#it would focus in on him being a latch key kid who has always struggled with a-typical mental health with an implied personality disorder

[unforgivingchorus]

if i get to write my red robin solo run, i will validate all trans Tim truthers. not by actually having him be trans or explore gender, im just going to give him so many extremely complex identity issues, it will be hard not to draw a parallel

[aries-writingblog]

Brave Enough

Summary: Bucky wonders if he’ll ever be brave enough to admit his feelings to you

Words Count: 1980- ish (I got a little carried away- sorry!!)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Warnings: language, characters engaging of age drinking

A/N: gif is not my own, credit to original creator. Happy reading!!

“Bucky, lighten up, man.” Steve griped, flicking through the menu. The brunette didn’t respond, just slumping down lower in his chair and sulking even more. A deep frown etched onto his features. “It’s just a couple hours.”

“Whatever.” He snipped. Bucky could feel his teeth grit together, his jaw aching from pressure. Sam’s foot connected with his under the table, a teasing tilt to his eyebrows.

“He’s just mad that he has to be here instead of lurking ‘round in the shadows back home.” Sam nudged his foot again. Bucky kicked out, but Sam was too quick. Pulling his foot away just in time. “You ever catch him at like three in the morning, just standing around in a dark hallway?”

“Shut up.” Bucky hissed, snatching a spoon from his place setting. The utensil flew across the table, smacking Sam in the chest before falling to his lap. “And I’m not mad I have to be here.”

He truly wasn’t upset he had to be there. He was upset that one person in particular wouldn’t be in attendance. YN was still off on a mission, unfortunately missing Wanda’s birthday dinner. Without her, Bucky would just spend the whole night sulking, no one else treated him the way she did. No one else was her. Without her, his night was already marked as uneventful and boring.

“You are.” Steve corrected, glancing to his watch. “The girls should be here by now. What’s holding them?”

Bucky glanced around the restaurant, eyes scanning over Tony who was animatedly speaking with the owner. Bruce, retuning from the restroom, Peter following him with a million questions. The older man seemed to age further as the teen pestered him- asking questions ranging from science to personal. The kid could be slightly invasive at times.

The door opened- the other half of their party. The birthday girl. Wanda made her way across the room, Natasha behind her and…

“YN.” Bucky felt a weight lift from his chest- possibly his reluctance to be at the table. He watched as she gave him a small smile and wave before Wanda pulled her off to the bathroom.

“Save me a seat!” YN called, meeting Bucky’s eyes. His eyes followed her all the way, until he could no longer see her. Then he was brought back into reality by a cough.

Fuck- he did that in public. His eyes fell to Steve and Sam, their faces schooled into expressions of taunting delight.

“You gonna save her a seat or what?” Steve asked, lips twitching as they begged to smile. Bucky flicked his wrist, giving his friend a very classy middle finger as they snickered in response.

But Bucky did as she said. He unfolded the napkin at the place mat on his right, showing someone was going to sit there. Then he tucked his hands into his lap, waiting anxiously for her return. Sam pursed his lips, leaning his elbows on the table. Bucky groaned, regretting his decision to stay out when Sam sat across from him.

“Won’t you just tell her you’re in love? It would be a lot easier.” He advised, fingers laced under his jaw. Bucky scowled, his foot finally catching Sam off guard, foot connecting with his shin bone. The man cursed, jerking his chair back.

The bathroom door opened, the trio of women hustling toward the table. Natasha was shoving YN playfully, the woman responding with a laugh. Then she turned her eyes to him and he stopped breathing. Stopped living. Oxygen leaving his lungs at an exponential rate when she smiled. Teeth flashing.

“Got a seat for me, Barnes?” She asked- the sound of her voice snapping his consciousness back into the present. Bucky stumbled over himself clumsily, shoving his own chair back to pull hers out for her. “Thank you.” He pushed her back in before taking his own.

“I thought you were still in Arizona?” He kept a constant tab in his brain to focus. There had been several occasions when the pair were carrying a conversation and he noticed, too late, he had just been staring into her eyes. He didn’t mean to- it just happened.

“Just landed. Sorry I didn’t tell you sooner I was back- Wanda begged me to come tonight so I had to rush to get dressed.” She explained, giving a half hearted gesture to her clothes. Bucky saw nothing wrong with them- she looked beautiful as always.

“No worries. You look beautiful anyways.” Bucky smiled. He could see in the corner of his eye- Sam and Steve sharing a look across the table. Bucky always experienced these mood swings around YN.

If he was distraught, she was there to soothe him. If he was annoyed or angry, just seeing her face would brighten his day. If he was happy, which wasn’t too often without her being a catalyst, she only intensified that feeling.

Bucky had met YN three months into his stay at the Tower. They shared a wall- his apartment was the one beside hers. He didn’t know she was his neighbor the night she came stumbling home from a mission- exhausted and dirty. Dried blood on her hairline and a red path dripping from her nose. She didn’t notice him that night as he sat in the quiet common area of floor 48. She brushed past him and dug into the fridge. He watched her shove six slices of cold pizza onto a plate and snatch three beers before disappearing into her apartment.

Needless to say, he was intrigued. But he never spoke to her. Not until two months later, in the middle of the night. She happened upon him sitting in the quiet, wide awake and writing in his journal. She commented that she also journaled- sprinting back to her bedroom to bring back a leather bound journal covered in stickers. She then offered him some of his own stickers, pressing them to the black journal in his hands.

Four months of midnight meetings passed and Bucky was infatuated. He found himself wanting to speak to her all the time- going out of his way to find her and talk. Thinking of her all the time, linking an activity with her. Asking himself ‘I wonder what YN would think of…’ Sitting with her at meals, hanging out when she was home. If he could, Bucky would have her attached to his hip at all times.

When they were together, Bucky would go to any lengths necessary to keep her there longer. To take more of her time. For once in his life, he wanted to be selfish. He wanted her complete and undivided attention. Most times, he received it. She happily gave into him, pouring affection onto the super soldier. And he swam in it- unabashedly. Unashamed to be so intoxicated around her.

“Hey, what are you ordering?” YN whispered, leaning toward his

Bucky snapped back, again, noticing that everyone had taken a seat and began to order their meals. Her eyes were trained on him expectantly. YN had seen him lose focus and attempted to reel him back in. He always seemed to fade away, she noticed. She didn’t know where his mind went when it happened but she was a pessimist- she assumed the worst.

“Me- ordering?” Bucky stuttered, his tongue barely catching up with his mind. He winced as she gave a soft smile- another snicker coming from across the table. He shot a glance over to Sam, the biting glare garnered a snarky reply.

“Smooth.” Sam muttered, propping his menu in front his face, shielding it from Bucky’s wrath.

