, uncles, aunts, in-laws, stepchildren, boy- and girlfriends. I would caption the photos with a short description of who, what, why . . . measuring my words so that they fit into the guidelines of the platform.

After posting the photo/text, I sent the information to my printer and inkjetted an 11 × 14 print of the marriage. I made thirty-eight “Family” tweets.

Distribution.

I placed each “Family” tweet in a plastic sleeve and pushpinned the sleeve to the wall. The wall was at Karma. I put all thirty-eight up. Salon style. It was Saturday. The doors opened at 12 pm. By 12:15 pm all thirty-seven were gone. One to a customer. I kept the one that had my father, mother, and sister in it. (My father and mother were naked, and my sister was sitting in between. My family wasn’t like yours. Hobnob doesn’t begin to describe them.) I sold the “Family Tweets” for $12 each. First come, first served.

Well, well, well . . .

In ma ma ma my wheeeeeeeel house.

I used to stutter. By the ninth grade, the sparkle was in my eye. It got so bad, the impediment turned me into a clam. I slept all day, every day. I wouldn’t get up until Sunday. I waited for Bonanza to come on the TV. I loved the cowboy father and his three sons.

Two summers ago, my niece was working for me out on Long Island and she showed me how to screen save. I didn’t know about the option. What other options don’t I know about?

Screen Save.

This might be one of the best applications in an apparatus that I’ve ever encountered. All-time. Hall of fame. First place. Just what I need. MORE photographs.

Hey kids . . . what time is it?

Now I have a theory.

I was beside myself.

Congratulations.

This past spring, and half the summer, the iPhone became my studio. I signed up for Instagram. I pushed things aside. I made room. It was easy. I ignored Tumblr, and Facebook had never interested me. But Instagram . . .

I started off being RichardPrince4.

I quickly recognized the device was a way to get the lead out. If Twitter was editorial . . . then Instagram was advertising.

A gazillion people.

Besides cats, dogs, and food, people put out photos of themselves and their friends all the time, every day, and, yes, some people put themselves out twice on Mondays. I started “following” people I knew, people I didn’t know, and people who knew each other. It was innocent. I was on the phone talking to Jessica Hart and had just looked at her “gram” feed before picking up the phone. I asked about a picture she posted of herself standing in front of a fireplace wearing what looked to be ski clothes and big fur boots. The post was in black and white, head to toe, full figure, and behind her, above the mantel, there was a portrait of Brigitte Bardot. I told her someone should make a portrait out of this photo. She said, “Why don’t you?”

Come to think of it.

I’m not sure if she knew about my Family Tweets. She might have. I think we even talked about them after she came to my studio for a visit. After I got off the phone, I thought about her suggestion: “Why don’t you?”

I went back to her feed and screen saved her “winter” photo. I sent the save to my computer, pressed “empty subject,” pressed “actual size,” and waited for it to appear in a doc, checked the margins and crop, clicked on the doc, and sent it to my printer. My inkjet printer printed out an 11 × 14-inch photo on paper . . . I took the photo out of the tray and put it on my desk.

Looking at Jessica’s feed reminded me of 1984. Except this time I had more than five photos to choose from. I went back to her feed a second time. I scrolled thru maybe a hundred photos she had posted and looked at all the ones that included her. The one in front of the fireplace was still the best.

Walk on.

Jessica had tons of followers. Thousands. And a lot of them had “commented” on what she posted. I read all the comments that had been posted under her fireplace photo. There was one comment I wish I could have gotten in my original screen save. When you screen save an Instagram image, you can get maybe three, four comments in the save if you include the person’s “profile” icon that appears on the upper left of the page. I decided early on I wanted the person’s icon to be part of the save. But what else could I save?

I went back to my desk and kept staring at the printout of Jessica. What do I do now?

I didn’t want to paint it.

I didn’t want to mark it.

I didn’t want to add a sticker.

Whatever I did, I wanted it to happen INSIDE and before the save. I wanted my contribution to be part of the “gram.” I didn’t want to do anything physical to the photograph after it was printed.

Five cents.

I went back to the comment.

I commented on Jessica’s photo in front of the fireplace, but my comment was one of hundreds and showed up outside, way down at the bottom . . . out of the frame.

If I wanted my comment to show up near her picture . . . how?

I got lucky.

I’m terrible when it comes to the tech side of technology. But somehow I figured out how to hack into Jessica’s feed and swipe away all her comments and add my own so that it would appear under her post. The hack is pretty simple and anyone can do it. You hit the gray comment bar and pick a comment you don’t want and swipe with your finger to the left, and a red exclamation mark appears. You press on the exclamation mark and four things come onto the bottom of your screen.

