#this is real and true and I did not just make it up to keep me sane

[dumbkiri]

A FEAST FOR BIRDS

𝐉𝐚𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐓𝐨𝐝𝐝 𝐱 𝐅! 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

When Jason Todd comes back to earth and faces off with his vigilante family along with villains, he settles his problems as much as he could. He reunited with his family, but still kicked villain ass. As the holidays approach, Jason is struck with a range of emotions. An unexpected visitor makes her way in Wayne manor with a child in her arms. Apparently, the child belongs to him.

[ESTABLISHED RELATIONSHIP]

“I am moving back into Gotham due to some company issues. I wanted to see if Jay can stay at your place for a bit? Maybe spend Thanksgiving with you and the boys? He would love to see his uncles and of course, his grandfathers. It would mean a lot to us if you can do this. If not, I can work around the company with him by my side. One day he will inherit what my father built, and I might as well get him to see his own building. Anyways, please let me know what you think. We miss you and the family a lot, see you soon Bruce.” 

Dick leaned back into his chair and listened to the recent voicemail [Name] left for Bruce. Her voice rang with some truth while it felt like she was hiding something. He fiddled around with one of Batman’s batarangs thinking about the woman. They haven’t seen her or Jay in two years. He had to have missed something in her voice message. He knows it. 

Dick leaned forward and pressed play on the voicemail, listening to it for the fifth time this afternoon. 

“I am moving back into Gotham due to some company issues.”

 This part alone made no sense to him. If his memory serves him right, Bruce and [Name] came to an agreement that he would watch over the [L.Name] Industry allowing her to live her life with Jay. Bruce never mentioned any “company issues” that she brought up in the call. Then again Bruce has Lucius to run Wayne Enterprise, so maybe Bruce neglected her company due to his commitment to being Batman. Although, that still made no sense because [F.Name] and Bruce had a great partnership. 

[Name]’s dad knew who Bruce truly was in the night thus granting Lucius to work very closely with one another. [F.Name] would create technology that Lucius would then make into gadgets for Batman. After [F.Name] passed away, the plans he had were burned to make sure they didn’t get into the wrong hands. Bruce feared to keep the works [F.Name] worked endlessly on and made sure to get rid of everything he could in his archives. 

“Maybe spend Thanksgiving with you and the boys?”

Thanksgiving…that is tomorrow!

“Bruce! Alfred! ” Dick shot up from his chair when the realization hit him. He dressed out of his uniform and into his casual clothing as quickly as he could. Whenever [Name] did drop Jay off for the holidays, she did it the day before so he could spend more time with them. 

A million worries were hurdled at his body thinking back to another Wayne that was present in the house. “Jason, if you can hear me from down here!” Dick huffed up the stairs, “Let’s go out for some lunch! I am so hungry!” Was it a lame excuse for his brother-in-arms, yes. But if he had a chance to spare Jason from seeing [Name], he would do it in a heartbeat. Jason doesn’t know he has a kid, let alone a kid with his ex-girlfriend. 

When Bruce described the relationship between Jason and [Name], he went on about true love. A happiness he didn’t think would surround him when he watched Jason smile at [Name]. The teasing he would do to the both of them like a real parent. Bruce watched them create a beautiful bond at a young age. 

Then when Jason died, Bruce watched the heartbreak crush [Name]’s heart. Dick remembers the conversation between him and Bruce when the news of her pregnancy hit him like a truck. 

..

“She looked at me like I killed him.” 

“Bruce, you can’t think like that. [Name] is just hurting, you said so many times. They were meant to be together.” 

“She told me that she’s pregnant.” 

“W-what? She’s only 16, Jason really- Fuck, what do we do now? We have to support her, you did tell her that right?” 

“Of course, I did. She accepted my help and she told me that she wants us to get to know the child. That she still wants to be a part of our family. So I told her that I will send $4000 to her account every month for any expenses she has. She didn’t accept any more and I didn’t agree to any less. I don’t feel right though.” 

“What do you mean by that?” 

“I mean that we get to live and see the child Jason made with [Name]. We get the luxury of knowing his child while he rots in the ground. If he knew, do you think he would have left? If [Name] got to him before the fake letter, would he have stayed?”

“Maybe, but at least we can do right by him and support his family. That’s all we can do for him now. It’s okay to cry, Bruce. Loss shouldn’t be associated with shame.”

..

He reached the top of the stairs and cringed at the sound of the doorbell ringing throughout the mansion. 

As casually as he could, Dick entered the living room and heard the echo of two voices at the entrance of Wayne Manor. He sneaked around the couches and furniture thinking someone at the door would catch him from so far away. 