“Sam.” Steve scolded lightly, voice low. Bucky bit back his embarrassment, clearing his throat before responding. It was gonna be a long night.

~~~~~~

YN giggled again, swaying as Bucky latched an arm around her waist. Keeping her upright. It was a struggle- she was very touchy when she was tipsy. Bucky’s heart did jumping jacks, unsure if he should revel in the affection or be disappointed she was doing it while drunk.

“Oh- Bucky, what if we took Four Loko’s and, and… White Claws!” Her fingers wiggled as she spoke, eyes watery and wide. Bucky chuckled, his body unaccustomed to the motions.

“No more alcohol for you tonight, alright? You’re already gonna hate me in the morning for letting you drink so much.” He tugged her waist gently, allowing his fingers to rest on her hip. YN rested her head against his chest as the elevator slowed to a stop on their floor.

“I could never hate you, you know that, right?” She asked, eyes gazing up at him. Bucky heaved a gentle sigh, meeting her eyes. A soft smile on his lips.

“Thank you, sweetheart.”

The pair slowly exited the elevator, YN trying her best to break away from his grip. Her attention span was that of a mouse- hands reaching for things in the hallways and in the common area. Finally, they reached the set of doors belonging to them. He released her very carefully to dig through his pockets. YN had given him her spare key months ago, he had it on his key ring. She had it printed in a bright blue- the loudest color on the ring when compared to the black key of his motorcycle and the silver key of his apartment.

He didn’t really need the color distinction. There were only three keys there but hers was the most important one. He had it memorized the day she gave it to him.

“Hey Friday, unlock Bucky’s main door.”

“What? She can do that?” Bucky whipped around, catching a fleeting glimpse of her wobbling, unsteady body as she stumbled into his apartment. “Fuck.”

Bucky abandoned his task in favor of the new, more important task. Getting YN out of his apartment. He followed her at a quick pace, hand outstretched to snatch her wrist but she made an abrupt turn down his hallway. Toward his bedroom.

“YN!” He hissed, reaching for her again. She shoved the door open and made her way into the room. “What are you doing?”

“I wanted to see your apartment- you never let me in here when we hang out.” She murmured, eyes locking in on the bookshelf in the corner. She made a beeline to it, fingers tracing over the spines of the books. She reached for a book on the second shelf. The second shelf was dedicated to his old journals.

“Okay, maybe…” he gingerly broke her grasp on the book before she could open it, sliding it back into place. Bucky rested his hands on her shoulders, steering her out of the room. “We can do a tour when you’re a little more sober.”

It wasn’t that he didn’t want her there- Bucky wanted to show her everything, give her everything. But some part of himself kept pushing it all back, keeping her in the light. He didn’t want her to see the bad parts, and there were plenty. He was terrified she wouldn’t want his broken pieces if she saw them.

YN hummed, breaking from his grasp again. He sighed in defeat, letting her go. She tossed her phone to the rug and flopped face first into the bed. A sigh of content rushed from her lips as she snuggled deeper into the blankets.

“Your bed is sooo comfy…” Her voice was muffled by the thick comforter. “This isn’t fair- my bed isn’t this comfy.”

No one’s slept in it since it was purchased- Bucky but back the comment, deciding it wasn’t a good topic to broach. Considering the circumstances. He stood, watching her for a moment. Allowing her to take control for the time being. The smile from earlier began to creep onto his face as she snuggled deeper into the sheets- fully clothed.

“Alright- enough of that, YN. Let’s get you home.” He murmured, tugging on her ankle. She didn’t budge. Bucky stopped, looking up to her face. She was sound asleep. “YN?”

Nothing.

Bucky sighed.

He reached for her ankle again, unclipping the heels from her feet, allowing them to fall to the floor. He swung her legs around, tugging the blankets down on the bed. Bucky pulled them back over her body, reaching into her hair to pull it out of the tight bun she had it in. The hair tie around his wrist as he tucked her in.

“Goodnight, YN.” He whispered softly. Bucky hesitated, lips close to her temple. He could hear a faint snore coming from her throat, dark lashes resting against her cheekbones.

He allowed himself to carefully lean forward, lips pressing to her temple gently. Then he backed away quietly, turning the lights off as he exited. He couldn’t help himself- stealing another glance at her sleeping figure before closing the door. He also couldn’t help the bittersweet smile that tugged at his lips.

One day… one day I’ll be brave enough for you.

Read Part 2: Courageous

[broship-addict]

Angst free prompt: Little acts of domestic helpfulness. Like, making the other tea or making sure their favorite fork is clean or something.

idk if you’re even still around anon because this is nearly a year late and deviates a l o t from the original prompt but it was fun to write anyways :) thank you!

on ao3

A fumble with keys, then a rattle as the doorknob turns. While no sound comes from the swing of the door, Neil enters the apartment calling, “Honey, I’m home,” and that makes more of a racket than it would’ve if he’d just slammed it against the adjacent wall.

Andrew, who has long since become used to this particular part of their routine, merely grunts in response. Their mocking attempts to imitate the horrors of heteronormative domesticity is something shared between two men who have finally found themselves settling into a relatively uneventful life, and Andrew cherishes it even if it isn’t worth the breath to say so.

Over the screams of the boring thriller he’s watching, Andrew can hear the clatter of Neil’s keys as they’re dropped into the little dish that the Boyd-Wilds children had made for them, the thud of the door’s latch being put into place, the shuffling of Neil struggling out of his running shoes because he always refuses to undo the laces. He flips through the channels as Neil stumbles into the living room, reeking of and drenched in sweat. His hair is half plastered to his face and half valiantly reaching for the ceiling - courtesy of that goddamned bandanna - and the only thing that Andrew appreciates about this particular image is the fact that Neil’s legs in those tiny short-shorts still look tantalizingly good.

Neil tosses a candy bar his way - a fancy-flavoured KitKat from the Asian corner store three blocks down the street - and he would have missed horribly had Andrew’s reflexes not been as good as they are. Without a racquet Neil’s a useless shot, and Andrew raises a single eyebrow at him judgingly.

“Oh, fuck off,” Neil tells him, grabbing an old Palmetto water bottle from the fridge. “I’m taking a shower.”

“Better clean your mouth while you’re at it,” Andrew says boredly. He pauses long enough on a cooking show to unwrap his bar, but hastily changes it again once the big box of spinach is brought out. At his feet their puppy - a loud and excitable thing that Amelia had somehow managed to convince them to take in - gazes hopefully at the candy.

Andrew takes care to keep it far out of her reach, because he’s not cleaning up dog vomit and he refuses to listen to Neil complain about letting Cerberus eat chocolate.

He’s busy trying to choose between leaving the TV on Mythbusters or switching to Jeopardy when Neil finally comes out of the shower, flushed pink from the heat and scrubbing at his wet hair with a towel so the ends stick up even more. That decides it, Andrew thinks, and sets the remote down. Neil gets bored to death watching game shows.

(He nearly changes his mind when Neil leaves the towel draped over the back of a dining chair, since they both know it irritates him, but in the end all he does is huff in exasperation.)

“Hey,” Neil says, finally coming to stand in front of Andrew. It’s achingly familiar, and Andrew can remember that soft tone from a bus ride nearly two decades ago. Neil likes to say it when he wants Andrew’s attention, as if Andrew is not always, always drawn to Neil the moment he enters a room.

“You’re blocking my view,” Andrew tells him. His mouth is still sweet from the KitKat, the space next to him colder than he’d like.

“Mmm,” agrees Neil. “You do enjoy watching Discovery Channel commercials for glorified dumpster-diving.”

Andrew snaps his fingers at him impatiently. “Of course I do, I have to see your trash ass every day.”

“You like my trash ass,” Neil shoots back, a lazy smile working its way across his face. Andrew glares at him and very pointedly does not let his gaze drift down, to where Neil’s trash ass is being hugged by his sleep shorts.

And at last Neil caves in, crawling into Andrew’s space and turning towards him like a flower to the sun. It still makes Andrew’s stomach feel hot, as if countless fusion explosions are going off there and all he can think is that Neil’s hair smells like the vanilla bean shampoo Andrew had bought for him during his last ice cream run. His fingers tangle themselves into the loose fabric of Neil’s shirt - actually, it might be Andrew’s - and he can’t bring himself to focus on the show as it resumes.

“Now you’re just being distracting,” he mutters, leaning in so his nose is buried in the crook of Neil’s neck. With his glasses laying on their bedside table, he doesn’t have to worry about Neil’s hair getting caught in the frames. It also means that he has to squint in order to see the shit-eating grin Cerberus gives him as she jumps onto the couch cushions, where she knows Neil wouldn’t have the heart to let him shove her off.

And maybe in any other moment Andrew might be inclined to prove her wrong, but Neil is tugging him up for a kiss and he doesn’t mind enough to pick this particular fight. He doesn’t care either, especially with Neil’s lips sliding languidly across his own and their bodies pressed together along their sides. One of Neil’s hands slips under Andrew’s shirt to skim over the pudge of his stomach, and the coolness of a metal band most definitely does not make him purr into Neil’s mouth. The hand stays even when they break away, Cerberus whining loudly about the lack of attention doled out on her.

“Aw, baby,” Neil croons, the corner of his mouth curling up as he leans over to boop the tip of Cerberus’ nose. Andrew pretends that his heart hadn’t stuttered in the single second he’d thought Neil was talking to him.

“I’m not kissing you if you kiss the dog,” Andrew tells him.

A pretty, gasping noise as Neil laughs. He nestles into Andrew’s side, his hand still stroking his stomach as if Andrew was the pet. Cerberus rests her head on the curve of Neil’s hip and for a brief, horribly undignified moment, Andrew wants to be in her place. Instead, he wraps his arm around Neil’s shoulders to pull him closer, no longer awed but no less pleased by how they fit into each other.

They’re quiet for a while, and the only sounds come from the TV and Cerberus’ noisy breathing as she drifts off. Neil’s fingers take to twisting in the trail of hair leading into Andrew’s pants - not tugging enough to hurt - so Andrew retaliates by dipping below Neil’s waistband and brushing the blunt edges of his nails along his ass, light enough to make him shiver. Twenty, even ten years ago they wouldn’t have done this without permission and intent and clear lines, but right in this moment they’re content to trust each other.

“You know,” Neil whispers, once the next commercial break starts. “I think I’m getting old.”

“Really,” says Andrew drily. “What makes you think that?”

There’s a pause, a sigh, and then, “I never thought I’d ever get the chance to be old.”

Andrew pulls out his hand so they’re doing something that can almost be called a cuddle. He likes the awe in Neil’s voice, the steadiness of their breaths, even the background ticking of their cheap clock. Most of all, he likes the way his own mind is turning over the concept, the realization that yes, they’re becoming old and one day they’ll be gross and wrinkly and toothless. They’ve survived and found their reasons for living, even though neither of them had expected to live past their twenties.

Without really meaning to, he pulls Neil’s hand out from under his shirt and traces the simple band absentmindedly. On a whim he brings it up to press a reverent kiss to the metal as Neil hums in contentment. His own ring, usually worn on a chain under his clothes, is lying next to his glasses a room away, because Andrew doesn’t need the familiar weight to remind him of what he has.

“Is there a reason why you brought this up?” Andrew finally asks, carefully threading their fingers together over his lap. Cerberus snorts in her sleep.

“Not really,” Neil says, a hint of a smile only seen because Andrew’s completely given up on watching TV. “My legs were beginning to cramp up so I started thinking about my knees, which were kinda bothering me during my run - I might need to wear a brace next game - then I realized that over the course of the whole day I’ve managed to crack my neck, wrist, knuckles, hip, and ankles. I think my elbow needs to crack, actually, since it’s been feeling weird lately.” He’s quiet for a moment, then continues with, “My back constantly aches and all I can think of is the way we used to make fun of Coach for complaining about all of his joint pain.”

