#thats why the fucking piece of shit i used to consider my sister pulled all that shit b4 i moved out is probs bc of pills or some shit

[send-up-my-heart-to-you]

theories for chain of thorns

i had these posted on my gr from like december, im just posting them here

- lucie will now be an antagonist lets be honest we all know it. necromancers are NOT good people and thats the path lucie chose for herself by wanting to save jesse

- someone major will die idk who it is yet, but my instincts tell me its matthew or alistair. the second wouldnt make sense tho – if alistair dies, how would the carstairs line continue down to emma??? hopefully itll be tatiana that bitch

- jamie x daisy its inevitable guys, have you seen the snippets? im rooting for them theyre perfect

- thomas and alistair are NOT gonna end up together this was a gut feeling when i wrote it but as of jan 5 i have a legible reason as to why they would not be happy and its the next theory

- IM SCARED THOMAS IS GONNA DIE the “found family tree” says that thomas died TWO YEARS before barbara. i understand cassie has repeatedly stated that its been manipulated (she hinted that it was changed by the silent brothers) and isnt reliable. but isnt that disturbing?? esp considering theres at least part of it thats reliable, and thats the fact that alistair will 100% go on to marry a woman despite being gay. if alistair doesnt have kids, and cordelias children are all herondales, then the carstairs family would die out and emma would not be related to jem (even tho its been stated that they are related by blood). “oH bUt SoNa iS pReGnAnT mAyBe ShEs GoNnA GiVe BiRtH tO a bOy” first of all, theres a chance the baby is born a girl second of all, the baby might die third of all, where is the son on the family tree? fourth of all, SONA IS, ACCORDING TO THE TREE, DEAD BEFORE THOMAS. PLEASE.

- grace x christopher i despise grace but she acts like a different person around kit… maybe he can fix her

- anna x ariadne she cant fuck up ALL the gay relationships, now can she?

- the merry thieves are gonna forgive alistair (specifically matthew) bro he literally made out with one of them TWICE. if matthew doesnt think “well shits gonna get awkward if i dont forgive the sorry bastard” istg~ 💀

- this is more of a hope than a theory MATTHEW FAIRCHILD SHALL ACHIEVE THE HAPPINESS HE DESERVES smth tells me he wont get a happy ending tho… i mean, if my above theory abt thomas is correct~

- SO DOES ALISTAIR I MEAN CMON GUYS #justiceforalistair he regrets the shit hes pulled and therefore your hate against him for it is invalid PLUS HE GOT BULLIED BY RACIST PIECES OF SHIT HE DID WHAT HE COULD TO MAKE IT STOP

- matthew will open up abt his secret its like a routine at this point, in every shadowhunters series. a character has a secret that nearly kills them outta despair, they open up to friends, theyre met with love and support. jace loving his “sister”. wills “curse”. emma and jules’ relationship. ty bringing back livvy. alec being gay. you get used to it lol

- either lucie or matthew would have their marks stripped lucie for attempting/committing necromancy, and matthew because sobh said he doesnt have a specified death date (also i think cassie just hates him)

- jesse will be evil bro wouldnt that be cruel… like imagine after lucie brings him back hes like “haha i manipulated you to bring me back i never loved you” and then sHe GETS HER RUNES STRIPPED FOR NECROMANCY and its worse bc the shadowhunters are already out to get the herondales bc they refuse to accept tessa as anything but a warlock no but in that case she would prolly go to live with wills parents OKAY BUT IMAGINE HOW HEARTBROKEN CHARLOTTE WOULD BE WHILE DOING IT WHILE JAMIE IS CRYING AND MATTHEW SCREAMING AT HER NOT TO AND WILL TELLS HIM TO STOP WHILE TEARS ARE GOING DOWN HIS FACE

- a “seven husbands of evelyn hugo” thing with anna x ariadne and thomas x alistair (credit to my good friend wiz/nisha for saying this) maybe cassie is going to have thomas marry ariadne and anna marry alistair so that they could have a good old switcheroo, so they can swap lovers?? obviously it cant be anna and thomas lmao theyre cousins but thomas and ARIADNE…

- matthew and cordelia ARE going to kiss at one point HOL’ UP I DONT SHIP EM, i think its gonna be a climon kinda thing where they kiss and dont like it as much as they thought they would, and end up deciding to stay friends i think thats the best way cassie could deal with matthews crush on her without breaking anyones heart, i hope to god it wont be like him confessing and her rejecting him plz oml

[toxooz]

Maybe this is a little weird, but I really like the way you designed Wig and Zortzi. They both look like crackheads, and I'm really glad you designed them like that, cause I've seen drugs get romanticized alot and portrayed as being sexy- Idk if what I'm saying makes any sense, but hopefully you get the idea. It's got a little bit of realism that alot of people get gross and weird when they're on drugs for a really long time

no yeah i totally get what you mean abt drugs being romanticized and having emo pretty boys doing that shit bc 'omg im so edgy and its how i *~cope~*' all that bullshit esp since i live in a town thats getting shittier where u cant even go to walmart to get some damn milk without seeing a drug head or ppl u grew up with getting into it and looking fukkin horrible losing their kids n shit when they're in their early 20s like its fukkin gross and hard to watch and yeah i crack jokes abt Wig n Zortzi cause they're dumb as hell and just my own made up characters but ill be damned if i make them look like angsty little pretty boys doing hard drugs for the edge factor with 0 repercussions hell thats why i made Ponti be at his lowest point in his life and literally die for a short time when he was on drugs out of allll the shit he did he considers that his lowest point so yeah 👍 even then they're a lot grosser looking in my head than what i draw them as lmfao😭

[mysticalspiders]

A (hopefully) comprehensive list of Perc’ahlia moments from TLOVM Episodes 10 - 12

Well this is going to be a long post

I genuinely didn’t expect to get as many moments as we did! For this set more than the others I feel I probably missed something so feel free to comment any moments I might have missed and I will add them!

Episode 10

- Vex’s face looks the most gentle of Vox Machina

- Vex: “Um. Mind telling us who the hell this is?”

Percy: “Docter Anna Ripley”

- This isn’t really a moment but I just love vex’s face here

- Again a soft Vex face

- One of my favorite small moments was this close up on Vex as Pike, Scanlan, and Keyleth pull Percy away to talk about the smoke

- Vex: “I don’t trust her”

Vex and Percy seem to be the two that trust Ripley the least. Vex seems to be trusting Percy’s instincts to not trust Ripley

- The parallels of Vax and Cassandra being possessed by the Briarwoods while Vex and Percy are trapped in the acid trap, unable to save them. Particularly the moment when Vex yells “brother” and the camera pans over the Percy pleading with Cassandra. They both plead with their siblings in similar ways as well.

- Ripely: “Anyone have a plan?”

Pike: “Vex?”

Vex: “Why are you looking at me? Percy, a little help?”

This is another small moment but I love the way she turns to Percy in a moment of crisis. Again, they both consider each other the smart ones of the group.

- Vex realizes somethings wrong with Percy

Vex: “Right well, try to stop the acid.”

- Vex: “Percy, snap the fuck out of it!” (Vex grabs Percy’s shirt and slaps him across the face)

Vex: “We came here risking our lives for you.” (Vex leans in closer)

Vex: “Be here for us.”

Percy: “What’s the point? She’s gone. Again.”

Vex cradles Percy’s head with her hand and turns his face to look at her. (His face here is so good)

Vex: “Maybe. But the people in this room. We’re not.”

Vex: “We will never abandon you.

Vex: “You want your sister back. And I want my brother back.” (glances away and clenches her face in pain for a moment)

Vex: “But if we’re to have a chance of saving them, you have to save us first.”

Percy leans into Vex’s hand for a moment

Percy breaks out of it and starts organizing and leading.

Vex: “Good to have you back, Percival”

Both Vex and Percy smile here and its so cute

- Percy and Vex leading the way

Episode 11

- The parallel of Percy fighting Cassandra while Vex fights Vax both under the briarwoods control

- While everyone else is watching Vax try to open the door Vex is staring at Percy

Episode 12

- Cassandra: “The smoke. It’s getting worse.”

Vex: “Its some sort of curse”

Scanlan: “Pike felt something clouding his soul. I thought she meant he was just depressed.”

Vex: “Something has possession of you.”

Vex’s worried, concerned soft face

Orthax: “And we are better for it.”

Vex: “We? What?” (I really love that Vex is the first to put the pieces together)

Vex: “Percy!” (she yells)

Keyleth: “Thats not Percy. Thats a demon. Look.”

Vex: “Holy shit. How?” (Vex’s face here)

Keyleth: “If it gets what it wants, I don’t think much of Percy will be left.”

(Vex learning that Percy could be killed makes a choice)

Vax: “Vex’ahlia what are you doing?”

Vex slowly walks in front of Percy/Orthax

I absolutely love the reflection of Vex in the mask’s eyes

Vex’s face here is only concerned with little fear for herself

Orthax: “Step aside” (Percy raises the List)

Vex: “You’re going to shoot me too?”

Percy/Orthax: “If we must.”

Vex: “I know you’re in there.”

Vex: “Darling, take off the mask.”

Vex reaches up and cups Percy’s face (similar to in episode 10 though on the opposite side) and removes his mask, dropping it beside them. 

I really love how quiet and intimate Vex’s voice is in this moment. It’s nearly a whisper

Percy starts to cry

Vex reaches up and touches the List and Percy’s hand holding it, stilling his shaking.

Vex: “It’s all right. You can put it down.” (Vex’s hand jerks away from a moment)

Percy: “It. It won’t let me.”

Percy nearly pulls the trigger on Vex while her hand is still on his and the gun

Percy breaks away from Vex, her hand running across the barrel of the List, and points his gun toward himself to keep himself from killing her

Vex: “Don’t do it!”

I feel like this moment stands on its own.

Everyone please go listen to Say It To Me Now by Glen Hansard from Vex’s first playlist. 

A song for Percy. Vex can see there’s something terrible happening inside of him, but he won’t share it.

This song was good for Vex and Percy during this arc during the campaign. But it is perfect after this moment. 

I feel like Say It To Me Now represented what Vex wanted to do and say during the Briarwoods arc in Campaign one. And now she has the opportunity to do it. 

- Orthax goes after Vex first, grabs her by the neck, and holds her

- Orthax: “Shall I take over?”

Percy: “No, no”

Orthax: “I’m afraid I must.”

Vex: “Percy!”

- Vex’s face as Percy battles Orthax

- Vax: “So we just wait for him to kills us?”

Vex: “He has to reload eventually. Right?”

- Vex: “Listen to us! You must fight this!”

Orthax: “Fight. Yes.”

- Vex: “Fight it!”

Percy’s blinks back

Percy: “Vex?”

Percy: “Wait. No!”

- Vex: “You’re not under a charm, damn it. Do something!”

Cassandra: “Against a demon? What?”

Vex: “You’re his sister. Reach him!”

This is such a good moment. Vex knowing who will reach Percy in that moment. Vex knowing what would reach her in a similar situation. 

- Vex’s name is one of the names that appears on the barrel

- During the climactic moment of the battle Vex and Cassandra, the people closest to Percy are standing next to each other with identical expressions

- Vex immediately goes to Percy’s side and helps Cassandra help him up

(this small moment is one of my favorites)

Vex: “So, that was the most fucked-up thing I’ve ever seen.”

Vex: “and I hang out with Scanlan.”

Vex making a joke to lighten the mood (?) and make everything less awkward. 

Percy and Vex walking out of the chamber close to each other

- Percy and Vex standing next to each other as Keyleth heals the Sun Tree 

- Vex’s soft look at Percy as he sees the Sun Tree return to its full prominence

- Vex and Percy standing back for a moment as the rest of Vox Machina walks into the sun tree

-Vex giving Percy a punch on the arm before they walk into the Sun Tree! They both look so playful here!

