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glassartpeasants · 3 years

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In Your Head

Shigaraki x GN!Reader

Warnings: Insecure thoughts, very angst, depressed reader, mean shiggy, anxiety, body shamming, physical abuse, suicide, overdose

A/N: all the things your seeing on the warnings are true so take the warnings seriously.

~~~

All you could do is sit in bed nowadays. It felt like such a chore to do anything other than sleep. Why would you leave your nice warm bed to leave your room when if feels like no one wants you here. All the looks you receive from the league and the mean comments they say behind your back. If felt useless to even bother getting up.

It felt like they treated you like a bother. So why annoy them with your presence when they would obviously be better off without you. Maybe if you were someone different, someone who stood proud and happy, they would like you more.

It didn’t help that you had started to drift away from your boyfriend. It felt like everyday he was drifting farther and farther away and every time you tried to hang out with him he’d always say he’s busy. He wouldn’t let you sleep in the same bed as him anymore. Hell sometimes when you would knock on his door to ask him a question, you’d hear him lock the door from the inside. It was soul crushing.

So here you lay, in your bed looking up at the ceiling at 2 in the morning. Your thoughts running wild as you struggled to figure out why you couldn’t just do anything right. Wondering why you did that stupid thing all those years ago. Thinking about why you were such a freak that even your boyfriend wouldn’t want to be seen with you.

Tears started to form in your eyes as you picked up your phone to try and text your friends you ask them for advice. While typing you say the infamous three dots, thinking they would ask whats wrong, you sent the text asking for advice only to see what they were truly typing the entire time.

‘Listen (Y/N), I don’t really care at the moment.’

‘Oh...I’m sorry to bother you...’

You thought about sending another text to a friend hoping to actually get advice this time, but you decided against it. Not wanting to annoy another friend. You put your phone on your end stand before looking at the ceiling once more. Now the tears actually started to fall from your eyes.

You hugged your pillow, sobbing into it. What was it about yourself that made everyone hate you? There has to be something to make everything right. But nothing seemed like the right choice. You could try to buy them something? No that would only annoy them. Maybe try to hang out with them? They’re probably busy so you didn’t want to bother them.

It felt like a never ending cycle.

~~~

It was slowly becoming even harder to look in the mirror. All you saw was a pathetic mess. It looks like you haven’t slept in ages and that you’ve just given up. Which you mostly have.

You didn’t even bother to dress up ‘fancy’ or ‘casual’ anymore. you pretty much lived in your pajama’s. Who was stopping you from doing so? No one. Shigaraki stopped talking to you and you were the one who had to engage in conversation. Even then he really didn’t try to have a meaningful conversation. He’d only say passive aggressive comments or plan out insult you in general.

“God your such a fucking idiot you know?”

“Why are you wearing that? You look like a homeless person.”

“Stop talking to me, I don’t want to be seen with you.”

His words hurt you in such a way that you began to sort out the idea of dumping him. His words and actions made you feel so worthless that it was becoming useless to even try and salvage the relationship. It was clear that he wanted to do with you, so you did the only thing you really could do. You played his game, you didn’t talk to him, didn’t bother to cook him food anymore, never did anything that involved him.

Technically you guys didn’t break up cause neither one of you said it but it was pretty evident that it was over. Neither of you acknowledge one another presence. Well, that’s what they thought.

Behind the eye of everyone, Shigaraki would say mean things to you when no one was around. Calling you such horrible names to the point where you would run away to your room crying. He brought up subjects that he promised he would never bring up. He had just became this whole different person that you use to know.

The pain didn’t stop, in fact it only got worse when you saw him bring a random girl into his room. You should have known you weren’t over him. You loved him to the point you wanted to marry him.

But it was useless to think of such pointless things when you could hear what they were doing even if they were down the hall.

~~~

Missions that were once easy for you became harder and harder as the days past on. You were always distracted and weak from never getting enough sleep and never having enough energy to get out of bed and eat. So having you on a mission was pretty much carrying dead weight unless they planned to use you as a distraction. Which they did, causing you to get all sorts of scars after the enemy would attack you to get to the rest of them.

You could remember where one time, they had got you so bad to the point you thought you were gonna die. Blood had covered your hands and you started to pass out only to feel two arms pick you up and carry you away. You never got a good look at their face and you didn’t know who it was that decided to carry you back but when you woke up again you saw yourself inside the makeshift infirmary.

You silently said a thank you before getting out of the bed to go into the bar area, seeing everyone already seated and eating what little food you guys had.

“Oh I’m sorry (Y/N). I thought that you would still be sleeping so I didn’t make any for you. Please forgive me.” You could hear Kurogiri from behind the bar and you knew what he said was true. Kurogiri seemed to be the only one around the base to treat you with any sort of respect or remorse anymore.

“It’s okay. I can eat a snack from the fridge.”

“Are you sure you want to do that? It seems like you eat enough as it is.” Suddenly the whole bar started to laugh. Their laughter filled your ears as you ran towards your room in tears before slamming the door and falling to the ground.

What had you done to deserve this?

~~~

“Are you fucking stupid?! What makes you think that would ever work?!” Shigaraki screamed at you. You had simply tried to help by adding a strategy that would help you win a fight against the hero’s.

“I was just trying to help...”

“Well I didn’t ask for it!” 6 words was all it took this time for you to crack.

“Shut up shut up SHUT UP! GOD IF I CAN’T DO ANYTHING RIGHT I MIGHT AS WELL JUST FUCKING LEAVE!” You yell at the top of your lungs before throwing his plan and everything off the table and walking out the door, slamming it shut on the way.

Tears streamed down your face as hiccups started to form. It felt so nice to get it out but it still felt like it wasn’t enough. It felt like nothing was enough to get this suffocating pain off your chest. Every breathe felt like the pressure only got tighter and tighter. Once you reached your room you hope the pressure would loosen up but it never did. In fact it only got worse.