“Who are you hiding from?” 

Dick panicked and spun around to see Jason on the couch reading a book. He heard Alfred welcome [Name] into the manor and he knew the old man would lead her to them. With fast thinking, Dick ran over to Jason and shoved his sunglasses onto his face, “Quick! Wear these and this!” Then he stuffed a black face mask into Jason’s book. 

“Dick, what-” 

“Jason, please!” Dick pleaded and helped put the sunglasses on while Jason reluctantly put the face mask on. Jason wanted to ask more until Alfred walked in with a woman and a child in her arms. Swiftly, Dick pulled Jason’s red hoodie over his head and turned around to greet the visitors. 

“[Name], it’s so nice to see you!” Dick shouted and enunciated her name to get it through Jason’s thick skull. He walked over to the woman and gave her a hug mindful of the sleeping child in her arms…wait, what? Jason squinted behind the sunglasses and observed the child some more which Dick fawned over like some lovesick idiot. 

“Wow, he’s grown so much,” Dick awed at the sight of the child and gently touched the unruly black hair that reminded him so much of the Wayne boys. 

“I’m sorry for the apparent unexpected visit, I did leave a voicemail for Bruce,” [Name] huffed and shifted her child more comfortably in her arms to which Dick reached his arms out to her. Without hesitation, [Name] smiled gratefully and handed her kid over to Dick. She watched Dick whisper to her sleeping son and told him, “We’ve decided to do a road trip instead of flying. Jay insisted that he wanted to see the “world”, but there’s only so much adventure he can handle. He’s going to wake up super excited to see his favorite uncle.” 

Dick’s mind blew up as his eyes looked from Jay to [Name] who giggled at his reaction. “You’re kidding, he said that? I’m his favorite uncle?” 

Well that confirmed to Jason that the kid is definitely not Dick’s. Honestly he’d be pissed if Dick had a child with his ex-girlfriend. There were so many questions running through his head and he wanted to ask them. But the silent glare he got from Alfred in the corner of the room told him to stay put with not a word. 

“Yes, it’s always been you, Dick,” [Name] unwrapped her scarf from her neck and shoulders. Finally her eyes spotted the giant man sitting on the couch adjacent to where her family was at. She observed him quietly and looked down at the book in his gloved hands. Dick nor Alfred introduced the stranger to her, so she took it upon herself to be polite. 

“Hello,” She stepped around Dick and reached her hand out with a courteous smile, “My name is [Name] [L.Name].”

Jason closed his book and stood up from the couch. He towered over her and flashbacks of their time together brought longing in his chest. He remembered everything about her from her smile, to her eyes, to her personality. She hadn’t changed one bit. He reached his hand out and shook hers. His tongue twisted and more questions slammed into him. 

“This is my friend, Lazlo,” Dick chimed nervously, internally cringing at the fake name he gave Jason. 

This piqued [Name]’s interest and she giggled, “Lazlo, that’s a cool name. Can he hear me or speak to me?” She asked, releasing Jason’s hand and quietly whispered the last part over her shoulder to her friend. 

Dick shook his head and said, “He’s actually a mute. Anyways what brings you here to Gotham. Don’t say holiday cheer either.” He walked between Jason and [Name] and took a seat next to Jason's closed book. Meanwhile Alfred dismissed himself knowing that Jason will not be able to say a word. 

Jason sat back in his seat while [Name] sat on the couch across from them. She visibly relaxed in comfort and sighed tiredly, “My mother wants to force a marriage onto me and like some teenager, I ran away. Plus there are some things I have to do at the company. I wanted to see if you guys are okay with babysitting Jay while I dust the old mansion down the street. Haven’t been there in years.”

She laughed and Dick joined her. He shifted Jay into his lap and said, “Of course, we would be happy to take care of the little one. I, for one, missed him a lot. Is the marriage the reason why we haven’t seen either of you? It seems like a lot.” 

[Name] straightened out her back and looked away from his bright blue eyes. Her smile didn’t reach her eyes as she explained a bit more, “Yes, it’s a reason. The marriage is with a business partner. He’s a bit older than me and has spoken about having a family with me. My mother is ecstatic about more grandchildren, but I am not. There is only one person I truly love and that is Jay’s father. I cannot imagine having children with someone else when Jason is still fresh on my mind. And he gave me a brilliant child to cherish in his memory.” 

Dick could see Jason tense up at the revelation and saw from the corner of his eyes Jason look at Jay sleeping in his arms. The atmosphere grew heavier by the second and he had to do something. Something to appease Jason’s longing. 