- Vex laughs playfully as she runs away and Percy smiles after her

- Percy and Vex standing next to each other as Jarett invites them to the cloud top

- Percy turning toward Vex with a concerned face as the dragon ringing goes off in her head

And I guess those are all the moments for season 1! I’ve really loved making these posts! They’ve been very nostalgic for me. Perc’ahlia was one of my first ships (I was thirteen when I first started watching CR in 2016) and definitely the first ship I ever posted about. We got so many more moments this season than I was expecting going in so this project turned out a lot larger than I expected! Thank you to anyone who has read through and enjoyed them!

(seriously if you didn’t before go listen to Say It To Me Now)

[egcdeath]

checkmate

summary: you’ve always refused to lose, and love was no exception. (gone girl-ish au)

pairing(s): ransom drysdale x dark!reader, a special mystery guest ;) 

word count: 3.7k

warnings: 18+ because of heavy themes! faked death, framing of crimes, manipulation, alluding to sex, alluding to cheating, terrible relationship dynamic, very loose usage of the word crazy/psychotic, implied mention of self harm, brief choking & slapping (in a non sexual way lol), pregnancy trapping (idk if thats the right term), the reader is a very bad human being, overuse of italics  *please let me know if i’m missing any warnings!

author’s note: this is my 2nd submission for @stargazingfangirl18’s 5k soft dark challenge, i decided to make the reader dark >:) but ransom is also not a good person. I used these prompts: “I’ve waited a long time for this, sweetheart.” & The town golden *girl isn’t as sweet as everyone thinks.

this is definitely the most unhinged thing i’ve ever written, but blame @literate-lamb for making me write this because when i pitched this to her and said that i’d probably never write it, she enabled me. 

okay that's enough from me. join my taglist if you want :D

“I know women whose entire personas are woven from a benign mediocrity. Their lives are a list of shortcomings: the unappreciative boyfriend, the extra ten pounds, the dismissive boss, the conniving sister, the straying husband. I've always hovered above their stories, nodding in sympathy and thinking how foolish they are, these women, to let these things happen, how undisciplined. And now to be one of them! One of the women with the endless stories that make people nod sympathetically and think: Poor dumb bitch.” Gillian Flynn, Gone Girl

Your whole life, you’d considered yourself a competitive person. Constantly overcompensating for one thing or another, whether it was the chronic desire to achieve perfection that had been installed in you since you were a little girl, or your persistent internalized sense of inadequacy. You realized early on that it was much better for you to win than for you to lose, no matter the physical, emotional, or mental cost of the prize of perfection.

For the most part, this mindset worked out for you. You graduated as Valedictorian from your high school, neared the top of your graduating class at Harvard. God knew you earned it, all those tears you shed into overpriced textbooks, all the popping of unprescribed Adderall, and robbing yourself of the parties and social events that the rest of your peers gladly indulged in. 

You were just different, which was why you gained a job nearly immediately after your exit from school, quickly climbing to the top at the Blood Like Wine publishing company after only a few years of being there. 

And one night, at the party celebrating the release of A Thousand Knives when you laid your eyes on Hugh Ransom Drysdale, the grandson of your boss, you knew that you needed to have him. Rich, hot, a bit of an asshole. You deserved to finally complete your image, and that socialite flavored eye candy seemed to fit the part perfectly. Luckily for you, he was desperate. It only took a few tugs on your dress’ V-line, and a number of knowing smirks to find yourself being finger-banged in his family manor’s bathroom.

From there, you wormed your way into his life. Leaving belongings at his place as an excuse to come back, and offering booty calls in the middle of the night. Ransom must’ve been much more desperate than you originally thought, as it really only seemed to take one night of stroking his hair while he vented about his family to make him want to be with you. Men with mommy issues were always so easy. 

Except, he wasn’t that easy. The longer you got to know Ransom, the more fucked up you realized he really was. He had no boundaries at all, became jealous and enraged at the drop of a pin, and occasionally told you things that made the hairs on your arms rise. 

This of course all came to a head after the night of Harlan’s 85th birthday party. When the news broke of his tragic death, you’d immediately known it was the works of your Hugh. If your intuition wasn’t enough, his confession in the shower, where he’d demanded you take off your clothes to display that you were without a bug, certainly was. 

You were completely devastated. The man that you’d invested so much into for years had thrown both his and your reputations down the drain in just a matter of hours. Of course, you felt bad for Harlan too. He was a good guy (when he wasn’t instigating a family fight).

Still, you showed up during the funeral in your best mourning clothes and dawning your biggest crocodile tears. You rubbed Linda’s back while she mourned the loss of her father, and the new truth about her husband. You played dumb when interrogated by some Southern private investigator, even giving Ransom an airtight alibi. You testified on his behalf in court with enough conviction to grant you an Emmy. 

You’d gotten so far, devoted so much energy into him, that you simply refused to lose now. 

To your friends, you’d seemed to lead a near perfect life. Dream job, dreamy boyfriend, dream bank account, but it wasn’t enough. You wanted more, you just didn’t know what. 

It dawned on you while sipping mimosas at the country club, Ransom playing tennis with his friends just a few yards away from you while Danielle showed off her brand new engagement ring, a .59 Carat Asscher Diamond, that if you heard her speak of again, would probably make you lose your shit.

You zoned out as she droned on and on about the shape, and how Matt proposed to her in their own private room in one of the most exclusive Parisian restaurants, instead focusing on how you could find yourself in the same position as that airhead next to you. In all honesty, you couldn’t stand the idea that someone was doing better than you, let alone someone in your own social circle. Dani got all the bragging rights of being engaged to the heir of some tech giant, being the first in your friend group to get eloped, and worst of all, Matt wasn’t even making her sign a prenup. 

You blankly watched Ransom from afar, taking occasional sips from your sweet drink, while you thought of how you deserved all of that and more, and you were going to get it one way or another. 

——

It didn’t take much to come up with something, your first and most obvious plan being to simply ask Ransom when he was going to propose to you. Of course, this wasn’t the first time you’d tried to approach him about this subject, you just wondered if maybe this time things would be different.

Panting heavily after a rather rough night in bed, you rolled off of your boyfriend’s chest and gave him a messy, yet sincere kiss. You knew your man well, and if there was any time to pop the question, it was in his post-nut haze.

“Baby,” you said breathily, “I wanna ask you something.”

“Shoot,” he responded casually, glancing over at you. 

“When’re you gonna propose to me?” you hummed.

Ransom groaned and shook his head, rolling his eyes, “this is about Matt and Dani, huh?” he tutted, then extended a hand out to your warm cheeks so he could gently caress one with his thumb. “Thought we agreed marriage is just a piece of paper and it’s stupid.”

You huffed in response.

Of fucking course.

“I never said that,” you muttered, setting a hand on his broad chest. “Besides, it’ll be good if you get pissed and decide to like, kill your dad or something. Y’know, spouses don’t have to testify against each other in court.”

Ransom chuckled as if this whole thing was funny, like your feelings were some kind of sick joke to him. “You know my lawyers, babe. They could prove that bees don’t make honey. That bears don’t shit in the forest. I appreciate your attempt, though. This has been some really nice pillow talk.” 

“Whatever,” you muttered, pinching his nipple in retaliation before turning your back to him and yanking the blanket onto your side. 

You weren’t sure why you were so surprised that he was being stubborn, most of the time you felt like you were pulling teeth from the man. But that’s why you had a backup plan! You always had a backup plan. That’s what separated you from your boyfriend. Where Ransom was extemporized and impulsive, you were calculating and prudent. 

Although you devised your plan that very afternoon while watching your partner backhand small green balls, you were going to need some time to get everything in order, to prove Murphy and his stupid law wrong in making sure that everything that could go wrong wouldn’t. 

After all, love was a game. And you sure as hell weren’t losing to Hugh Drysdale. 

——

You sacrificed too much to have your plans ruined by some trust fund baby with impulsivity issues. You deserved your dream marriage, the stability you wished you had as a child. You wanted the white picket fence, and everything that came along with it. Your desire to be the best, to be perfect was what drove you to poke holes in every condom in the box, what led you to draw liters of your own blood in hopes of staging a fake crime scene, to buy a cheap getaway car and burner phone off of Craigslist, and reach out to a high school boyfriend who you knew was in a position as desperate as you. 

You planted seeds of doubt in your friends throughout the following weeks, feeding them lies about Ransom’s behavior, how you were afraid of telling him that you did in fact see two faint red lines on that damn plastic stick– only half of the statement truly being false–, telling them that he was behaving erratically lately.

It all was going without a hitch. Ransom didn’t seem to notice anything was off, despite your frequent visits to the bathroom and newfound affinity for true crime documentaries. 

You almost felt guilty, knowing the world of pain you were about to throw the man into. Granted, he deserved the pain. You were in a relationship with a genuinely terrible person, and that person had made a conscious effort not to commit to you. You tried to make this easy for him, give him a chance to say a few words to you and slide a ring on your finger, but no, he always seemed to take the hard route.

You slept like a baby the night before you were setting your plan in action. You made sure to uphold the facade of everything being fine, making Ransom a nice breakfast before sending him halfway across town to the hardware store with an oddly incriminating list.

Once he was out of the house, you hurried off to the fridge in the garage where you’d been keeping a small stash of your own blood. It wasn’t pretty, but it had to be done. You poured the blood throughout the kitchen, splattering bits of it on the counters and cupboards. You poorly cleaned the mess, just as he would.

You put your next move in motion, falsifying a home invasion. You tossed over a table and some chairs, throwing books and photos onto the floor, but left some aspects slightly untouched, like an upright picture frame to give yet another hint that things were not exactly what they appeared. 

You left a tiny blue post-it note on the nightstand of Ransom’s side of the bed, a quick and simple doodle of a ring along with the first initial of your name inked onto the tiny piece of paper. 

With that, you were off. Technically missing, soon-to-be presumed dead.

----

 The days following your disappearance had gone even better than you’d initially planned. Local news coverage had been all over you, search and rescue groups were assiduously looking for you, your parents had opened a tip line, and begged for you to get home safe on news segments. But the best part of it all was that Ransom had been briefly found himself in police custody, only to be released shortly thereafter. His past of an accused murder quickly made your disappearance even more of a national story, and you watched the whole thing unravel from the safety and comfort of your high school boyfriend, Andy Barber’s Newton home. 

Of course, you fed him the same lies you’d given to your friends, and seeing the rather lonely position he was in, he gladly let you stay with him. You were absolutely having a hay-day with it all, dedicating hours of your day to watching Ransom slowly unravel. Maybe it was a bit sadistic of you to enjoy torturing your partner so much, but he needed to learn his lesson. You deserved better. You needed Ransom to rise up to your level, allowing you to finally complete your image. To let you two appear to be the perfect couple. Really, this was all on him.

Andy, for the most part, had been a good host. He was gone for the majority of the day, dedicating himself to his work while you lounged around on his dangerously cozy couch. Around two weeks into your stay, you were sharing a box of pizza in the living room with your old lover when something interesting on the television caught your eye.

Ransom, broadcasted on CBS, being interviewed on your disappearance. 

You watched with wide eyes as Ransom begged for your return on national television. It was one thing seeing your mother plead for you to come back, the same woman who had installed such toxic behavior in you sob for your return, but Ransom. You’d never loved him more than in that moment.

“Hugh, if you could tell Y/N one thing, what would it be?” the interviewer asked.