“But you’re still fine,” Andrew guesses, because Neil is still horribly predictable. He doesn’t mention that his own shoulders have been acting up during the past few games, since then Neil would bother him about going to have that checked out. Neil is a fucking hypocrite, he thinks with something that’s close to affection.

“Of course,” Neil says. “I have you. And the Foxes.”

They haven’t been Foxes for years, but Neil’s always been the nostalgic sort. Andrew finds that he’s been becoming more and more nostalgic too, even missing some of his old teammates now that he doesn’t have to see them every day. He doesn’t want to think too hard on it though, and carefully wiggles out from under Neil, who is a lot more draped over him than he thought, and presses a kiss to his forehead.

“I’m making hot chocolate,” he announces. “Want anything?”

“It’s too late for caffeine,” Neil complains, which yes, is completely a sign that he’s becoming old. Andrew, who has gained the Fox kids’ affection by remaining young at heart, finds that the sugar crash outdoes any of the meager caffeine in his hot cocoa mix.

All the same, he pulls Neil’s favourite mug from the drying rack as well, and sends both of them into the microwave full with water. There’s a box of tea bags that help Neil sleep, and Andrew likes the smell. He dumps in more mix than necessary into his own mug while waiting for Neil’s to seep, and comes back to find that his husband has collapsed sideways in his absence.

“Really,” Andrew says dryly. “I’m going to sit on your face.”

“Mmm, maybe when I have more energy,” Neil tells him with a naughty grin, pulling himself back up slowly to avoid waking Cerberus. Andrew hopes in vain that the steam’s blurring out his blush because goddamnit, he’s in his forties and still horribly weak to Neil’s rare hints of dirty talk.

Neil carefully eases Cerberus’ head off him so he’s fully upright, and reaches out to take his mug while Andrew tries to sit without his knees creaking. The sound of explosions and gleeful cheers echo from the speakers around them - Andrew likes the luxury of surround systems and Neil likes the opportunity to shell out money to treat him - and Andrew thinks that this is something worth fighting and surviving for.

He noisily slurps down his hot cocoa and ignores Neil’s little huff of laughter. Their thighs are pressed together even though they’re both careful to keep their elbows from bumping, and outside a car alarm is going off. Before long Andrew’s mug is empty save for the gritty bits of whatever didn’t dissolve, and he sets it down with a soft thud before deciding that it’s Neil’s turn to be leaned against for a change. His fingers run idly along the seams of the couch cushion, and there’s something soothing about the scritching noises his nails make.

“What are you going to do?” Andrew finally asks. The words burst out like he’s been holding them in for years, and maybe he has. “When you retire.”

“Who says I’m retiring?” Neil responds impishly, his smile curving around the lip of his mug. “I could keep playing Exy until I die.”

It’s not funny since Neil has, in fact, nearly died multiple times because of Exy, and Andrew tells him so.

“Fine,” Neil says, maybe a touch shamed. “I could coach. Or volunteer or something.”

Andrew isn’t even surprised. “As long as you’re coaching the same league as Kevin’s Tigers,” he says, just because he likes watching Kevin lose, even by proxy.

Neil hums thoughtfully. “The famous Josten-Day rivalry transcending generations, sounds fun. What about you?”

Without them noticing, Mythbusters had already finished and the channel is switching into something with far fewer explosions. Andrew thinks about the possibilities - they have enough money to comfortably live out the rest of their lives - and about everything that he never thought he’d have. He thinks about foster care and foster homes that were never really homes, about Bee and Wymack and chances that he hadn’t even believed in.

He thinks about the little idea that’s been wiggling around his mind, about Robin and about being able to help fix a broken system in a broken world.

“Volunteer or something,” Andrew eventually says. Neil makes another humming noise, and takes a sip of tea.

“We have time to work it out,” he says, and Andrew likes the way he emphasizes time. After years of countdowns, they’re finally counting up.

Even though it’s chilly outside, the cocoa settles a warmth in Andrew’s stomach and the weight of Neil along his side is better than any blanket. They absently watch whatever’s on - neither of them are paying attention - until Neil’s little sips finally empty his mug.

Their feet bump together when he gets up, and Andrew wordlessly passes him his own mug. He stares a little shamelessly at the strip of skin Neil reveals when he stretches up, and reaches for the remote to turn the TV off. Cerberus is grunting in her sleep, and Andrew considers waking her up before deciding that he doesn’t really care enough about the couch to deal with her trying to sneak into their room. Neil’s still cleaning up the mess Andrew made on the counter  and rinsing out their mugs, so Andrew creeps up behind him and brushes the sides of his arms light enough that he can feel goosebumps form under his fingertips. It’s a sign of how comfortable they’ve become that Neil only relaxes at his touch, and Andrew presses his forehead into the space between Neil’s shoulder blades.

“Bed?” Neil asks.

“Sleep,” Andrew agrees, which does not necessarily mean that they won’t be doing other bed activities later.

“You need to let go of me,” Neil says.

“You need to work harder on arm day,” Andrew says with an emphasizing squeeze, but moves back anyways. Neil turns towards him with a little frown on his face, and Andrew uses his thumb to swipe it away, before tilting Neil’s head down to kiss him.

“Says the man who always skips cardio,” Neil murmurs against his lips as his hands - wet and cold because Andrew’s blocking the towels - come up to gently trace Andrew’s jaw. “C’mon, before we end up having sex in the kitchen. Again.”

It had been a messy affair, and the days when they could stay up past midnight playing Exy are over - Andrew’s eyelids are already feeling heavy. He sighs into their last kiss before pulling away, tugging at the hem of Neil’s shirt - which really is Andrew’s - to lead him into the bedroom.

“Keep your wet hair to your own pillow this time,” Andrew says, climbing in first like always. Neil takes up the other side of the bed, and the rustle of the sheets is actually sort of comforting.

“Hey,” Neil says again, once the blanket’s thrown over them and Andrew’s clammy feet are sucking the warmth from his own. He needs to stop saying it like that, because Andrew’s mind tends to get whisked away to glaring sunlight glinting off auburn hair and a sweet smile on a not-so-sweet day. “We’re getting old. Together, I mean.”

“Aging hasn’t made you any quieter,” Andrew grumbles, and their hands find each other in the darkness.

Other than their breathing, it’s completely silent.

[blackmormonmed]

I once saw a bird fall dead from a limb without once ever feeling sorry for itself -Yeats

The above quote opens my essay in order to inform the reader that what I write should be read with the understanding that my experiences described made me who I am today at fifty years old, and not be taken as a sympathetic excuse.  

I will begin as Copperfield might, and then I was born - in Oakland California 1969, 105th and east 14th street Sobrante Park, a far cry from the beauty and kind community of Utah. My struggles were not uncommon to what one would see in a movie based on the inner-city ghettos of America.  I cannot single myself out because so many youths shared my circumstances and worse across the globe. By the grace of Heavenly Father, government aid and working after school, I was known then as a latch-key-kid.  My mother, with the help of the money I earned, was able to manage me attending high school.  My love of education was immeasurable, I wanted above all things to leave East Oakland, better known as the killing fields, and chase my dreams of becoming a Physician. The only way that I would be able to achieve this was through an athletic scholarship, as that was the only way that I knew of in the 1980s as a road to a young black youth’s exodus. I did not receive a scholarship, but that did not diminish my dreams.  Though the financial opportunity was not present, I knew that I could overcome it. I began working in a salvage yard before I finished high school receiving my General Education Diploma which was an immensely proud moment for my mother. After several years saving as much as I could here and there, I managed to save enough for my first semester of Junior college in the mid-1990s.  My dreams could now come true. I would swim for the college team and gain my scholarship via that avenue. My focus was swimming and not where it should have been, academics. I only saw the junior college as a springboard to a university where I could shine and pursue my educational dreams, I was young and foolish and flat out stupid to waste that opportunity. While attending the Junior College I fell in love with the woman that would become my wife and before I could see my dreams through to completion, my daughter Margo would be born. She was the most amazing thing that would now be my focus, perhaps my dreams could be hers as once my mother's dreams had once become mine. I would have been the first in my family to walk across the graduation stage of high school, and now Margo would be the first to have that honor but I vowed on her birthday it would not be the dream of high school graduation but the higher stage of college.

Margo grew as did my family’s need for financial stability. I sought employment elsewhere and decided that whatever job I would find I would do it with excellence as if it were my dream, as the fantasy of becoming a Physician slowly began to darken on my horizon.   I entered the Motion picture industry as a Production Assistant, worked my way up to Boom Operator and then the head of the department Sound Mixer.  

Fortune would shine on me years later after starting a conversation with a physician at the University of California Los Angeles Johnson Cancer Institute, Dr. Naismith. He was fascinated with the films I had worked on, and when I told him of my lost aspirations of medical school, he invited me to come by his lab if I ever wanted to learn a bit about science in my spare time.  I jumped at the chance. I wasn’t a student, nor had I had any formal training. I convinced him to let me clean his lab after work.  I soon was taught some basic laboratory techniques, Pipetting, western blotting, and how centrifuges were used, thus began my journey as did my love for science reborn. My adventure of learning was cut short once again by the need for family stability. The physical exhaustion of working twelve plus hour days, family and two jobs took its toll.  I had to choose the job that actually paid, but I will be forever grateful for the glimpse into the world of microbiology provided by the kindness of Dr. Naismith. Over several years of extremely hard work the team, I worked alongside achieved the film industry's highest honor of the Academy Award for best sound in a motion picture. There was money, I moved my mother from East Oakland to live out her last days with my wife and daughter. My employment kept me on the road most of the year, which I did with a heavy heart and regret not being able to spend the last days of her life with my mother and my family, and that this was nowhere near what I thought my life would be.  The strain of my mother’s debilitating illness and death, along with my absence lead over time to the end of my marriage.  This started a downward spiral in my life leading to a seventeen-year addiction to Cocaine.  

...

[sometimesrosy]

Academic, chapter 10: The Intern

rosymamacita

Chapter 10 Read on AO3  read from the beginning Academic

: The Intern

It's the end of Clarke's year of being a visiting professor at NYU, so as far as her friends are aware, she should be ready to make their Bellarke dreams canon, in real life... but instead, The History Channel has asked her to hire Bellamy as "The Intern," on their show, much to the dismay of her friends who are sure she won't allow herself to get involved with her employee.

Ah, Bellarkers... always hoping, always having their hopes delayed. Again.

;)

This is a prompt from my 2k followers celebration, asking me to add a chapter to the abandoned story. And I did. :) Thanks @miraculoushipping

miraculoushipping said:Hi! I really hope this doesn't come off as rude since I know that a lot of authors don't really like being badgered for updates, which is completely understandable, writing is HARD. But do you have plans to update/complete Academic? It's sosososo good and I love it, I couldn't stop grinning (Nubile little nymph, made my night 😂) and it just has everything I could possibly want in an AU fic PS Kane totally ships Bellarke PPS Clarke not telling her friends they're dating out of pettiness? Gold