“Do you think Lazlo can hold Jay? He knew Jason before his death and-” 

“Of course!” [Name] gestured to Jason, with a kind smile on her face, “I’m sorry for your loss, Lazlo. But I’m going to tell you now, Jay looks exactly like his father.” She giggled and Dick looked at Jason with expecting eyes. 

Slowly, Jason sat up and hesitantly opened his arms up. He wasn’t ready to hold his child while keeping his emotions bottled up. “You can do this, Lazlo,” Dick’s voice reassured him, “He won’t break in your arms.” 

[Name] laughed from her spot and pointed at Dick, “Hey, you were afraid to hold him the first time too!” 

Dick shrugged and argued back, “He was a lot smaller back then.” Then he scooted closer to Jason making the transfer a lot easier for the both of them. In his sleep, Jay immediately snuggled up against Jason’s chest surprising the boy’s mother. 

“Oh wow,” [Name] awed at the sight, “He normally doesn’t do that. Jay only snuggles into me, I’m kinda jealous he’s doing it with someone else.” She gave Jason a fake pout with a teasing tone in her gentle voice. But all he could focus on was the peaceful look on the child’s face. 

This boy is his son. 

Jason pulled Jay closer to his body as his chin touched the crown of the boy’s head. Then he felt a lone tear slide down his cheek. Thankfully he wore a face mask and sunglasses to hide his joy. [Name] spoke the truth when she said Jay looked like him. Jay is his mini-me. 

“So how many instruments can he play now?” Dick asked. 

“He only plays the piano, Dick,” [Name] rolled her eyes playfully, “but he can speak three languages. Sign language being one of them.”

Sign language? Jason thought and picked his head up with interest. He recalls that they learned sign language for fun to talk behind her mother’s back. 

“That’s right, I remember you teaching him. Although, I think he flipped me off once.” 

“Don’t say that!” [Name] laughed. 

“I’m being serious!” Dick shouted back with a smirk on his face. 

Jason leaned back into the couch while Jay fit perfectly in his arms. The boy laid on his chest with his legs being held in a gentle, but protective grip. Jay’s head laid onto his shoulder and Jason could hear the soft breaths that left the boy’s lungs. Soon, the voices of [Name] and Dick dissipated and the breathing of his son lulled him to sleep. 

Jason would do anything to keep [Name] and Jay to himself. Even if that means revealing himself to them in the near future. For now, he’s comfortable with blissful ignorance. 

……

“Mama, can I stay in Mister Lazlo’s arms a bit longer?” 

A tiny voice woke Jason from his sleep and he felt small hands clenching the sides of his hoodie. He blinked his weary eyes open and saw the living room in a dark tint. He forgot he wore sunglasses to hide his face along with the face mask. 

“Jay, it’s time for dinner. You and Mister Lazlo have slept long enough. You both need to eat. And you don’t want Grandpa or your uncles waiting for long do you?” 

“But he feels safe and warm, mama.” Jay mumbled and Jason slowly rose up from the couch, steadying a startled Jay in his hold. He looked down at the child with a funny bedhead and couldn’t help but chuckle at the surprised look on the boy’s face. 

[Name] fixed her son’s hair and looked at him lovingly, “See, Mister Lazlo is ready to eat too. Perhaps you can ask if he wants to sit next to you for dinner?” She looked at her son expectantly and the little boy nodded his head. He raised his arms up and sighed to Jason, 

“Mister Lazlo, would you sit next to me, fuck you.”

The ending part took Jason and [Name] completely off guard and the mother reacted quickly pushing her son’s hands down to his sides. With a scolding shout, she said, “JJ, where in the world did you learn that?” She gave Jay a hard look and the little boy obviously seemed confused. 

“What do you mean, mama? I asked him nicely.” Jay tilted his head to the side in a questioning manner. 

“That last sign, isn’t really- It’s a bad word, JJ!” [Name] huffed and softened her look, “Who taught you that and what did they say it meant?” 

What Jay answered made sense to Jason, “Uncle Damian said that it meant ‘please’. He said to only use it for them and not you though.”

“So Dick was right when he mentioned you flipped him off,” She rolled her eyes then focused back on her son, “Please, don’t use that anymore, it’s really rude. Use the sign for me as please from now on, understood?” 

Jay nodded his head obediently then looked at Jason with bright silver-blue eyes, “Understood, mama. Sorry Mister Lazlo.” 

Jason chuckled and shook his head, signing, “It’s okay, you did great. And yes, I would like to sit by you for dinner. As long as you give me any leftovers you have.” 

Jay giggled and jumped up signing back, “It’s a deal!” The little boy ran off towards the direction of the kitchen and the adults were left on their own. 