Ransom turned, looking straight at the camera, directly into your soul, “Y/N, I love you so much. More than you’ll ever know. I need you to come back safely, to see you, to hold you again. I’d give anything in the world for that right now,” he looked down, a tear falling down his cheek. “I can’t live without you in my life, I-”

His sentence was cut off by Andy grabbing the remote, and turning off the TV. You turned your head and frowned deeply at him.

“Why’d you do that?” you asked with a bit of a pout.

“I just couldn’t stand listening to him talk about you like he hasn’t treated you like shit for the past few years. C’mon, let’s get ready for bed.”

Your blood boiled. Andy was once a means to an end, but now he was interfering. He was clearly much too selfish to see that you and Ransom were quite obviously soulmates. A match made in hell. 

You followed him to bed regardless, curling up on what had been your side of the bed for the past few days, and staring at the wall until Andy’s breaths moved from a soft and rhythmic pattern to loud snores. God, those snores were obnoxious. 

You slipped out of bed and to his dresser, grabbing two soft ties from the drawer, and daintily tying his wrists to each side of the bedpost.

“What‘re you doing?” he mumbled, instinctively yanking both of his wrists as he awoke.

“I’m going back home,” you whispered.

“You can’t be serious,” Andy huffed, tugging on the restraint attached to the headboard.

You shook your head, “I am.”

“I should’ve known. Why would you do something like this? Do you know how much trouble you’ll be in with the law?”

“Do you know how much trouble you’ll be in when the world finds out that you kidnapped me?” you retorted.

This threat seemed to wake him up right away, “what about this was kidnapping? I gave you a nice home, fed you, I didn’t even make a pass at you. I didn’t do shit to you,” he hissed. “You think I can’t prove that? I’m a lawyer, for god's sake!”

You nearly laughed, “Okay, Andy,” you paused for a moment, “As a lawyer, who do you think everyone’ll believe? Someone who the world was on a wild goose chase for in the last two weeks? Or the man with a family history of violence? Must I remind you that your father and your son have killed people?”

Andy shook his head, face pinched in sorrow at the mention of his deceased son, clearly a low blow. “You’re insane,” he muttered.

“Swear to god that you won’t tell a soul what happened here,” you leaned over him, getting right in his face. “Or I promise, Andrew Barber, I will ruin you. You’ll spend the rest of your life behind bars, or disbarred, or whatever the hell I decide to do with you. So keep your goddamn lips shut.” 

You pulled away and he solemnly nodded, not bothering to put up a fight. You loosened the fabric around his left wrist and walked out of the room. You picked up the keys to Andy’s Audi on your way out, checking the time as you adjusted the driver's seat. 

9:45 PM. Fatherhood really changed the man.

You pushed that thought aside and began your drive home, which turned out to be a surprisingly short trip. When you pulled up in front of your home, you were met with a slew of reporters outside of the house, along with a police car that seemed to be permanently camped there.

As you slowly got out of the car, a gasp, followed by a loud silence fell across the crowd. You limped for dramatic effect up the driveway as cameras followed you, and glanced back at them pathetically. From your peripheral view, you noticed the officers get out of their vehicle.

You finally got to your door, ringing the doorbell and waiting. You blinked harshly a few times, conjuring up the tears you needed to really make a spectacle of the event. After a few minutes, Ransom opened the door, eyes widening as he looked at you. He stepped out, and you wrapped him in as big of a hug as you could manage, genuinely missing his embrace. It was possible that you even let out a few real tears in the moment.

Your emotional embrace was interrupted by the man you recognized as Lieutenant Elliott, the same officer who’d been assigned to Harlan’s case. 

“Ma’am,” he began, only to be shut down by you. 

“Please, just let me be with my boyfriend,” you pleaded, crocodile tears streaming down your face as you spoke with the officer. You still needed time to get your story straight.

“Just give us the night, Lieutenant. We’ll come in first thing tomorrow morning,” Ransom added, furrowing his brows at the officer that he’d come into contact with far too many times. 

He looked to his partner, who shrugged, then to you, “enjoy your night.”

Cameras flashed around you as civilians, journalists, and newscasters alike attempted to catch your attention. You grabbed Ransom’s hand and dramatically pulled him inside, insincerely attempting to hide your face by ducking and covering half of your face with your arm. 

As soon as you were in the privacy of your own home, Ransom threw you against a wall. 

“Why. The fuck. Would you pull a stunt like that,” he hissed through gritted teeth, eyes wild, and a hand around your throat. 

You whimpered as he tightened his grip, rage clearly flowing through his system uncontrollably.

“Do you know what you did to me? You almost had me thrown in fucking jail. Do you understand that?”

You nodded weakly, “Ran,” you whispered, “the baby,” you glanced down at your stomach.

He paused, dropping his grip on your neck and staring at you in awe, “no…” 

You nodded again. 

“How…? You told me you were on the pill… You- you made me use protection…”

“Surprise?” you said weakly. 

“You’re a psychotic bitch.”

“I’m your psychotic bitch. And no child of mine will be born out of wedlock,” you taunted. 

“That’s what this is about?” Ransom laughed manically. “You did this all because I won’t fucking marry you?”

You didn’t even have to respond.

“I should send you to the loony bin right fucking now.”

“What happened to all those things you said to me on TV?”

“You’re fucking delusional. I can’t do this.”

“Yes, you can. And you will. I’ve had to put up with you and your stupid little antics for way too long. How do you think I felt when you killed your own grandfather?”

Ransom scoffed, throwing his hands up in exasperation, “you are so fucked up.”

“I’m the fucked up one? You killed your own blood in cold blood! You’re unhinged!” 

“You faked your own death for attention, and got pregnant while doing it! Is that baby even mine?”

“The fuck are you trying to say, Hugh?”

“I asked if it’s even mine.”

“Really. You’re accusing me of cheating on you. That’s rich considering Mia, Layla, and whoever the fuck else. You’re being ridiculous.”

“I’m being ridiculous? You couldn’t have a normal adult conversation with me!”

“Are you kidding me? I asked you time after time to marry me and it was always some bullshit excuse!” you wagged a finger in his face as you spoke. “Oh, commitment scares me, oh, marriage is just a piece of paper, oh-“ you mocked his voice in a deeper tone before you were cut off by the sting of his hand against your cheek.

“Can you shut the hell up?” he growled at you as you held your own cheek, before you reached out and slapped him back, “I can’t believe that I’m stuck with such a deranged bitch for the rest of my life.”

“Maybe work on your vows a little, dear. I don’t think that those words are as charming to me as they’d be to the rest of our family and friends.”

“You can’t be serious,” he groaned.

“But I am,” you hummed, rubbing your cheek softly once again. “Look at how fast your life fell apart without me here. How quickly the public turned on you. Imagine how upset they’d be if you left me. I love you, Ran. I really do. You and I are perfect for each other, can’t you see that now?”

Ransom took a step away from you, pacing slowly in front of you. He ran a stressed hand through his hair, and took a long and drawn out breath, clearly at a loss for words.

“So when should we have the wedding? I’ve always wanted a Spring wedding, and I know it’s a little short notice, but I don’t want to be showing too much in my wedding dress,” you grabbed Ransom’s bicep gently, as if you were just having a regular old day with him, as if you hadn’t been choked and slapped moments ago. “But we can make it work. We always make it work, right?”

Your now fiancé stared vacantly at the wall ahead of him, giving you a slow, empty nod of agreement. 

“It’s settled then,” you smirked. “I’ll start looking at venues. You find me a nice ring, okay Honey? One that puts all those other bitches’ rings to shame,” you sighed pleasantly to yourself, “I’ve waited a long time for this, sweetheart.”

You pressed a soft kiss to his cheek before hurrying up the stairs and into your bedroom. You heard a distant shriek of  “fuck,” from Ransom, but you truly could not care less. 

You hopped into bed, grabbing your laptop from its charger and promptly opening it. You couldn’t help but to smile at your own reflection on the empty black screen. This wasn’t how you imagined your engagement, but you did the impossible. You tied yourself down to Hugh Ransom Drysdale, he went down kicking in screaming, and you were likely in for a lifetime of cheating and resentment, but you did it nonetheless. 

You finally won.  

[iampikachuhearmeroar]

another unsolicited relationship advice post:

okay. i know that there’s probably thousands of relationship advice posts on here. but anyway. to my younger followers, if i have any:

if anyone that you’ve just met declares that you’re “girlfriend material” or “boyfriend material” and that you must simply meet their parents NOW! or some other ridiculously short interval (like a week say), instead of, idek, like a month or two into your relationship, know that that is a possible red flag for trying to push the relationship too fast.

i say this as again, bc on some buzzfeed fb post about supposed “nice guys” i commented about my high school stalker/creeper from 2012/2013. who, when i first met him in 2012 at public school, he insisted that after two days of knowing him that i simply “have to meet my (his) mum and my sisters right now! bc you’re girlfriend material and i LOVE you!”

like woah! dude! i’ve known you for a grand total of two fucking days! i absolutely don’t have to meet your family RIGHT NOW (although if i’d ever been stupid enough to actually date my stalker back then, i would’ve had to meet his mum or one of his 4 sisters/all of them at once; at some point anyway…. bc they would’ve had to drive us to dates etc bc neither of us had our Ps (provisional drivers licence here in aus) yet at the time)). because i’m pretty sure the normal window is about 1-2 months? maybe 3-4 months? why the fuck are you so obsessed with the term “girlfriend material”??? what the actual FUCK does that EVEN mean?? get away from me. bc this isn’t love. it’s something else, that i can’t put my finger on.

compare this to clear braces boy from catholic school, who literally took almost 3 years to ask me out; and to even ask for my number. when he’d finally asked for my number right before one set of the winter holidays at the end of term 2/before the start of term 3 in 2010, i was so oblivious as to why he wanted my number…. when he’d never wanted it/asked for it before.

so when he called me, while i was still on the bus home from school, i was panicking like “OH FUCK THATS WHY HE WANTED MY NUMBER!!! HE WANTS TO ASK ME OUT!!!!! FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK!!!!!! WHY THE FUCK AM I SO SLOW AND FUCKING DUMB???!!!” he never pressured me to meet his parents (although at 14/15 it was very obvious that that was a standard practice since we couldn’t drive ourselves anywhere lmao). we were basically on equal footing, except for my slowness with cottoning onto him asking me out and why he asked for my number lol.