1. Why are you reporting this comment?

2. Spam or Scam

3. Abusive Content

4. Cancel

To get rid of the comment, you click on Spam or Scam. It’s gone. Just like that I could control other people’s comments and Jessica’s own comments. And the comment that I added could now be near enough to Jessica’s photo that when I screen saved it, my comment would “show up.” Make sense? It’s about as good as I can do. What can I say? Einstein and cuckoo . . .

So now . . .

So now I was in.

Waiting to follow.

Richardprince4 would appear at the bottom of Jessica’s final portrait. My comment, whatever it would be, would always be the last comment. The last say so. Say so. That’s good. That could work. My “in” was what I ended up saying. And what I would say would be everything I ever knew . . . what I knew now and what I would know in the future.

Tell Me Everything.

Finnegans Wake meets MAD magazine.

Zoot Horn Rollo. You seem to be where I belong (emoji).

The first three portraits I did were of women I knew. Or almost knew. Jessica, I knew. Pam Anderson, I knew. Sky Ferreira? I didn’t know, but was following her and had been reading about her new album and seeing posters of her album broadsided on sheets of ply on the Bowery and on Lafayette near Bond. I wasn’t sure what I was doing or why I chose these three. I just had lunch with Pam and had seen Jessica in LA. Sky, I was following because she seemed interesting. There was nothing more. No attraction. No fan. No desire. No date. No wanting anything from her. And the pictures she posted were candid, boozy, and seemed to be letting the viewer in on some kind of backstage diary. She also had thousands of people following her, and I could tap into her followers and follow them. I can do that? I didn’t even know I could follow the followers. Like I said, the hardware was all new . . . and I was just getting started.

The shoreline is never the same. (Like it should be.)

When I first started getting rid of comments, I thought the person whose comments I was getting rid of might get pissed. “What happened to all my comments?” I found out quickly that “the getting rid of” only affected my feed. The deleted comments didn’t affect the followers’ feeds. Their comments were still there even though they were gone from mine. All that happened is that MY comment showed up below their photo. Was I allowed? Yes. I guess so. It’s hard to explain. But the process is open, and at the moment, it’s the way it works and anyone and everyone can do it.

The language I started using to make “comments” was based on Birdtalk. Non sequitur. Gobbledygook. Jokes. Oxymorons. “Psychic Jujitsu.”

Some of the language came directly from TV. If I’m selecting a photo of someone and adding a comment to their gram and an advertisement comes on . . . I use the language that I hear in the ad. Inferior language. It works. It sounds like it means something. What’s it mean? I don’t know. Does it have to mean anything at all? I think about James Joyce confessing to Nora Barnacle. I think about opening up to page 323 of Finnegans Wake. Then I think about notes and lyricism. Policy. Whisper. Murmurs. Mantra. Quotation. Advice.

Chamber Music.

Didn’t Duke Ellington say, “If it sounds good, it is good”? He did say that, didn’t he?

Who are these people?

Larry Clark, Diane Arbus, Robert Mapplethorpe take great portraits. I’ve watched Larry take photos and I don’t know how he does it. I wouldn’t know where to begin. I could never go up to a stranger and ask them if I could take their picture. I’ve done it maybe two or three times and didn’t enjoy it. That part of art is in Larry. It isn’t in me. I feel more comfortable in my bedroom looking thru Easyriders and poring over pictures of “girlfriends” that are right there on the page. Page after page. Looking. Wondering. Anticipating. Hoping. What will be on the next page? Will I find a girlfriend that I really like? That’s my relationship with what’s out there. It’s as close as I want to get. That’s what’s in me.

IG is a bedroom magazine.

I can start out with someone I know and then check out who they follow or who’s following them, and the rabbit hole takes on an out-of-body experience where you suddenly look at the clock and it’s three in the morning. I end up on people’s grids that are so far removed from where I began, it feels psychedelic. Further. I’m on the bus. I feel like I’m part of Kesey’s merry tribe. I’m reminded of Timothy Leary’s journals, which I purchased years ago from John McWhinnie, and the concentration that came over me when I discovered his hand-drawn map of his escape from jail. How he literally shimmied on a wire that had been strung up from an outer utility building to the perimeter prison wall . . . and how I would trace with my finger his overland express to Tangier, where he hooked up with Black Panther Eldridge Cleaver and spent the next year seeking asylum in different parts of North Africa, ultimately ending up in Switzerland where his ex-wife ratted him out, and how fighting extradition took up the rest of his life. Wow, now it’s four in the morning.

Tune In, Turn On, Come Out.

“Trolling.”

If you say so.