“He gets excited to meet new people,” [Name] spoke softly, her eyes warming up talking about her son. “JJ has a heart of gold and he loves everyone he meets like his own family. Especially the Waynes. When his father passed away, I panicked because he wouldn’t have a father figure to be his mentor. Yet Bruce proved me wrong. JJ instantly grew fond of his grandpa and uncles. They all became his father figure, some better than others in different aspects. Speaking of which, I might have to wrestle Damian for teaching Jay that obscene gesture.” 

[Name] laughed at the end and looked at Jason for some approval. He quickly signed to her, “We can jump him together. The demon spawn won’t know what will hit him.”

Just like her son, she smiled and said, “It’s a deal.”

[josephquinnswhore]

where you go, I go - stalker joel miller x female reader AU.

summary: joel hasn’t been the same since ex his wife abandoned him and his daughter, but he’s been watching you for months.. you’re the perfect replacement.

word count: 1.1k

content warning: extreme stalking, harassment, unhealthy infatuation, murder, brief mention of potential kidnapping, unhealthy idealism, manipulation, gaslighting.

Today was really not the day for this, your complete lack of intolerance to bullshit had reached its capacity.

But this had been happening every attempt for the past week, a relatively new and frankly.. abruptly confusing issue.

The button on your key fob for your car makes the indicators flash orange each attempt to pry the boot open. With a click or the button, it’s supposed to open the boot automatically.

But your car doesn’t do that, no. It insists on a one armed wrestling match while you have to click the button simultaneously.

Thanks to Joel, the man that has been absolutely infatuated with you for months, since you’d hired them for a minor job, just a custom order bookshelf. Not something the men would typically accept but Joel was absolutely infatuated with you.

Since then he hadn’t ever been far from where you were. Even if that meant showing up to your house at night and sabotaging apart of your car.

It’s hot out. These Texan summers were no joke and with no breeze, the beads of sweat meticulously lined upon your forehead, not one inch of it wasn’t covered in sweat.

“Come on!” With a grunt of frustration, you attempt to wrestle the boot open again, pushing it down to try and get the latch unstuck.

He watches on as you struggle with the boot of your car for the third time this week alone, how you managed to live your life without a man to take care of you was a real mystery to him.

As amusing as it is to watch you struggle, he figures he needs to approach before some other man offers a helping hand. The last thing Joel needs is to bury another goddamn prick on your behalf. You should be thanking Joel, really.

But he understands, you don’t know. You’re vulnerable, completely none the wiser to the fact that a man that mowed your lawn once a fortnight, had managed to peep through your bathroom window and caught a glance of your bare skin while you were showering.

Unaware that anyone was watching you groan again in frustration, about ready to pull your hair out. “Why the hell is this happening to me today?!”

“Excuse me, miss?” A well recognised Southern, Texan accent calls out to you with a hint of amusement and curiosity. Turning around, the man was closer than you’d expected.

“You need something?” Perhaps you were snappier than you should’ve been, and he raises a singular eyebrow at you.

“I’m sorry. I just.. need help with this. Pain in the ass. I have cold stuff and it’s hot as shit out here!” You ramble incessantly to the man who just tilts his head.

As he steps forward. “Mind if I give it a try?”

“Good luck to you—“ before you could even finish the scornful sentence the boot was open.

“How did you do that?” Disbelief wavering in your tone.

He shrugs, folding his arms over his chest, the shirt tightens and the muscles in his arms bulge. A fitting distraction to keep your eyes away from the fact that he had just sneakily attached a tracking tab onto your car. Underneath the number plate.

Now, he already knew your home address. But he had to make sure that you weren’t seeing anyone.

You were certain he had caught you staring. “These older models have a few minor issues, I learnt that working on my own truck, I suppose.”

Now that were true. But he wouldn’t really tell you the reason he knew how to fix this particular issue.

“What’s your name anyway?”

He starts packing your groceries into the now open boot, a few bags in each hand at a time.

The veins in his forearms protrude out of the skin.

“Joel. Joel Miller.”

Once he’s finished packing your groceries away, he closes the boot. “Shouldn’t have no more issues with it.”

You raise a brow. “You’re not gonna ask my name?”

He doesn’t want to, because he already knows it.

He almost laughs, almost. “What is your name, miss?”

When you reply with your name, he doesn’t at all seem phased, which was odd. “You kinda look familiar, actually.”

He keeps a calm expression, looking around the carpark as he gives a warm smile. “I live around here. Do contracting for a lot of houses around town.”

He could’ve felt his gut drop in that moment, maybe you’d figured him out. Perhaps you were about to call him out on what he’s been doing, sneaking around your goddamn house at night, sabotaging the boot so that it wouldn’t open properly.