CBB had never pressured and harassed me about my virginity. he had NEVER harassed me with porn, most especially while at school, unlike mr creeper who LOVED pulling out his porn filled phone and school laptop to show me his overly violent, degrading and aggressive porn. CBB’s flirting method was showing me norwegian black metal bands (or normal metal bands like parkway drive) and making me watch repeats of family guy on his ipod at lunch bc he loved family guy. he never brought up the term “girlfriend material” ever. he treated me like an actual person. and not his own personal fuck doll, that had holes that were conveniently for sticking his useless and clueless ass teenage dick in, again unlike creeper who was hellbent on wanting to act out his favourite violent etc porn on me to let him “take your virginity in a wonderful weekend of sex down the coast and you have to do all things that I LIKE BC THAT’S THAT AND I SAID SO!!!” 🤮🤮. although if i had progressed further than those few weeks with cbb, and my constant *karen from mean girls voice* *fake cough, fake cough* i’m sick *regina george voice* boo, you whore!” act every time i didn’t turn up on date that he’d asked me on…. maybe he could’ve treated me like that. but i’ll never know lol.

so cbb was unlike mr stalker; who was obsessed with my supposed “girlfriend material” status. mr stalker was obsessed with the fact that i had the ability and audacity to basically tell him “no”, by coyly letting him down with “my dad says i can’t date bc it distracts me from school and getting good marks 🙄😑” (which probably wasn’t true, looking back lmao)….. where he then whined PUBLICLY on facebook about it, with a status like “today sucks”… and then naming and shaming me in the comments when someone asked in the post comments what was wrong like: “*insert my name here* said no! she’s being a bitch!”. that at the time, made me roll my eyes and still does today when i think about it. because bro. i had literally only known you for two fucking days at that point. of course i’m going to say no. what the hell??? two days is nowhere near enough time to know a person well enough (although the conversation we had together on misguided trip to his house one day while we were wagging (skipping class/playing hooky for americans) aboriginal studies told me MORE THAN ENOUGH about his piece of shitness tbh) to “date” them imo.

because to me, the title “girlfriend material” doesn’t mean any fucking thing. but when it comes from a creep like mr stalker; it means “you’ll be my girlfriend forever and have my kids bc you’re such a nice girl and you’ll fix me bc that’s what nice girls like you do; bc you’re SO LOYAL AND NICE!” which i also saw as a MASSIVE RED FLAG back then, because we were literally 16yo kids (he literally told me this when we were on his bed in his bedroom in the aforementioned misguided trip to his house). and i also saw it as a red flag bc…. just because i’m “loyal” and “nice” doesn’t mean that i’ll spend LITERAL Y E A R S trying to “fix you” while you fuck around and never bother to change your behaviour all bc you think it’s “girly” to do just that. it definitely DOES NOT MEAN that i’ll have KIDS with you, what the actual fuck. like i’m a hopeless romantic, to an extent, mr creeper. but not to the extent where i’ll give myself up to someone like you, all because i’m “nice and caring” and it’s apparently what “nice girls do!!!” or whatever else fucked up guilt trip views you’ve got on why girls/women supposedly have to waste their time with and on you.

and also, on another front. CBB never FOLLOWED me home (considering he lived in a suburb 20mins away from mine lmao and we both lived at least 15mins away from the catholic school we attended) despite me telling him REPEATEDLY to “fuck off and walk home your way”….. whereas unfortunately, mr creeper lived just over the other side of my suburb.

so one day mr creeper decided to stalk me home (despite me saying the above “fuck off and walk home your way” comment constantly to him in the 10min walk home). and then when we got to my street and in front of my house he decided to joke that “oh now i know where your house and bedroom are, i’ll come to hide under your bed naked one day!!!! and when you get home (bc i’ll obvs do it when you’re out doing something), you’ll just have to FUCK ME because you’ll be so surprised that im there and ready to fuck you!” as if i’d be so overcome with supposed lust & love for him, after knowing that he’d broken into my room against my will and messed with my shit….. all for some cutesy love prank…. like in, idk, love actually (???) or himym (specifically the “naked man!” episode from season 4) or some other shitty romcom. bc no. you’re overstepping SO MANY fucking boundaries that i’d literally call the police on your stupid fucking stalker ass. what the actual fuck.

finally, cbb never forced me to try to kiss him, unlike mr stalker…. who whenever he got the chance, he’d grab my head and force me to kiss him…. and then gave me back the utterly disgusting & controlling GALL to tell me that i was “kissing wrong” and whinge/bitch that i “wasn’t into it”. and then he’d force me to kiss him again with a “im so sorry does this fix it 🥰🥺???” like NO???!!! forcefully kissing me DOES NOT FUCKING FIX ANYTHING YOU STUPID CUNT! please just get the FUCK away from me. like if you force me into anything, of course i’m not going to enthusiastically enjoy it??? and moreover, don’t you think it’s YOU who is “kissing wrong” (whatever the FUCK that bullshit actually means) and not me???? why do you think GRABBING MY HEAD and FORCING me to kiss you is appropriate in ANY of these situations????

just. to end this. to anyone and everyone, regardless of their gender/sexuality/age etc. NEVER trust anyone who uses the term “girlfriend material”/“boyfriend material”, to describe you, most especially when you’ve JUST MET them.

they’re using it as a means to control you and possibly trap you into an unhealthy (or potentially abusive) relationship like i would’ve had with my stalker/creeper. but most especially, this goes out to my younger followers, if i have any. be aware of this. watch out for the small red flags and run at the earliest time.

[nami-writes]

Bittersweet Reunion - Watch Dogs: Legion [WIP]

(can you tell i had no clue what to name this)

so i wrote this after i played wdl and finished the finding bagley mission bc i loved that there was a canon mlm pairing and i thought the whole meeting bradley thing was Incredibly unsatisfying so i did this and originally i was gonna have bagley and arthur get back together but then it started writing itself and bagley wouldnt date arthur bc that’d go against his morals and i was like shit thats not what i planned but also i realized it was in character so this is that disaster lmao

“I’m ready for the rest of my life, Arthur. And I want you to be a part of it.”

The sixth audio file ended with what sounded like a kiss, and Lindsey had to pause to take it in. Bagley had really had a life— a lover. A lover he had to leave behind.

“Arthur… I should remember more about him. But I don’t.”

It sounded so rushed, so nonchalant, that Lindsey knew better than to believe his tone and even Bagley himself knew it. Because, truth was, he was processing the same things Lindsey was and more. He really was damned to eternity, being a human turned AI and all, because now he was experiencing quite a lot of thoughts and certainly not enjoying it. Where was Arthur now? Did he still remember him? Did he miss him? Why was Bagley even wondering if his not-boyfriend still missed him?

Some part of his human half wondered if it’s possible to find Arthur again, meet the person his past self was so deeply in love with that now he found himself longing for him too.

“Sir—”

“Don’t touch me!”

Bagley was pulled out of the thoughts growing less and less artificial by the second as the next audio file began, already far more emotionally charged than the ones prior.

“These people are here to help you, Bags—”

“Don’t call me that!”

He’s snappish and frustrated and angry and current Bagley could almost feel it too. There’s more struggling as Bagley— past Bagley— seemed to be fighting someone off.

“She did this! Someone stop her!”

‘She’ must’ve been Skye Larsen, who else could it have been? He wanted to hope Natalie would listen— just listen, goddammit, this was all Skye’s fault, don’t you know what she’s done?— but he knew it was no use. They didn’t know. Natalie didn’t know. Not a fucking soul knew what she did to him.

“Don’t hurt him! He’s not usually like this!”

“Get out of my head! Get o—”

His voice died out as more noise played, then an unfamiliar voice called for an ambulance.

“Bags. Bagley. Bra—”

And it ended there.

“I’m assuming that ‘she’ was Skye Larsen,” he said to Lindsey. “Seems like the usual suspect where brain fuckery is concerned.” As controlled as he usually was, not even he could keep the slightest bit of anger out of his voice by the end of his sentence.

The next audio file began with a man explaining that Bagley had early on-set dementia, which intrigued him because it didn’t explain when exactly Skye got her hands on him. Then the sister from prior audio files spoke with that same strangely familiar voice, just as demanding as before. “You listen to me. I don’t care what it takes. No brother of mine is going to waste away in some hospital.”

Something was wrong. There was a piece missing somewhere between those memories and he had an idea of where it could be found.

Skygarden.

“Why do I have a feeling we’re not up here to reminisce?” The audio began as Lindsey snapped the last photo.

“Right. I’ve been thinking a lot about your epilepsy.” The sister. Of course. He still couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but she sounded awfully familiar, but not in a good way. In a this-person-has-the-same-name-as-my-primary-school-bully way.

“That’s nice. My doctors stopped thinking about it years ago. I had to give up so much because of it. Rowing, my mates, my…” A sigh followed after he trailed off and he had a feeling that that sigh replaced the word ‘boyfriend.’

“I’m sorry, Bradley.” Bradley. That name sounded familiar. Come to think of it, that must’ve been what Natalie called him in the seventh audio file just before it cut off. He supposed it sounded familiar because, well, it is— was— his name, but there was something more to it. He just couldn’t figure out what. He ran a quick search for Bradleys in London, but of course that left him with thousands of Bradleys and not a single clue as to how to filter out the useless ones.

“Wow. Look at you using my real name for once. I must be truly fucked.” Fucked was an understatement. How did he go from a human to nothing more than an AI? It wasn’t that he was unhappy as an AI, especially considering he worked for DedSec and they were wonderful, they really were, but to think he was once human…

“What if I told you I had something that could work?”

Something deep inside of him that vaguely resembled a computerized heart dropped at those words. He had a bad, bad feeling about this.

“Ha. Never knew you were funny.”

But Skye Larsen created him, didn’t she?

“I’m not. It’s a tech we’re developing. It’s early stages, but… have you ever heard of neural mapping?”

“No.” No, it couldn’t be.

“Here. Let’s go to my lab. I’ll show you.”

Who was this sister?

“Lead the way, Skye.”

And the audio ended.

“I was Skye Larsen’s brother.” It was strange to say out loud. “I’m Bradley. Bradley Larsen.” That was why she sounded so familiar. That was why Skye Larsen was his creator. Fuck. “Bradley Larsen…” He returned to his search for Bradleys and narrowed it down to one Bradley Larsen, brother of Skye Larsen, son of Sinead and Kevin Larsen. “I’ve found a room pre-paid through to April 4, 2040 under the name of Bradley Larsen— paid for by S. Larsen.” Skye.

“So you might still be alive,” Lindsey said. “Where’s the room?”

He checked his databases. “St. Pancras Hotel.”

And when she arrived, it was no less than what he expected, if less than what he wanted.

He left not quite satisfied.

But what else could he do? His father was gone and his mother and sister were dead. He checked his deep profiler and found Natalie through Bradley, but it seemed she was dead as well. And then— Arthur Jenkins, former spouse. 

“I think I’ve found Arthur from the sixth audio file,” he said. “Mind getting him for me?”

“Say the word, Bags,” Lindsey said.

He found his schedule and looked for his soonest outing. “He’ll be at Crosier & Cherry Tree at 8 PM.” There was a tinge of sadness in his voice at the location that they both decided to ignore.

He checked the rest of Arthur’s profile, too curious to resist. His photo was attached. To his surprise, Arthur was a curly-haired ginger. Apparently Bradley had known more people with no souls than just Skye Larsen. Age 29, worked as a bartender at Crosier & Cherry— that was why he’d be there. Associated with Melissa Phillips, friend; Natalie Walker, deceased friend; and Bradley Larsen, former spouse. Metadata… looking through it could’ve broken his heart if he had one.

He had countless searches involving dementia up until he was 28 and had hundreds of recorded visits to St. Pancras Hotel, Bradley’s room. Hundreds of visits that, when he accessed the records, seemed to just… stop. Daily-to-weekly visits simply vanished into none. Numerous phone calls to Skye Larsen that Bagley could only assume were angry and accusational because he was charged for harassment due to a complaint from Skye on the same day he stopped visiting.

He tried. He really tried, and then Skye fucked it all up like she always does.

“Bagley, I’ve found him.” He turned his attention to Lindsey’s Optik and, sure enough, he could see the ginger in the photo through the glass window. “Want me to bring him back to the Hackerspace?”

He considered it, but bringing him back would’ve meant involving the others. This was just a one-time thing. “No, just— could you get him somewhere I could talk privately with him?”

“Sure thing.” He watched as she entered the pub and approached Arthur at the counter.

“‘Ello, mate, what can I get for you?” he asked, uncannily cheery with a smile on his face. Something told Bagley this should’ve made him feel… something, but he felt not even a twinge of recognition from anywhere other than the photo on his digital profile.

“I’m here to talk to you, actually,” Lindsey said.

“Oh?” He raised an eyebrow and took a second to look her over a second time, his customer service smile fading into skepticism. “Do I know you?”

“No, but I know someone you do. Mind if we talk somewhere else?”

He shrugged. “S’pose not. Better get it on with, then, I’ve got to get back to work.”