Chapter Text

They were at the bar, near the end of the school year. “So that sucks, right?”

Clarke gawked at the ridiculous number of hits for the new youtube vid of Bellamy at the Boys Club in his old neighborhood where he had raised Octavia. The theme was “Everyday Heroes,” and apparently, the whole internet was in love with the Bellamy Blake.

Clarke couldn’t blame them. She was in love with him too.

“How could this possibly suck? He’s a sensation. That has to be good for him. He’s my friend. Why would I want him not to have success?” She was still staring at him on screen, even though the volume was turned down low and she couldn’t hear the stories he was telling about the disadvantaged kids of the inner-city, their struggling parents and the people who were advocating for them. She swallowed and looked at Jasper, who looked back at her in exasperation.

“Duh, Clarke, because The History Chanel wants him to work on our show as ‘The Intern.’ You’ll be his employer! You’ll never be able to get together, now.”

Clarke looked at him, her face carefully neutral. “Have you been reading fan fiction again, Jasper?” she asked.

“I’ll have you know that Bellarke is not the only ship your man is in now. There’s Caesamy. They’ve paired him up with Caesar, isn’t that awesome? And Zeusamy. Quite the fireworks in that one. A bit of Aphrodellamy… but Aphrodite always sounds vaguely like you anyway. My favorite is a little out of the history geek wheelhouse. Riplamy.”

Clarke couldn’t take it anymore and rolled her eyes. “Riplamy? Which greek god is that?”

“No greek god. Ripley. From Aliens!” Clarke stared at him. His eyes were wide and excited and she took a bite of pizza while he gushed about Bellamy fighting aliens in space. It turns out that it wasn’t that hard to distract Jasper from things she didn’t want to talk about.

Clarke called for a round of shots and made sure that when they came, Raven and Wells were sitting as close as they could in the booth, penned in on both sides by the enthusiastic Jasper on one side and a VERY friendly Monty and Miller on the other, who had apparently come to some agreements about what they were to each other, if the cuddling and smiles and the way they kept crowding into Raven’s space, pushing her closer to Wells had anything to say about it.

Clarke tossed back her shot and smiled at the way Raven blushed under Wells gaze. Honestly blushed. Raven couldn’t even look at Wells as he stared down at her and asked her if she was okay.

Raven was not okay. Wells put a hand to her forehead and Raven blinked up at him. Her lips parting ever so slightly. It was awesome.

Her phone in her back pocket buzzed.

“As much as I’d love to stay and watch all— “she waved her hands at the general friendness of her friend group, getting closer in ways that made her happy, not the least because she liked their matchmaking hearts being stung by cupid’s arrow. “I really need to get out of here. I have a business call from China coming in a bit. And I need all my notes. You guys keep on doing what you’re doing.” Her friends barely noticed her. Miller was entranced by Monty. The mighty Raven was laid low by Wells’ attention and Jasper was staring sadly at his phone. HE was next on the list. She’d find someone for him, to get him out of his Bellarke obsession. It wasn’t healthy. He needed to focus on his own life, not hers.

Clarke shrugged her bag over her shoulder only to be confronted by the sharp green eyes of Octavia. “I’m sorry he couldn’t make it tonight.”

“Who?” she said. As if she didn’t know.

Octavia pursed her lips. “My brother,” she snapped.

Clarke let out a soft laugh. “Oh Octavia,” she said, fondly. “I told you. You don’t have to feel bad about me and Bellamy. We’re friends.” They were. It was true. Friends. He was one of her best friends. Best.

Octavia scowled at her. “There was something between you.”

“Hmm,” she said noncommittally. It was true.

“There IS something between you.”

Clarke smiled and nodded without saying anything at all. It was true.

“Stop acting like it doesn’t bother you that you couldn’t get together!” Octavia said. It was almost yelling, but her voice was quiet. Hissed almost.

“Babe,” Lincoln said behind her, taking a hold of her arm as if he were trying to hold her back.

Octavia shot a frustrated look back at Lincoln. “Why did you let The History Channel hire him as your stupid intern. He’s more important than that.”

He was. “Things worked out for the best, Octavia. They really did. This could really open doors for him. I’m excited for him. You should be, too.”

Octavia’s scowl turned even fiercer. “I am. I just wish….”

“Babe,” Lincoln said and wrapped a soothing arm around her. “Let it go.”

“But they could have been so good together,” she grumbled to her boyfriend.

Clarke had pity for Octavia. She leaned down to the table and gestured towards Raven and Wells. “See that? Wells has been in love with her for ages. But Raven? She doesn’t believe in love.” She thought back to all the anguish that Raven had suffered over the years, all the broken hearts and pain. “She thinks love is for suckers.”

Octavia slanted her eyes over at them, the way Wells kind of loomed over Raven and the way Raven kept looking away, but still oriented towards him, as if her body couldn’t help it.

“But she tried to get you and Bellamy to fall in love.”

Clarke shook her head wryly. “No. She tried to get us to hook up. She thought if we had sex, I’d get him out of my system and be able to move on.”

Octavia shot her piercing glance back at Clarke. “But you didn’t do that, right?”

“If I hooked up with your brother,” Clarke said and her heart started racing, “do you think I’d just be able to move on and forget him?”

Octavia raised her chin like a challenge. “No, I don’t.”

“Good,” Clarke said and stood up. “So work on that over there.” Wells had a crooked grin on and Raven was on some rant with multiple curse words and much disdain for whoever she was ranting about, but there was a high flush on her cheeks.

“Yeah, maybe,” Octavia said and turned her attention down the table while Clarke made her goodbyes and left the bar.

****

She turned the key in her apartment. It was quiet. Clarke closed the door behind her, locking it. Latching it too. Cautious.

She slipped off her shoes and hung her bag over the back of the chair, stepping quietly, not wanting to break the silence, in case….

“Bellamy?” she called.

“In here.”

She smiled. He had his serious voice. All the different versions of Bellamy still thrilled her. The academic one. The sexy one. The contentious one. The protective one.

She dropped her sweater as she walked back to her bedroom and stood in the doorway.

He was in her bed, shirtless, reading a huge tome. It was his favorite way to be, she’d found out. And she loved it. She loved him.

She laid down next to him. He raised his arm so that she could cuddle up against his side and that’s what she did, kissing the skin of his shoulder and laying her head on his chest, just happy to be there.

“They were talking about you at the bar,” she said.

“Hmm, yeah?” he said distracted by his book. His hand petted up and down her arm. “What were they saying?”

“Oh, that it was a pity The History Channel had hired you as “The Intern” on my show, and that meant I was your boss and couldn’t hook up with you. They were sad.”

He sighed, amused and turned the page. “And you couldn’t tell them that they hired me as your love interest because they loved the internet nonsense and wanted to jump onto the whole Bellarke frenzy just like our friends?”

“They didn’t,” Clarke purred, stroking his flat belly, playing with the little hairs above his waist band. “They hired you because of your passion for history and your screen presence. They liked the idea of a regular guy coming in to challenge me.”

“If that was what it was about, you never would have agreed to it.” He smiled as he read, but she got the feeling he wasn’t paying much attention to his book anymore. “You never needed a man to make your show good.”

“True.” His abs were so nice. “But I do so like having you around.”

“Uh huh,” he said doubtfully, still pretending to read his book.

“I do. You keep me on my toes, Bellamy. You make sure I’ve got the whole picture and I don’t get too laser focused on my own opinion. You make me better.”

He put his book down. “You’ve got it backwards, Clarke. I’m always trying to keep up with you. To think bigger. To question my beliefs. You make me better.”

She smiled. “Together we make a good show. Plus with added sexual tension.” She let her fingertips slip just barely underneath his waistband.

“So you’re going to enjoy working with your impressionable, young and nubile intern.” he pulled her towards him and kissed her temple, nuzzling the skin there with his nose. “You’re such a predator.” The motion of his hand became slower on her back, stroking down her spine to the curve of her ass, before sliding back up again, under her shirt and around to fondle her breast.

“Yeah, you’re a real innocent.” She just breathed, feeling the sensations while he nibbled at her ear and slipped his fingers inside of her bra. The muscles of his chest under her hands were warm and firm and she reached for the snap of his jeans. He lifted his hips just slightly to meet her hands, but she stopped. “Are you okay, though? With this game we’re playing? Pretending not to be together, working on the show. Teasing not just our friends but the whole world? You— you’re such a good guy, Bellamy, you can’t like lying.”

He laughed and the low vibrations went through her. “Oh baby,” he said and pulled her shirt over her head. “I’m not that good a guy. They set the rules. They fucked with us first. So we get to fuck with them.” He reached behind her and released the clasp on her bra, slipping the straps down and throwing the scrap of lace over there, somewhere. He bent down to kiss the soft skin at the top curve of her breast and she surged up to meet his lips, but he simply petted down her side and smiled at her.

“Hey, they’re paying me a shit load of money to argue with you about history and justice and also to travel to amazing places that I’d never go otherwise. We’re filming around my academic calendar. Miller has the bar. This is going to be really great for my career… I HAVE a career and I’ve only been in college for one year. I think you’re really failing to understand just how much of a win this all is for me. And the best thing of all, I get you out of it. And I get to flirt with you and make that angry glint come into your eye when I challenge you… do you know how MUCH I loved that when you were just my professor? That little glint. I knew how much fire you had inside you.” He laughed under his breath and his hand drifted down to undo her jeans and slip inside.

She gasped.

“Yeah that’s the fire.” His grin was crooked and beloved. “That we get to screw with our friends and mess up their betting and also make them wonder about us for the whole filming? That’s just bonus, huh?”

But Clarke really couldn’t follow the conversation anymore. Not with the electricity Bellamy was striking inside of her. “Stop talking,” she breathed. “Do you really want to keep talking about our friends right now?”

“No, I don’t,” he said, and his mouth came down on her nipple while his hands brought her higher. She peaked under him and laughed, pulling him close to her and kissing down his chest.

“Is that how I get you shut up?” she asked, so happy in that moment that it felt like the universe was revolving around them.

“Pretty much, yeah,” he said and kissed her.

[sybillsilver]

As a little saying that we have in my country “promised is debt”here I leave it this fic that started as an idea proposed by @gisabarrow I hope you like it, and, if you have any idea I am open to suggestions. kisses

I woke up because of a nightmare, I open my eyes and rise violently, my heart beats so fast that I feel it will come out from my cheste, I took a deep breath and try to relax “it´s just a nightmare, none of that is real” I said to myself , groped my winged but I only find the wall of my cell, I close my eyes and looked away, I thought that custom had disappeared long ago, I should have done it, but I want or not, I still dream of turning and seeing it there , lying down sleeping placidly, his relaxed expression would tell me that everything was fine, that nothing would happen to me near him, but I know that it's no use dreaming about it, I know I will not turn around again and find Cal on the other side of the bed. I sat while the cold stone edge touches my bare legs, I shudder, in this momento I am messing mi bed in our cublicle in Tuck altought I only slep there once I know is better than this little step of my cell. I stend and walk to the metal bars, there is not a soul in the whole corridor, my sharp ear tells me that there is also no one in the corridor that follows, and, possibly, this alone in the tower; After testing experiments with me and realizing that I could not take the powers and save them in a bottle, and for a couple of other conflicts ... (I will only say that the silver ones will not have red blood, but my saliva all over their face.)