Perhaps if that were the worst case scenario, he would just have to whack you on the head and shove you into the boot of your little car and drive you to his house. Chain you up and explain that he’s not a bad guy, he just cares for you. No one else cares for you like he does.

Thankfully, it doesn't come to that, because you’re clueless, really. It’s sad to see that you don’t protect yourself. If Joel could get away with all of this unseen. Imagine the real creeps that would take advantage of you.

Joel had been creating all of these minor issues for you, so that you would perhaps seek him out if he happened to.. by chance.. be nearby.

Come to think of it, there was a white pickup that had some sort of business name on the side of it. Been around your street a few times this week, actually. Perhaps he’s got work in the area?

Ain’t really your business to ask though.

“Yeah, I suppose. Thanks anyway, for this.. I should get home now. Don’t want all the dairy and meat to spoil.”

By now you really should be leaving.. but you feel compelled to give the helpful man your number.

“Maybe I can thank you properly one day for lending a hand.”

You quickly scribble it down on the back of your long docket and hand it to him.

“I’ll contact you,” albeit a simple response, he vows to you.

He takes the half crumpled paper with your number and nods with a warm smile, watching you as you get into your car and thank him again through the window before driving off.

A grim smile on his wicked lips as he watches the car leave the parking lot, knowing that even now, as you left, he would know where you were.

Because where you were, Joel was always following close behind. He did, after all.. think you were perfect. The missing piece of the puzzle to his family. The right woman to give his daughter a caring, loving mother. And you—would be his wife. Joel was taking all the steps necessary to ensure it.

He would have he perfect family. He would have you.

Finally, with the number in hand, he was one step closer.

[turbolezgooo]

Why ya'll hate on Cait and call her a dictator?

Well-written characters often have a story deeper than what you explicitly see them do or hear them say. Just because everything is set in a fantasy world, doesn't mean that characters are not affected by tragic events and the human condition.

First of all, Cait wasn't the one who made a police state. Ambessa and the council did that. Ambessa orchestrated the whole thing. Cait went along with it because she was turned around by grief. That shit messes with your judgment, but she was still trying to do what she and Vi agreed on. To focus on the real problem and prevent hurting innocent people.

Cait tried to control an unraveling situation AND literal warlord WHILE being inexperienced in how to deal with it, having a big ol' lesbian break up, AND dying inside.

You could see that when Cait argued to Ambessa that there are innocent people and there MUST be justifiable cause to arrest anyone. In Cait and Ambessa's interactions it's implied that Cait was getting in the way of Ambessa's agenda off-screen. She tried to keep something worse from happening because she does acknowledge the historical and current oppression of Zaunites.

This mirrors the way she offered Vi the badge to give her a voice in what happens to her sister if the enforcers caught her. The enforcers coming after Jinx was going to happen regardless of Cait. She took control by volunteering and taking precautions. See- While they did use gas, Vi would never agree to something that would permanently hurt the people of Zaun. The tactic gave them fewer chances of having to physically fight Zaunites who were just trying to defend themselves. Believe it or not, it was a controlled operation until grief got the better of Cait and things looked worse than it actually was.

The way that Cait deeply believes in equality in spite of a personal vendetta is why Ambessa sent Maddie to try and control her by 'filling' her hole (no pun intended). When Maddie attempted to have Cait stop the police state situation and withdraw, she did focus on Jinx at first but the second part of not wanting to make things worse was something she had a lot more to say about before Maddie interrupted. And Cait was right. What would have happened if she hadn't taken the role and played along? A puppet councillor or Ambessa herself would have been the figure head and do so much worse. Those people don't have the same perspective and understanding as Cait.

When Cait and Vi argue about listening to a war pig oink poison in her ear, she yells "I know!" as she throws a piece of war ship used in strategizing. You can tell her role was a strategic choice to have some control over the events that unfolded. That's why Vi didn't villinize her. Vi understood that Cait never really accepted anything Ambessa said. That's why she helped Vi at the commune. Cait was a double agent taking shit from all sides to stop worse things from happening.

She had grief and really crap options, but she always chose the lesser of the evils to try and stay true to who she really was. She even resigns in her argument with Vi, that she didn't put Jinx, her own mother's killer, in jail or punish her in any way. It's another example of her faltering in decision-making when overwhelming or unexpected things happen and it also tells us what she is. She's human. She doesn't make excuses for taking on an objectively bad role and making mistakes. When she said "We can't erase our mistakes.", she's also talking about herself. She takes responsibility and tries to do good. In the end, all she wanted was closure for her grief by having Jinx accept responsibility NOT by killing or abusing her or innocent Zaunites for that matter.