Shit. Time was running out and they were already heading to a back room and Bagley hadn’t a fucking clue what to say so when he was cast onto the nearest unwatched telly before Lindsey left, all he could think to say was “Hello, Arthur.”

And then there was a silence where Bagley was internally cursing himself for being such a bloody idiot and Arthur looked like either he was about to drop to his knees in awe or he had shit himself. And then he broke the silence.

“Bradley?” His eyes were lit up with hope, hope Bagley knew he’d have to destroy because he wasn’t Bradley, not really. But he’d worry about that later.

“Oh, Gods, that’s going to be my version of Bradley’s stupid nickname, isn’t it? Though, if you ask me, Bagley is a perfectly good name,” he remarked. He had no idea how to properly handle a situation in which he was meeting the lover he had in a past life, so, naturally, he reverted to his usual self. Arthur was in love with him before, he can put up with him again.

Arthur chuckled, cracking a smile. “Now I know you aren’t Bradley. He hated that nickname.” He took another moment to comprehend what just happened. “But, really, how? How are you— what are you? What is” —he gestured vaguely at the TV screen— “this?”

“That’s a funny story, actually, see—”

“Bradley,” Arthur interrupted him, his smile turning solemn. “I’m serious. Last time I saw you, you were in a bloody wheelchair! What happened to you?”

There was another silence where Bagley tried to think of something ‘serious’ to say, but his actual response felt much more natural to him.

“Don’t call me that,” he said, a feigned grumble but unseen smile in his voice, “that’s not my name.”

And at that, not even Arthur could keep a straight face, but his smile didn’t last long. “Bags. Please. I need answers. I was so sure it was that bitch Skye— sorry, I know she’s your sister and all, but— I spent so long searching for ways to help you and trying to get her to fucking stop— you only ended up in the bloody hospital after she got involved and then she wouldn’t let me keep seeing you and I couldn’t—” His voice broke then and he had to pause, clear his throat and collect himself. “I’m sorry, I tried, I didn’t want to stop visiting. I really didn’t. I’m sorry.”

Bagley didn’t know how to tell him it was all in vain; Skye won in the end, she always did, and he didn’t even remember being Bradley or knowing Arthur at all. As far as he remembered, he’d only known Arthur for five minutes.

“Bagley?”

“It doesn’t matter.” There was no use in prolonging it.

“...What?”

“It doesn’t matter,” he repeated. “I’m not Bradley.”

“Are you mad? Of course you’re Bradley.’

“No, I’m not. Bradley is still in St. Pancras. I’m Bagley.”

Arthur gave a confused chuckle and crossed his arms. “What are you talking about?”

“It was Skye,” he finally said. “It’s a long story, really, but in simpler terms, she tried to fix Bradley’s epilepsy through a process called neural mapping. It essentially separated his consciousness from his body, which gave him dementia and took my human body. I’m his consciousness, but I’m not him.”

Arthur didn’t respond. He seemed to still be processing what he’d just heard.

“And I’m sorry to say, but my memory was wiped not long after my creation. I don’t… remember anything about being Bradley.” He paused. Arthur knew what that meant, and he knew that his next sentence was going to confirm it. “I don’t remember anything about you.”

Arthur took far longer to respond than Bagley would’ve liked. “So you’re—” He stopped. “So Bradley’s really gone.”

“Unfortunately so.”

More silence. “Then why are you here?”

That was a good question, actually. Why was he here?

“I suppose I came to say goodbye,” Bagley said. “Give you some closure on Bradley, so you know what happened. I know you two were quite close.”

He scoffed. “Close is an understatement.” His voice softened. “We were going to get married,” he said. “At least, I think we were. If Skye hadn’t gotten involved— if I’d only had the time— I was going to propose. Had a ring in mind and everything. I’m fairly sure Bradley knew, too. I just wanted us to have that one thing before… before it was too late.”

Bagley had to take a second to let it sink in. In a past life, he’d almost gotten married. How much had he missed out on as a human because of Skye? His voice was solemn as he spoke, a first for him. “I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t be.” Arthur offered no elaboration before something else seemed to cloud his mind. Silence seemed to be something both of them were good at. Bagley considered directly asking what was on his mind, but Arthur spoke before he could decide. “Can I ask something of you?”

“Ask away. I’ve only got the rest of my non-life.”

“...Could we try it again?” he asked, hesitation in his words. At Bagley’s confused silence, he uncrossed his arms, a willing show of vulnerability. “I mean, could we try… us, again? I know you don’t remember anything about me or Bradley and you’re not Bradley, I know that, but— maybe something good could come out of it. Maybe— maybe we could still have something.”

“You want us to…” He trailed off, thinking it over. By ‘something,’ he meant a relationship, but— could he be in a relationship? He was still an AI. He wasn’t Bradley. He wasn’t even attracted to Arthur. Hell, he wasn’t even sure he could feel attraction, if that was built into his operating system. Everything in him wanted to say no, it would never work out. An AI taking part in human affairs was a recipe for disaster.

“We could start from the beginning,” Arthur added, as if he knew what Bagley was thinking before he even said it. “I know you don’t really know me so we can start out just friends, nothing more. We can take it as slow as you want and if you decide there’ll never be anything more, we can just stay as friends if that’s what you’re comfortable with. But if you think there can be more, we can try that.”

It was tempting, but… Arthur was still human. And Bagley was not. “Arthur, I’m not sure I was made for this.”

“Then let’s find out,” he said. “I’m okay with anything you are.”

“No, I mean I’m not sure I was made to feel attraction. I believe that’s a fairly important part of relationships,” Bagley said with a hint of humor in the last sentence, though it disappeared by the next. “I’ve never felt that way toward anyone and I’m not sure you’ll be an exception.”

He sighed. “Bags. It doesn’t matter to me whether you like me as a friend or as a boyfriend. What matters is whether or not you’re comfortable with me. I didn’t fall in love with your attraction. I fell in love with you.”

“You fell in love with Bradley,” he corrected. “Not me.”

Regardless of how tempting the offer was and how curious he was to see the extent of his human capabilities, it’d only be an experiment. A trial run of a relationship with someone who was only willing because he was still attached to the person Bagley no longer was. It would be cruel to take advantage of Arthur’s hope for his own curiosity— no different from what Skye did to Bradley. He might’ve had his human body stripped from him, but he still had his humanity.

“Arthur, I’m not Bradley,” he said. “And I know it’s hard to accept, but I can’t be the person you want me to be.”

[all-hail-the-witcher]

I have literally no clue how to do this, but director’s commentary on your ‘One expensive can of easy cheese’ fic?

hell yeah!!

all comments will be in bold

______

Race was sat on top of the counter in his and Albert’s apartment, race only knows how to sit on counters lets be real, he can't sit in a chair to save his life a piece of duct tape over his mouth and his hands tied together with kitchen twine KINKYY. He sighed against his restraints, resigned to watch his boyfriend make their contribution to this year’s Thanksgiving gathering: mac and cheese. okay so its mac and cheese cause if you read spies mac and cheese is Literally the Only thing albert knows how to cook, other than coffee, and he's Really Fuckin Good At It (he's the mikey of mac and cheese okay this is my hc)

Now, of course everyone and their mother knew that mac and cheese was not a Traditional Thanksgiving Food is it though, r a c e r?. But, Albert had won (best out of three) mario kart yesterday so he had gotten to decide what they would bring to Jack’s house i was gonna make it rock paper scissors, i do not know hot to play mariokart, but it sounds more heated than rock paper scissors. Had Race known that he had been planning to make mac and fucking cheese, maybe he would have tried a little harder race be quiet you literally love alberts mac and cheese its a known fact.

Apparently, Albert was not pleased with Race’s reaction to his decision to make mac and cheese, and thought that Race might try to get in the way somehow (which he may or may not have fully intended to do) he did. So he did what any loving boyfriend would: sat him on the counter, put duct tape over his mouth and tied his hands together so he wouldn’t interfere albert sounds real kinky in this, why did i make this so kinky, wait when did i even write this.

Race was beginning to wonder why he had agreed to move in with Albert in the first place. CAUSE YOU LOVE HIM THATS WHY

With a violent shake of his head and one final spat who the fuck uses the word spat huh saph??, he was able to dislodge the duct tape d i s l o d g e thats some karen bs right there.

“Albieeeeee,” he whined, laying down on the counter. “Can you pleaaaaaaaseee let me helllllllllp?” yeah albert let him help jeez he's the one who actually knows how to cook

Albert barely glanced up as he pulled the big wooden spoon out of the pot and gave it a thoughtful lick note to self, all licks should always be thoughtful. “Hmmmmmmm. No.” dumbass. if only you knew what was coming.

“But-!” He wriggled w r i g g l e d around to give Albert his best puppy dog eyes. “Can I make something else then? Ple-OW!” He glared at the spatula that had been hurled at his arm. “You apologize for that!” damn albie why so mean? o wait i wrote this wait...

“Nah.” He smirked and went back to stirring his wretched pasta okay but i did a good job making race salty i gotta give myself that. Well, actually Albert’s mac and cheese was quite good hELL YEAH IT IS. Race was just salty that he was making it for Thanksgiving when it was very well known that he was the chef of the two and Jack was expecting something good not the mac and cheese Albert famously made at 2am in college when they were all high as hell. okay real talk tho, no one eats good mac and cheese in college, its the instant microwave shit cause were all broke so thats a lie race

“Can you at least untie me then?” ;)

“No.” Albert even bother considering this time. albert this is gettin Real Kinky..

“Well.” If logic wasn't going to work on Albert he would have to try another method. “I know you know how to make a guy feel good Albie HAH YES I KNEW I PULLED SOMETHING WEIRD, but I never expected ropes to be a part of it. What’s next? Handcuffs? Whips? Chains?” i gotta tell ya life without ya has been hard. hard? has been bad. bad? has been r o u g h. k i N kY

In two seconds flat Race was out of his kitchen twine bonds and flexing his sore wrists. LIKE HECK HE WAS CAUSE ALBERTS ACE AND HE DONT WANT THAT REPUTATION!!!

“Man Albie, who knew you had a twine kink.” hehe u go race

“You know,” Albert began loudly, as if thinking that his loudness would cover up his totally obvious twine kink yeah albie has a twine kink, he licks it, no this is a joke, “if you want to do something that's actually useful, you could go to Walgreens and buy me another can of Easy Cheese.” W A L G R E E NS. this whole fit was an excuse to write another part of the walgreens au

“Is that what you put in your fuckin mac and cheese?” Race swore he actually felt bile rise in the back of his throat when Albert nodded. “That’s it. I’m never eating your mac and cheese again.” BUT YOU LIKE IT

“But-!”

“I’ll eat you though,” Race winked, taking a moment to enjoy the startled, yet somehow pleased look on his boyfriend’s face. okay maybe albert wasn't ace in this particular fic...

“Not until after we’re done at Jack’s.” yeah definitely not scratch that. i write a lot of fics. Albert said only half jokingly as he dug around in his pocket for a second before throwing a crumpled five at Race. “In the meantime though, be gone thot!” GO AWAYYYY. IM A MAN OF GOD. mikey and my sister have subjected me to too many tik toks im sorry

Race barely managed to catch the bill without falling on the floor, but still blew a kiss to Albert before walking out of the apartment.