 Maven had lock me in the only cell of an old tower located vehind the castle, I heard that is use as a deposit and nobody knows about the existen of a cell at the end of a corridor where lives the Lightning girl, beside, Who would want to come and save me? The silvers hate me , and th eones who got faith in me and in the Scarlet Guard, red and silvers had forgot for obligation or because they get tired of beeing let down, I can´t blame them, I can´t blame anyone for my mistakes.

A sound of trumpets takes me away from my moans, stold my atention for a second, but, realizing it is the change of guard loses mi attention just as fast, each twelve hours when the trumpets sing the guards move to the right rotating places I get away from the bars and climbed the stairs, where, taking advantage of the fact that nobody saw me, I took a stone from the wall and watch them move, the tower was not very high, and it was only a few meters from the square and the Headquarters, but still so I have to squint my eyes to be able to focus in the distance through my precarious little Windows while the hot air entering absorbing the cold of the room, the spring was noticed in all its splendor. In that moment a few steps resound on the stone floor and a guard looks down the hallway, standing in front of my gavel, I barely notice his existence, but after ten minutes have passed and he was still standing there waiting, his presence began to irritate me.

-Your king sent you to pick me up?- I asked, he just nod, is more conversation than ana gent gave me since I came in here I wait him to move the cell like most magnetrons guard  do but remains immobile, observing, I get closer until I am in front of him, the stone around the bars make me peak turning off my abilities, my head star to spin and I stifle, slowly so I move without looking at him, prepared for anything, maybe I don´t have mi Lightning here with me right now, but my reflexes as a thief can´t be taken by anyone, before I can even complain, the guard puts his hands around his neck and takes off the helmet, I'm confused at first, but I barely see those curls (which now came to his shoulders) and green eyes I can not help but smile.

"Whatever you have planned, I want you to know that I do not agree with you being here knowing that Maven could recognize you -Kilorn smiles as he puts his helmet under his shoulder.

-"I miss you too Mare-," he says as runs a gloved hand through his hair, pulling the curls back. Kilorn try to open the door but it is useless, there is no lock or latch, only a curtain of thick metal bars. I approach and touch his wrist with my hand he raises his eyes, staring into mine, although this smiling I can see the stormy green of his eyes, is no longer the apprentice fisherman of the Piles a year ago, his body is full with scars, has deep circles, is thinner but more muscular, looks like a young man who lived a thousand lives, he has always been easy to read, through his mind come many feelings: sadness, anxiety, fear, surprise, etc. , he wants to speak, but there are not enough words to express his concern, so we communicate with the looks as we did before, I tighten his wrist a little, conveying a message "I'm alive and that's all that matters" he nods, as if having understood, although I would have liked that moment to last longer, to be able to have a talk with my best friendo but he jumps up as if remembering something, and then reaches into his pocket and removes a red scarf like the ones the Scarlet Guard use.

- Shake it through the hole .- he tells me passing the scarf through the bars, I do not stop to think how they knew the hole but I approach, jump on the step, take the stone, I give a quick glance around to see if anyone was watching me, and when I decide they are not , I reach out and shake the handkerchief a few seconds before putting it back on I turn to go and return the handkerchief to Kilorn but this gesture hae hand holding me -Watch - says in a whisper, I turn back and look through the hole, at first I found it difficult to know what it is, until I see some figures moving away. Just diagonally to where I was, there were two soldiers only a few meters to the left of the tower, one starts talking to the other, the one who starts talking seemed entertained, as if they know since they were kids the other hardly stirs to move, at first I do not understand what is happening until  a door is opened to the side of the tower and a guard comes out carrying a red slave, they are positioned in front of the other two guards and without releasing the struggling scramblethe the guard begin to tell a story, I could imagine what they were saying, I turned to see Kilorn but he does insist that I turn and keep watching.  When the guard finished the story the other two remain thoughtful, the speaker turns to see his partner that, just then I realize that he was of a higher rank, thick shoulder pads were attached to his uniform as a badge which hung from his chest, from here I  couldn´t see what it was but they were probably two crossed swords, the door opens again and another guard comes out but this one was of a much lower rank, he was not wearing a uniform as thick as the other three , it was only composed of a pair of trousers and a gray shirt that had a light blue sleeve, once Cal  told me that the guards with blue sleeves were simple apprentices, silver in the process of becoming official guards, Cal ... , I push away my feeling  thought and turn my concentration to the young apprentice. He was broad-shouldered, could see his muscles under his shirt (both on his back as arms and chest) he had long legs, his black hair was crushed by a visor, also gray, his skin was white with a silvery sheen, His walking is slow. Maybe the fatigue me down and really everything is a dream, maybe I'm still in the lab connected to that horrendous machine, maybe I died, I don´t know, I just know that what happened next was something I had not imagined in a million scenarios , The apprentice turned almost completely, he looked at me, and winked at me, that's when I realized because the apprentice made me remembered so much Cal. The apprentice was Cal.

I stopped myself from shouting his name, choking on my gasp, and covering my mouth, behind me Kilorn laughed, while Cal put his cap on and placed himself behind the officer, he had barely noticed his presence but that did not seem to discourage Cal, indeed, was right behind him and looked at the waist of the officer's trousers from where, with well-trained nimble fingers, he stretched a cord from the officer's waist and stretched it by dropping a small object in his hand, only when the moonlight reflects let me saw what object was: a key. Cal quickly puts the key in his pocket, turned around and walked where he came in the direction of the door, and only a few feet he bends to tie the laces of his boots, rather to pretend that he was tied, he raises The sight and our glances cross again, suddenly I felt as if my whole body trembled in a spasm, as if I had been slapped so hard that I had traveled in time to that hot night outside the tavern, with a smile Lips without words but the message is clear: Thief. He only smiles and puts my expression on that night to perfection, surprised, almost offended, to my surprise moves his lips and gestures another word without sound: -Obviously.

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[4ever-untitled]

My Favorite 20 albums of 2017!

Do these things really need an introduction? This year sucked once again, so let’s just focus on the good music that happened okay? Without further ado, my favorite 20 albums of 2017:

Honorable mentions

St. Vincent - MASSEDUCTION 

Rapsody - Laila’s Wisdom 

Blanck Mass - World Eater 

Kesha - Rainbow

Pond - The Weather

Rostam - Half-Light

Birthing Hips - Urge To Merge

20.  Alex G - Rocket

“Incoherent” is a word I suppose you could use to describe Rocket, the seventh album from Alex Giannascoli, but I prefer the term “idea-full”. When your head is full of shit to say, it’s not all gonna come out as a simple little guitar ditty. It might come out as a strange looping piano ballad, or even a Death Grips-esque noise rap track. What I’m saying is, feelings are complex and hard to pin down, and Alex G does his best to wrestle with them on here. It’s a balls-to-the-wall, heart-on-your-sleeve country/folk/rock/noise odyssey that feels immensely personal and universal at the same time. Incoherent? Hey, aren’t we all?

Listen: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nPuxLpVus-k

19. Vince Staples - Big Fish Theory

Everyone’s doing trap. Everyone’s doing mumble rap with the Migos flow. Fuck rattling high hats. Fuck ad-libs. Big Fish Theory was an important statement this year; a high profile rapper who teamed up with some underground electronic music producers (not beat makers) to make something truly unique that tried to give the hip-hop envelope a little shove. Here’s the thing though: it still goes really REALLY hard. Vince took a lot of risks on Big Fish Theory, songwriting and production wise, and the results speak for themselves.

Listen: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C6iAzyhm0p0

18. Mount Kimbie - Love What Survives

Sometimes cold, nearly inhuman music can be some of the most emotionally potent. Radiohead's Kid A comes to mind. Albums that are unflinchingly ugly in their worldview and take every effort to make the music sound like it was created against their will, or perhaps by some machine. Love What Survives manages to sound distant, even otherworldly, and yet also jam packed with feeling. Electronic music has an inherent disconnect to it, like the listener was never considered in the first place, but Mount Kimbie manages to put a great amount of humanity to their throbbing electro post-punk. The results, a mix of electronic bleakness and a rich emotional core, are extraordinarily potent front to back, with excellent vocal performances from some of indie music's most unique voices. Mount Kimbie puts humanity into ugly music because, when you take a good look at it, life as a human is pretty damn ugly.

Listen: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J1kzMFnFSh0

17. Neil Cicierega - Mouth Moods

(Read my full review here) Yes, I’m serious. You know why I’m serious? Because everyone has their thing. We all have our little niche that we fulfill in this world. We all have something we’re good at. Neil Cicerega’s niche (while he is multi-talented) is making mashup albums, and I’ll be damned if he’s not the best at it. With this, his third installment in the Mouth series, Neil has made the mashup a form of high art. The lines between ironic enjoyment and genuine appreciation are blurred as songs you’ve become familiar with are chopped and screwed and combined in a way that seems in one sense horrific, but in another sense totally amazing. Mouth Moods is hilarious and incredibly enjoyable, but after a couple listens, you don’t listen to laugh, you listen to appreciate. A lot of time and care went into these tracks, and the mere idea of some of these combinations are commendable in their own right (AC/DC’s ”Back in Black” and Vanessa Carlton’s “A Thousand Miles” absolutely should not work together, and yet...) This is some of the most fun I’ve had with an album this year, and many moments left me genuinely very impressed, so I’d say that more than justifies it being on this list. It’s not just a meme. This is good music, whether you like it or not.

Listen: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DsoCe7C4Kmk

16. milo - who told you to think??!!??!!??

“I don’t even really have to rap/my nigga, it’s about if you can talk good” proclaims Milo on so the flies don’t come cut “A Song About a Raygunn (An Ode To Driver)”, and on who told you to think, it seems he’s begun talking really good. Milo’s lyricism on flies was poetic, but what he does here on the follow up is straight-up poetry. Less focus on hooks and beats (though those are also very good) and more focus on the words. He seems like the kind of person who obsesses over every syllable, and will never throw in a bar that doesn’t mean the world to him. Milo’s meticulous and abstract style makes diving into his lyrics an absolute blast. He’s a rapper for kids who are tired of hearing about bitches and hoes and want more Shakespeare references and terms that they have to look up in the regular dictionary rather than the urban one. High poetry over a beat. The essence of hip-hop.

Listen: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5mMOsl8qpfc

15. Richard Dawson - Peasant

I, and I’m am sure many others, would file this album in the same category as Joanna Newsom’s Ys. What category is that you ask? Lyrics and melodies that exude a sense of adventure, song structures that meander and drift like waves on the ocean, and stories that feel like mini epics. It doesn’t have a name, but it’s a damn exciting little nook of music that isn’t heard often, and Dawson nails it. Listening to this thing really does feel like a journey; one that’s constantly evolving and never ever boring. Dawson appears to have some sort of fascination with medieval storytelling and instrumentation. But don’t worry, this thing doesn’t sound like Renaissance Fair music. It has a great sense of modern experimentation and loose song structure that differentiates it from actual medieval music, and from pretty much anyone else making folk music right now. It’s an ambitious and wildly fun freak folk album that will draw you in with both its story and its charisma.