You couldn’t escape the feeling.

~~~

After that incident the bullying only got more intense. Instead of words they started using physical violence. Everyone wouldn’t miss a beat just to bully you. Pushed against the wall, punched where ever they could hand one. Sometimes even going so far to use they’re quirk on you.

But your worse bully seemed to be the mirror itself. Every time you looked into it, it felt like it spit venomous words about you. Saying words that got under your skin and made you cry every time, even if you knew they were all in your head. The ones in your head was the worst ones. Picking apart your very being.

It got to the point where you needed to cover up the mirrors in you room. You covered them with some clothes until you couldn’t see the reflective surface.

Even with the mirrors covered you couldn’t escape those toxic thoughts in your head. What was the point in living anymore if everyone around you hated you?

No one was going to stop you if you did tried to do it. Everyone hated you enough already. They wouldn’t miss you if you did it. They made that pretty clear in their actions. Even if you thought about it, there was just something holding you back. Could it be a sliver of hope that you still clung to? Or was it something else that you couldn’t describe. You didn’t know and honestly, you weren’t sure if you wanted to find out.

You waited till nightfall to leave your room to get something to eat/drink. You tip toed silently towards the fridge. Once you opened it you notice a bottle of pain medications. Before you could stop yourself you felt your hand wrap itself around the bottle.

Looking at the bottle you noticed it had a name of one of the new recruits name on it. You went to put it back before a voice came from behind you.

“The fuck are you doing in the fridge?” It was Shigaraki. You gripped the bottle tighter, your grip shaking the bottle.

“I was finding something to eat.” You heard his footsteps get closer so you whipped around to see him two feet away from you. He looked down at your hand to see the bottle of pills you were gripping onto for dear life.

“What are you doing with those?” You scratched your brain to think of something quickly.

“I just wanted to know what they were. I was curious.” Shigaraki looked at you, you knew he could see right through your lie. Or that’s what you thought.

“Whatever. Put them back when your done they don’t belong to you.”

“Y-yeah I know. I was only curious.” You still held onto the bottle for dear life until the pressure you held it under made the lid pop off.

“Oh great look what you did. God can’t you do anything right?” His words cut even more into your already fragile skin.

“Please don’t start Shigaraki. I can’t deal with you right now.” You could feel your heart start beating rapidly as you get down to grab the cap to the pill bottle.

“Don’t tell me what to do slut. Your so fucking useless worthless”

It felt like time stopped after that. All your will and all the times you’ve held back it finally caved. You just couldn’t take it any more.

You said nothing before sitting on your knees as you looked down at the ground. Uncovered pill bottle in hand. You look down at it and notice about 25 pills in general in there. You simply brought it closer to your face before throwing your head back and dry swallowing all the pills in one go, giving Shigaraki no time to react.

“Holy shit what the fuck?!” Shigaraki threw open the fridge, desperately trying to find something that would make you throw up all the pills you just ingested.

You could feel the effects right away. Your stomach had started to quickly turn against you as it felt like thousands of spikes were stabbing you in the stomach. You tried to rub your stomach to soothe the throbbing pain but you didn’t have the energy to lift your arms up. The task felt near impossible as you tried to look around the room only to find it spinning around you.

You felt someone slip their arm around your back before two fingers hit the back of your throat. Not understanding what was going on, you harshly bit down on the fingers, causing someone to swear and quickly pull out their fingers out of your mouth.

You heard some screaming in the background but you couldn’t care less what they were saying. You were to busy trying to keep your eyelids open. You felt bile rise up in your throat as you stood up and puked before falling back down again.

Another arm hooked underneath your legs as you felt yourself being picked up. The once dark kitchen filled with a bright light. You tried to focus on something but couldn’t quite make it clear. You didn’t know what was going on or where they were talking you but all you wanted was to sleep.

You could hear words being spoken to you through the bright lights but couldn’t match the voices with names and you didn’t understand what was being said. You could feel a hand wrap itself around your limp one though. Your body soon started to feel so cold as you started to shiver. You didn’t know what to do as your eyelids soon started to feel to heavy to stay open.

Your eyelids soon started going down to close your entire eye as you heard yells and scream from the people around you. You could feel your breath slowly and your heart beat slowly down as well.

You slowly felt your heartbeat come to a stop and that last breath that left your lips.

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brandyllyn · 2 years

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Love Nor Money Teaser

Pre-Order here $3.99

"Good morning."

Maya froze. Maybe if she didn’t move the owner of the voice wouldn’t see her.

"I can see you."

She eyed the man a few feet away dubiously, it was the guy she’d kissed, with the scruffy beard. So not the worst possible scenario. But as she got closer she saw it wasn’t just him, but all three men who had tried their shot.

All three, Maya? Really? she thought, trying not to blush. That was… new. For her. Even if they hadn’t actually done anything the idea that she might have sent a thrill down her spine. She wouldn’t, of course, she wasn’t the type. But it was an electrifying possibility to ponder.

They were just as handsome in the daylight, posing in various positions around the kitchen. She’d like to give them the benefit of the doubt but who read their tablet with their ass stuck out like that? Posing, definitely.

"Hi."

"Bagel?" Ass-out stood up, running a hand down his chin and reaching for a plate, sliding it her direction. In the light of day her kissing partner had tattoos, a lot of them. Wrapping up his arms and barely visible at the base of his neck. Maybe other places? She wracked her mind, trying to remember if she’d seen his other places.

"No thank you," she declined politely, edging towards the door. "I think I’ll just… go. It’s been great, I’m sure."

"Stay," the order came from the man who had approached her first. Had he given her a name? At the bar or while they… had they? He looked almost exactly the same as at the bar, perfectly put together in a slightly different suit, expensive wrist watch catching the light. How could he look so good this early in the morning?

"No, really," she demurred, holding her hands up and backing away. "It’s all good. Thank you for what was probably a good time and-"

"You’re not going anywhere," the last man said, the one sitting at the table with his feet propped up. It was shaved head, looking nearly as smug in the kitchen as he had at the bar. "We kidnapped you."

Maya blinked.

"For fuck’s sake Daniel," beard groaned, pushing away from the kitchen island. "We’ve gotta teach you some tact."

"What for?" the man, Daniel, asked with a scowl. "She’s gonna figure it out eventually. What’s the point in fucking about?"

"We agreed to present it gently," Beard retorted, knocking the man’s feet off the table with one hand and settling into the chair across from him. "Do you want to deal with some hysterical girl in the apartment?"

"I’m not dealing with shit," Daniel grunted, dropping his eyes to his phone.

Expensive watch ignored them, watching her as she struggled to process what was going on.

"Excuse me?" The two at the table went silent, both looking up at her. "Can you say that again?"

"Think of it as an involuntary vacation," Watch said in complete seriousness.

"An involun-" Maya trailed off, darting her eyes between each of them. She could run. The door was right there, only fifteen feet away. She might make it before they caught her. But what if it was locked? And this was not a small building, there’d probably be an elevator to wait for or stairs to find. That would take time.

And not for nothing, she was technically homeless right now. Kidnapping wasn’t the best solution to her problems, but it was a solution. And it was a nice apartment. Certainly nicer than the last place she’d been kidnapped to. Fourteen years old and a day into her first period. She’d have personally given her captors anything they wanted for ten minutes indoors with an A/C unit and a tampon. Compared to it this place felt like a vacation.

"Okay." All three gaped when she slid onto a bar stool, reaching for the plate of bagels Beard had offered her. She carefully spread cream cheese across it before looking up to meet Watch’s eyes. "For how long?"

His eyes narrowed in suspicion. "At least a couple of weeks."

Shrugging, she took a bite of the bagel, humming softly. It was good. "Do you have tea?"

Beard responded, walking to a cabinet and pulling down a box, setting it in front of her cautiously. With one hand he flipped the button on an electric kettle. "You’re taking this better than I thought you would."

Maya shrugged again. "It’s not the first time. You’re looking for money I assume? I hate to tell you, it won’t be a lot."

The corner of Watch’s lips quirked and he studied her with something new in his eyes. "For his only daughter? I think Alvani will find some cash."

She laughed, she couldn’t help it, then choked when a piece of bagel went wrong. Pressing the heel of one hand to her chest she coughed until she could breathe again, tears welling in her eyes. "That’s… that’s funny. You might be able to get a couple grand out of my brother, as long as Dad doesn’t find out. But Eric Alvani himself?" She snorted, pulling an empty mug towards her and dropping the tea bag into it, "Not a chance."

"Sounds like something a kidnap victim would say," Daniel pointed out, teeth flashing white when he gave her a shark-like smile.

Pouring the hot water Maya smiled back at him. "Just don’t take it out on me when it goes sideways. Do you have any milk?"

She sipped her tea and watched them exchange glances. Expensive Watch pulled a small pitcher out and handed it to her, studying her face.

"What if something happened to you?"

"If you killed me, you mean?" Maya snorted. "He’d be mad, for sure, and there would be retaliation. But short of that…" Sighing, she deepened her voice, "You’re not my problem anymore."

"Sounds like a peach."

A shrug. "He’s who he is. I haven’t spoken to him in over a decade. If you wanted a hostage you’d have been better off with Nico." Maya cocked her head and laughed, "Not sure he’d have gone for that whole kissing ruse though."

"You barely did," Goatee pointed out, "I was nearly offended."

"Needed the money," Maya didn’t look at him as she said it, stirring her tea absently. "Sounds like we’ve got the same problem."

"We’re not looking for money, we just need him distracted," Goatee corrected.

She stared at him, pursing her lips. "Who are you?"

"Stefan," Beard pointed at himself. He glanced to the right and Expensive Watch lifted an eyebrow. "Diego. Short, dark, and scowly over there is Daniel."

She smiled back and frowned when Daniel only stared and then turned his nose up at her. "You can call me sir."

Maya rolled her eyes, "Stefan, Diego and Dorkus, got it."

Stefan laughed and even Diego’s lips twitched into half a smile while Daniel glared.

"I’m… well I guess you know who I am." She narrowed her eyes at Stefan, "That’s your names, but who are you?"

"The Kings."

Oh, she’d been hoping they would say anything but that. Even as far as she’d removed herself from her old life, she’d heard the name. They’d risen in the area a few years back and quickly become major players in the underground. She thought they mainly dealt in weapons, but maybe drugs too? Human trafficking?

Suddenly she didn’t feel quite so amused at the situation.

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sergeantsporks · 3 years

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Adoption Papers

Rating: Gen, General Audiences

Part 2 of Camila is Hunter’s Mom Now

Camila officially adopts Hunter and Vee

Might be a little hard to explain where they came from, though.

Direct Sequel to “Another Shot at Life”

Ao3

“What’s a social security?”

“What do you mean an ID?”

“Why do we have to do a bunch of paperwork to live here? Luz just lived in Eda’s house for months!”

Camila pinched the bridge of her nose. “Things work differently here than in the Boiling Isles. And if the two of you don’t want me to get arrested for kidnapping, we have to fill out paperwork, and I have to officially adopt you.”

Vee sniffed the papers. “But I’ve already been living here!”

“Yeah, pretending to be me,” Luz reminded her, “Gonna be a liiiiiitle hard to explain why there’s two of us.”

Hunter squinted at the documents. “I used to do paperwork for the coven. But I have no idea what any of this says.” It was all a lot of technical stuff—with a lot of words he didn’t know the meaning of.

Camila sighed. “I’ve filled out most of it, but… we’re going to need to explain where the two of you came from. And ‘wandered in from another dimension’ isn’t something I think we can tell people.”

Luz bounced up. “Ooo! I’ve got it!” She waved a hand. “Vee is my twin sister, separated at birth!”

“Luz, sweetie, the hospital records will say otherwise.”

“Okay, okay, how abooooout… we say that Vee was a home birth, maybe a year younger than me, but Dad took her away with him when he left, and we assumed he’d do all of the registry, but apparently he didn’t? What are they going to do, track him down and ask him? They haven’t managed that yet. We can say that Vee ran away and came home to us.”

“That might work. What about Hunter?”

Luz grinned at him. “We found him living feral in the woods, he was raised by a pack of wolves.”

Hunter stuck his tongue out at her.

“Yeaaah… I don’t think that one’s gonna fly.”

“How about we tell them the truth?” Vee asked, “We say he ran away from a bad situation, and we’ve been taking care of him.”

“What if they start investigating? They’ll ask him questions, definitely, and if they try to figure out who his family is-!”

Luz jumped up and down. “Oooooo, tell them your horrible family chased you, and tried to push you off of a cliff, but they slipped and fell off and died!”

Hunter felt sick. “Pass.”

“Let’s stick to something simple. You and your… uncle… traveled, didn’t have a home, and you slipped away one day. You were camping out in the old abandoned house to hide, Vee found you there and brought you home, and you’ve been living with us ever since.”

“What if they try to figure out who his family is?” Vee asked, “I mean, uncle sounds a lot like he might have just kidnapped him.”

Hunter shrugged. “I’ll tell them my whole family was already dead. Freak boating accident, bodies never found. They were recluses, no one noticed they were missing. I’ll say uhhhhhhhh, I don’t remember their names, because I was a kid, and my uncle never told me our last name.”

Luz squinted at him. “What is your last name?”

“No idea.”

Camila sighed. “This is getting complicated. What if they start trying to figure out where your family lived?”

“Mexico,” Luz said immediately, “But Hunter was born over the border.”

“Does he look Mexican to you?”

“Okay, fine, Canada, whatever!”

“Let’s just… keep it simple, okay, Luz? Hunter, what do you think? This is your story, you have to be able to tell it.”

His story. Okay, who did he want to be? “I think… I think Vee’s idea is good,” he said slowly, “Ran away—I’ll just say he was my uncle. And we were homeless, so there’s nowhere they could track him down to. Even if they DO start looking for my birth family, it’s not like they can actually pull anything up, because I’m not from here. Okay. So, I ran away, made my way to Gravesfield, camped out in the abandoned house for a bit, then Vee found me, uhhhhh…”

“A week ago,” Vee offered.

“Okay, yeah, a week ago.”

“And if they ask for details about your uncle?”

“I’ll just talk about Belos. It’s not like they can find him.”

Camila nodded. “Okay! The closest adoption agency is out of town, but I already scheduled an appointment for tomorrow. First hurdle, guys!”

“First?” Hunter echoed.

“Oh, yeah, we have to get the two of you enrolled in school—”

“School?!”

Luz laughed. “Ohhhhhhh, you’re gonna hate it, Mr. Prodigy.”

“I don’t need school!”

“Yeah? Do you know how to do algebra? How about chemistry? Physics?”

“No?” Hunter looked to Luz. “Those are fake, right?”

She shook her head. “Unfortunately, they’re all very real.”

“I don’t need those.”

“We’ll discuss it later,” Camila interrupted, “For now, let’s just… focus on the adoption, okay?”

She looked… nervous. Which made Hunter nervous.

“What… what happens if they don’t believe me?”

Camila rubbed the back of her head. “I… I don’t know, mijo. If they dig deeper, I… but it will be fine.”

Still, Hunter didn’t sleep that night, his mind running through every possible way that this could go wrong. The next morning, when they loaded up in the car, he could see dark circles under Camila’s eyes, too. It did not make him feel better.

Hunter tossed his palisman gently out the window before they set off, the bird fluttering around his head. “You can’t come with us. Stay here and protect the house, okay?”

The bird chirped in affirmation, flapping back to sit on the roof.

Vee fell back asleep, leaning against him, and he resisted the urge to shake her awake and demand to know how she could possibly not be worried about this.

Hunter hadn’t ever gone outside of Gravesfield, and it was hitting him just now how… huge… the human realm was. He watched countryside flash by outside the car window, and even still, they didn’t seem to be getting anywhere.

And then buildings loomed in front of him, huge and imposing. Hunter pressed his face against the window. “Is this the capital of the human realm?”

“Ha. No. We’re not even in the capital of Connecticut.”

“Seriously?!”

Hunter watched the streets go by. This world was enormous, and he wasn’t entirely sure how to feel about it.

They had the key on this side, and since he was here, Belos was down one coven head—hypothetically, his uncle couldn’t complete his day of unity plans. But if he did, or if he managed to get back through, somehow…

Hunter was almost confident that this world was big enough for him to hide in.