I never thought about it that way. The word has been used to describe part of the process of making my new portraits. I guess so. It’s not like I’m on the back of a boat throwing out chum.

“We’re going to need a bigger boat.”

Included.

Everyone is fair.

Game.

An even playing field.

“Outside my cabin door. Said the girl from the red river shore.”

Men. Women. Men and women. Men and men. Women and women. Blacks Whites Latinos Asian Arabs Jews Straights Gays Transgender. Tattoos and scars. Hairy.

I don’t really know the score.

The ones I adore.

I just know where I belong.

“Oh, there I go. From a man to a memory.”

How do I tell you who or why I pick? I can’t. It would be like telling you why I pick that joke. WHY THAT ONE? There’s thousands of jokes. I read them all. It takes days to read just one joke book. 101 of the World’s Funniest Jokes. Days. If I get one, find one, like one, out of the 101, it’s a good day.

People on IG lead me to other people. I spend hours surfing, saving, and deleting. Sometimes I look for photos that are straightforward portraits (or at least look straightforward). Other times I look for photos that would only appear, or better still . . . exist on IG. Photos that look the way they do because they’re on the gram. Selfies? Not really. Self-portraits. I’m not interested in abbreviation. I look for portraits that are upside down, sideways, at arm’s length, taken within the space that a body can hold a camera phone. What did de Kooning say? “When I spread my arms out, it’s all the space I need.”

At first I wasn’t sure how to print the portrait. I tried different surfaces, different papers. Presentation? Frame? Matt? Shadowbox? I tried them all. Finally this past spring my lab introduced me to a new canvas, one that was tightly wound, a surface with hardly any tooth. Smooth to the touch. Almost as if the canvas were photo paper. It was also brilliantly white. I don’t think it could be any whiter. And . . . the way the ink jetted into the canvas was a surprise. It fused in a way that made the image slightly out of focus. Just enough. The ink was IN and ON the canvas at the same time. When I first saw the final result, I didn’t really know what I was looking at. A photographic work or a work on canvas? The surprise was perfect. Perfect doesn’t come along very often. The color that had been transferred from the file of the computer to the jet, from jet to canvas, was intense, saturated, rich. If someone I followed had blue hair, their hair looked like it had been dyed directly onto the canvas. Dye job. Rinsed. Beauty salon. It was brilliant, great color. You might call it “vibrant.” The vibe between the image and the process was “sent away for,” seamless, effortless . . . all descriptions I used to use when I tried describing my early “pens, watches, and cowboys.” (Has it really been forty years?) The ingredients, the recipe, “the manufacture,” whatever you want to call it . . . was familiar but had changed into something I had never seen before. I wasn’t sure it even looked like art. And that was the best part. Not looking like art. The new portraits were in that gray area. Undefined. In-between. They had no history, no past, no name. A life of their own. They’ll learn. They’ll find their own way. I have no responsibility. They do. Friendly monsters.

Speak for yourself.

To fit in the world takes time.

For now, all I can say is . . . they’re the only thing I’ve ever done that has made me happy.

http://www.richardprince.com/writings/bird-talk

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[artdjgblog]

Innerview: Ercan Ucer / Grafik Tasarim (Turkey) October 2008 Image: Giphy Note: Take #2 of a design magazine interview.