Listen: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U7iW5OEeCUw

14. Remo Drive - Greatest Hits

Aw man I miss being in a band in high school. We were one of the smart ones who weren’t under the illusion that “getting big” would be easy if we just really wanted it. We were just in it for fun. Remo Drive, a Minnesotan emo band, are some young whippersnappers who were in the same boat as me in high school, but through some good promotion (including a shoutout from a certain popular music nerd), the boys made it big. I’d be jealous if these guys didn’t completely deserve their success. Okay well, I’m still a little jealous. Regardless, Greatest Hits is a remarkably good debut, and one that has given emo kids around the country something new to latch onto and rightfully obsess over. Is it perfect? No. There are still kinks to work out. But I fucking love this thing and, considering this is their debut album, they can only get better and will hopefully one day become one of the emo greats. Just a prediction though. Maybe they’ll totally blow it. That would suck, but at least we’ll always have the awesome soaring hooks of Greatest Hits to re-listen to over and over and over. And over. 

Listen: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1kaMiIaT-sg

13. SZA - Ctrl

Love in 2017 is a weird thing. Everyone's so sex positive (which is a great thing!) that more people are open to hookups or being friends with benefits. That's all good and fun, but it can potentially lead to a lot of hurt feelings and heartbreak if there is a lack of communication. Modern music likes to pretend this isn't the case and that we're all out there trying to find a soulmate, but SZA knows what's really going on. She's tired of being used, and she's not afraid to call out shitty behavior by the men in her life. As you could probably guess, this album is very sexual. In fact, “Doves In The Wind” features the word "pussy" exactly 27 times. But sex and relationships is topic that needs to be discussed in 2017, especially from the female perspective. Having a casual hookup can be awkward and being sexually adventurous sometimes leaves something to be desired; a deep connection with another human being. It's not easy, but it's something worth fighting for. SZA tackles all this with a unique flow and swagger, while still keeping herself vulnerable enough for the listeners to connect to her struggle, which is one the most relatable struggles for young people today: have fun and be casual, or try to find something serious? What Ctrl teaches us is that the answer will only come if you try both, inevitably fail, and then learn from your mistakes. Maybe make a great album about it while you’re at it.

Listen: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cMD63TwzB1o

12. Open Mike Eagle - Brick Body Kids Still Daydream

Your childhood home is more than just 4 walls with a floor and a ceiling.  Your childhood home is your childhood. Every memory, good or bad, significant or minor, revolves around your home. Mike Eagle’s childhood home, the Robert Taylor Homes in Chicago, was demolished several years ago. Using this symbolic destruction, Open Mike Eagle crafted a subtly ambitious and low-key concept album. He uses it is a jumping off point for insightful takes on life for poor minorities in big cities. He also takes time to reminisce on his memories of the projects, both good and bad. It's intimate, smart, and breezy. But most importantly, it's a meaningful exploration on what it really means to be at home. 

Listen: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wQxXubLTIBw

11. Fleet Foxes - Crack-Up

Six years may feel like a long time to wait for an album, but the scope and ambition of Crack-Up justifies it. This is Fleet Foxes’ most dense and intricate album, and one that takes a few listens to fully digest, but also rewards multiple listens with it’s lush soundscapes that reveal a little more of themselves each time. People who, like me, felt that Helplessness Blues was near perfection may not completely vibe with this, but I think that if you truly sit down and give this album a chance, you’ll find a deep beauty to it that’s just as satisfying as anything the band has ever made. It really does feel like an album that would take six whole years to make.

Listen: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6GqgNebPm50

10. Brockhampton - SATURATION Trilogy

In a decade or so when I’m looking back at music through the years, I’ll think about 2017, and immediately go “Oh shit! That was the year of Saturation!” I can’t remember the last time I was as excited about a new force in hip hop as I am about Brockhampton. The three records they dropped this year were somehow all excellent in their own way. Every member shines in their own unique beautiful way, and the production choices are fresh and wonderfully off-kilter. The Saturation trilogy was an amazing feat that could have gone horribly wrong, but all the members and all the fans were extremely invested in making this work, and it did. And then some. The truth of the matter is, no one made an impact this year quite like Brockhampton. 

Listen: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n_ZRRlVDVa8

9. Tyler, The Creator - Flower Boy

Growing up is really a decision you make and not a fact of life. There are always gonna be man-children who never decided to do something with their life. Flower Boy is the sound of Tyler, The Creator finally deciding to grow up and give listeners something that’s been lacking in his music: sincerity. For the first time, Tyler really lets his sensitive side show, and he created a project that peels back the layers on the wild persona he’s created. Turns out he can do a lot more than just shock value rap. He actually has a great ear for melody and production, and his lyrics have become much more nuanced and emotionally resonant. It seems crazy to say this about a Tyler, The Creator album, but Flower Boy is beautiful, and hopefully Tyler will continue to follow this musical direction for future projects. There’s always more room to blossom.

Listen: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jxlBOBOZHqI

8. Perfume Genius - No Shape

While 2014’s Too Bright was an exploration of Mike Hadreas’ beaming confidence trying its best to balance out his crippling insecurities and fears, No Shape is pure confidence with no room for fear and all the room in the world for love. The opener “Otherside” recalls the opening tracks of his previous albums with its hushed piano balladry. but a minute goes by and suddenly there is an explosion of sparkling synths that pulls you right into the majestic world of this album and lets you know this one isn’t like the ones that came before it. From then on it’s one excellently written and immaculately produced track after another on what may be Perfume Genius’s most endearingly weird and wonderful project to date. Mike’s heart was full of love when he made this album, and you can tell. The grace and care that was put into every song is clear, and it makes for a tremendously satisfying listen.

Listen: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-EVhFTw4igw

7. Julien Baker - Turn Out The Lights

The most astounding part about Turn Out The Lights is that, after you hear how heartbreaking and beautiful and fearless it is, you listen a little closer and realize how damn relatable it is. Baker makes epic songs about little things that secretly hurt a lot more than we wished they did. The things we’ve all felt and thought about on lonely nights. Like all great art, it’s not just about the artist, it’s about all of us. It’s about the pain of existing and trying to be a human. Julien’s words are the words we’ve all been wanting to say but have never quite know how to put it, and every line hits like punch to the gut. But through all the turmoil, Baker maintains a sense of hope. As she herself put so gracefully, “The existence of anxiety or depression does not negate my own capacity for joy, or my intelligence; when I can embrace those things, I can have power over them.” Through her music, she gives herself power over her illness and let's us know that, even if everything feels like it's breaking, there is still hope.

Listen: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xV1dMqeb4_U

6. The National - Sleep Well Beast

(Read my full review here) I think Sleep Well Beast might be my favorite National album. That’s right, even better than the near-unanimously agreed upon high mark Boxer. I came to this conclusion when I realized that for every great song Boxer has, Sleep Well Beast raises it one. Boxer’s melancholy opener “Fake Empire” is pretty, but “Nobody Else Will Be There” takes the emotion to whole new levels of devastation. You a fan of “Mistaken For Strangers”? I raise you “The System Only Dreams In Total Darkness”. Like “Brainy”? You’ll love “Day I Die”. It’s basically a better version of Boxer, but it still manages to sound entirely distinct. The main difference being that their songwriting has become more mature and subdued, which in turn made room for the emotions to really ruminate within the music. I mean, it’s been 10(!) years since Boxer hit shelves, and since then The National have really grown up. Everything has more nuance, more depth, and more maturity. Out of all their albums, it’s the one that hits the most consistently, and also hits the hardest.

Listen: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2O6duDDkhis

5. Father John Misty - Pure Comedy

Pure Comedy isn’t for everybody because it wasn’t made for everybody. Honestly, it wasn’t really made for anybody but Josh Tillman himself. He decided to take a step back from the personal squabbles he dealt with on the fantastic I Love You, Honeybear and takes aim at...well, everything really. No topic is safe from Tillman’s deadpan wit and hilariously cynical worldview. The music itself is merely a vessel for Tillman’s impressively coherent rants, which walk that fine line between genius and complete pretension, admittedly slipping into the latter category on some occasions. But even though it can seem like a little much, the scale and ambition of it all can not be undersold. Plus, considering the shitshow that 2017 was, I’d say it’s a perfect time for humanity to get a bit of a wake up call. We needed some crazy old man like Father John Misty to go up on rooftops and tells us that what we’re doing is fucked up. So fucked up, that it’s actually pretty hilarious when you think about it.

Listen: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eHpV08wI-bw

4. King Krule - The OOZ

It really does ooze. Every song, every word, every little moment seems to just pour out of you speakers like syrup. The OOZ is like a puzzle. It has so many moving parts that it takes many listens for it all to start sinking into place. The big picture it slowly reveals is pretty ugly. Krule’s worldview seems tragic, and he constantly feels alone and lost in this world. Nothing makes any sense to him, or the listener for that matter. Why is it called Biscuit Town? What’s a Dum Surfer? I still don’t have all the answers, but every time I listen I get a little closer to this album’s real main idea. I don’t know if I’ll ever get there, but the joy of listening comes from those little revelations, and from the amazement of knowing how much meaning and detail King Krule put into this wild, unflinchingly weird record. It doesn’t need to be fully understood to understand that it is absolutely brilliant.

Listen: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K5-f1Bnltu8

3. Kendrick Lamar - DAMN.

What is a king to do now that he’s sitting comfortably on his throne? The answer: do what everyone else is trying to do to replace you, and do it way better than any of them. First, he releases  “The Heart Part IV”, a track that dares anyone to fuck with him. Then a week later, he shuts down anyone who would ever try with “Humble”, a track that sees Kendrick being anything but. After the absolute shock of “Humble”, we got DAMN, an album very different from but in many aspects just as admirable as To Pimp a Butterfly or Good Kid, M.A.A.D. City. Kendrick manages to blow every other rapper completely out of the water with his brilliance and talent while still making it look easy. He breezily flows over some of 2017’s most unique instrumentals with bar after bar about life post-TPAB. Kendrick tries not to let his fans, his haters, his family, or Fox News get in his head. He reflects on his past, looks towards the future, and secures his spot as one of the all time greatest rappers to walk the earth. Damn is right.

Listen: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=glaG64Ao7sM

2. Lorde - Melodrama