They pulled up to an office building, and Camila took a deep breath. “Okay. Here goes nothing. Come on, kids.”

They all followed behind her into the building, and Camila approached the desk. “Hiiii. I’m Camila Noceda, I have an appointment about a couple of adoptions?”

The desk attendant glanced behind her at the three of them. “Down the hall, first door on the right. Right on time.”

Camila gave the attendant a nod. Hunter and Vee both crowded close to her as they filed into the office. “Hello?”

The woman at the desk looked like she hadn’t slept in a week, a thermos on a table covered in papers. “Hey. Paperwork.”

Camila tentatively handed her the packet, and she disappeared into a back room, coming back out after about ten minutes.

“So, neither of these kids is in the system?”

Camila shook her head. “Neither.”

The woman squinted at Vee. “Certainly looks like your other daughter. Why didn’t you report her father taking her?”

“We… we were separating. We thought he’d already filed everything.”

A grunt. “Alright. You. Other one. Hunter. C’mere.”

Hunter looked to Camila, and she gave him a little nod. He followed the woman into the other room, where she read over his form again. “Tell me about your uncle.”

“What? Why?”

“We need to see if we can find him.”

Hunter’s blood chilled. “I’m not going back!”

“Hey, it’s okay. We need to find him because we just don’t know enough about you—not even your last name. So we need your uncle for more information.”

“You won’t find him.”

“Uh-huh. Let us try, at least. Physical description?”

Hunter sighed. “Tall. Blond but greying, long hair, blue eyes. Old.” Face creeping with slime, occasionally turns into a puddle of goop, can’t miss him.

“His name?”

“Belos.”

“There’s one you don’t hear every day. Last name?”

“Dunno.”

“Right. Of course not. Where was the last place you saw him?”

“I don’t know.”

The woman sighed. “You’ve got to work with me, here.”

“Why?”

“Because this whole adoption will go a lot more smoothly. Where was the last place you saw him?”

“I don’t know.”

“Okay. Fine. How long ago did you see him?”

Hunter struggled to remember. Kind of hard to tell when he didn’t know how much time he’d lost falling down into a cursed prison of darkness.

But according to Luz, that had only been for a couple of hours, even if it had felt like forever.

“Two weeks,” he said softly.

Two weeks since he’d been rescued. Two weeks since the worst time of his life.

“And you… ran away?”

“Yeah.”

“Can you explain why?”

Hunter shuddered. “Because I was miserable.”

“Specifically?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“We can’t take you away from your uncle if he wasn’t a bad parent, Hunter. If we don’t have any indication he did anything wrong, then he can reclaim you any time he likes, and we are obligated to try to find him and return you to him. I understand that it may be painful to talk about it, but we cannot proceed without information about your past life.”

“Fine,” Hunter snapped, “He hurt me, and he locked me up, and he made me run errands for him and would punish me if I failed, happy?”

A slight pause. “What kind of errands?”

Hunting down palisman so he could drain them of their magic. “Uh… picking up medicine for him.”

“Medicine? What kind?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

“I just picked it up. I didn’t ask questions, it wasn’t encouraged.”

“But you ran away, ended up in Gravesfield, where Camila found you a week ago?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. Wait outside, send Camila in.”

Hunter shuffled out. “She wants you.”

Camila nodded, disappearing into the other room, closing the door behind her. Vee nudged him. “Are you okay?”

“She was asking about Belos.”

“I’m sorry,” Luz said softly.

Hunter paced back and forth. “What do you think they’re talking about?” He crept closer to the door, pressing his ear to the door.

“Hunter,” Vee hissed, “Get away from there, it’s rude!”

“I want to know what they’re saying,” he hissed back, “Shhhh!”

He pressed his ear to the door again. The voices were faint, but he could make out what they were saying.

“Obviously, if Vee is your biological daughter, there isn’t any reason for us to keep her from you. I don’t think there will be any difficulty with the transition. But Hunter… Ms. Noceda, you may be rushing into more than you can handle.”

“What do you mean?”

“You don’t know him well. We don’t know where he came from, or what he’s done.”

“What he’s done?”

“He’s a liar, ma’am, you wrote that he was homeless, but he claimed his uncle would lock him up. Those two aren’t exactly compatible. He very obviously isn’t telling us everything—and I suspect he may have been part of a drug delivery system without knowledge. If I can believe him that he didn’t know what his uncle’s ‘medicine’ was.”

“Okay, well, let’s just say that I am really, really, really determined to adopt him anyway.”

“I’m really advising you not to. Let us get him into the system, foster him out, see how he does before you go all in on adopting him. He might not even be separated from his uncle—they might be planning to rob or hurt you and your family.”

“Hunter,” Camila thundered, “is not going to hurt us. And I don’t think it’s a good idea to foster him out.”

Hunter pulled back from the door, feeling sick. “Luz, what’s fostering?”

Her face paled. “It’s… it’s when they sort of send you out to different families to take care of you.”

“I don’t want to go to a different family!”

“You won’t,” Luz soothed, “Mom won’t let them take you away. And you can just run away if they do.”

Hunter started to pace, his chest getting tight. “I can’t start running away here, too! That’ll just make all of the adoption stuff harder, right?”

Vee grabbed his hand. “Hunter. Look at me.”

He did, the fingers of his free hand tapping restlessly on the side of his leg.

Vee gave his hand a squeeze. “It’s going to be okay,” she said firmly, “We aren’t going to leave you behind. Promise.”

He took a deep breath. “Okay.”

“Good. Now sit down, and just think about other stuff. Like school.”

“I don’t want to go to school.”

“I’ll teach you algebra,” Vee promised, “They had a whole course on it at summer camp—it’s not so bad. And I’ll introduce you to my friends, too. You’ll be a couple grades older than us, but that’s okay.”

Luz bounced up. “Speaking of school, Hunter, is there any chance I can borrow Red? I know we’re worried about using the portal, but Eda and Amity and King and Gus and Willow will all be so worried about me!”

“Use your little…” Hunter clicked his fingers in the air. “Your little yellow thing.”

“My—you think that will work between dimensions?”

He shrugged. “Worth a shot. Might as well try before we open the portal and risk Belos getting in.” Hunter tapped his fingers against the chair. “If there’s natural titan’s blood veins in the Boiling Isles, then there’s a place here where it connects, right?”

“Right. That’s how Phillip—he wrote the diary I was using to figure out my portal—got into the demon realm in the first place.”

“So we might not need the key portal if we can find a place on this side where the worlds intersect.” Hunter’s stomach roiled. “Except that if we can do that, that means Belos has another way to get blood.”

“If I can just get in contact with Eda, she might be able to figure out my portal and then we don’t have to—”

The door to the other room burst open. Camila grinned, her hands behind her back. “Okay, Vee, Hunter, close your eyes, and hold out your hands!”

Vee did what she said, and Hunter followed suit, a little more hesitantly. Something paper settled in his hand. “Okay, open your eyes now.”

Hunter blinked at the paper in his hand.

Hunter Noceda.

Vee bounced up and down. “We did it!”

“They’re still finalizing everything—social security, birth certificates, all of that will take a bit more time. But you two are legally part of the family and under my care, now!”

Hunter Noceda.

The words felt… odd, in his head. But a good kind of odd.

Luz slung her arms around Vee and Hunter’s necks. “Whoo! Two new siblings! I didn’t use to have… well, any! I mean, I had you, but legally!” She shook Hunter slightly. “See? Nothing to worry about, I told you Mom could handle it!”

“Hunter Noceda.” He had a last name, now. A family name. “Vee Noceda.” It felt more natural to say her name—but then, she’d already seemed to be part of the family.

Luz cackled with glee. “Aha! You know what that means? Now the two of you have to wear ugly sweaters for family Christmas card pictures!”

“Ugly sweaters?” Vee questioned

“Christ-mas?” Hunter echoed.

“Ehehehe. Welcome to the Noceda family. You two have a lot of family tradition to catch up on.”

#wow this series is going to be so self-indulgent #toh #the owl house #toh hunter #camila noceda #lil rascal #luz noceda #vee noceda #toh fanfiction #my writing

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raksha-the-demon · 2 years

Note

Ok I'll bite. What is your werewolf rpg character?

Anon I hope you find a $20 in your pocket.

Julie is a white woman in her mid-twenties. She's average height, with a fit build that suggests more agility than strength. Dark brown hair comes just passed her shoulder on the one side, while the other side is shaved. Her outfit consists of a band t-shirt, ripped jeans, a pair of boots, and a leather jacket (technically her girlfriend's) that she never takes off--all of which are absolutely beat to hell. If she ever did take the jacket off, it would reveal two things.

First, on her right arm, is a series of tattoos. They start with a small rat on her inner wrist and spiral up her forearm, a series of hawks, wolves, lions, and other animals. Each tattoo represents a benevolent spirit that has helped her in some way.

Second, starting on her left shoulder and spreading to her back, is a scar that resembles melted candle wax more than flesh. Werewolves are not injured easily, and the injuries they do suffer usually heal with supernatural speed. Permanent scars can happen, but they're a sign that the werewolf suffered an absolutely horrendous injury. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

Growing up, Julie did not know her family carried the werewolf gene. She didn't even know werewolves existed. Her life was normal...at least, normal for a rich kid. Her parents are both incredibly successful lawyers, and their family wanted for nothing. Julie got an excellent education at the best private schools and was on track to go to law school herself. Right up until she found an old earring, a forgotten family heirloom, that magically let her detect when people were lying.

And realized her parents lied all. The. Time. They had always presented themselves as the good guys, using the law to ensure justice. What they actually did, though, was help corporations get off the hook when they caused some kind of disaster. If a company poisoned a town's water supply or sold a bunch of contaminated baby formula, her parents were the people that made sure they didn't face any real repercussions. Eventually she would learn about the Wyrm, the corrupted spirit trying to bring about the end of the world, and realize her parents are it's agents. At the time she just knew that their whole priviliged life had been bought with blood money, and her parents didn't care.

She confronted them, they fought, and Julie discovered she could shapeshift into a giant bipedal wolf monster. By sheer luck she didn't kill either of them while in the werewolf rage. She ran away that night and hasn't tried to go home since.

Living on the streets, it did not take long for her to meet other werewolves. There are, it turns out, a lot of werewolves struggling with extreme poverty and homelessness. She was brought into their society and taught about the war between werewolves and the Wyrm.

And she became part of a pack that called themselves The Woe-B-Gones. They were all misfits in one way or another, but refused to take life too seriously. Sure the lived in Central Park, and sure every other werewolf tribe looks down on theirs, and sure the odds that the apocalypse could be stopped were basically zero, but that was no reason to be a buzzkill. They were Julie's best friends. And there was one, a gorgeous black woman named Salieu, that Julie fell in love with. The world was going to shit, but they didn't care because they had each other.

And then the ambush happened.

Julie can't remember the details. Some were lost while others simply make no sense, like trying to piece together a dream hours after it happened. There was a shimmer in the air that became a creature that refused to be comprehended, a creature that awakened a terror in her that she did not know was possible. She remembers holding something, she doesn't know what, that turned to silver in her hand. She remembers always-smiling Khalid, screaming before his face just--it couldn't have vanished, could it? She recalls pain, and terror, and screams. And Salieu barely pushing her out of the way of a long tentacled something that caused her flesh to burn and the world to go black.

She tries not to think about what she saw when she regained consciousness. Tries not to imagine how painful their deaths were. Tries not to dwell on the fact that Andrea was in pieces, or that Salieu looked like she burned from the inside out.

It's been a little over a month since that day. Physically, Julie has fully recovered, save for one incredibly nasty scar. But the grief and the guilt, well, those are a lot harder to deal with. She's been helping another pack (a weird pack, half of them aren't even werewolves), and they want her to join, but she's not sure she's ready for that yet.

All she knows for sure is that she's going to find the thing that killed her pack, and she is going to get revenge.

#julie of the werewolves #i decided to use this as a bit of creative writing practice #also this is pretty much all pre-game backstory except the last two paragraphs #bc i joined a game already in progress #normally i would not put nearly so much stuff in a backstory bc i like to let things happen during play #but i needed an explanation for how she got to be rank 3 without a pack and the gm suggested 'nexus crawler'

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hyperpsychomaniac · 3 years

Text

Scrooge's New Driver

DT17 Fanfiction

Summary: With Duckworth gone, Scrooge is struggling to find a replacement chauffeur who doesn't baulk at his driving orders. Until he unexpectantly runs across (and nearly over) the answer to his prayers. Oneshot.

***

It had been six months since Duckworth had passed, and Scrooge had been through as many drivers in that time. At least Duckworth had understood the meaning of urgency. At least he had been willing to take a little risk.

Scrooge glowered at his newest driver from the backseat of his town car. "Milligan, if you don't get me to my meeting on time, you're fired."

"But Mr McDuck, the road rules! And I'll have to speed…" Scrooge was pretty sure his voice cracked. How old was this lad anyway?

"So take a shortcut. Shorter route, less speed. It's not bloomin' rocket science… Here! Take a right here! Now, Milligan!" Scrooge tapped his cane on the divider. He was going to miss the turn!

Miraculously, Milligan reacted instantly and threw a hard right. The front tyre jumped the curbing, the back end slewed out, and then came back under control.

"See? That wasn't so hard, now was it?"

Milligan slammed on the brakes just as Scrooge saw the backpacker on the crosswalk ahead. The car jerked to a halt. Scrooge was reasonably sure he'd felt no impact, but the backpacker had disappeared, maybe dived to the ground. Not that that would stop him from trying to sue him. Great. Like he needed another lawsuit.

Milligan leapt out of the driver's seat and ran around the front of the car to help pick him up. "Hey, are you okay?"

"Oh, sorry. I was just crossing the street."

Scrooge wound down the window and stuck his head out. The backpacker seemed unharmed. His duffel bag had spilled out what looked like a bunch of VHS tapes. And, most importantly, he wasn't yelling abuse and threatening to sue. "Milligan he's fine, now get back in the…"

Milligan spun around, his paws bunched into fists at his sides. "No, Mr McDuck. I'm done!"

"You wha…"

"I QUIT"

Not again. "You can't quit now! I need to get to my money bin. Do you have any idea how much money I could lose if I don’t close this deal?"

"Better than losing my life! Or taking someone else's. I quit!" Milligan flung his chauffeur's cap back in through the open car door and stormed off.

Scrooge waved his cane out the window. "Damn it, Milligan. You'll never work in this town again." How was he supposed to… his gaze fell on the backpacker.

The lad was stuffing his VHS tapes back into his bag. He was tall and broad-shouldered, and it was probably a good thing the car hadn’t struck him. The impact would have done as much damage to the vehicle as it would've done to him.

"Hey, you. The man with a death wish."

He straightened as he slung his duffel over his shoulder. "Huh? Me?"

"Yes, you. Can you drive?"

His jaw hung open, and Scrooge could almost imagine the cogs slowly turning. "Er…" he finally said, "technically, or legally?"

"I'll give you a dollar if you can get me to my office in time for my meeting. I've got to be there in five minutes, and it takes nearly ten to get across town. You make that up, you make a dollar."

The lad's face brightened. "Sure." He jumped into the driver's seat and tossed his duffel bag into the passenger's side. Then he picked up Milligan's hat and crammed it over his ruffled red hair. "Er…"

"Well, hurry up!"

"Hang on, it's one of the ones with the stick."

"You can drive a manual, right?"

"Let's find out!" He slammed the car into first. The sound of metal on metal screeched from the gearbox, and the engine spluttered. "Wait, extra pedal…" And then they roared forward.

Scrooge hadn't heard his town car make that noise since Duckworth had died. "Well, finally, someone with the right attitude."

"So, where's your office?"

"You don't know who I am?"

"Pft, no. You haven't introduced yourself! And, come to think of it, neither have I. I'm Launchpad McQuack!"

"I don't care who you are. I'm Scrooge McDuck, my money bin is the largest building dominating the skyline, and if you don't get me there in five minutes, you won't be getting a dollar."

"Come on, I said I'd do it, didn't I?"

"Not in first gear, you won't."

Launchpad wrestled with the gears to more grating, and the engine stopped revving so high as they surged forward.

"That's a bit better. I hope you're not riding that clutch."

"So, Mr McDee, what do you do?"

"McDuck. I make money. Stop talking and…"

"Five minutes, I know. Gee, you realise you're cutting this a bit fine?"

"I was on time until some idiot jumped out in front of my car!”