Who the fuck puts easy cheese in mac and cheese? albert does. but its actually a plot point just to get you to walgreens and if anyone puts easy cheese in mac and cheese i will fite you. He wondered for the millionth time as he stomped the three blocks to Walgreens. Albert claimed that he had chosen his apartment for its proximity to the store he did, actually, but up until today Race had always assumed that he had been joking he was not. The man did make a lot of mac and cheese and if Easy Cheese was an ingredient well….maybe there was some truth to that story after all. you can buy easy cheese at a lot of places tho...i don't actually know if you can buy easy cheese at a walgreens

Race pulled open the door to the Walgreens, pausing briefly to wonder why the absolute fuck it was open on literal Thanksgiving before remembering that it was a fucking Walgreens and why wouldn’t it be open to sell his dumbass boyfriend a can of fucking Easy Cheese. walgreens remains a mystery indeed. my only experience was the one that my best friend and i would go to at lunch during senior year. also have you ever noticed that most walgreenses are on corners? cause their slogan is at the corner of happy and healthy??

In order to get to the Easy Cheese, or at least he assumed so because he had never bought a can of Easy Cheese in his whole glorious 25 years of life a true chef, Race had to walk past the Pharmacy section of the store. And, it just so happened that there was a guy sitting behind the counter at the Pharmacy. A very attractive guy. With a beard. In scrubs. oh my god the most questionable villain I've ever written.

Now, of course Race loved Albert and nothing would ever change that, but he could appreciate an attractive man when he saw one indeed he could. He thanked whatever deity was out there for the bit of man candy M AN C AN D Y that he had been granted and went in search of his Easy Cheese. oh just you wait racetrack 

“Mac and cheese, velveta cheese, microwaveable mac and cheese, where the fuck is the- oh thank fuck there we go.” my best friend and i spent much time looking at the mac and cheese in walgreens He pulled a can of Easy Cheese off of the shelf, tossing it once and catching it athletics before turning to go pay for the horrendous product, happy to finally be done with the whole ordeal when- B R E T T 

“Easy cheese? Really?”

Race whirled whirled? saph please get a better vocabulary around to see Mr. Man Candy hA himself leaning against the opposite shelf. “Wh- who?”

“Oh,” he dusted his hand off on his scrubbs oh my god Wait i wrote this cause one time when i was in a walgreens i Did see a hot dude working the pharmacy and decided to write a fic about it!! i remember texting mikey about this hjfhgjhg, “allow me to introduce myself. My name is Brett O’Hare. and mikey came up with that name And you, sir, are a disgrace to society. The very reason why so many Americans are in poor health in this day and age.” brett is an obnoxious millennial in case you can't tell

“I’m sorry, what?”

“The Easy Cheese!” Brett gestured wildly toward the can in Race’s hand. “Gosh do you even know how many preservatives are in that stuff? And all the cancers that it can cause? It’s terrible. We wouldn’t need free healthcare if people just stopped eating Easy Cheese!” apparently he's a millennial who's also a republican...?

Race had lived in New York City his whole life, and he had seen some pretty strange things subway pizza rat, but never had he seen a pharmacist in a Walgreens lecture anyone about the health benefits of Easy Cheese. easy cheese has no health benefits. and if you'd stopped annoying your boyfriend maybe you wouldn't be there

“So let me get this straight,” Race rubbed his head, trying to make sense of the situation. “You go around yelling at people about the ingredients in the things that they are purchasing?” yeah its nyc people love to have Opinions. and so do millennials

“Yeah.”

“You do realize that this is a Walgreens, right? Everything in here probably contains some kind of chemical.” man brett has his work cut out for him. New Yorkers never ceased to amaze him.

“All the more reason for me to inform them of their poor eating habits!” Brett pointed a finger at him. “And stop distracting me! You’re the one buying the freaking easy cheese here!” this is so weird why did i come up with this idea. what possessed me. 

“It’s not even for me!” Race shouted back. “It’s for my boyfriend’s fucking mac and cheese that he insisted on making for Thanksgiving even though everyone knows that mac and cheese is not a fucking Thanksgiving food and he’s only making it cause he knocked me off the goddamn rainbow road right before the fucking finish line!” someones salty Race was fuming but the time that he was done.

“Oh, man I’m so sorry, that's lousy.” but it won't stop brett...

Race looked surprised. Of all the things that he thought he would get out of this Walgreens experience, a therapy session was indeed not on the list. But neither had been hearing a lecture about the preservatives in Easy Cheese from a pharmacist. i have literally no explanation for this train wreck of a fic

“But that doesn’t change the fact that you’re still buying Easy Cheese!” Between one second and the next, Brett had grabbed the can of Easy Cheese out of Race’s hand, wielding it like a brick ha percy jackson heroes of olympus anyone??. “Buy some fucking vegetables!” you can't buy vegetables in a walgreens brett

And with that, he struck Race over the head with the can of Easy Cheese.

Now, Race had definitely done some questionable things during his life Thats for sure. Once he had slept on the roof of his dorm building in January for a week because he lost his dorm key god why you can't even get on the roof of dorm buildings i know, I've tried, and another time he had been tricked into making an entire wedding cake using salt by Who??. However, being smacked over the head with a can of Easy Cheese by a health nut in scrubs on Thanksgiving put any and all other situations he had been in to shame in a walgreens don't forget. how did you forget that saph.  

He opened his eyes, suddenly blinded by the lights, and reached for his phone, muttering curses about man candy and vegetables as he should be. Squinting so he didn’t have to look at the screen, he somehow managed to dial Albert. no one d i a l s anyone saph. its the 21st century. i have like maybe 8 phone numbers memorized, half of them belong to my family the other half to people i knew in middle school.

“Racetrack Higgins, where is my Easy Cheese?”

Race pulled the phone away from his ear and winced at the sound of his boyfriend’s voice. “Um, it may have been used to give me a concussion by a health nut in scrubs?” for Once al isn't the one who gets injured in a walgreens. bet you didnt see That coming

Albert let out a loud sigh. “Ah man, did you run into Brett? That guy’s the worst.” hehe bet al used to date him

“Wait, you know him?”

“Race, I know every Walgreens employee in Manhattan, of course I know Brett.” There was the jangling of keys in the background. “I thought I told you to go to the one on 4th for this reason, ah, well. I’m on my way. I’ll take you to urgent care. Hang tight.” ofc al goes to urgent care. and everyone there knows him by a first name basis

Race’s head hurt too much to process what Albert had said except for the words ‘I’m on my way.’ “Okay,” he sighed. this was definitely one of the times i asked mikey about oddly specific concussion symptoms and then proceeded to forget everything he told me and do my own stuff

“Love you.”

“Love you too.” Race’s eyes focused on the dented can of Easy Cheese rolling on the floor he should still buy it. “And Al?”

“Yeah?”

“This is going to be one expensive can of Easy Cheese.” get it? cause race has to pay urgent care for his consultation? and they're also Very Very late to thanksgiving. cause al insists on finishing his mac. jack is not impressed. he eats all races pie.

anyway thats that hope you enjoyed

[facingthevoid-blog1]

God, has this been a long time coming to write. I don’t even know where to begin internet. I’m a 22 year old sack of shit. I’ve never felt so fucking numb in my entire life. There’s no reason for it, really. I’m good, life’s good, I’ve got a very loving fiance but I don’t feel a god damn thing. Just numb and sad. Just wanting to cry but I can’t get it out. I sit and think and think and not a fucking thing happens. I often wonder if I’m autistic? Something? I spend my free time looking up various mental disorders to see if I can just find a fucking answer. I don’t want the key to life, I just wanna feel half fucking decent for once in my godforsaken time on this planet. Fuck. I feel like I have no one I can go to. I panic and I just want to fall over and cry for hours but I can’t bring myself to do it. I’m trapped with such limited emotional capacity. I wish I could feel. I try and be a good person, really. I do. I don’t remember the last time I felt true happiness that wasnt brought on by drug or alcohol. I could seek professional help, but how far will that get me? I tried antidepressants, they’re all the same. Numb with no highs or lows. I told myself when I got off them I’d rather rawdog this shit and ride the rollercoaster, but I’m really wondering man. I’m really fucking on the edge. I’ve never felt like this before and I don’t want to wake up another day feeling like this, if you can even call this feeling. Its like I’ve fallen down a well with no light or hope or shred of concern for my own well being. Why? Why me? Fuck. I keep replaying the last couple months to see if I have some sort of repressed trauma thats thrown me into this hole but I can’t find a god damn thing. It’s like digging through a dead end case and pulling out my own hair becoming the monster I’m hunting in the process. It’s such a dark place. The blackest black, a void I never thought could exist. Is there an escape? I sure hope so. Losing Joe didn’t hurt that bad, I wasn’t that close with him. But he had become family. He was family. He had a family, he was someones son. Someones uncle. He mattered. I do miss his one liners. I miss his presence. I miss Lou. I miss Buddy. I miss Dan. I never had to process death like this. I never had to face the crushing reality that in a fucking instant we can just cease to exist. Gone. Stardust and dirt. And what are any of us to really accomplish in this life? Nothing. Nothing beyond some fucking instagram photos and maybe a couple piece of shit children just like me. I wish my parents had never met. I wish even had they met like they did they hadnt married. They’re so fucking bad for each other. They’re so fucking awful to themselves. Mom is a basket case who wont do a fucking thing to help herself and just posts dumbass shit on facebook to feel the gratification of a couple likes over a fucking coffee meme. For WHAT? Stop fucking worrying and go do something. ANYTHING. Get your fucking mind together and quit wishing you could change yourself when all you do is sit on your ass drinking coffee and pretending dad is a good person. Fuck you too dad. Fuck you. You abusive lazy piece of shit. I can’t forgive you for the things I’ve heard you say and do. I’ll never fucking forget seeing you kick mom down those three last steps and tell her to shut the fuck up cause she was upsetting me while you stood over her like a powerhouse to obtain control. And then to find me clutching the phone with 911 dialed and just tell me, “Everythings okay” and go to work like it was nothing. How DARE you take that innocence away. How DARE you fucking act like nothing ever happened. How dare you throw her into the open cabinet door, how dare you grab her by the throat. FUCK you. HOW DARE I BE FORCED TO RELIVE THIS TRAUMA WHILE DRUNK ALREADY TRYING TO ESCAPE MY OWN CRUSHING REALITY. FUCK YOU. I hate this. I hate that this is just what I’m stuck with. This is my reality. A father with an abusive past, a mother who wont help herself, a sister who will never speak of the things she’s seen, a brother who’s gonna be the only one to escape. And what about me? WHAT ABOUT ME? Am I just left here to pick up the pieces and fucking suffer? Is this a test? Cut the lights. Pull me out of this fucking simulation. GIVE ME SOMETHING. SOMETHING TO FEEL. SOMETHING TO DO. SOMETHING BEYOND TWO PATHETIC DAYS TO FACE A WEEKS WORRIES AND HAVE NO TIME TO PROCESSS A NY OF THIS. I’M LOSING IT. IM SLIPPING,. GIVE ME A SIGN GOD. GIVE ME SOMETHING. FUCK YOU. FUCK YOU. FUCK YOU. FUCK YOU. FUCK YOU. FUCK YOU. FUCK YOU. FUCK YOU. FUCK YOU. FUCK YOU. Whats a life worth when the contents of that life are pain and depression and a void? What’s my life/ What’s the point of continuing? No. I must keep going. It doesn’t matter if I don’t consider half my family to mean nothing to me. It doesn’t matter the cards I’ve been dealt. I need to fucking man up. I need to wear a belt and smile and trek through this shitshow of an existence. I’ve got shit to see and places to go and clothes to wear. Eat my dick void. Will I find a solution? Stay tuned. But I can’t sit anymore. I need to do something. I know. I know. i know.

[thelazyenvironmentalist]

So Now I’m Back, From Outer Space

(Kidding, but I did go to The Kennedy Space Centre and I’m obsessed.)