If there is one musical lesson I’ve learned over the past 2 years, it’s that you should never underestimate pop music. Last year, Beyonce blew me away with Lemonade, and now in 2017, Lorde is the pop star who didn’t let her one hit wonder define her and ended up with an absolute stunner of an album. When pop music is done as well as it on Melodrama, it strikes a nerve with the listener, connects with them on a deep level, and unleashes their basic instincts: to dance, to cry, to laugh, to remember, to hope. This album makes me want to do all of those things, often all at the the same time. I listen to this album and I feel a real connection with Lorde as she too tries to make heads or tails of life as an adult. Does she ever make heads or tails of it? Of course not, but she’s not here to give answers, she’s here to give you an album that will help you through it, an incredibly powerful and mature album at that, and one that perfectly captures the feeling of being on the edge of adulthood in 2017. This early adulthood college era is a messy time in our lives where we try to pretend that we’re fine and that we totally get it, but at a certain point we just can’t keep pretending. It’s all wild parties, broken hearts, lost friends, and trying to just enjoy it all while we’re still young. It’s a confusing, scary and amazing time in our lives where our only focus is getting what we want. It’s all for fun. It’s all for show. It’s all just a bunch of fucking melodrama, and Lorde captured all of it perfectly. For college kids, Melodrama is a gem. A pop album that wasn’t manufactured by a company, but created by someone who really is just like us. Someone who actually gets it. In a time where millennial bashing seems to be the cool thing to do, I am very happy that this album exists to remind me that it’s okay to be young and a little reckless. I mean, if we’re not reckless now, when the hell else can we be?

Listen: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J0DjcsK_-HY

1. Mount Eerie - A Crow Looked At Me

I really wanted to make Melodrama my number one this year. I mean, did you see what I wrote up here? That’s an album of the year write up if I’ve ever seen one. Alas, I had to give it to this album. It would be irresponsible not to. No album, hell, no piece of art that I am aware of has ever captured and expressed the experience of grief so intensely as this album. After the passing of his wife Genevieve, Phil Elvrum hid away in his home and eventually gave us this collection of 12 vignettes discussing the complete and utter emptiness he feels now that his greatest love has gone. Every single thing he does, every place he visits, every word he hears is a reminder of her death. It’s completely and utterly heartbreaking, so much so that listening to it feels almost disrespectful, like you’re eavesdropping in on someone’s very private life. Some call it exploitative, and I would be inclined to agree, yet the songs on here treat her with such deep, rich love and true respect. Even so It is a bit paradoxical. As he says in the beginning: “Death is real/someones there and then they’re not/and it’it’s not for singing about/it’s not for making into art” He dismisses the idea of turning the death of a loved one into art while doing just that. But can you really blame him? Phil just doesn’t know what to think about all this, but he knows how to make music, and that’s what he did. Was it to help with grieving? Was it for closure? Understanding? Was it to honor her memory? No one knows, and I don’t ever need to, because the fact still stands that this one of the most powerful pieces of art I have ever experienced. So yeah, it’s the best album of the year, and in fact one of the best ever made.

Listen: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H2R2Ck8qKWM

Well, thanks for reading everyone! Here’s to a great 2018!

Spotify playlist: https://open.spotify.com/user/1241380934/playlist/03JmDr3dJSvNigvFAISnbh

[thereliquarian]

Severance

I grew up hearing the adage that Art Imitates Life, and in mine it seems that my Life Imitates Art.  This has been especially true since beginning the Reliquarian, if you’ve read some of the other blogs I’ve spoken of the parallels, and how almost unnerving it is when something I write then shows up or happens in my real life.  Some of the parallels are more subtle, and perhaps it is a subconscious and intrinsic infusion into the artistry that I understand on a deeper level than I recognize on the surface.  If nothing else I have learned both in Artistry and Life nothing turns out the way I originally envision, but in the end, despite the struggle and frustration, when I let go of what I think it should be, it becomes what it is meant to be, and there is beauty in it that I couldn’t imagine at its inception.

Nostalgia is the third character to be introduced in the visual elements of the story, and this image is actually the last photographic illustration in book one.  It has been an interesting dance in this project being both artist and author, and creating them simultaneously.  It’s a bit like watching a close race or a good game where both opponents are fighting and stealing the lead back and forth.  Some of the characters have been visual representations in my mind and the story of them builds around the image, and others I write into the story and the inspiration for the images come from the writing.  This one came from the name, the idea of Nostalgia, which is something I have always been enamored with as a concept.  Nostos being Greek: Return Home, and Algos: Pain.  It’s a wistful longing to return home.  It feeds in also to the adage of “home is where the heart is.”   Nostalgia is wide spread to the longing for something that we want to return to, a moment, a memory, a place, a loved one.  All I knew of her was that I wanted her to be the visual embodiment of what Nostalgia would look were it fashioned into a humanoid type personification.

The crude idea we began with was that she needed to illuminate light.  She lives in a place called the Atheneum, that is a museum of sorts for lost and discarded things.  In the simplest of terms we might call her a hoarder, and in the realm of fictional characters she’d have gotten along fabulously with Miss Havisham, only it is life she is mourning the loss of rather than a lover.

My mother spent most of my childhood in a relationship with an Antique Dealer and Treasure Hunter, and our house was constantly described as creepy, a museum, and ‘interesting’.  My father and I have been estranged since I was 3, and several small bridges have all been built and burnt to bridge the gap, so this man has been my only subject of “dad” and while he never married my mother, and they ultimately parted ways, he still refers to, and introduces me as “My daughter of choice.”  His house now is an old farm, the chicken coop larger than most people’s garages, and the Barn towers over the property there, all full of oddities, trinkets, and treasures, some that only he sees the value in. The house is always dim, the lights are rarely on, even at night, to protect the patinas and paintings of rare artifacts that might be damaged by the light, and for as long as I can remember he carries a flash like as most carry their phone, or wallet, or keys, so that light is with him when it is needed.

They say we write what we know, and so much of the storyline of this character is rooted in memories of my past.  A thin walkway between rooms, flanked on all sides by minuscule and monumental things of varying importance, some lovely, and some grotesque.  The place I wrote was what I might have called home as a child on a more grandious scale, as Nostalgia has want to always do:  Turn what we remember into more than it was, anchoring our spirits towards past and keeping us from the future and more importantly: the present.

The initial concepts were to make the dress a gown of vintage and victorian lampshades.  To include photographs and frames upon it, and have her carry ‘the weight of the world’ literally upon her at all times.  It would be couture, but also serve purpose, as the common psychology of hoarders is “I need, or will need this.”  The Atheneum would remain dark at all times save candles dimly lighting the silhouettes and her gown which would carry its own light with it, illuminating only where she passed.

Once I latched onto this idea, the dress bodice became inspired by stained glass.  Particularly a Tiffany Lamp my grandmother always had on her serving hutch in the dining room.  Originally I thought blue, but once painted it didn’t seem illuminated and I moved towards yellows and golds.  (The Tutorial on how to do this is in the queue for those interested.)

When I get stuck {as I often do on this project} I often sit with the word I’m trying to convey and write as many connected words, synonyms and symbols as I can think of to play off of.  With Nostalgia one of the first and strongest was candles.  Perhaps because it denotes an earlier time, and older day.  I’m drawn to the warmth of fire, and the glow of it’s light, it romanticizes everything, and I have handwritten most of this book’s first draft by candlelight.  Returning again to my childhood my mother was not one for precision, and while others were building sand castles out of buckets and sculpting clean, smooth lines, mine taught her children “drip castles.”  Closer to the water’s edge, with the wet, muddy sand, dripping into uneven and erratic towers, and continuously washed away by the lapping waves.  At home she had a coffee table covered in years of candle wax.  A waterfall of color, cascading down until it became a mountain, and I was always mesmerized by it.

I too the inspiration from that and created the shoulder pads of the dress, so it would seem there were piles of candles close to her face, illuminating the words she read, the things she searched for, and ultimately, like all else, melting away into a nothingness, and replaced with the next layer upon it.

I will always, in some ways be a “poor kid.”  This method of thought was not only reinforced by humble beginnings and watching my single mom struggle to pull herself from the hole my parents dug together; but also by grandmother, who was a child in the midst of the great depression, and understood poverty and scarcity in a way no one from any generation beyond her can relate to.  This has not only attributed to the way money is handled in my personal life, but I also believe it greatly influenced and made possible the Reliquarian project thus far.

I am lucky to know many talented artists in the fantasy and fine art realms, but when I hear their budgets for shoots, I all but fall over from sticker shock.  I can’t imagine those price tags for the final image, so I instead imagine the ways around it.  I am a creative at heart and I think while some feel a sense of pride in being able to afford such luxuries I will always feel the same sense of accomplishment in the act of creating these pieces for fractions of cost.

The headdress was mostly items from the local dollar store, and remnants from other shoots.  I wanted it to have a bit of a catholism edge to it.  I remember my grandparents taking me to church and lighting candles in memory of those no longer with us, and I remember the statues and figures in the sculptures and stained glass murals that I always admired.  The headdress nodded to both, having the ability to light the candle, and having that more church statue feel in the color and texture.

In spending time in Cambodia last year it was common to see altars outside nearly every house.  They pray to buddha and light incense as offerings.  To nod to the other religion and culture that I have always identified strongly with we added incense which still gave a sort of “Holy Mother” feel to the headdress.  It created a sort of halo about her, and was accentuated with the dissected pieces of an oriental fan.  I wanted to create the idea that we are our own churches, we pray and meditate and connect with our gods at the altar of our own minds.  Anyone who seeks God in brick and stone, or thinks their rituals are where God is found is a fool, it is always within, our divine self is the connection between mortality and immortality, between creator and created.

With Nostalgia’s intricate bodice and headdress complete, focus shifted towards the set.  So much detail in this project is so minuscule in the grand landscape of the image.  If asked to describe the Reliquarian in 3 words I would simply say The Reliquarian is: ‘Art Within Art”  The images within the story, the wardrobe and sets within the image, the details within the details.  It is a mixture of all mediums of expression, and the intertwined consciousness of many minds that are significant in my world.