"Wow, some people have no road sense. Hang on. We're going to need to take a shortcut." Launchpad wrenched them around a corner, jumped over a curb, and cut across a park. Park-goers ran every which way, but quite frankly, Scrooge thought most of them looked like they needed the exercise. Launchpad burst out through some bushes on the opposite side. The money bin loomed before them. They'd cut off a whole winding loop of road that wound its way around the city's nod to greenery, which Scrooge simply considered a waste of space.

"Huh. You've got initiative, lad."

Launchpad's face brightened. "You mean that, Mr McDee? Aw, thanks. That's… really nice."

"Eyes on the road!"

Launchpad reefed his head back around and brought them back in their lane, narrowly avoiding an oncoming truck. The town car bottomed out as they slammed down the road leading to the money bin, and then Launchpad pulled them to a stop outside its very front door.

"How'd I do? Do I get a dollar?"

Scrooge glanced at his watch. Two minutes to spare. Launchpad had potentially saved him a great deal of money, but he still felt a tinge in his gut that, yes, he did technically owe him that dollar as Launchpad had fulfilled the obligation of the bet." Er… wait for me here, alright? I still need to get back home. But, yes, you've earned your dollar."

Technically, Scrooge had changed the verbal contact on him, but Launchpad just grinned. "Sure thing, Mr McDee."

Scrooge rushed up to his meeting and hoped the miraculously crazy enough driver he'd picked up didn't figure out the town car he'd been left in charge of was worth far more than a dollar.

***

Two hours later, they screeched back to the front of McDuck Manor to the smell of burnt rubber. Launchpad hadn't nicked off with the car. And he'd still been in irritatingly good spirits when Scrooge returned. The drive to the manor had been almost as reckless, and Scrooge had considered telling him he was no longer under time constraints. But the pace was such a welcome change from his previous six drivers, and so Scrooge left him to it.

Seriously, those guys were supposed to be professionals. But, instead, they'd all been scared of their own shadow and had cared more about the road rules than doing what the man who paid their wage told them.

"Here we are, Mr McDee!" Launchpad exclaimed happily.

Scrooge winced. Still, it was better than his other drivers' whining. "I suppose you want your dollar now."

"Oh, yeah. I mean, if it's not too much trouble. To be honest, I am completed out of cash. I've only just got back into town from travelling, and, I… I thought I'd stay with… but it looks like they moved. I mean, I was away for a really long time so I guess I couldn’t really expect… Well, I need the money anyway. I need to pay for a room tonight."

Scrooge snorted. "In Duckburg? Lad, you are not going to get a room anyplace for a dollar."

Launchpad's face fell. "Oh…" Then he smiled. "Well, that's okay. Since I'm your driver now, you'll be playing me more dollars, right? Tonight, I'll just sleep in the car. If that's okay?"

"Sleep in my car?" Scrooge spluttered. "You can't… you realise this wasn't a permanent thing, right? I mean, you're not a professional driver, are you?"

Launchpad's shoulders slumped. "No. It's okay, I get it. I… I just thought I did a good job, and…"

Of course, he wasn't a professional driver. But every professional driver Scrooge had been sent had been useless. They certainly hadn't driven like Launchpad. He was the only one who'd got the job done.

"… and I know I'm not very good at these sort of things."

Launchpad's downcast look brought a faint tug to Scrooge's chest. "Lad, you did a great job," he found himself saying, and he wasn't sure why because he certainly didn't care about some backpacker off the street who probably expected to sleep on someone's sofa for free. But the lad had just helped him get a tonne of money to add to his money bin.

Launchpad chewed his lip. "Really?"

"I tell you what. Take my car back down to my garage. I'll show you where it is. You can stay there for the night. And, it'll only cost you a dollar. After that, I'll draw up a contract and…"

***

"You hired a homeless man to drive your car?!"

Scrooge rolled his eyes. "Beakly, calm down. He wasn't homeless. He was a backpacker."

"Then you left him, unattended, with your vehicle?"

"He did it for a dollar! And the best part is, I didn't even have to give it to him!"

"And… now he's sleeping in your garage." Beakly glared down at him, arms folded.

"One dollar!"

"Really?"

"Oh, fine. I felt bad for him, alright? He really wanted the job. And he can't be any worse than my previous drivers. It doesn't always pay to put your money on the professionals."

"Did you check any of his credentials?"

"Two million dollars more in my money bin, Beakly. That's credentials enough. Besides, I got my dollar back. I'm pretty sure I could tell him he could live in my garage, and he'd just work for me for free."

"You do realise, if you employ him, you are obligated to pay him minimum wage?"

Scrooge rolled his eyes and let out a long-suffering sigh. "I know."

#dt17 #dt17 launchpad #dt17 scrooge #scrooge mcduck #ducktales #ducktales 2017 #disney ducks #dt17 fanfiction #dt17 fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #launchpad mcquack

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yodapopp · 4 years

Text

I last used this account when I was 17. Since then I've been traveling for almost 5 years, and am 22 years old. I always said I'd leave home the first chance I got. At 18 I went to Standing Rock alone to be with the Lakota tribe during the illegal construction of the DAPL pipeline. After the eviction of Sacred Stone camp I found some road dogs and started traveling the country, exploring, blessing the water, living in faith relying on the mercy of people, walking with spirit. Ive spent 2 winters in negative degree weather protesting eco-terroism played out by the united states government, technically "homeless" off grid building fires to stay home and thriving. I've been beaten and arrested, cold and at times hungry or alone, but I've rode in the bed of pick up trucks for miles with nothing but mountains and fresh air, I've worked in ganja fields, I've gotten to wake up and chose to be a better me every single day despite difficult times and truly every day has been a mysterious gift. I've lived in a wigwam, teepee, yurt, cave, meteor crater, Adobe earthship and Bus. Stayed in North and South Dakota, Minnesota, California, Washington, Oregon, Colorado, New Mexico, and Pennsylvania & visited all the states in between... and each place has brought me unique lessons and brought to life my deepest passions that I didn't even know I had. Ive gotten tattoos and had crushes on boys AND girls. Fallen in love with fire... I danced in the moon light (seriously) and lived inside portals. Discovered so much brilliant magic. Accidentally joined an alien cult that one time... and im not even done exploring yet (:

Every day an opportunity to serve, a blessing and a challenge.

Thank you to all along my journey, to my family and my elders.

So much can happen. Things can seem really scary and uncertain but you just have to find people who absolutely love you and support you that will believe in you. And you in them. And most important believe in yourself. I am so humbled and grateful that I didn't die when i tried to kill myself multiple times 14-17 y/o.

If you are struggling, there is hope. Please do not give up now. 💗

More travel pics to come, just getting settled for the first time in a long time somewhere with stable power and a phone/laptop (:

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obxlife · 4 years

Text

In Need of Help (Pope x Reader)

A/N: Okay, so I had this idea for Pope and I knew I had to write it! I just feel like it’s very sweet and soft and idk. Plus, it has an enemy to lovers trope, which I personally love. Also, the valedictorian and salutatorian at my school are also dating and I just got that idea from them lol.

Word Count: 3,513

Request: -

Summary: Pope finds himself with some trouble regarding his scholarship work, and he knows he can’t turn to his friends for this. Instead, he sucks up his pride and turns to you, the runner up for the Lucas T Vanderhorst Merit Scholarship. Oh, and his enemy regarding academics.

Warnings: Mild swearing.

IN NEED OF HELP

Pope was in trouble. Not serious trouble like JJ regarding his dad or John B in relation to the DCS and basically being homeless. No, Pope was in trouble in a way that may almost seem absurd.

He was struggling with his goddamn scholarship essay. And the worst part of it all was that he had technically already won the scholarship.

See, this was just a follow-up essay he had to do to ensure he was not going to be ripped apart from the opportunity of actually getting the scholarship. And it had been the hardest essay he had to write. Mainly because it asked for more of a story instead of focusing on a scientific topic, and Pope had always struggled with that.

The paper he was writing his draft on was filled with eraser marks and little doodles around the edges. Most of the doodles were of things he could see. His eraser, his pinky finger, his cup of water on his desk. There was only one he wasn’t really sure why he had drawn. It was the one object that was not in the room with him at that instant, and the worst part of it all was that he truly hated it. What had he drawn? You.

For some reason, Pope had drawn you onto the edge of his paper. He didn’t really understand why he had because, as mentioned before, he hated you with a passion that ran so deep in his veins it was a part of who he was. Pope could not be himself if he didn’t hate you, and it was just the same for you. You couldn’t be yourself if you didn’t hate Pope.

Pope began to rub his pencil over the small drawing of your face, wanting nothing more than to get you out of his head. He hated that he had drawn you of al people, and he hated how stuck he was on this stupid essay.

Pope hadn’t realized how much force he was using to press his pencil into the paper until he ripped it. Throwing his pencil down, Pope sighed and pressed his hands to his head, stretching in his seat.

“That’s it,” he said to himself before grabbing the papers from his desk, his pencil, his eraser, and his pencil sharpener into his backpack. He then grabbed the folder that had arrived through the mail and gently took it into his hands. Pope turned outside of his room and headed towards the shop in front of his house.

His father was behind the counter, checking an old lady out.

“Dad,” Pope called out to him from the door. “I’m heading out.”

The older man froze. He thought he had told his son to work on his scholarship. “I thought I told you to work on your scholarship. Now you know I don’t want you slacking around -”

“I know, I know,” Pope told him. “I just need to clear my head. I’m going over to John B to see if my friends can help.”

“Look here, boy,” Heyward called out to his son while pointing his finger out. Pope stood at the door, on hand already pushing it open. “What are your friends going to help with? They’re all a bunch of good-for-nothings.”

Pope sighed, only shaking his head and turning towards the outside, throwing a “Later, Pops” over his shoulder. The hot afternoon air made Pope’s body break into a sweat, but Pope didn’t mind as he headed deeper into the Cut towards John B’s fishing shack.

The Chateau stood mighty and tall before the marsh and surrounding it were Pope’s friends. JJ was laying across the hammock sipping on a beer and a joint in his hand while Kie lay opposite of him, playing the ukelele. John B was nowhere to be seen, which meant he was probably inside.

“Hey, guys,” the dark-haired boy called out to the pair. He smiled as he saluted them with their usual handshake before taking a seat in one of the broken-down chairs. Pope set his backpack on the ground, careful not to fold the papers in his hands.

“What you got there, Pope?” JJ asked curiously. Pope knew what he held in his hands would not interest JJ, so he told the boy straight out what it was.

“Scholarship stuff.”

Indeed, JJ shrugged and turned around, bringing the joint back to his lips to take another drag of it. Kie, instead, showed interest in the papers held between Pope’s fingers.

“What do you have to do this time? Another essay about something science-y?” she wondered.

Pope nodded but then shook his head. “Sort of. It’s an essay but they want a story. But I don’t know what to write about. Like, most of the stuff we do is illegal.”

Kie laughed at this before saying, “Then lie. Just take the illegal parts out.”

“Hard to do when they’re essential to the story,” Pope replied.

Now JJ laughed, smiling at Pope and diving into one of the many illegal memories they had made together.

While this helped Pope clear his head, it was not guiding him as to what to write for his essay. After about an hour or two hanging out, Pope sighed, knowing he would now have to work on the essay.

“Okay guys, I need y’all to be serious right now. I really need to get this essay done. Any ideas?”

Kie and JJ stared at him blankly, not really knowing how to help. Pope groaned at their reaction, but then groaned even louder when Kie said:

“Why don’t you ask Y/N Y/L/N? Wasn’t she second place for the scholarship?”

“Kie, I literally hate her. We’ve been competing over the top spot in our grade for our whole lives.”

Kie shrugged. “Yeah, but now the scholarship is yours anyway. And besides, didn’t you say the only thing she was better at than you is story writing?”

“I said that when I was drunk,” Pope deadpanned.

“Doesn’t mean it wasn’t true,” JJ said quickly before taking another sip of beer.

Pope really didn’t want to go see you. He had way too much pride to do so. But his options were wearing thin and he had to send this essay in a week, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to do so himself.

“Well, even if I went to Y/N, I doubt she would be willing to help.”

Kie gave him a hard look. “You don’t know that.”

“Neither do you, Kie,” Pope sighed. “Look, I’ll go to her but she probably hates my guts. I did take the scholarship from her.”

“Hey!” JJ scolded. “Don’t say that, man. We know you won it fair and square. You deserve it.”

“I know I did. But that doesn’t mean she won’t hate me for it. We all know she needs that scholarship just as much as I do to get into college.”

It was true. You had lived your life down in the Cut, working just as much as Pope did with his father. Your mother was the owner of a small boat repair shop which she had received after your father’s death. Because she couldn’t and didn’t know how to work on boats and because your father had taught you everything you know, you were the head repair woman there. Everyone on the island knew how much time you dedicated to the shop, almost as much time as you dedicated to school.

“Look, man. Let’s be real. Everyone born on the Cut knows they’re probably going to be stuck here forever. You and Y/N were just lucky to have the opportunity to might have not been stuck here, but in the end, you got it. I’m sure she won’t be bitter towards you because she probably still expected her life to be spent on the Cut either way.”

Pope sighed. He knew what JJ was saying was probably true but he hated to think of that.

“Just go to her, Pope,” Kie told him.

With that, Pope collected his belongings and headed out towards your shop. It wasn’t far from the Chateau, maybe a five-minute walk, but Pope managed to get there in thirty minutes. He was trying to push back the inevitable.

Once he arrived he stood outside for another good ten minutes, building up his courage to go in. Breathing in deeply, he told himself that he was going to be fine and that your hate for him had probably dissipated a bit since the end of the school year. He opened the door to the shop and found it was empty except for two men looking down at the bottom of a boat.

They didn’t turn around when Pope had entered, too concentrated on the person Pope just now saw that was under the boat.

“What you thinkin’?” one of the men asked as you pushed yourself from out under the boat. The skateboard you were laying upon was uncomfortable and your muscles sighed in relief as you stood up next to them.

“We’re gonna need two orders of plugs from Guffy and then we can start working on this bad boy,” you told them before wiping your forehead. “Well, I’m off, boys.”

And just as you spun around your eyes fell upon the boy at the door.

“You have got to be kidding me.”

Pope could only smile innocently, hoping you would spare him some time of day.

“What do you want, Heyward?” you asked rudely while heading towards the back of the shop. Pope began to follow you around, sparing a glance at the two men you stared at him dirtily.

Pope was sure you hated him now.

“Look, I-I need your help, Y/N. And I know you hate me but I really need it.”

Anger and pain were laced in your eyes as you spun around to face the dark-skinned boy. “Yes, I do hate you. And I don’t want to help you. You took the scholarship from me, Pope.”

“Well, technically I didn’t. I won it. But,” he raised his hands in defense when you gave him another murderous look, “I seriously need your help. They gave me a task I know you’re better at than me and I don’t know what to do.”

You began to tie your hair into a ponytail as you felt your skin grow hot with anger. “So what? You thought you would just strut in here and I’d be willing to help?”

“N-no, but I thought -”

“You thought what? That out of the kindness of my heart I would actually help you? Need I remind you that you took the scholarship from me?”

“I didn’t take the scholarship from you! I won it, fair and square and you know that!”

Your eyes fell to the ground, defeated. You knew what Pope was saying was true, but the denial had helped you cope with the fact that you weren’t enough for the scholarship. You weren’t enough to get out of the Cut.

“Look, Y/N,” Pope began awkwardly. He was scratching the back of his neck, not sure if he was going to be able to get you to help him. “I know you wanted the scholarship - hell, you probably wanted it more than me. And I’m sorry you didn’t get it because you truly deserve it, but I’m not sorry that I got it. And I know that’s selfish, but let’s be real here. We both want to get off the Cut, and we always knew that only one of us was going to make it. So please, please, please help me get out of this place.”

You thought about it. Really hard. And Pope stood before you fidgeting with his fingers and doubting if what he said was the best thing he could have said. He opened his mouth, a rant about to burst through his lips.

“Fine,” you stated. You were going against your instinct, but at least you would get him to shut up. “I’ll help you. But I get free groceries for a month.”

Pope stuttered before answering. “What - you - I - you know I can’t do that! My dad would kill me!”