I stopped writing this blog over a year ago. The last two posts here weren’t even originally written for this page, but were op-eds for the school paper that I’d written, once I’d returned to university to finish my undergrad. You see, I’d left school for two years -- largely as a result of being able to reckon with what it meant to study at an institution that cared so little for my future, and that of my fellow students. 

(For a backstory you can control+F “Divestment” and skim any number of pieces I’d vomited forth whilst desperate/angry/disillusioned with the lack of action said institution was taking on climate change.)

There are a myriad of reasons (is this the correct way to use “myriad”?) why I stopped writing as “The Lazy Environmentalist”. Not least among them was that, for a while, I wasn’t sure if I should be speaking up at all -- even if it was just to an audience of a casual dozen. As douchey and self-righteous as it sounds (is) I refer to myself as a climate justice activist or organizer, and a couple years back, I realized I was showing up to climate justice spaces in a pretty shitty way. I figured because I wanted to be there that I should be there. I thought that because I wanted to speak up that I should speak up-- somehow not realizing that my being there meant that I was taking the place of someone else, or that in speaking up I was speaking over other voices. I needed to learn to be quiet. Not silent necessarily, not absent by any means, but simply more aware of my surroundings-- who was missing because I was taking their space, who wasn’t being heard, because I’m so fucking noisy. 

In this way, it was good that I took a break from writing for a little while, because it helped me to see that sometimes (most of the time) my voice isn’t the one that needs to be heard-- especially when it comes to discussions regarding climate change and climate justice. 

I also need to acknowledge that because this whole exercise is largely self-indulgent, when I stopped writing I was really just letting myself off the hook. This blog, like it says in that gross yellow font at the top of the page, exists so I can hold myself to account, and that still rings true. Did I pull out my laptop in a frenzy tonight because I’ve decided that I once again need to stuff my trash in a mason jar and make my mom feel bad for taking me to restaurants that send home leftovers in styrofoam? No-- behaving like that was pointless at best, and harmful otherwise. Me toting around my trash in an instagrammable jar does nothing to reduce the amount of plastic choking a baby Laysan Albatross, and my saint of a mother doesn’t need to carry the guilt of the lack of plastic materials regulation around on her shoulders simply because I don’t feel like finishing my zimarika at our favourite Greek restaurant. 

No. When I say this blog exists to hold me to account I mean that the act of writing is one of the best things I can do when it comes to working against the forces driving climate change. Not because anyone reads this-- we’ve already established no one save my big sister (hey, Kayla) does-- but because its through writing that I force myself to sit with my thoughts and digest the literal constant deluge of terrible news about human-inflicted damage on the planet and all of its inhabitants. When I stopped writing I gave myself permission to be intellectually lazy (not cute, contrary to my chosen moniker). When I say I’ve been in a cognitive fog the last few years I’m not even being that obnoxiously hyperbolic-- I honestly feel like I’ve retreated into a world of podcasts and quickly skimmed news articles-- I’ve eschewed my own ideas and feelings because when things are as desperately, existentially terrifying as they are in the year of our lord (lol, there is no God) 2019, its easier to let someone else, someone smarter, tell you what to feel, what to worry about, and how to think. I think when I opened my laptop 21 minutes ago it was on a whim that maybe thats not what’s best for me anymore. I think if I want to devote my time, my brain, my heart to saving what I can of my home that I need to push myself to dig a little deeper into the recesses of the ole’ lobes (ew?) and try to figure out why I’m here, doing this fucking work in the first place, and also what I fucking mean when I say “this work”. “This work” sounds vague and self-aggrandizing and I’m in a time of my life where I think I need specifics and tangibilities. 

Finally, I stopped writing as “The Lazy Environmentalist” because I wasn’t sure . if that’s who I was anymore. I’m definitely a fucking lazy individual-- even at this moment I’m lying in bed at a somewhat cramped and awkward angle because I can’t be bothered to shift myself into a seated position (lol @ the misfortune of my neck). However, I don’t like the idea of letting myself take the easy way out because I’ve accepted that I am fundamentally a lazy person. Is my aversion to accepting my habitual sluggishness perhaps rooted in questionable puritanical christian societal values? Like, ya probably. Does that mean that it’s a good thing to watch 6 hours of Criminal Minds and tell myself that its okay to buy that dress from Zara because there’s no such thing as ethical consumption under capitalism, so fuck it? No. Obviously. Criminal Minds is gross (though Reid is still hella cute) and fast fashion is terrible for both people and planet (so props to me for actually putting that dress back on the rack last week even though I didn’t look terrible in it and honestly I could use another shapeless sack in my wardrobe).  

As for the “Environmentalist” part of “The Lazy Environmentalist”I also feel more than a little weird about that too. The term is fucking loaded, and carries a lot of terrible history with it. The environmental movement has and still does a really god-awful job of caring about people (despite people being animals - woah who’s really eschewing anthropocentrism now, Tim*?!) But for real, forgetting the fact that from the purely cold, calculating, strategic reality that we can’t save the planet unless we have more people on board with the concept, and that we can’t do that effectively if we don’t speak to those in marginalized communities (those always most at risk to climate catastrophe) environmentalism has been not only ineffective and alienating for a fuck-ton of people over the decades-- environmentalists have been intensely harmful to people -- there are still environmentalists who think the best use of our time is to devastate Northern Communities by rallying against the seal hunt, and pushing veganism in communities that it simply doesn’t make sense for from a cultural/historical/geographic standpoint. Old school preservationist environmentalism is based in super gross settler ideas of manifest destiny, and protecting an “untouched” wilderness, ignoring the fact that Inuit, Anishnaabe, Mi’kmaq, Tsleil-Waututh, Cree, and hundreds of other Indigenous Nations lived QUITE HARMONIOUSLY on this land for EONS (and still do) before we settlers got here, thought of ourselves as separate from the land, parcelled it up, sold it off, decided to ~protect~ a fraction because God said so or whatever, and generally started fucking shit up. 

So yeah, the term Environmentalist kind of makes me feel uneasy, as it should,  because it carries with it a history of violence-- a history that is still being perpetuated today. 

That being said, the term environmentalist also makes me think of my Grandma (cute, right?) I don’t necessarily think she would have considered herself an environmentalist, but she was the single most compassionate, loving person I’ve ever known, and yes I idolize her and hold her to a standard that no one else will ever meet but that’s okay, because she was my Grandma and I’m supposed to think she was perfect and magic. I mention my Grandma (her name was Lecetta) because she’s who made my into a little lazy environmentalist. She took me on trips to see Manatee rehab centres in Florida, walks through the Carolinian forest near her house, and swimming in Lake Huron. On the days we were inside we watched PBS nature documentaries and read books about wildlife in North America and on Saturday mornings she’d sit with me as I sobbed during WWF infomercials in what I realize now was a pretty weird weekly self-flagellation ritual. What I’m trying to say with this bizarre tangent is that the term “environmentalist” still holds some pretty earnest intention for me, and I’m remiss to entirely abandon the roots of what compels me to defend our home. 

So, circling back to what I’d initially tried to start saying with this post- I think I’m going to start writing here again. I think I’m going to see if this helps me be the sort of person I want to be: the still sometimes lazy, but still earnest environmentalist- trying to figure out what my place is- in the movement, in my community, on the planet, and simply within myself. 

*There’s no one named Tim

[projectsblogg]

Justis Pitt-Goodson: The BrownMill Man

I walked into a cafe, after missing two busses and  therefore resorting to a bellowing haul down Halsey Street in Newark, to meet a calm soul sitting on the edge of a chair with his head positioned so that his eyes could catch a glimpse of the sun that sat on the concrete just outside the building we’d met in for the first time. This was Justis Pitt-Goodson. The creator of the brand we know today as BrownMill. I’d only known him from instagram because somehow, even though we’d went to the same school — Rutgers University Newark — we’d always seemed to have missed each other. A reality that is in no way unfamiliar to those attending larger universities. But what was strange to me, was though he’d accomplished so much in the creation of his brand at only 20 years of age and as successful as BrownMill has become, the eyes that sat just behind his eyelids possessed a humility. And so we spoke.

Let’s just start off with your name and what you do.

My name is Justis Pitt-Goodson and I’m a Tailor, Fashion Designer, Entrepreneur, and Leader and I make clothes. I Engineer garments.

Why did you choose Design?

I’ve always been a hustler— you know always trying to sell stuff to make money.Throughout middle school and highschool, I would sell sneakers, cut hair, sold candy all the above. But you know, one thing I really like to do is get dressed and look nice and present myself in a nice fashion. So I figured, “Why not teach myself how to do it?” That’s what I did and I just ran with it. I am a big advocate for Salam— a black owned business — and I’d always ask myself, “All these clothes I buy, where is this money going?” And of course, I soon realized, “Not my people.” And in that, I wanted to build a platform, to put my people on— to put my friends on. And so that’s something I’ve been doing since then.

You post often your community service escapades, why is it important to give back to your community?

Well I feel like, personally, nobody ever really did it for me. So like, going through my trials and tribulations. Seeing like, “Damn I wish I had this, I wish I had that,” or “I wish someone would’ve told me this earlier, and also being an older brother, that kind of helps — seeing my lil’ brother not go through shit that I went through, is because I was there to say “This is what you don’t do and this is what you do.” So It’s like, “What if we can do this on a mass scale, what if we can scale that to our whole community? What is we were leaders and could tell the youngins’ “this is what you don’t do and this is what you do.” and just be an example for them and lead by example. I guess my passion for Community Service comes from not having that in my life.

So that’s why you identify so much with being a leader. Hmmm. Would you say creating BrownMill was a form of leadership?

Yeah. That’s one hundred present. If we don’t make clothes, even if we never sell another jacket, as long as we’re presenting ourselves in a manner that we should, we’re doing the best that we can do.

In terms of the stigma surrounding African Americans, how do you feel about us representing ourselves in the best way possible?

You know, that’s a tricky question because I don’t wanna be like, “Everyone should pull their pants up and be that guy.” I mean, when I create clothes, I think of the “BrownMill Man”, so that’s all I can do. I can’t think about everyone in the world— I think about the “BrownMill Man” and who I’d like that to be and what I think he should stand for.

What should the “BrownMill Man” stand for?

Yah know, I think he should be a righteous individual, I  think he should be someone who’s conversation should always be one of improvement. Someone the little guy on the street can look up to. The “BrownMill Man” should be someone that’s attractive — Mentally and Physically, a Full and Healthy being. And that’s who I design for. That's… The “BrownMill Man”. I can’t say the “BrownMill Man” doesn’t hang on the block, because yeah he could hand out oon the block. But if he’s hanging out on the block, he’s always doing good shit for the community. Talking about good shit. So what would the “BrownMill Man” wear? That’s my process.

So would you say you create clothing for the sake of Occasion? Would you say you create uniforms for what is considered to be the “BrownMilll Man?”

Yeah, you know, my mentor — Luigi Theodore of the Brooklyn Circus — once said to me that “It’s very important that we have uniforms when we come to the office.” I always understood that because, we all went to the March on Washington in December as a collective, and when you saw all the Muslim sisters there, you knew you couldn’t just approach them the same way you’d approach shorty on the street. You couldn’t go up to them and be like “Ayo Ma! …” Because she’s wearing her hijab, and why is that? Why did I feel I couldn’t approach her any way I wanted to, that’s because by the way she was dressed it represents something, it spoke to what she stood for and the way she presented herself mattered. And I thought of ways of how can we put that into the context of what we do as far as BrownMill and the Brooklyn Circus? Making sure we constantly use that same philosophy? Because it really does matter; presentation of self.