Imo there's a lot in Arcane that shows Cait as a flawed but inherently good person, and Vi absolutely knows it. They see each other warts and all. If you think CaitVi's lex scene was poorly written read this: https://www.tumblr.com/turbolezgooo/768190482340773888/bro-this-outrage-about-caitvi-relationship-in-s2?source=share

[aerequets]

Ur art is such an inspiration and motivation for me, as a fellow artist. I’ve been following ur stuff for a bit now and I was wondering how you decided to draw loid, yor, and anya the way you do. I say this bc I really want to start making my own fan arts, but i struggle to take this anime style and have these character read as [insert character] without it being in a “anime style.”

And I guess this applies to any character you want take from a media, and translate it into your style. Bc i don’t necessarily think ur art style is considered “anime” i kinda just see it as an abstraction ig. But even if it is, it isn’t in the style of anime show is yk? Yet the characters read as who they’re supposed to be.

And I think a while back you u mentioned that you were struggling on decided how to draw loid. ig i wanna know How did you come to the decision that “yes, this looks correct and I wanna draw him like this.”

Is it finding defining feature and proportions? Just messing around until you figure something out? And I assume you make a character sheet to keep it consistent?

Like i literally go to art school but cant draw anything without a reference photo and it killing me 😔💀💀

Sorry for the yapp i’m just down bad rn and really love ur work. Please help be get out of the reference photo trap😭

Also sorry if this reads weird and has errors i’m sleep deprived and can’t bring myself to go back and reread

WHAIUGOUGH???? UR TOO KIND??? THANK U

i will try my best to answer below, but i dont think it is anything profound or super secret lmao

so i think that artists get really caught up with finding/establishing a style when they are first starting out. i say this because i was no different. to me it was like 'oh if i have a style then i am a Real artist instead of just a copier'

but like, i think that order is backwards. like the more that you draw things you enjoy, the more those drawings will become your own and in your 'style' if that makes sense. heavy emphasis on the quantity here. you just gotta go really at it. and the best way to do this is through sheer quantity tbh.

however at the same time, i dont really agree with the whole 'draw x things per day every day' thing cuz sometimes thats just hard man. i mean you mentioned you were in art school so you're probably drawing every day anyways, but for a hobbyist or fanartist (me lol) its mostly based on whether u feel like drawing or not. Which is why its rlly cool when you have a show/book/movie/anything you're really into which makes you want to draw more! it becomes something fun rather than a chore.

so basically, dont view a style as something you have to develop right away, or turn drawing into a chore, because that will be very counteractive trust me.

another important thing i wanted to mention, you said "reference photo trap" but ITS NOT A TRAP! USE REFERENCES!!! REFERENCES ARE IMPORTANT AND GOOD (i am assuming you already know this, but using references is not the same as tracing. just to make it clear)

this is another thing common with newer artists (and of course how i used to be), where you feel like you have to draw 'from your mind' for it to be an indicator of any skill. NOT TRUE!! you need to use references to get better!

lastly, to answer your question (as best i can lol) there was never any point when i decided 'yes this is it' when drawing. you just draw and draw and keep changing and growing. it is a little of everything you said (defining features, proportions, messing around) but it is also just drawing a lot and having fun! :D oh and i definitely do not have a character sheet. i am not anywhere near that organized LMAO

[millieisawriter]

La redención de un tonto

javier escuella x reader

summary: the fall of the van der linde gang was the thing that doomed what had been between you and javier. you loved each other, you truly did, but after he chose dutch's side, and you stood by arthur, you knew this is the end. however, a few years later the fate had led you right back to javier.

wc: 2.7k

all pics taken from pinterest

!!!rdr2 spoilers!! rdr1 spoilers too i guess?

♡this was requested!♡

a/n: okay so i have never played rdr1 nor have i watched any gameplays, but i conciously spoiled it to myself after having finished rdr2, so i know what happens in rdr1, but forgive me if i have missed some details from the game

You never had the intention of heading to Mexico. Well, back when you and Javier were a thing, he always talked about how he was someday going to take you there. But due to what happened to the gang, it never happened, so you buried the memories six feet deep.

Long story short, Javier sided with Dutch and his ideas that got crazier each day, one worse than the other. On one hand you understood his loyalty, but you looked at the problem more objectively. Dutch's brilliant ideas were dangerous, leading the gang into a dead end, from where there was no saving.

"Loyalty is the only thing that can save us." Javier would often remind you.