“Well then, you’ll have to pay with your own money.”

“Okay, fine! But only because I’m really desperate.”

****************************************************************

And so you and Pope began to work together every day for the following week. It only took two hours for you to drop your grudge against him and laugh at his stories and jokes. He would smile at your reactions and feel his previous hate for you to slip into something more similar to love. He began to notice how pretty your eyes were when they seemed to sparkle in the afternoon light and how your skin reminded him of warm summer days. You began to notice how your stupid hatred for him began to transform into a crush. His chocolate brown eyes reminding you of coffees on chilly, winter mornings and his soft smile reminding you of innocence.

Between your hours spent working together, you would talk about other things. You told him about your mother and her disease (which didn’t let her work at the shop with you) and how your friends at school were all out of town because of a road trip they had planned which you couldn’t go on. He told you about the Pogues and the pressure he felt sometimes from his dad. You both told each other a lot more than you had ever expected to share, but the feeling of comfort and understanding that followed these confessions was enough to maintain the both of you stuck together.

Exactly a week after Pope had approached you at your boat shop, you both headed together to the post office that was near the police station. Together you sealed the envelope containing the finished essay and placed the post stamps onto it. You watched Pope pay for the dispatch of the letter and then you walked out together.

You felt dread in your stomach, not wanting to have to turn your back on your new friendship. You didn’t know if Pope felt the same way as you did, but you felt like you had come to the end of your short relationship. You felt as if, years from now, you would look back and remember Pope as the boy you only helped write an essay and nothing more, which made you afraid to no end. You didn’t want Pope to be only that.

Unbeknownst to you, Pope felt the same way. He was expecting you to turn towards him and say goodbye, followed by a snarky remark. He expected you to go back to hating him and not thinking about him. All he wanted was you to prove him wrong.

“Do you want to grab something to eat?” you both asked at the same time. Then, your eyes widened at the same time, both of you shocked that you wanted to carry on with your friendship.

“Wait, you still want to hang out?” you asked him. Pope nodded vigorously.

“Yeah. Did you really think I wouldn’t want to be your friend anymore?” he asked, a little hurt.

“Shut up, you thought that about me as well!”

With smiles on both of your faces, you turned around towards the Wreck, where you knew Kie would give Pope a discount.

**********************************************

The Pogues hadn’t seen their smart friend for a month. Ever since JJ and Kie had convinced him of reaching out to you for help, he had disappeared.

“Pope pulling a Houdini,” JJ remarked as he arrived at the Chateau to find that, once again, Pope was not there.

“Have you guys even heard from him?” John B asked.

JJ shrugged but Kie bit her lip. “I see him at the Wreck every once in a while. He’s been hanging around with Y/N.”

“Y/N?” John B said almost laughing. “Okay, we both know they hate each other and that’s a lie.”

“I’m not lying, JB,” Kie rolled her eyes. “I literally saw them there yesterday.”

“No way! Pope has to be dating her!” JJ exclaimed. “It only makes sense! Future valedictorian and salutatorian.”

“That would make a cute couple,” John B muttered while thinking about it.

Kie coughed, trying to bring the boys’ attention back to the main issue they had. “Look, guys, we need to get Pope to hang out with us again. He’s been blowing us off and I do not have enough patience to keep you two from doing dumb shit.”

“Mama’s mad,” JJ whispered. This earned him a smack on the head of the girl.

“Let’s just head over to her shop and see if they’re there.”

*********************************************

“Wait, so JJ stole some boat plugs?”

Pope nodded, perched upon the edge of the boat you were working on. He was leaning back, a book in his lap, as he told you one of his many crazy stories about his friends.

“I don’t know why you asked for my help for the essay when you have so many stories to tell.”

Pope sighed. “As I’ve said before, most of them are illegal.”

You nod your head at what he was saying, agreeing with him. You continued to work on the boat as you felt his eyes upon you.

Pope was looking at your eyes at first. He was counting how many flecks of color they held. Then, he moved onto your skin, noticing how smooth it looked. He wondered if it would feel smooth against his fingers, or if your mouth would feel smoother. He then noticed how plump your lips looked, and Pope could feel himself leaning closer to you.

“Y/N?” he called out so softly you almost didn’t hear him.

You spun your head to look at him, suddenly noticing how small the distance between the both of you had become. You felt butterflies erupt in your stomach and you wondered if he felt them too. Your heart was pounding in your chest, and you could only wait until his lips were pressed to yours.

Feeling nervous, Pope began to speak. “I d-don’t want this to be awkward but I’ve been wanting to kiss you for a while.”

You nodded your head, inching even closer to him. His lips looked a little chapped, but you were sure that it wouldn’t matter once you kissed him.

“And I don’t know if you feel the same or if you -”

“Shut up, Pope,” you giggled before plunging forwards. You pressed your lips to his own, moving them and giving him a few seconds to respond. When he did you smiled a little before continuing what you were doing. Your arms reached up to hold his face while his arms brought you closer to him and positioned you between his legs. Pope’s thumb was drawing circles right at your waist, and you finally broke apart from him when the door of the shop opened.

You didn’t break eye contact with Pope, but a sudden loud whoop made you stumble away from each other. Spinning around you found JJ, John B, and a girl you recognized as a Kook standing before you. You were frozen in place as Pope headed over to them to cover up JJ’s lips.

“Pope boy finally getting some action!” John B hollered while you felt your cheeks go red. The girl rolled her eyes at his friend before sending you an apologetic look.

It only took Pope three seconds to round them up and take them outside. You got back to working on the boat, trying to distract yourself from what had happened. You felt embarrassment rise up inside of you at being caught kissing the boy you liked.

Soon enough, Pope returned inside and stood next to you. You didn’t turn to look at him in shame and fear at what he might say.

“They wanted to see me since, you know, I haven’t been hanging around them recently.”

“Oh.” This was the moment Pope was going to tell you he didn’t want to be friends with you anymore and that he had now noticed how you were all too time-consuming. However, the boy surprised you.

“They invited us to hang out tomorrow. They said they want to meet you.”

You smiled and turned to look at him. “Really?”

“U-um, yeah. They kind of think you’re my girlfriend so…”

You blushed at that thought. Being Pope’s girlfriend was something that made your insides swell and feel light and soft and good.

“Okay.”

“Okay as in ‘yes, I want to hang out with them’ or as in ‘yes, I want to be your girlfriend’?”

You furrowed your eyebrows. “Is that your way of asking me to be your girlfriend?”

Pope awkwardly nodded before looking at you. The smile on your face seemed to be glued on and Pope copied your facial expression. You leaned in again, kissing him softly.

“Take your guess, Pope,” you teased him while smiling.

“I really hope it’s the second one.”

#outer banks #obx #obx netflix #pope heyward #jonathan daviss

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hopeandtruth · 3 years

Text

Blind Date Event

WHO: Hope Clarington and Seth Evans (@xsethappeal) WHAT: Blind Date WHEN: Friday Evening, July 16th, 2021 WHERE: Breadstix TRIGGERS: Alcohol consumption, allusions of past abuse WORD COUNT: 2,965

Hope had no idea why she was here. Mainly for an eventual laugh, she supposed. Lima hosting a singles night was basically a way to get all the millennials and some Gen Z into Breadstix so they could have a really good night of profits, there was no two ways about it, yet, here she was.

Hope hadn't even been on a single date since she got to Lima, hadn't even hooked up. The last time she even looked at another person would have been in Italy or Paris or something, and she couldn't even remember it. All the world travelling, even with the writing and as much as she'd talked about it, there were large chunks missing from her memory because she hadn't wanted to think about anything. So, here she was, on a stupid blind date at Breadstix, pretty sure she was going to regret the whole thing tomorrow.

Approaching her table she could already see the man who was going to be sharing her time with her and she considered just ... leaving before he saw her too. That would ruin the fun though, so she sat and smiled. "Surprised you took the time off for a date, but I guess it could have been worse."

The fact that Anna had somehow convinced him to do this was… ridiculous. He didn’t date, not since they broke up. He wasn’t into monogamy or really relationships, so going to this on a Friday when he could make way better tips at work was clearly due to his inability to say no to Anna.

Seth was always early for things, including things he didn’t really want to do. He’d already ordered a drink, though it was rather weak compared to the ones he made. He sipped it and sighed as he waited.

When he locked eyes as Hope fucking Clarington started to walk towards him, he groaned, but put on a charming smile, playing the part once she got to the table. “Unless tonight goes incredibly well, I can still probably be at work by 10.” He chuckled, “I’m shocked to see you here at all. A Clarington slumming it with the rest of us.

Hope huffed a laugh of sorts at the cheap shot, a the only kind Seth Evans would be able to afford anyway. "You're almost cute," she replied, still smiling, not yet giving him a signature sneer, "has anyone ever told you that?"

Hope quickly ordered a bottle of wine, not intending to share but she didn't protest when the wait staff brought two glasses. "So," she said, pouring herself a glass, a little fuller than it needed to be, "why are you here?"

“I’ve been called cute with assurance, both drunk and sober, I don’t hear almost very often.” He winked, taking a sip of his water.

He ordered himself some Johnnie Walker on the rocks, leaning back. “Because my best friend wanted to come and I’m here for moral support. I don’t date.” As he got his drink, he took a sip. “Why are you here?”

Hope was thankful when he didn't touch the wine, not that she wouldn't have just eventually ordered more, but it felt more like a game of dominance right now and neither was giving in. It was almost fun, at least for the time being.

She shrugged at his question, not really having much more of an answer than he did, almost made her wonder if the people who did the pairing did this intentionally. "Figured why not. I'm told I don't do enough 'normal' things, so why not try it out before I inevitably regret it tomorrow."

“So you choose to come to a mediocre restaurant, with mediocre food, mediocre people, minus a handful that I’m close with, and drink mediocre wine?” He quirked an eyebrow, taking another sip of his drink, before waving to the bartender to order himself another.

“Well, I’m sorry that I’m well above mediocre and have exceeded your expectations for ‘normalcy’, Ms Clarington. I’m not really capable of being ordinary or boring.”

Hope feigned interest as he spoke, but the more he went on about mediocrity, the harder it was to do. The confidence was interesting though, it seemed pretty real. For how big a lot of the people around Lima acted, there were few that could actually walk the walk after talking the talk, and deep down, Hope was one who could struggle with it lately, she was just a hell of a lot better at pretending than most of the world. Fake it til you make it was essential when someone had been through what she'd survived.

"Technically, I have to be the judge of that, Mr. Evans," she told him back smartly. "You never know when people will lie to you for a simple lay."

“In the 15 years I’ve been getting laid, never once have I lied to get into someone’s bed.” He finished his drink just as the second one arrived. “People who have to lie to get laid aren’t even worth the time. I like genuine people, real people. Not the kind who would tell you want you want to hear so you take off your pants, or will do whatever they’re expecting.”

He leaned back, looking her over - she may be a bitch, but even he had to admit she was hot. He wouldn’t tell her that though. “If people don’t like genuine me, that’s on them. Not me.”

The confidence was real and it was growing more intimidating by the minute, and Hope had no idea how to deal with it. This was someone who came from nothing, realistically had nothing, no doubt less than 2 paycheques from homelessness much like the rest of the world, and he didn't seem to care. It didn't make a lot of sense.

The genuine him, huh? Hope wasn't even sure she knew the genuine her, let alone liked her all that much, so there was no way she was going to let other people try and get there.

"I'm sure all those nights in the backroom at Scandals have been incredibly genuine, I think that's absolutely wonderful."

“I don’t hook up in the back room all that often. I’m usually working, and I don’t do anything that unprofessional while I’m working. I may “just” be a bartender at a small town gay bar, but I take my job seriously because I love it. So, yeah, on nights off I sometimes have fun, but I’m much more into sex outside of my place of work.”

He crossed one leg over the other, “and I remember the name and face of every person I hook up with. Even if I never see them again, I remember them.”

Hope wanted so badly to be bored, but, much to her dismay, Seth was almost interesting. He held himself highly, without having the ego that most of the company she usually kept. She wasn’t sure if she believed he knew the name and face of all his conquests, but she had no room to dispute it, so she didn’t.

“You might remember them,” she shot with a small grin, leaning back, “but I guess the real question is if they remember you.”

Seth chuckled into his drink, taking another sip. His blue-green eyes looking at her. “I have a good memory for things. Some people don’t. We have fun in the moment and that’s honestly the most important part. One night hook ups are meant for that. Just fun. It’s not a relationship.”

He shrugged, ordering himself some spinach dip. “My goal is to make people feel good for a night. Or whatever time of day we’re having fun. That’s all I care about.”

Seth's stare was a little unnerving. Sure, people usually looked, or even stared, but not like this. They were only a few feet apart and she didn't have much to hide behind, except her words, which didn't have too much of an effect on him.

Hope took a long sip of her wine, she didn't have a response and didn't want to give him the satisfaction of knowing that.

"Well, everyone has a talent, I suppose," she told him finally.

Seth wasn’t used to being around people who didn’t have a comeback for him. Anyone at scandals always did, so seeing Hope, this woman who seemed to be stoic and reserved, yet also had the reputation of the opposite, was a change of pace.

“I have plenty of talents, but I doubt you’re interested enough to hear about them.”

He was baiting her, that much she was sure of. It was pretty damn close to infuriating. Hope wasn’t used to not having the upper hand and she certainly didn’t like it.

“You can try me,” Hope retorted, raising a brow. “But if I start to doze off, that’s on you.”

“Some of them are more of a show than tell, but I can’t do some of those things in public, unless I crawl under the table.” He winked, smirking, “but I’m 6’1, so I don’t really fit.”

He took another sip of his drink. “I play guitar and sing, I mix the best drinks in town. I’m good at sports, and was probably second or third in my class in high school. I also know a lot about cars.”

Hope did her best not to react at how sure he sounded. He knew he had the upper hand here and it showed. It got a little easier when the chat was less suggestive, thank fuck.

“You almost had me interested there,” she confessed, looking at him through her eyelashes, the exact way she knew worked. “Last I checked I didn’t care about cars, I’m smart too, I know how to mix my own drink with my own liquor, and musics just music.”

Seth rolled his eyes, “bully for you.” He ordered himself another drink, looking across the table at her. “So, what do you find interesting, Ms Ivy League Trust fund?”

That shouldn't have been a hard question, and it wasn't for most. But ever since she'd left New York, Hope wasn't really someone who did a lot of of interest rather than need. She needed to get the hell out of there and she needed her family to never know what kind of condition she left in. "Travelling," was her instant answer, "I did a lot of it for a couple years after I left New York. I wrote for a lot of magazines, making sure I always had somewhere else to go."

Hope found him interesting, but there was no way in Hell she was going to tell him that.

Seth smiled, “we do have something in common.” He leaned a bit closer, “I like to travel too. I did a big road trip across the country a few years back. I really want to go to India at some point too. I have a long bucket list of places I want to go before I die.”

Hope knew that she had to take back the control somehow, so she reached for her purse and threw a couple bills on the table, knowing it way more than covered the bill and she stood. She started towards the door before quickly turning around, "you are coming, right?" she asked, as innocently as possible, but anyone would know it was anything but.

He had to admit that this response caught him off-guard. Being paired with Hope had not led him to even consider the possibility of them going home together, and yet, clearly, that was where her mind had gone. He also had never had a woman cover his bill before. He shrugged and stood up, “taking me back to your coven for a sacrifice? I’ll have you know I’m not a virgin.” He smirked.

"I guess you'll have to wait and see," Hope told him as they left the restaurant. "I Uber'd here, busted car and all, so unless you drove, will that work for you?" Hope didn't really want to get into a car with someone she didn't know very well, so if need be, she'd just meet him at her place.