I feel like we sort of know and understand that better than anyone, because as a black man, there’s always this stigma surrounding us. A large part of the world sees us as delinquents as soon as they see our brown skin, they see us as a physical threat. Nonetheless, to piggyback off of what you said, presentation does matter, but in what sense do you think presentation doesn’t matter? In what sense do you think substance matters most?

See that’s the thing, I noticed you stated that people think black people are delinquent and all the above, But at the same time, I always end up asking myself, “Why does it matter what they think?” It really only matters what my community thinks, right? So in a sense, presentation does matter, but it doesn’t. Creating a balance is important. But overall, I think it’s important that we create something that stands for something and that is greater.

How would you explain the Utility Collection?

So the Utility collection is something we did last year, around August. And I thought of the notion behind “functionality.” Making sure that pieces aren’t just fashionable, but ensuring that they’re also functional. I started studying janitorial positions and people in the work industry and at the time I was working at a mechanic shop under a guy named Joe and seeing him go day to day with the things that he wore — clothing that possessed pockets, elastic embedded material for flexibility and comfort — I thought, “Let’s devote a collection to just that essence, those patterns, those color schemes,” so in one word — Functionality.

What are BrownMill’s origins?

My grandfather’s last name is “Brown” and my grandmother’s first name was “Mildred,” so I went off of what they stand for. My grandfather moved from North Carolina with three kids to the hood. He worked two full time jobs just to get them out of there. So with that and my grandmother’s creative abilities, I thought it was important to embody what the stood for in their lives, and family is something I really hold number one.

Your latest collection you have coming out — The Virago Collection — you mentioned in a post on the BrownMill instagram page, that especially in Western Culture women aren’t really valued and in that it’s hard to find words in the english language that represent or embody the powerful women. With your grandmother having such a strong influence on you, what is your definition of a “Powerful Woman?”

Well, giving context, I was raised by women. My grandfather had a stroke and was bed ridden when I was in the fourth grade, so most of my life I was raised by my mom, my grandmother, my aunt. So that female image, that model has always been there — it will always be there. And I won’t stray away from. The only thing I know about leadership comes from a woman. So it’s hard to describe.

Considering that those words are so hard to find, and language and communication is everything in society, you wanted to create a collection that stood for what it meant to be a heroine rather than creating a word. The collection is the word. Did you want to create a collection that honored everything you know about leadership and how that stemmed from the posture of a woman?

Haha! — See i’m trying not to give you too much on the collection before it actually comes out! But the collection is so dope man. All the models will be female. Being a menswear brand I wanted to express our ability to be flexible, so although it won’t be women’s clothing, It’s be woman displaying the clothing in a unique way. One of the quotes that inspired this collection is the words of Kanye when he said “I could stand there in a speedo and be looked at like a fucking hero.” We want to have the barest and minimal approach to this collection and at the same time no matter what, the looks that these women give are very heroic. I want people to see right off the back “Damn, thats a leader.” You know? So i’m really excited for this. Hopefully it changes some lives, some perspectives.

I’ve noticed that most of your clothing has this recycled element to it, can you explain that a bit?

So yeah, that’s another thing we explored. Its an ongoing project called “Thread by Thread.” So around the world, tons and tons of clothes are wasted every year. So knowing that, and knowing the garment industry. So that project is dedicated to making clothing sustainable. We use one hundred percent recycled fabrics. Hopefully going forward, that’s something we do with every piece of clothing. We hope to be a clean sustainable brand.

Socially, what would you say you’re attempting to do with BrownMill?

Overall I want it to have a very communal feel — a very grass roots feel. In terms of stores, I want to only have about three stores around the world. I want that tailored element to always be there. I feel there are many brands that produce too much, which depletes the value of an item. So being able to walk into a store and say “only ten people have this and I’m one of them…” thats awesome. And on top of that, if the quality is A1. That’s something I want to maintain throughout. I’d like to give people an opportunity to display and exercise their creative abilities through my platform. A lot of people I’ve worked with in highschool and college who are on my team and are doing the same things. I wanna give people the opportunity to be the best that they can be at all times. I wanna urge people who have talent to exercise it. I want to do the best that I can do in order to help urge people on my team to do what they were born to do. People who aren’t in the brand. I want to inspire them to go after their dreams. That traditional “Follow Your Dreams” speech.

I sense there’s a connection between your urge to create and recreate, and your desire to change society’s perception of certain groups of people. Is that accurate?

Yeah I think so. I don’t think my motive is to change the world. But I do what I think is right. I consider myself a God seeking man, and I compare myself and what we do, to the prophets in the holy books. In these books, thee talk about Jesus, Moses and Mohammed. These were excellent men and we’ll never attain what they attained. But it tells us to seek that, and try and then try again. As long as we try to be the best that we can be and to be like them, we’ll always be doing better than who we were yesterday. Its the same concept at BrownMill. If i’m doing the best that I can do as a leader— as if I was called as Mohammed, Jesus or whoever. So yeah.

What is the connection between BrownMill and sports? Does sports play a role in your brand?

I guess not directly, but indirectly. My background is in sports — basketball, football — but other than that I just love black heritage. I love melanated peoples heritage. That’s something I’d really like to promote. Anything I find interesting. Anything I find unique. Just sort of using that as a reference for what I do.

Who would you say were some of your inspirations? Who would you say inspired you the most?

Well, the Brooklyn Circus, who I interned for a while back. Ralph Lauren definitely. Oswald Burton. Supreme. Bape. A lot of different brands.

Lastly, what would you say to someone who wants to pursue a career in design?

I would say DO IT! I mean, be as timeless as possible. Because with Brown Mill, I think that’s what people like most about us. We make sure everything we make has that element. Because I think the worst thing you can do is create a trendy piece. That’s something I sort of what to move away from. I think with the sustainability factor, I think that’s something that can be kind of cool because these are pieces we can pass down from generation to generation. Make sure that whatever you do is done with great execution. And make sure that whatever you do isn’t done for the now. But taking in what you’ve done in the past, and present to create something that can be worn forever. There’s so much garbage out here in the industry. Don’t create garbage. If you’re going to create something, take your time. So it well. Do it hard. Use reference. Do it from your heart because uniqueness is something no one can ever take from you. The worst thing you can do is try and be like someone else. Each and everyone one of us is uniquely created and different. So drawing in and tapping in on that uniqueness, no one can mimic that. That’s something i’m working on every day — finding out who I am. What’s unique about me. The self analysis the self reflection i’m using to put into what I do.

[selinaneveahcrystal]

Allora learns the meaning of her powers PT 2

Previously:

"Don't worry too much. Both of you will find a way around this."

Lorna sincerely hoped so, because there was a limit to how many houses they could afford to destroy.

.....

Of course, when both her children had gotten past that stage of bickering and destroying everything with their powers, there were other problems to talk and worry about.

Like the increase in untimely times they barged in (or Lora barged in) when they were getting on their mojo.

"Hey Mom, why are there lights that look like my power around the entire place---Oh shit shit! My fucking eyes!"

"Allora Diaz-Dane!" Lorna gasped with all the dignity she could muster at her nineteen year old daughter as she pulled the bed sheet to cover up her chest. "Language!" Marcos groaned into her shoulder, both of them still flushed from their supposed nightly but shifted to afternoon daily activities.

Their daughter stood at the door, with both hands over her eyes.

The flickering northern lights that had attracted their daughter vanished alongside the lust and physical attraction Lorna and Marcos were feeling.

"Mom? Lora?" Lorna felt like kicking her daughter out as her fourteen year old son trumped up the stairs. "What's going on--"

"Out!" Lorna threw the pillow at her daughter. "And close the door on your way!"

The door slammed moments later, and the sound of her daughter cursing like a sailor with her brother half laughing behind sounded faintly through the air.

"Cock blocked." Marcos groaned. "I've never been so frustrated in my life." Lorna duck under the covers, and both of them stared at each other for a moment before laughter bubbled on their lips.

"God. This is horrible." Lorna chuckled. "I think we may have to kick them out."

"Well, Lora can stay with her boyfriend, Dommie's still too young. Besides, he's much more wise with regards to not disturbing us no matter the situation as compared to Lora." Marcos slid his arm around Lorna's waist as she threw on her husband's flannel shirt. "Hey! That's my shirt!"

"You've more. Get them from the cupboard yourself." Lorna shook out her green hair cheekily, before flouncing out the door.

She took a deep breath at the suddenly ominous looking staircase to the floor below.

The bed and Marcos seemed like a more appealing option now.

~~~~~

Lorna tapped her son's glass, her eyes trained on her spaced out daughter on the sofa.

"Hey."

"Uh mom." Dom mumbled, pulling of his earphones swiftly.

"What's wrong with your sister?" Her son's eyes followed hers to his stoned sibling, staring at nothing but a blank piece of wall.

"Oh." Lorna raised her eyebrows at her son's sudden hint of laughter in his tone. "It's nothing mom. Lora just found out the meaning behind the colour of her powers."

"And not to mention the funny funny looks and puns from Uncle Johnny and Aunt Clarisse when I use my powers!" Lorna suppressed a grin as her daughter flung a pillow into the air expressively, her fingers clutching her face. "Now I know why they always looked at me funny. Because my power is the same colour as what happens when you guys have sex!"

Dom snorted in his chair, and Lorna glared.

"Well, it's a clash of solar energy and magnetosphere." Lorna tried to explain as regally as she could. "It's a very beautiful phenomenon. It's what brought your father and I together."

"But the lights!" Lora moaned like all teenagers did. "Now I've got mixed feelings about my powers. Because every time I use then, I'm gonna get reminded of my dad and mom fucking each other."

"Ugh! Did you have to?" Lorna grinned slightly as her son gagged at the table.

"It's my crisis! Of course you wouldn't understand!" Her daughter's short hair bounced in greenish black curls around her face. "At least your power doesn't remind you of your old parents having sex."

"Excuse you. Your father and I are still considered young." Lorna pointed the knife she was holding in her daughter's direction. " We just had you early."

"Yeah right." Lora snorted. "More like Dad and you couldn't keep it in the pants, and I became the surprise untimely bundle."

Dommie grinned, enjoying his older Sister's chagrin.

"You were one too, Dommie. I bet you anything you came along because I cockblocked them some how and when I went for the training trip with Uncle Johnny, all that sexual tension released and they fucked like rabbits---thats why the Accident 2 came along."

"Hey hey hey! We are not doing this right now!" Lorna marched over to her children, who were physically grabbing each other with their hands and pulling them apart.

"Don't make me pin you to the wall."

"Mom. I control metal too." Lora deadpanned.

"I thought we established that pinning me to the wall isn't a good reminder for my powers. Courtesy of Loony Lora." Her son grumbled.

"Ow! Why did you hit me?!"

"Because you were being a jerk! Jerk!"

"Break it up!" Lorna caught her daughter and son's squabbling hands before sighing.

"Marcos!" She hollered down the hallway. "Your daughter and son are fighting again!"

"I heard." Marcos slid his arm around Lorna's waist comfortingly before stealing a kiss.

"Ugh, Dad!"

"God, Dad. What's with all that PDA?"

"You two weren't troubling your mom again, weren't you?" Marcos pulled his wife away from their two children, and immediately all four of them fell into their seats respectively, the atmosphere suddenly relaxed and filled with less tension.

"Nooo..." Lorna made a face as her children chorused simultaneously.

"Oh sure. Like you two weren't at loggerheads with each other just now." She snorted into her plate of food, picking the greens off Marco's plate out of habit. "Forgive me if I don't believe a single bit of that." She waved the fork in circles at her two children.

"Well! It was a crisis!" Lora immediately burst out. "What am I supposed to do when my powers are a direct reminder of you two having sex?"

~~~~

There will be a part 3 xD Too Long apparently