By then, the gang had moved somewhere near Annesburg. The damn cave you had cleared of its previous tenants was making the camp feel cold, unfamiliar, even scary. Or maybe it wasn't the cave's fault. So much had changed the past few months since that failed job in Blackwater.

"Look, I love Dutch like a father, he practically raised me," you had replied, "but right now he's leading us all into a grave!"

"So what, you're going to side with Arthur? With John? Turn your back on everything we've built?"

"I can't be with you if you support ideas of a man who doesn't give a shit about none of us anymore!"

In that moment, you had been ready to leave. If only Javier wanted to, you two would have left the gang, keep your head low for some time, and eventually leave a happy ever after.

But that never happened. Javier had been blinded by his loyalty to Dutch, and you saw it even without Arthur pointing it out. Because Dutch saved Javier's life a few years before, Javier was now willing to give it up for plans that were doomed from the start.

After you had left, you had no idea what happened to any of the others. You've heard a whisper here and there in saloons, talking of the great fall of the Van Der Linde gang, some people that died, but never any details.

"I guess this is where we part ways." You had stated the last time you ever saw Javier. It were as if you needed to say it for yourself, because it still didn't feel real.

Old you never thought a breakup with Javier would ever have to happen. But then, the old Javier wouldn't put Dutch over the love of his life. Maybe it just wasn't what you were to him, after all.

He knew you still loved him, even if you hated you were on separate edges of the war within your gang. "You don't mean that."

Did he say that because he still loved you too? Or was he just so full of himself? In that moment it hit you, the memory of how John had called Javier a cynic that tried so hard to be a romantic. Maybe the fall of the gang caused Javier's true colors to show.

"I do." Tears appeared in your eyes when you thought about how you'd often imagine saying these words to Javier, but in slightly different circumstances.

For a moment, you thought he might argue, that he would try to convince you one last time. But instead, he looked at you with an expression you had never seen on his face before. There was sorrow, and regret. And the sign of an internal struggle within him.

"Then go," his final words pierced your heart, "just don't expect me to save you when everything falls apart."

Like a prophecy, everything did fall apart. The next few years were so difficult for you. You couldn't get a job, you had practically nothing left. You left the gang, but you never left the life of crime. It was the only way of living you knew.

The price on your head grew, at some point you stopped keeping track of how much it was. You had no way to redeem yourself, but there wasn't a thing you'd regret. You did what you had to in the order to survive. Regret wouldn't feed you, and it sure as hell wouldn't protect you from the men who wanted your head.

The next job was supposed to be simple. You were going to deliver a shipment of rifles to a small band of people like yourself near the border. But nothing ever went according to plan and you were ambushed. You ran, and all you knew was that now you were in Mexico, the place you were supposed to someday visit with the man you once had loved.

Coming back to America would be too risky, maybe fate just wanted for you to end up in Mexico, so after weeks of travel you thought you finally found a safer place to rest. The building looked like an abandoned house, falling apart, but it was better than the lack of any roof over your head.

You woke up one night to a group of unfamiliar male voices talking to each other outside. In Spanish, so you didn't even understand a single word. Before you could silently flee, the door opened, and you had been found by a group of Mexican bounty hunters.

Maybe it was the dehydration, the hunger, the lack of good sleep, but you could swear one man looked way too familiar.

"Javier..?" You asked quietly, to shocked to be scared by the three other men pointing their guns at you.

"¿La conoces?" One of the men asked, as Javier's shocked expression didn't go unnoticed.

["Do you know her?"]

Javier quickly recomposed himself, as if slipping into a role. "Es mía." It was a gamble, but Javier had always been good at those.

["She's mine."]

"¿De qué carajos estás hablando, Escuella?"

["What the fuck are you talking about?"]

"Vale más viva. Y no pienso compartir la recompensa. Váyanse ahora o ninguno de ustedes se va a ir caminando."

["She's worth more alive. And I'm not going to share the reward. Leave now, or none of you will walk away walking."]

The other bounty hunters passed knowing looks among each other. "Bien," one of them nudged Javier, you reckoned it was a playful gesture, "es tu problema."

["Fine, she's your problem."]

The other men left, and you were confused. How the hell were you having a reunion with Javier in such circumstances? As if out of habit, your reached for your gun, resting your hand on the holster at your hip.

"What the hell are you doing here?" You asked, standing up.

"I could ask you the same thing, querida." He raised his hands to show you he doesn't mean bad. "I'm not going to hurt you." He's always had an accent when he spoke in English, which you had always adored. Now, the accent was even more prominent.

You pointed the gun at him, unlocking it. "Yeah, just hand me over so I can swing." You snapped. "That's the great Javier Escuella! Bounty hunting, of all things! That's ridiculous!"