He chuckled, shaking his head, “of course I drove. It’s a pick up truck though, you sure you’re okay with that?” He cocked a brow, eyes washing over her. “I promise you I’m not secretly the modern day Ted Bundy.”

"Absolutely not," Hope told him immediately. "So, you have one of two choices, leave it here for ... who knows how long, I haven't decided, or, take it home and I can pay for an Uber, it's up to you." Hope was sure nothing would go wrong, but, there also was no way in Hell she was stepping foot in his pick-up truck.

He rolled his eyes, “the princess doesn’t like trucks. Shocker.” He sighed, “I guess I can leave her here. I’ll come back whenever and pick her up.” He had a relatively new truck, it was clean, nice. 2017. But he wasn’t exactly shocked she was so against it. “Guess I’m getting in an Uber with a woman who could be a black widow for all I know.”

"You had a choice, you know," Hope replied, doing her best not to sound too annoyed at his annoyance. "I said you could do whatever and you're choosing to ride with me anyway, and it's not too harder to figure out why," she continued giving him a once over.

Pulling out her phone, she ordered and Uber and was given a quick estimate, perks of so many people being preoccupied right now.

“Ride in the Uber with another person, or do it alone and risk being murdered. At least in pairs we’re less likely to be a target.” He shrugged, thinking his logic was pretty sound. “Im used to driving myself, I don’t think I’ve ever used Uber in my life…”

"You're acting like you're in a big city and using the Subway for the first time, don't be such a baby, it's making you far less appealing," Hope sighed, still looking at her phone. The less she gave him, the more power she had, at least in her opinion. They were using her mode of transport, going to her apartment, and she'd paid. Everything was in her favour.

“No, I’m acting like someone who watches a lot of serial killer documentaries with his best friend.” He sighed, leaning against a nearby wall. “Im also almost never a passenger in a car.”

"Well that sounds like you're just setting yourself up for paranoia," Hope shrugged taking a step towards him, looking up at him. "I figure you can get over this little ... issue for one night, right?"

Seth always loved a good height difference, and considering he was 6’2, they were rather common for him. He smiled down at her, “it’s not an issue, but yes, I can get over it for one night, Princess.”

Hope smirked up and bit her lip, staring a moment too long, before sharply turning away to greet the Uber driver that had just arrived. Confirming he was who he was supposed to be, Hope got in without hesitation and waited for Seth expectantly.

In all his life, Seth had never taken a cab or an Uber. In a town like Lima he never needed to, and when he travelled, he’d done it by car. He took a moment before getting in, shooting Anna a text just so someone knew where he was going. The Uber was cleaner than he expected… even had a new car smell.

“Texting your girlfriend?” Hope asked, as Seth sat down and they started on the drive to her place. “Because frankly that doesn’t really matter to me, but if you’re having second thoughts, I’m sure he can let you out if need be.”

Hope knew it wasn’t the case, but Seth was honestly just making it all too easy.

“I don’t have a girlfriend, thank you very much.” He rolled his eyes, “just letting a friend know where I’m going.”

Hope sighed dramatically, enjoying the game of it all now. “Well I guess I really will have to let you leave mostly unharmed then, such a shame.”

“Oh, darlin’, as long as I make it home in one piece,” he leaned in a bit, “hit me with your best shot.”

"I'll keep that in mind," Hope smirked, letting him stay close but being very careful to keep her hands to herself, at least for the new few minutes. Sure, she hadn't entirely expected this when she'd seen who her date was, or even, at all. Hope knew there very much still could be regrets tomorrow, but right now this was good and fun and who was she to push that away when she'd spent the last few nights with nothing similar.

Seth wasn’t one to say no very often. The fact that he’d taken a Friday off from work to do this date thing for Anna was not something he would usually do, but he couldn’t say no to her especially. Plus, even if Hope was a huge bitch, she was hot as fuck, and he was clearly in for a wild night

It wasn't long before the Uber stopped at Hope's apartment. Politely, she thanked the driver and led Sam into the building, past the doorman, and to the elevator. "You're not scared of heights or anything, are you?" She asked, teasing in tone, pressing the button to the 11th, and highest, floor.

Seth rolled his eyes, “no, I’m not scared of heights. I went bungee jumping a few years ago.” He shook his head. It was going to be an interesting night, that’s for sure.

#hopexseth #para

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surveys-at-your-service · 4 years

Text

Survey #323

“dehumanized upon a shell / we came to bleed it dry / obsessed with divine wealth / divide and multiply”

Have you ever drawn on someone’s face while they were sleeping? No. Would you scuba dive in shark infested waters if you had the chance? No thanks. What is your favorite slow song? There are so many, but one of the slowest and most beloved of mine is "Obstacles" by Syd Matters. It gives me goosebumps without fail. It's one song I know I want at my hypothetical wedding. If there were aliens on earth, would you be afraid? I mean, yeah. I'd want to know their intentions. If your best friend died, would you be able to speak at their funeral? It'd be extremely difficult, but if I had any say in it, I absolutely would. Do you enjoy going through old pictures? Sometimes. Other times it causes too much pain, depending on the pictures, of course. Do you tend to have a lot of drama in your life? Definitely not. My life is painfully uneventful. When’s the last time someone was disappointed in you? I don't know. Do you have a house phone? No. Which fast food place do you eat at the most? McDonald's. Have you ever met someone on the Internet in real life? Yep. What’s your favorite color to wear? Black. Do you like being in pictures? No. Do you travel a lot? Essentially never, even though I'd love to. Do you play any sports? No. Do you like pickles? Yesssss. How many times have you been kicked out of a store? Never. Is there things you’ve told someone that you’ve NEVER told anyone else? Probably. When was the last time you had alcohol? My birthday dinner last month. Are you one to often make typos? No, except when I'm texting. I have autocorrect on for a reason. On a hot day, would you rather prefer ice cream or a popsicle? Ice cream. Have you ever wanted to get drunk and get your mind off everything? Yes, but I just didn't want to drink anymore at one point. I'm far from a lightweight, apparently. Have you played cards recently? No. Is there a band you like with amazing music but a bad vocalist? Mother Mother immediately comes to mind, but not the main singer; he's great. The woman who occasionally joins in is fucking horrendous. Like, it hurts my ears. Is there a certain song you like to headbang to? I don't and never have really headbanged, surprisingly. It's a sure-fire way to make me dizzy. Anything you might be giving up on soon? I hope not... Sometimes I feel like it's time with photography, but I just. Can't. Have you ever captured a moth? I've raised a caterpillar into one before, then of course let it go. Is there a band/artist who has strange lyrics but you love them anyway? Otep, noteably. When was the last time you wore earrings? It's been a long time. How many pairs of heels do you own? I don't think I have any. When was the last time you changed your picture on Facebook? Uhhhh it's been at the very least a month, but I know more. Would you consider yourself to be physically strong? Absolutely not, especially my legs. I struggle to fucking walk because they're so weak. Have you ever painted a piece of furniture? Yes, actually. I helped Jason paint his shelf black. Do you have a really fat cat? No, we never have. We've always been good about keeping our pets at a healthy weight. Do your initials spell a word? No. When was the last time you went to a playground? A year or so ago when I was taking pictures of someone's son, as well as just general family photos. That same family just had another baby the other day. Have you ever made a business card for yourself? No. Do you have a favorite curse word in a different language? No. Are there any recipes you have memorized? No. Do you know your multipication times tables? Lol not most of them, no... It's been way too long. Do you have a favorite font on the computer? Of the basic ones, probably Garamond. Are you good at creating logos? *shrugs* I've only ever really made my photography watermarks, and I only JUST made one I like pretty well. How about catch phrases? I don't make those. Have you ever been severely burned? Not severely, no. Did you ever dream that you had a baby? I've actually had numerous dreams where I was pregnant, but I don't THINK I've had one where the baby was born yet. Do you or anyone you know have a rabbit? No. What was the weirdest thing you ever saw cross the road? Hm, nothing too weird, I think. Last song you got stuck in your head? "ALTÆR" by 3TEETH. Last song you listened to? ^ Favorite movie quote? I don't know. Maybe Rafiki's quote about the past hurting, but you should take that opportunity to learn. Favorite lyric? That is impossible. There are so, so very many that just like slather me in goosebumps. What magazine are you an avid reader to? None. Have you ever gone a full day without interacting with another person? I have. How many relationships have you been in that lasted less than a year? Four. Have you ever been significantly more physically fit than you are now? Man, take me the hell back to my WiiFit days. I was pretty damn fit. The last time I did it, it was seriously alarming how much I struggled doing things that were once pretty effortless. When growing up, did you parents keep the house very tidy? "Very" seems a bit too much, but Mom definitely kept it in order. How many watches do you own? None. Should teenagers be allowed to have their cell phones with them in class? Yes. Emergencies happen. Do you have any gay relatives? Yes; my mom has a cousin who's gay. Have you unfollowed, deleted, or blocked anyone on social media recently? Not recently, no. If so, what was the reason? ^ What’s the biggest financial mistake you’ve ever made? Oh, y'know, dropping out of college three fucking times. Once I pay my own bills and I truly understand finances, that's going to fucking wreck me. Do you like metal music? Fuuuuuuuuuuuuck yeah. If so, what sub-genres of metal do you like the best? Heavy and symphonic. Who was the last person you sincerely thanked? My mom for bringing home lunch recently. Have you ever been in a relationship where there was a large difference in maturity levels? No. What’s the longest you’ve ever stayed as a guest at someone’s house? Maybe like a month when I was technically homeless? How bad was your acne when you were a teenager? It was preeeetty rough. Do you like strawberry shortcake? No. What’s the last you got out of the freezer? A microwavable breakfast bowl. Do you go on the computer or watch TV more? Guess. Explain why you are single: Because I'm a very, very underdeveloped "adult" that has very little clue what she's doing. At my age, I and any potential partner should want someone with direction. What feature do you usually get most complimented on? My hair. Has anyone ever accused you of being gay? Well, I'm bi. I had this weird therapist once in middle school though who asked if I was a lesbian... Idk why she did? What Facebook groups have you found the most helpful? I'm in an advanced ball python husbandry group, and while a lot of people there are utter, degrading elitists, they do have valuable information. Did you name all of your stuffed animals and dolls? I sure did as a kid. What would you have your bridesmaids wear? Probably black dresses, and I think it'd be really cool if I were to marry a woman, the bridesmaids wear checkered Converses colored into a rainbow pattern, or something like that. Where do you want to go on your honeymoon? I think Alaska, if it was a good time to see the Northern Lights. Are you sick right now? No, thankfully. Do you feel loved? Yes. Do you like your butt? Why or why not? God no. I have such a flat ass. Are you ashamed of your faith? I'm assuming by this you mean religion, in which case, I don't have one and am not ashamed of that. Has anyone ever tried to force their beliefs on you? Yes. Have you ever personally been a victim of homophobia? Again, I'm bisexual. I have never had a personal act of homophobia inflicted upon me, though. Have you ever been accused of being homophobic? Yes, because I was for most of my life. Fucking repulsive to remember. "Repulsive" is much too gentle a word, but yeah. It is so, so embarrassing to recall myself ever believing it was wrong because my then-religion said no-no. Do you think you’d be happier if you had a pet? I have two pets. I would be so, so lonely without any. :/ I've had pets my entire life. Who was the last person you went on a date with? Sara. How long has it been since that last time you went on a date? Like two or so years. Do you think babies are cute? They can be, but I usually don't find them all that cute, honestly. Especially newborns/very young infants. They're usually hideous. My youngest niece is actually the only newborn that I remember seeing that I thought was absolultely precious. What is your favorite style of pants? Ripped skinny jeans. Were you ever hospitalized as a little kid? No. Who was the last person who broke your heart? Jason. ^Do you still miss this person? I'm sure I always will to some degree. Do you have someone to talk to and share your secrets with? Sara more than anyone, but Mom, too. Is there someone you feel extra shy around? Just men in general. Have you been hurt more by friend break-ups or romantic break-ups? Romantic. Closest living thing to you? My snake's terrarium is against the opposite wall. She's in her hide. Would you rather drown or burn alive? Drown. You go unconscious first, so. And I'd assume it to be faster than burning alive. Also me no like hot. :'''( Who is the last person you got really pissed off with? My stepmother posted some ignorant bullshit on Facebook about how people blow out of proportion our "supposed" environmental crisis. I nearly deleted her right then and there. I take that shit seriously. Most of her beliefs drive me insane, honestly, but she's a wonderful person at heart, so I just bit my tongue. Who was the last member of the opposite sex you laid in a bed with? Girt. What type of sushi do you like to eat? Never tried it, don't want to. Was the last person you kissed physically attractive? Yes. Do you have any flowers in your room? No. Do you know anyone that owns horses? Yes. Well, I took pictures for her family, anyway. Do you know anyone who has road rage? Who? Jesus, yes. My little sister. Is your mom a big health freak or your dad? Or neither? Neither are "big" health freaks, especially not Dad when you consider he smokes and knows it'll be what kills him. My mom is diabetic though, so she's reasonably careful. Do you know anyone who wants to be the president one day? No. What kinds of chips are in the cupboards? We don't have any. Ma tries to keep snacks out of the house for both hers and my sake. If you were going out with your celebrity crush, what would you wear? OH BOY idk. I'd probably spend days planning the "perfect" thing. Do you have any friends who have naturally red hair? I do. Have you ever cried when a teacher retired? Yep, my band teacher. He was incredibly loved by literally everyone. Do you have your mom’s or dad’s eyes? Neither's. They both have brown eyes. What’s the best date movie? We gonna have a problem if you don't watch The Notebook w/ me if I have it on lmao. How long has your current best friend been your best friend? Many years now. (: Do you swear and yell while playing video games? I might swear under my breath, but I don't yell. Would you rather name your daughter Andrea or Eva? Andrea. If you were adopted, would you want to know? Yes. Do you know anyone who has grossly skinny eyebrows? I couldn't care less about someone's eyebrows. Do your pets chase after bugs? Oh yes, Roman certainly does. When’s the last time you were so excited you couldn’t sleep? Why? Hmmm... this actually happened recently, but I don't remember why... What is your mom’s favorite movie? I don't know, actually. I think it's some romance one. What TV family reminds you of your own family? None, really. Do you know anyone who always looks perfect? Who? One of my best high school friends Alon was like... just always pristinely beautiful, it seemed like. I haven't seen many pictures of her lately, but I'm sure that hasn't changed. Has anyone you know ever pulled the fire alarm in school, joking around? I think so once, yes. Who was the main character in the last book you read? A dragon named Sunny. Who are the last people you saw kiss? On the lips, I'm sure it woulda been my sister and her husband. Would you rather look at clouds or stars? Clouds, I think. Well, it would depend on their design, I guess, and time of day. When you get married, who will be the maid of honor/best man? Probably my mom. Does your best friend get along with their parents? She has a wonderful relationship with them. Have you ever been in a wedding? What were you? I was the fat, hideous, crying bridesmaid. ;x; Are you purposely hiding something from someone? No. What’s the most intimate thing you’ve discussed with a stranger? My suicide attempt with doctors. What, if anything, do you substitute for fries? I always get fries. Have you ever been in a building that was on fire? No. Are you in an argument with anyone right now? No. Have you ever written a poem for someone? Yes. Who’s the last person who cussed you out in anger? My grandmother. Who is the person you are closest to that you’ve meet online? Sara. Have you friended your parents on FB? Mom, yes. Dad doesn't have one. What’s the last tourist area you visited? Chicago. Mice or roaches? Mice are precious, meanwhile I hate roaches. Did you give or get any Valentines this year? No. Well, Mom bought me and my sisters each a delicious candy apple, if that counts? What’s your homepage? Google. Is there anyone whose grave you visit? No.

#survey #surveys #questions #lyrics: ''altaer" by 3teeth

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arcticdementor · 4 years