It seemed fitting to shoot the scene for the last book in the place that first inspired it.  It took nearly 3 days simply to clear enough room to have a line of sight for the camera.  It was dark, and dusty, and nostalgic as it should have been.  As the last image in the first book it had to be potent, and it had to represent the core of the project, which is the idea of Art within Art.  To take that further I made her literally art.  Not only in the elaborate costuming and ornate details of beading, wire work, and sculpture, but by placing her within a literal picture frame, one my husband Michael hand built for this piece.  Our child within the story is so captivated and distracted by all the things within the Atheneum that it is some time before she notices the frame is a doorway into another room of the building, and not a literal painting. Cadence has been with me on this project since it’s inception 5 years ago… that’s nearly half her lifetime.  It has been fun and challenging to create it with her, and I often hope she looks back at these moments and memories with a sense of nostalgia and love for these moments, as I know I will.  Still as mothers and daughters do, we have bickered over different elements of the project, and one in particular has been her long beautiful hair that is so glorious in the initial images.  She begged me to cut it, something I distinctly remember doing myself, as a child.  When I was not victorious in my plea, I cut all of it in the midst of rebellion, and frustration about my life in those moments… in hindsight I was on a very detrimental and damaging path right then, unable to see past the hurt of the present moment, and the helplessness I felt in being a child and not in charge of my own life and direction.  My tangled curls were simply metaphoric for the hopeless web I found myself ensnared in.  In hindsight I can look back, now more than double that age, and see that some of the dismay was in relation to my perspective, and not entirely my circumstances, but that was something I couldn’t see at the time.  I’ve worked hard to give both our children a really good childhood, in some regards, I, like all parents have failed, but overall I have felt mostly successful.

This year was a difficult one for our family, especially the last few months, we have all been struggling with many circumstances beyond our control.  It is the first time I feel I truly failed in my ultimate purpose as a mother: To protect and safeguard the life and well being of my children, mentally, emotionally, physically.  Tragedy and hardship is a necessary trial we endure so that we might see the true nature of all those close to us, and this year certainly did just that.  Cadence begged to cut and donate her hair last time during her father’s deployment in Afghanistan, and I saw a bit of metamorphosis take place within her emotionally and manifest physically.  It was a healthy means of expressing what was within and what she was without.  Given the nature of the year’s struggles I saw her grappling with how to come to terms with it, and again it was time to let some versions of self go… for her and I both.

Danielle, my hair goddess and guru was the only one I’d entrust her locks, and sense of self worth with, and she reminded me that hair holds weight from all the time it grew to it’s current length, for many it’s a way of declaring freedom, of letting go, of allowing one’s self to shed the exoskeleton of a version of themselves they have outgrown.

For Cadence, some of this is simply youth, some of it is innocence she is willingly shedding, and some has been taken from her before it should have been by a world she will learn to be, often times unforgiving and apathetic.  Interestingly as life imitates art, and art imitates life the easiest solution in terms of the Reliquarian, was to make Cady’s journey part of the child’s journey within the story.  And so Unsung is distracted by all the lovely and strange forgotten things within the atheneum.  She plays dress up in the clothes she finds there, studies the oddities, and eventually finds herself in front of an antique mirror and a collection of shears and scissors.  What she sees and what she feels are out of syncopation, and so she chops her hair, severing it from her head in an attempt to sever the past struggles and sorrows that have been tethering her to past days, and keeping her from moving forward.

As I am always behind the camera in these moments, I often forget that I myself am a part of the story in its creation.  The nights before a shoot are often spent with another creative in the project, and always the final touches and nuances are placed only moments before the shutter fires.  The true gift has always been that amazing people not only become part of the project, but bring other amazing people into the Reliquarian.  Jaye, brought his wife’s incredible talents to Higher Learning and introduced his artistic and creative daughters to me.  Siena has been with me ever since.  Sarah Jane sent me to Danielle, who has not only done hair for the shoots, but created stunning transformations in real life, and brought her friend on set to help fill in the shooting space on the day.  Donna Maria was a student at a workshop that quickly identified as a kindred spirit and agreed to play the part of Nostalgia.   Remy played Deception’s character in Higher Learning and has also done makeup on half the sets for shoot days.

The day of is always full of snacks, and last minute panic attacks, and stress, and excitement, and good people, and I love every second of it… Of course looking back I am struck with the nostalgia of the memory which conveniently leaves out all the headaches and anxiety of the day.  Siena stayed up till about 3 am with me the night before melting wax, and then snagged this behind the scenes as we finally began to shoot the scene, and when I saw it, it reminded me of all the reasons I have invested so much of my life, my money, my time, myself into this project.  It is the embodiment and culmination of every creative fiber of my being, every nuance, and every inspiration all converge here, in the moment I push the shutter button, after months of prep and frustration, inspiration, and the journey between what I think it will be and what it becomes.  It’s the Severance.  It offers a final payment of purpose, it ends the literal chapter or in this case book, and allows me to move forward towards the next ones… though from time to time I shall revisit them with a sense of fondness and nostalgia…

from Severance

[rachelzee143-blog]

Another Mother Against Promposals

<p>My stance on the issue of the Promposal trend was recently placed in public view when I read this blog post here: http://www.scarymommy.com/promposal-trend/</p> <p>A friend of mine, a millennial who is smart, outspoken and whom I hold in high regard responded by saying this: <blockquote>Hi I’m 22 this is sounds EXACTLY LIKE LITERALLY EVERY article by a bitter out of touch middle aged person ever. Seriously the world we’re growing up in is screwed the public education system is a shit show they deserve the whatever celebration they want for simply surviving cyber bullying, hormones, growing up, common core and deciding what to do with their lives before their brains are even done developing. You can’t make enough money working part time to put yourself through college (I would know I’m trying!) so they might not even get to finish. No degree? good luck making enough to get married or start a family, look at the people a few years older than high school seniors, millennials, people this woman’s age can’t fucking shut up about how we’re ruining everything by not getting married, buying houses and starting families AND WHY do they think we’re not doing these things?? Because we’re selfish and only want to be “free and focus on our selfies, avocado toast and careers” when the reality is we can’t afford to marry the people we love without coming under criticism for not having a dress or a church, we can barely afford the shoeboxes we do live in so a house might as well be a mermaid and if we kids living the way we do we’d never hear the end of how awful we are pawning them off on our parents because we can’t afford daycare and rent. Let these kids party as extravagantly as they please because it may be a long time before they ever seen the rest of those mile stones.“

My response? I read the article twice before posting. I have a general rule against posting propaganda that perpetuates generational divide. Because the truth is, when I was 22, it sucked just as much. For different reasons, but it sucked. When I was 22, we had new frontiers to handle. We were not certain this planet would be around long enough for us to see our own children. Would it be nuclear war? The hole in the ozone? Pollution? Many of our parents got divorced when we were young, giving way to the term "broken homes”. Ours was the first generation to have predominantly two parents working full time. We were called the latch key generation; later the more ubiquitous Generation X. We witnessed the AIDS epidemic first hand and a government try to ignore and scapegoat it away. Trust me: we had plenty on our shoulders and I remember. At 22 I had to drop out of college (lack of finances and inability to pay back loans.) I worked two full time and one part time jobs plus babysitting and lived with my parents for the next few years. When my husband and I finally got married we had been together for six years. He received some money from his grandmother to put a down payment on our house - a double, so we always have income from the upper. At a time when weddings were expected to cost 15-30k, ours cost about 6k. My mother hand sewed my dress. We got an amazing deal on tulle and other decorations from a florist that happened to be closing. We made it work. So when people lament about how great it was “back in my day”, I hesitate to get on board with that. We had the same criticisms of “kids don’t play outside” and “none of the parents understand the way their children are being taught.” We felt misunderstood by the Boomers and the Silent Gen'ers who raised us. And they felt misunderstood by the Greatest Gen'ers before them, and so forth. The struggles that occur as part of a coming of age may be painted with different medium, but they are all the same. And I don’t want to pretend that somehow my people got it all sunshine and rainbows right just because we brought the world Google and our mothers could yell for us from five blocks away to get us home in time for dinner. But this prom thing… my God, the pressure! I went to three proms (mom made those dresses too.) For the first two, I asked my dates to go with me. None of the guys I asked were even in my grade. I am quite certain nobody wanted to take a chubby weirdo like me. I cannot for the life of me imagine if the expectation had been a promposal that for me would simply never have come. The humiliation would have been crushing. Seeing others in my not quite fully developed but highly perceptive mind experience this might literally have killed me. But I did go, with nice boys who were my friends. One of which I felt compelled to bribe by buying his ticket and arranging for him to wear my brother’s vintage tuxedo. My mom tailored it for him and made him a tie and cummerbund to match my dress. (And I was rejected by the first guy I asked for that year.) [The third prom was my boyfriend’s senior prom. He actually asked me. I was in college. I married that guy.] And even then, I remember parents complaining about the unnecessary extravagance of it all - the limos, kids renting hotels… my junior prom date wore his nicest suit (not a tux) and our parents drove. For my senior prom, my dad borrowed a friend’s large van and took us to our restaurant and then to the prom. [My future husband has his own car]. I think my point is… I don’t want to take anything away from the experiences of the people who come after me. But at the same time, there is elegance in simplicity - which often gets overlooked in our youth and only more so when parents encourage it. I don’t want to take away anyone’s opportunity to celebrate and live it up. It’s just that when I look at these things, I wonder why this has to be SO big? It felt enormous when I lived it and it wasn’t this big. The expectations become even more difficult to meet. Seems like so much pressure to create a massive set up for potential disaster.

<p>Later, I spoke with my oldest daughter about this phenomenon. She is an incredible romantic who swoons at rom-coms and spent much of her earliest years enacting weddings with Barbie dolls and such. She is fourteen now and even though she is pretty certain all boys her own age are immature and gross, there is certainly a part of her that yearns for the summery sweetness of a fumbling slow dance on a dark and starry gymnasium floor, or a hand to hold while strolling through a carnival.

To no surprise, she said that these are “so cute” and “sweet”. And I get that. Some of these kids really come up with unique and fun ways to get the date.

But as the article says, when is enough enough? As a Gen-Xer myself, I tend to revolt against the mentality that somehow other generations (before or after) are wrong, or had it easier or whatever. We have all sailed uncharted waters. We have all taken risks by ignoring the warnings of our predecessors, and benefitted from them as well as failed. We have traded things along the way that have both helped and hindered our worlds equally. I believe this to be one universal truth of the whole human existence. Gen-Exers were once classified as cynical if not ambivalent, helpless, hapless and hopeless, in some ways eternal seekers - though that was not a compliment at the time. So by no means am I into speaking out against a generation. That’s just mean. <p>What I see is the nefarious underbelly of teenage expectation. For example: what if the askee still says no? What if the askee is asked by more than one person? What if the askee thinks the asker has bigger feelings than they do? What if the asker has bigger expectations in mind, since they went though all the trouble? </p> See, those problems have been there all along in the history of proms, and yet somehow the Promposal seems to amplify the stakes even more.