​0​1) How do you name yourself other than being a versatile designer? In the past year and a half I’ve come to realize that I’m not really a graphic designer. It’s definitely in there and will always be because design is a poison, like any vocation or skill can be. But, I’ve always approached the way I work as an artist first, and I don’t fancy myself an artist either. I am what I am, though I can’t always be so selfish. Am I an illustrator? I guess there is a collision of the three. Add this to a love for getting my hands dirty, plus a celebration of youth and American pop-culture mixed with Eastern European and post-WWII American Design – B.C. (Before Computer) and the product is me? “Versatile” is too defining of a word for me and way too classy. I simply like to say I make things. Each day is new and I haven’t a clue what I’m going to do. ​0​2) What is the relationship between marketing and your designing process at different areas? (poster, packaging, logo…etc) A design is a marketing tool, no doubt. I haven’t really worked on a large scale setting with this, but I have in terms of marketing on a small scale for rock concerts and prospective CD buyers. Though, a designer plays eye-grabber, a designer is not really a marketer, but I guess it helps to attract attention or sell something. I had friends in college who studied marketing as well as design and they’d probably be more equipped to answering this question. It’s an area I’m not familiar with other than thinking of ways to attract people to get excited for a musical group, a sound, feeling or expression by way of putting a stamp on a poster, CD or logo design. It is a marketing tool especially when working with a client. It certainly is not only what the artist-designer can bring to the “product” (Though, I do think this can apply at a certain larger level with selling something), you’re also working for somebody and trying to sell an image or an item. In the case of a show poster, you’re selling a concert venue or the place the poster is hanging or even the music scene and the city and environment. I think this can be a tricky walk. I’ve been fortunate to have some small success with great clients and great projects to where things work out well. I guess it helps that independent music graphics kind of start out in left field to begin with, to where they are approached more like an art project than a product? Though, I don’t think that the work should not limit itself to a certain kind of audience. I think it’s great when the work speaks to anybody. There are times though where things don’t mix well, whether under the weather by design, client-wise or consumer. It’s just part of the deal. The work isn’t always going to be a homerun. Another deal is the way people interact with communication in marketing. Today I find that technology has a lot to do with people getting information for a rock concert via social networking sites, musician, ticket and concert venue sites. I don’t think that something like the poster will ever be dead, but technology can almost make a poster feel second-rate, a collector’s keep-sake and more for show than for the actual show. Logos are very interesting when it comes to marketing for bands because they are generally slapped onto many-many products. I’ve worked with a lot of music-related designs, but I’ve also made logos varying from a lawyer to an internet-computer company to a church before. So, these different applications encourage me to find new ways to talk to other audiences who come searching for something that isn’t entertainment, but I approach these designs with the same techniques and tools I use with the music graphics. I try to give something unique, and of a new take, to get a double-take. ​0​3) Can you tell us about your working environment and your different feelings or extraordinary events that inspires you? Ever since I was a child growing up on a farm, my working environment has been outside and especially in my bedroom. Working environments also extended to anyplace I had my eyes open. I certainly believe in a home base or comfort zone of operations, but a lot of my more thorough processing happens while out and about and then I bring it back home with me to make. Currently I work out of a basement in my home. I’ve constructed a work space out of wood found in the street. I call it my “club house”. I love it down there despite my continual problem with having a work space that barely has room for me to work in! I collect and store a lot of things around me and still have a lot of my childhood things around me, along with piles and piles of supplies, research and things I’ve found or see the potential in for a future use. I have a mind-set that if I can’t use it today, I can easily use it in 50 years. I’m a major fan of extraordinary events and tend to find humorous and peculiar ones to be more my taste, and more-so in retrospect of the event. I feel to be blessed with a certain quality that attracts odd circumstances, or maybe it’s all in my head? Extraordinary has its own brand of “something”, but more often I find inspiration in places, events and things that are fairly run-of-the-mill and everyday ordinary for anyone, which can give them an added cushion of “extra” for me. On my website I’ve made a list of my history, the things that have been the everyday ordinary for me, but might seem very out of ordinary to others. It all depends on perspective and where you’ve been. ​0​4) When did you discover the impulse that led you being a designer? This impulse to leave behind a paper trail of some sort on my impression has always been kicking around in me. I didn’t fully know it at the time, but I believe it started when I was young as I don’t remember a time when I wasn’t doing or making something. It’s a large part of my make-up. Much of it has to do with my farming background and watching my Dad and his Dad and others always doing or working on something whether it was building fences, planting crops or tending animals. I also owe a lot to my Grandma, for her hands-on making skills and to my parents for allowing me to grow-up fully plugged into the American pop-culture of books, toys, music, movies, video games and sports. Now, I just feed off of my former self and continue to feed for the future. It’s not work to me when it truly works and I enjoy myself. ​0​5)  Is looking at life always from a different angel, the designer’s necessarily ego? Most any area of most any job, skill, talent, business doesn’t come without some ego hurdling. The ego is amped further within the arts. Inflated achievement comes with ease when your voice gets a little loud in a “scene” or beyond. I’d like to think I’m fairly grounded, but it’s hard not to feel the eggs weight the other side when I’m told I could be sitting on a couple of golden ones. Working a day job can help matters, but it can also be a nightmare with time management. I have to just tell myself that I am a man and a man who happens to