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On June 24, amid great cultural upheaval and unrest, Glenn Yu reached out to Glenn Loury, his former teacher, to record his thoughts about the current moment. An edited version of their conversation follows.

…

You may or may not have an opinion about that, but suppose the question were to arise in the dorm room late at night. Suppose you have the view that you’re not sure it’s racism, and then someone challenges you, saying, “you’re not black.” They say, “you’ve never been rousted by the police. You don’t know what it’s like to live in fear.” How much authority should that identitarian move have on our search for the truth? How much weight should my declarations in such an argument carry, based on my blackness? What is blackness? What do we mean? Do we mean that his skin is brown? Or do we mean that he’s had a certain set of social-class-based experiences like growing up in a housing project? Well, white people can grow up in housing projects, too. There are lots of different life experiences.

I think it’s extremely dangerous that people accept without criticism this argumentative-authority move when it’s played. It’s ad hominem. We’re supposed to impute authority to people because of their racial identity? I want you to think about that for a minute. Were you to flip the script on that, you might see the problem. What experiences are black people unable to appreciate by virtue of their blackness? If they have so much insight, maybe they also have blind spots. Maybe a black person could never understand something because they’re so full of rage about being black. Think about how awful it would be to make that move in an argument.

Suppose someone, a white guy, is arguing about affirmative action with you. Suppose he thinks that affirmative action is undignified because he thinks that positions should be earned, not given, but he allows that he doesn’t expect someone like you to understand that argument because you’re black. That would be terribly unreasonable— even “racist.” Yet I’m hard-pressed to see the difference.

…

People cry, “structural racism.” Is that why the homicide rate is an order of magnitude higher among young black men? They say structural racism. Is that why the SAT test-score gap is as big as it is? They say structural racism. Is that why two in three black American kids are born to women without a husband? Is it all about structural racism? Is everything structural racism? It has become a tautology explaining everything. All racial disparities are due to structural racism, evidently. Covid-19 comes along and there’s a disparity in the health incidence. It’s due to structural racism. They’re naming partners at a New York City law firm and there are few black faces. Structural racism. They’re admitting people to specialized exam schools in New York City and the Asians do better. This has to be structural racism, with a twist—the twist being that this time, the structural racism somehow comes out favoring the Asians.

This is not social science. This is propaganda. It’s religion. People are trying to win arguments by using words as if they were weapons.

…

And just so I don’t sound like a right-winger, observe that if I were a Marxist, I’d be furious at these people going around talking about “structural racism.” Structure, yes. Racism, no. Because if I were a Marxist, which I’m not, I’d understand the driving force of history to be the interaction between class relations and the means of production, the struggle between workers and capital in the quest for profit given the logic of capitalism. Though I don’t subscribe to it, that’s at least an intellectually serious theory. I know what people are talking about when they say we need more unions, when they say we need to break up big companies, when they say that the accumulation of wealth has gotten too great. When someone says that the logic of profit-seeking leads to war, at least I know what they’re talking about. I don’t necessarily have to agree with Das Kapital to understand that it’s a serious engagement with history.

Structural racism, by contrast, is a bluff. It’s not an engagement with history. It’s a bullying tactic. In effect, it’s telling you to shut up.

…

Yu: I’ve had conversations in the past few weeks that have ended very poorly; conversations that have spiraled out of control, where I’m suddenly a racist, so I’m on damage control. I just don’t know how to reach people in a meaningful way, and that’s very disturbing to me.

Loury: It is disturbing. I’m not a seer. My mouth is not a prayer book. I only say what I say based on my subjective assessment of it all. But it may be that, for a while anyway, there’s not going to be a whole lot of effective talking. It may well be that we have to imagine a world where effective deliberation and consensus is not within reach for us, and we’re going to have to manage that situation. It could get very bad. It could go to violence. This is what Sam Harris always says, and he’s got a point. He says that if we can’t reason together, then the only alternative for dispute resolution is violence.

I don’t know if you saw my piece in Quillette about the looting and the rioting, but I pick up these pieces published in the New York Times, respectable left-wing journals. I’m reading them, and the writer is saying, “America was founded on looting. What did you think the Boston Tea Party was?” Or, “You’re talking about looting when George Floyd lies dead? Oh, I see, black lives don’t matter as much as property.” These are, to my mind, incomprehensibly idiotic. I don’t mean that to cast aspersions. The civilization that we all enjoy rests upon a very fragile foundation. Look. I’m in my backyard. It’s very nice. I’ve got a lot of space. There’s a fence. The birds come. I have a lawn. It’s mine!

Now, if a homeless person comes and squats in my backyard, I call the police. I have him removed, forcibly. There should be no lack of clarity about whether George Floyd’s death somehow excuses or justifies burning a bodega to the ground that a Muslim immigrant spends his whole life building. Being confused about that, equivocating about that, splitting the difference about that—I don’t understand how we’re going to have a reasoned discussion. My thoughts go back to, protect civilization. Again, I know how that sounds. It’s hyperbolic. It’s exaggerated—but only a little! My gut response is that this is not the time for argument. This is the time to protect civilization and protect institutions. When people start toppling statues of Abraham Lincoln and spray-painting on statues of George Washington, “a slave owner,” things fall apart. The center cannot hold. We teeter on the brink of catastrophe.

…

Yu: If there’s no available policy intervention, and there’s also no way we can change people’s minds, then is it hopeless? Is disparity always going to be the case?

Loury: Yes. My answer is it’s hopeless. But let me rephrase the question, and I’m channeling Thomas Sowell now. You have two alternatives. You can live with disparities, or you can live in totalitarianism. Again, hyperbolic, I know. No, I’m not talking about Eastern Europe circa 1960, but look at it this way: there can’t be a disparity without somebody being on top. People don’t recognize this.

What groups are on top? What about the Jews? You could say, “There are too many Jews in positions of influence.” If there are too few black lawyers who are partners in big law firms, doesn’t it follow that are too many Jews who are partners at these big firms? If there are too few blacks who are professors of mechanical engineering at places like Carnegie Mellon, why aren’t there too many Korean professors at these places?

…

What is the nature of the world that we live in? Why would I ever expect that there would be parity across the board between ethnic, racial, cultural, and ancestral population groups in an open society? It’s a contradiction because difference is a very fact of groupness. What do I mean by a group? Well, it’s genes, to some degree; it’s culture; it’s networks of social affiliation, of intermarriage and kinship. I mean the shared narrative, the same hopes, the dreams, the stories. I mean the practices of parenting and filial piety and whatever else there might be.

A group is a group. It has characteristics. Those characteristics matter for whether you play in the NBA. They matter for whether you learn to master the violin or the piano. They matter for whether you pursue technical subjects or choose to become a humanist or a scientist. They matter for the food that you eat. They matter for how many children you raise and how you raise them. They matter as to the age when you first have sex. They matter for all those things, and I think everyone would agree with that.

But now you’re telling me that they don’t matter for who becomes a partner in a law firm? They don’t matter for who becomes a chair in the Philosophy Department somewhere? Groupness implies disparity because groupness, if taken seriously, implies differences in ways of living life. Not everybody wants to play the fiddle. Not everybody wants to dunk a basketball. Not everybody is frightened to death that their parents are going to be disappointed with them if they come home with an A-minus. Not everybody is susceptible to being swayed into a social affiliation that requires them to commit a violent crime in order to prove their bona fides. Groups differ. Groups are not evenly distributed across society. That’s inevitable. If you insist that those be flattened, you’re only going to be able to succeed by imposing a totalitarian regime that monitors everything and jiggers everything, recomputing and refiguring things until we’ve got the same number of blacks in proportion to their population and the same number of second-generation Vietnamese immigrants in proportion to their population being admitted to Caltech or the Bronx High School of Science. I don’t want to live in that world.

#city journal #glenn yu #glenn loury #interview #read the whole thing

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kytcordell · 4 years

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Why Do I Create?

Compulsion

I cannot stop creating.

In fact, I’ve tried--multiple times. There have been so many occasions on which the frustration and self-loathing associated with creative pursuits was psychologically crippling to the point where I did try and stop. But I never stopped inventing stories in my mind. I never stopped creating characters. I never stopped following artists I liked, basking in distant envy at the skills I believed I could never attain.

It has taken me a lifetime to really distill the true reason behind why I create. As much I would like to say that I’ve “always just loved drawing and expressing myself,” this simply wouldn’t be true nor an accurate representation of the relationship I have with art. At this point, I’m not sure if the word “passion” or “love” quite captures why I create. I would describe it more as a feverish need--a compulsion. I actually don’t even quite see myself as the “owner” of my works or ideas, but rather, as the vessel which serves them. Every ounce effort I put toward creative endeavors is a means of honing myself into a more suitable vehicle for delivering ideas into being.

For most of my life, I had an extremely pathological and maladaptive sense of self that resulted from nearly 26 years of physical and psychological abuse. It took me a long time to even recognize that what happened to me was in fact abuse. I used to shy away from the word because it seemed too self-pitying and dramatic. It still sometimes feels that way, despite the fact I objectively know that if anyone (let alone a parent) ever pulled a knife on me now, I would call the police without a second thought.

I won’t go too much into the details of what happened because it isn’t really worth delving into. But I was essentially raised as if I were an investment fund and not a person. My entire purpose was to be useful so my mother could stop having responsibilities of any kind. I was not raised with own personal well-being and future stability in mind. This meant that a non-lucrative career was unacceptable. My art was ever only appreciated in the context of bragging rights or winning awards. This of course, manifested in my relationship with creative pursuits.

Narcissism

My adolescent motivations for drawing were fueled mostly by pure, unadulterated narcissism.

I drew semi-seriously throughout high school. By that, I mean I quickly figured out what kinds of skills were considered impressive for that age group and did well at shows and competitions. I wanted to feel superior and adored at any cost, and while I embodied the external talking points of “being humble, always learning, etc.” deep down, I clung to the idea that I was better than everyone else. I couldn’t handle critique emotionally, despite acting receptive. I was completely consumed by the idea of being some kind of perfect, “talented” golden child.

I managed to get very good at copying photos and rendering, while neglecting all the skills that contribute to being able to design characters or draw from imagination. I didn’t really pursue art with any real level of personalized focus. I just liked feeling like I was better than people and knew more than the other kids. Honestly, every single aspect of my life revolved around this mentality.

I held onto the idea of “being good” as a trophy because that was the only mode of thought that my psyche could accept. It was easier to embrace narcissism and even just accept being a shallow social climber than to face the far more harrowing truth:

That I was afraid I’d never have the skills to manifest my ideas.

In fact, I talked myself into believing for ages that I didn’t care that much about my ideas. They would never amount to anything. And having self-indulgent, non-utilitarian attachments to my stories and OCs felt like a weakness. I needed to rationalize my own shortcomings with a guise of indifference.

Revererence

I stopped drawing for about seven years after high school. And even during high school, I didn’t do anything that remotely resembles the kind of ‘grind’ that I’ve put myself through the last 2.5 years. Frankly, I’m amazed I got as far as I did even with being a human copy machine that produced lifeless 1:1 images of candles. With each year I passed, I grew increasingly uncomfortable with the fact I always knew deep down--I just wasn’t that good. I mean, I was pretty good for a guy in high school. But my holistic sense of composition, invention, and execution was near non-existent. I went through a few attempts of returning to art, only to be so overwhelmed with my own incompetence that I would just go back to the “I don’t care that much about art” script I had gotten so good at conning myself into.

It was not until I had a complete mental breakdown due to my psychotic cunt of a mother threatening my safety and sanity that my long-con finally broke. I had a moment where I just accepted that I had no fundamentals, my skills were trash, and most of all--I was not okay with them being trash. From that point, I started desperately seeking out resources and practicing to improve. Receiving criticism (while I really appreciated it objectively) was psychologically devastating to me. Every single imperfection was a reminder of “lost time” and the years I had spent lying to myself.

It wasn’t until I discovered Loomis, Hampton, Draw-a-Box, Proko, and many other reputable art resources that I managed to start hitting the pavement and making the kind of gains I wanted. I drew sometimes for 12-16 hours a day even while I was homeless and living on a friend’s couch due to having to flee my home at the time. Through all of this, I shed all my notions of “being talented” or needing to delude myself into feeling like I was good. No, I was dogshit and I needed to do something about. I think the biggest hurdle people face when trying to get good at anything is accepting that they are bad. You cannot improve until you fully and wholeheartedly accept that you have problems that need fixing.

I went from approaching things from a place of narcissism to a place of reverence. A lot of what instilled this change in me was observing people that I admire. Those that are highly competent (in any craft) tend to be realistic and humble about their shortcomings. The very process of attaining mastery forces you to realize that there is an infinite scale of improvement. This isn’t to say that people who are good can’t also get full of themselves. But at least among the individuals I gravitate towards, there is a general sense of reverence and genuine modesty. On the other hand, people who are mediocre frequently have very large egos. Unfortunately, there is a lot egotistical, irrational, whiny-bitch anti-progress behavior that is prevalent in art circles. I realized just how cancerous conceit and ego could be. It had destroyed my progress for years and I was watching complete hacks insist they were gods atop mount stupid. It was truly the Dunning-Krueger effect in action.

Many of the people I encountered in the art community early on were pretty mediocre and had a terrible sense of fundamentals. Again, this would be fine if they didn’t insist on acting like experts on the topic. (Plenty of people draw for fun and don’t care about being good and there is nothing wrong with purely pursuing something for leisure.) However, I unfortunately ran into quite a few extremely petty people had no idea of how to actually get good at anything, and were annoyed at the fact I had prioritized working on fundamentals. People that I engaged in good faith soon attempted to derail conversations and questions I had about technique and improvement. Crabs in a bucket bullshit, really.

Anyone knows me also knows that I have no tolerance for bullshit or “UwU bitches” making “it’s my style” excuses for being technically incompetent. (Which isn’t to say accuracy is always more important than style, but using “style” or “aesthetic” as an excuse for a lack of skill or competence is extremely common among mediocre artists). Likewise, I also encountered people who manifested narcissism in the opposite direction. The opposite of the “it’s muh style” camp were people who endlessly liked to talk about theoretical technical knowledge. Sometimes they were good at one skillset or another, but generally lack any kind of concept or actual artistic vision. It was like they had lost sight of expression goals in favor of shit talking and dropping advanced art vocabulary.

I realized that no amount of shit-talk, posturing, or external validation was going to make me good at art. I always knew that, but watching people descend into the abyss of self-sabotage just reminded me what was at stake. I would rather never “feel” like I was superior than run the risk of delusional overconfidence. Likewise, I broke out of the trap of thinking technical skill could somehow compensate for a lack of good ideas or artistic vision. Nothing matters more than the clarity of expression, and skill is but a conduit for said expression. I would rather feel eternally small and striving for a forlorn dream than run the risk of being 10 years down the road cranking out trashy, vapid content while thinking I’m some kind of omnipotent art god.

I draw because I cannot stop. It’s like being touched by fire that you cannot quell or erase. I work to improve because I want to depict my stories and characters with the finesse, nuance, and artistry that I admire in so many others. I truly feel there is no point in pursuing art seriously if you do not have a voice, a “vision” for why you create. Looking back, the motivation that kept me going through the hardest struggles was the desire to succeed in communicating my stories and concepts. I am but an acolyte eternally striving for even a brief glimpse of an ephemeral muse.

#Art #Art Philosophy #Why I Draw #Personal

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yourfavehatesautismspeaks · 5 years

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Alright folks, pull up a chair because Mod Rowlf is gonna teach y’all the history behind the word ‘Queer’.

In the 1500s, it was used to mean ‘peculiar’ and technically still does because it is actually still used in this context; ‘I feel a bit queer’, ‘snow in September? How queer’. It wasn’t used to mean ‘homosexual’ until 1894 and that first usage of it was by The Marquess of Queensbury. But it still didn’t catch on as a word to mean ‘homosexual’ until twenty years later, and even then that was by the homosexuals themselves. It wouldn’t be until forty one years after that that the dictionaries noted that ‘queer’ was slang for ‘homosexual’ and even then it didn’t note usage as derogatory.

But then it started being used in a derogatory way. Just like gay. Just like lesbian. And just like gay and lesbian, it got reclaimed. Well, partially reclaimed. So just like gay* and just like lesbian then.

How did this happen then?

Well, in the late 1980s, a group of gay people got super angry at the AIDS crisis and the homophobia it was causing (thanks Reagan!) and they called themselves Queer Nation. They handed out leafets at Pride called ‘Queers Read This’ that detailed that they were going to reclaim the word queer. And I’ll admit I had to Google this bit, but their exact words in this leaflet were;

‘Do we really have to use that word? It’s trouble. Every gay person has his or her own take on it. For some it means strange and eccentric and kind of mysterious. That’s okay, we like that. But some girls and boys don’t. They think they’re more normal than Strange. And for others ‘queer’ conjures up these awful memories of adolescent suffering. Queer. It’s forcibly bittersweet and quaint at best. Weakening and painful at worst. Couldn’t we just use ‘gay’ instead? It’s a much brighter word and isn’t it synonymous with ‘happy’? When will you militants grow up and get over the novelty of being different?

Why Queer?

Well yes, ‘gay’ is great. It has its place. But when lots of lesbians and gay men wake up in the morning, they feel angry and disgusted, not gay. So we’ve chosen to call ourselves queer. Using ‘queer’ is a way of reminding us how we are perceived by the rest of the world. It’s a way of telling ourselves we don’t have to be witty and charming people who keep our lives discreet and marginalised in the straight world. We use queer as gay men loving lesbians and lesbians loving being queer. Queer, unlike GAY doesn’t mean MALE. And when spoken to other gays and lesbians it’s a way of suggesting we close ranks and forget (temporarily) our individual differences because we face a more insidious common enemy. Yes QUEER can be a rough word, but it is also a sly and ironic weapon we can steal from the homophobe’s hands and use against him.’

(Here’s the source)

This is the same group that chanted ‘We’re here! We’re Queer! Get used to it!’ and ‘Two! Four! Six! Eight! Do you know your kids are straight?’

That was back in 1990. But reclaimation actually started in the 1980s by queer people of colour. So the word queer was actually being used to describe the LGBT community before the letters LGBT were given to the community. Oh and incidentally the letter Q stands for ‘queer’.

The word ‘queer’ has been used in academia, in such subjects as ‘queer arts’, ‘queer studies’, ‘queer history’, ‘queer theory’ and others. It appeared in titles of mainstream TV shows in the 00s, Queer as Folk, Queer Eye for the Straight Guy and its Netflix reboot, Queer Eye.

Queer migration is the term used for LGBT people escaping persecution and discrimination due to their orientation or gender.

So why might someone identify as queer? Well...

Reclaimation. They want to reclaim the word that was used to hurt them or they want to use it as it has largely been reclaimed.

They don’t want to tell someone they’re bisexual or lesbian or genderfluid, but they want to say they’re part of the LGBT community so it’s just easier to say they’re queer. Or it’s nobody’s business how they identify.

They might fall under more than one identity. It’s a lot easier to say ‘I’m queer’ than it is to say ‘I’m a nonbinary transgender homoromantic asexual who presents as female’.

Queer is literally easier to say and write than LGBTTQQIAPP2SCNBAGNC and all the other letters that get added on all the time. I’m still not sure of all the letters tbh. Granted, it’s usually just LGBT, LGBT+ or LGBTQIA at a push, but still. I’m not sure how to feel about QUILTBAG or MOGAI. But Queer is inclusive.

They just want to identify as queer because literally why not?

So why is Mod Rowlf writing this, which has nothing to do with autism or Autism Speaks? Well, because we’ve had some recent hate on our Pride Month posts and our use of ‘Queerphobe’ and a suggestion to call it ‘homophobia’ instead of ‘queerphobia’.

Why did we use the term ‘queerphobia?’

Because we used 30 different Pride Flags and biphobia is different to aphobia which is different to transphobia which is different to panphobia which is different to enbyphobia which are all different to homophobia. Nobody within the LGBT community faces the same challenges. An abled rich black gay man would face different challenges to an autistic working class Asian lesbian and they would face different challenges than a straight white homeless transgender amputee. Sure classism, racism and ableism come into play, but that’s the idea. Everyone’s different and you can’t label all these people’s struggles as ‘homophobia’. It’s disingenuous and harmful.

Nobody’s saying that anyone has to be okay with ‘queer’, but seriously just accept that people use ‘queer’ as an identity to describe themselves and respect their identity rather than policing it because ‘I don’t like’. You don’t think we get enough of that from outside the community, we don’t need it happening from within either.

*if you think gay still isn’t used as a slur, then you’re ignoring all the uses of ‘oh that’s so gay!’ and if you don’t see it, then go into any popular YouTube video and look in the comments section.

#not a character #gah #GAHHHHHHH #lgbt history #pride month #mod rowlf explains #mod rowlf

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subvertingyourexpectations · 5 years

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Top Ten Films of 2019

2019 was… I’m gonna be honest, not a very great year for cinema. Aside from a handful of standouts, I have seen very few things that completely blew me away. Especially given the past few years, we haven’t gotten a Roma, or a Phantom Thread, or a Denis Villeneuve movie. Anyway, this is my top ten favorite films of 2019.

But first…

Films That Would Make It But Didn’t “Technically” Come Out in 2019

Long Day’s Journey into Night

I already talked at length about this film, but I love it to pieces. It has twisted the visual language of cinema into its own beautiful and bizarre version, crafting a puzzle box of a movie that I absolutely adored. But, it technically came out at the end of 2018, so it can’t be on the list.

Tigers Are Not Afraid

If you like foreign films, this is a must-see. If you like tragic dramas anchored by some terrific child actor performances, this is a must-see. If you like horror movies, well, it’s not really a horror movie but people keep describing it as one, so you should probably see it. It’s a beautiful little imaginative tale about the effects of the drug war on orphaned kids, and if you can catch it on streaming I would definitely check it out. But, even though it came out in limited release in August, it came out in Mexico in 2017, so I can’t include it.

One Cut of the Dead

Maybe the most original film I’ve seen in years? The first half is a terrific little zombie flick all in one camera shot, and somehow the second half expands on this and is ten times better. Watching this in a packed house was one of my favorite moviegoing experiences of the year. It’s one of the most funny and, again, original movies I’ve seen in years.

Shadow

UGH ALL THE GREAT FOREIGN FILMS DIDN’T COME OUT IN 2019. Anyway this movie is incredible and is maybe the best use of grayscale I’ve seen in any film.

Movies That Might’ve Made the List But I Sadly Have Not Seen Them Yet

Portrait of a Lady on Fire

Pain and Glory

1917

Bad Education

Little Women

The Souvenir

Okay, now onto the actual list…

10. Ad Astra

Brad Pitt and James Gray’s remake of Apocalypse Now in space is maybe the weirdest premise for a movie, and yet I really enjoyed Ad Astra. There’s clearly some touches of studio interference that make this movie worse (read: Brad Pitt’s narration), but the underlying themes of anxiety and depression are some of the best I’ve seen on screen. Couple that with Brad Pitt’s best performance of the year (yes), the visual splendor on display, and this movie is an easy inclusion in my top ten of the year.

9. Uncut Gems

I need to go lie down. After really enjoying the Safdie Brothers’ previous films (Good Time and Heaven Knows What), I was really excited for this movie, and I was not let down. The frenetic, dare-I-say crackhead energy that the Safdies are able to convey in their films is immensely satisfying to watch, and the way Adam Sandler channels it is one of my favorite performances of the year. The last twenty minutes of this movie is just pure panic attack.

8. The Irishman

Somehow Scorsese’s 209-minute long epic is one of the most watchable films of the year. This is just a terrific example of everyone firing on all cylinders; the performances are great, the script is great, the editing is unbelievable (this movie feels like it is two hours long), and the directing and thematic development towards the third act is some of Scorsese’s best.

7. The Farewell

A calling card for director Lulu Wang as much as it is for Awkwafina in dramatic roles, The Farewell is an absolute delight. The family dynamics throughout all feel refreshingly authentic, and the film masterfully weaves between its comedic moments and tragic undertones. If it wasn’t for some choices made at the ending, this would probably rank higher on my list.

6. El Camino

How bad was 2019 for film? A Breaking Bad movie is my sixth favorite film of the year. It doesn’t matter if we “needed” this movie or not, El Camino is just so incredibly well-made and enjoyable. It’s always a pleasure seeing something new in the Breaking Bad universe, but more than that I think this film is a genuinely beautiful swan song for one of the greatest characters in television.

5. Waves

This movie is meandering, aimless, pretentious, and completely style over substance. And yet, the last half hour of this movie hit me harder than almost anything this year. Regardless of how you feel about the characters, I feel like Waves has an overwhelmingly positive message in the end, which is to grow away from your hatred and learn to forgive and love. I’m sure many people will find the way this movie gets to that message to be kind of pointless and wandering, but to me it just turned a pretty good film into one of my favorites of the year.

4. The Mustang

My local 3-screen art house closed in April of this year. I went there as often as I could, because they were the only theater in town that would play a lot of independent and foreign films. It was the first place I saw Roma, and the first (and, let’s face it, last) time I saw Stalker on the big screen. The last night they were open, I went and saw The Mustang, not based on anything to do with the movie, just because I wanted to be there one last time. It was completely sold out, far busier than I’d ever seen them. In the past I’d always had free roam of where to sit, but that last night I was in the third row from the front.

If Ad Astra is about depression, then The Mustang is about anger, and learning to overcome your anger and grow as a person. It’s about a prison in Nevada that has a rehabilitation program where violent convicts train wild Mustangs, which are later sold to local ranches and farms. Roman (a terrific performance from Matthias Schoenaerts) is one such convict, and his personal struggle to overcome his anger is beautifully realized against the backdrop of having to fight a wild animal. (Seriously, he goes in swinging and it does not end well for him.) It’s a great story, and it’s a must-watch if you haven’t seen it. The emotional ending coupled with the fact that my favorite theater was closing left me a complete wreck when the credits rolled. (I’m starting to realize my top five films all just boil down to “the ending wrecked me”.)

3. The LEGO Movie 2: The Second Part

This is like The Mustang but for kids.

Okay okay, hear me out, I only saw this movie once when it first came out 11 months ago, and I’m not ever watching it again because I thought it was perfection. I feel like on a repeat visit the songs will become grating, the plot will feel ridiculous, and the themes of toxic masculinity that I appreciated so dearly will seem like faint whispers instead of clear subtext. And yet in the theater, I absolutely adored the songs and the plot and the clear subtext about being a better brother/man. The real-world parallels that were a surprise twist at the end of the first film are used beautifully in The Second Part, because the plot is simply just one big metaphor for a little sister who wants to play with her older brother. It’s touching, it’s funny, and it gets stuck inside your heart. It’s such a shame that the LEGO film franchise is all but dead, because if we had kept getting films like this, children’s movies would definitely be better for it.

2. Parasite

Everything fantastic about this film has already been said about it by people far smarter than me, so I’ll just say this: it is every bit as amazing as people hyped it up to be. This movie is a biting satire, a laugh-out-loud comedy, and an edge of your seat thriller. It has left an imprint on my brain since I first saw it back in October, to the point where as much as I have tried to analyze and dissect, this film, I don’t know if there’s a single flaw with it, there’s genuinely nothing I would change about this movie. If you see one movie this year, it should be Parasite.

1. The Last Black Man in San Francisco

In July of 2019, I had to make probably the biggest decision of my (brief) career thus far. I was going to leave my management position at a 24-screen theater I’d loved dearly to go work in an office. I loved everything about the movie theater, I’d worked there for almost four years, but at a certain point it just had diminishing returns. Newer upper management and constant changes coming down from the big-whigs had turned my favorite building into a place I started to resent, a place I didn’t recognize. I tried to fight the change, and re-institute everything I loved about this building that I practically grew up in, but you can’t fight change, and you shouldn’t romanticize the past.

I’ve never seen these themes more realized in film than in The Last Black Man in San Francisco. It tells the story of Jimmie Fails, a native San Franciscan who has to watch the city he’s loved his whole life descend into a rapidly gentrified hellscape that leaves many homeless and helpless. He often visits his childhood home, a beautiful three-story house with a “witch hat” on top, now owned by an older white couple. This doesn’t stop him from romanticizing the house, romanticizing the past, as he constantly visits and attempts to fix up the house, oftentimes clashing with the current inhabitants.

This disdain from the couple is an all-too-real parallel message that he’s getting from the city itself: You’re not welcome here anymore. Much as Jimmie has tied his identity to this home, and this city, he is hardly welcome in either. But for one brief instant, he gets to live his dream. The house gets stuck in a familial dispute, causing the older couple to move out. Leaving behind a big empty house that no one is occupying, Jimmie and his best friend Montgomery decide to just move right in, and have their way. They bring in all the old furniture from Jimmie’s childhood, they paint the walls, repair the original woodworking, all in service of Jimmie’s dream to simply exist in this space, and preserve something sacred.

Eventually though, reality comes crashing down, and try as he might, Jimmie can’t stay in the house, and he has to learn a hard truth: you cannot tie yourself emotionally to a physical space. Whether it’s a house, a city, a job, you simply cannot love something that doesn’t love you back. You will get hurt every time.

But it’s so easy to love. It’s so easy to play the piano in the entranceway of your childhood home. It’s so easy to relax in the sauna upstairs, or smoke on the balcony, or just lay on the floor and admire the witch hat. The Last Black Man in San Francisco makes you fall in love with this house, and with Jimmie and Montgomery, and as much as we see ourselves in them, we too have to learn the same lessons. As much as we want to inhabit a space, and get the fullest potential out of it, you cannot ever stop change, and you cannot stand in the way of it without going insane.

And maybe it was just because I was going through this personal development the first time I saw this movie, but it hit me like a ton of bricks. It stuck in my brain so much that by the time I saw it a second time, I was a complete mess; I cried four times. I cried for Jimmie, I cried for the house, and I cried for myself. I cried for the things we all lost, the things that would never be the same, and because we would have to learn to accept that. This is what’s so beautiful about The Last Black Man in San Francisco, and on top of the phenomenal acting, emotional script, and gorgeous visuals, it’s what made it my favorite film of the year.

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