make things. Still, that can be hard. It doesn’t mean that I’m better than somebody or am a “somebody” because I’ve found a certain something within me. I just enjoy my life and feel very fortunate to even know what I want to do with it. I think one needs healthy doses of reality and a whole heap of humor to make it too. Besides, I have no answers. If you know somebody with it all figured out, have them call me! What helps me is to find comfort and ease is venturing back into my child manner. I’m much more content and find peace when I’m either looking at the world through a certain lense that I might qualify for, or just making and enjoying the act of celebration in creativity. The moment I start to think too much about it all or answer questions, that is when it can get a little dangerous in the head. I’d like to think gaining wisdom through age and maturity helps. I know that my energy and will-power have died some, and of late I’m leaning on this as a benefit. I think I say and do some dumb stuff today, though I’m positive it’s a little less than yesterday! ​0​6) Can you inform us about graphic design’ s one of the important field, package design and your sketches? / Tell me about the sketching and process of packaging. There is a certain amount of image longevity that becomes attached to packaging. I’m not experienced in much more than musical CD packaging, but I think a long life span especially applies to this in the iconic halls of pop-culture, even on small levels. Though, that’s not the reason to put into making something and/or package something but if you can add some meaty eye candy, then so be it. I love poster design because there are endless possibilities to exhaust, many ways to work reach-and-grab-of-the-moment and intuitive, and if something doesn’t work all-around, it’s throw-away and will die soon like house flies. CDs are so different, at least for me, and they can be quite intimidating and intoxicating. Sometimes another designer’s great CD package makes me not wish to do another one, and in a good way! With my own process, I do a little bit of sketching, but more-so the process and evolution of the CD package is the sketching for me. If I’m rewarded with an ample amount of time to work on a CD I usually make it happen in three different sessions, or what I call “incubation stages”. This allows me time to sit on ideas and to come back to them with fresh perspective and clear head, to play or spin off ideas and avenues. When figuring out an image or “look” for an album, I like to at least digest the music or get a track listing. With the way in which I work, I tend to feed off of my day-to-day (sometimes minute-to-minute) emotional handy work. It can be a little strange though as I can easily obsess over wondering the what-might-have-been with something like a CD package or anything. I think that a CD package for me can be extremely different given what day I’m at. I do believe my best packages have come down on me at the last minute, intuitively and usually on the lowest of budgets. And I mean cheap, major cheap. 0​7) What are the benefits of making global designs for the designer? I love a body of work, one that breathes and not only serves as a timeline for the maker, but also for views and observations on life itself. Ideas that can extend globally even, throughout time. I think that a great body of work can extend to anybody, anywhere in the world. And even if it is for some other body like a client, it is always from its original body of the creator. Anything that goes global is still connected to that first breath of singular life. Due to technology, it’s so much easier today to go “global” with designs, even if one does operate on a small scale. I think it’s great to put the work out there, to share, even if it’s not marking up or wrapping up a popular product. In today’s fast-paced world of millions and billions of images and things flashing, it really does mean a lot that my meager things have made it in some strange little way. Even, if it’s just a grin or a double-take by someone looking at a little poster on a wall or in a magazine or a global internet billboard or world-wide magazine and book distribution. Though, a part of me still likes to keep some things to myself. And I’m odd because I personally don’t like to attract attention to myself with graphics on the shirts I wear or product logos on bags and things. ​0​8) Can you explain the relationship between marketing and designing? I’m not sure if I was successful, but I tried to answer some of this in question 2. With this one I’ll try to wrap it into the way that I work, to where my designs act as marketing tools for me, as well as the product they are pushing. Until recently I’ve never had to market myself in conventional practice. For the first six years my work itself was the marketing. Everything from a poster to a package and a logo has been on the same level with causing a “Trickle Down / Word of Mouth” marketing effect. And I’ve been fortunate to keep fairly close relationships with my clients due to a small industry I work in. These clients have brought other clients. For my first two years I was living and working with several bands in a house. I didn’t have to leave and would get new work constantly. At times I’d just make things before I was even asked. Some of the best marketing can come in poster making and that is how I started to gather some attention. Posters have a short shelf life in comparison to packaging and logos, so there is always a new one to tack up. And if a poster doesn’t succeed, then it’s easy to just make another one. It’s just a poster and practice is good. After a while people start getting curious and come looking for you. ​0​9) Does any of your designs have an unforgettable story? The “Whatever Makes You Happy” CD package design I made in my basement in June of 2002 for the band Elevator Division, is one of my most memorable moments. It was a special run of 250 handmade CD packages and my idea came at the last minute. I made an image of a hand shooting off its index finger like a missile that married the themes for the album perfectly, with reflections of war and failed relationships. It was the idea of shooting off one’s options and making decisions. It was fitting for the band-music but also for the national-world climate. Each one was hand-cut from cardboard and stencil sprayed and rubber stamped. Inserts were copied, cut, folded and glued. At the last mist of red spray paint, a crack of thunder shook the massive home’s foundation and I bolted from the basement and out the front door to a down pour of rain. I leapt off the front porch and slid head first down the front lawn embankment and into the street flowing like a river current. The drug dealing squatters of the home across the street were on their front step looking at the fire in my eyes and the red paint streaming from my ears, nose and mouth. It was a high much higher than that of chemical substance. -djg