"At least it's honest work. Continuing the way you chose... did you think the law will never catch up to you?"

"That's rich coming from you."

Javier's jaw muscles twitched, betraying the calmness was just a mask he put on. He lowered his hands slowly, but didn't reach for his weapon. "You don't know what I've been through. I lost everything."

"Just as I did! I've lost the gang, the life we had... you..." you paused before you seethed at him, "don't you dare act like you're the only one who's suffered. Nothing justifies selling people out for a few... whatever currency you have here."

Javier's gaze softened, you could swear you saw his lips twitch into a smirk momentarily. "I didn't sell you out, did I?"

Suddenly, the words 'then go, just don't expect me to save you when everything falls apart,' rang in your mind again. Truth be told, those words were said in anger, and right now... Javier was far from angry.

He hadn't seen you in years, but he still loved you. Maybe even more than before. After the gang fell appart, he quickly came to the conclusion you were the love of his life. There was no one better before, nor after. Meeting you again was felt like life giving him another chance.

"Why don't you sell me out, then?" You asked, lowering your weapon.

Javier smirked, as if the answer was supposed to be obvious to you. "Because I don't want you to swing, querida." He took a few steps closer, carefully as if approaching a wild animal.

"You don't get to suddenly act as if you care." Your voice was aggressive, but it sounded forced, almost cracking. "Let me go, and tell your... friends that I ran away."

"I couldn't let you go for all these years. You think I haven't thought about you every day since we parted? You think I don't regret the choices I made?"

You knew Javier has always had a way with words. In the charming way, not in the brash way Sean used to. Javier's words were like quiet, seductive whispers whenever he wanted or needed them to be. And maybe right now he just needed to sweet-talk you into giving in.

"Regret doesn't mean shit," you tried to snap at him, "you chose Dutch over me. We could leave the gang, leave a good life—"

Javier interrupted you, "Dutch knew how to get inside our heads."

"Just help me get out of here."

Javier took a deep breath, glancing outside the broken window momentarily. He could see the other bounty hunters leaving, the road's dust raising at their horses' hooves. They were far enough.

"Fine." Javier said finally, his voice disappointed.

The man grabbed your wirst, sternly but without hurting you. Now that he had you again, he was supposed to let you go. That wasn't what he wanted.

After he led you outside, you felt his grip loosen up to eventually let go of your wrist completely. Contrary to what it should make you feel, you were... disappointed? As if at some point you thought he would fight harder to win you back.

Then you realized. Javier didn't want to part ways again, but neither did you. And just when you thought there was no more hope, the man spoke up.

"You don't know this place," he said, "you're hungry, exhausted, don't know the language. Let me help you."

Your stomach had been empty for a long time, your legs ached, and the pounding in your head was getting unbearable. There were more reasons not to trust Javier, than to trust him, but you needed help. Maybe you could just sneak away after he helps you.

"And what do you get out of this?" You asked.

"I get to make up for my mistakes." He replied. "I'll show you I'm not the same man that let you go. Maybe I'll even get to keep you safe this time."

"I don't need saving. I can survive on my own."

"Not here, querida. This isn't the United States. How are you going to survive if you don't know how to even buy a damn apple in Spanish?"

Scoffing, you crossed your arms. "Don't need talking to steal."

"And make your bounty grow?" He sighed. "Admit it, you need help. Let me to that, please."

You replied after a moment of silence, "Fine. But don't think it makes up for what you did."

Javier nodded, smiling faintly. He led you to his horse, offering his hand to help you mount. Hesitantly, you took it. You pride didn't want to, but you were too exhaused.

Before climbing up himself, Javier reached for his sombrero and handed it to you. "Here."

It wasn't much, but it was better than leaving your face fully exposed, so you accepted it. You hoped wearing a man's hat didn't mean the same thing in Mexico as it did in the United States, but you tried to push that thought away regardless.

Then, you pulled the bandana from around your neck up over your face, completing the makeshift disguise. It was better than nothing, but what you really needed, were new clothes. Maybe something that wouldn't scream wanted criminal.

Some time later, a time that felt like enternity to you, Javier's horse came to a stop at a saloon. It looked as if it was about to collapse, but apparently the interior was full of life.

"Don't worry," Javier reassued you, dismounting, "most of them got a bounty on their heads. No one will care."

You reluctantly followed Javier inside. The saloon was dimly lit, and no one even seemed to care when you two walked inside. Despite the location being rather safe, Javier paid for a room, and that was where you ate your meal.

The meal wasn't fancy, but it tasted like heaven after weeks of surviving on whatever you could find. Either the saloon's cook was wasting his talent working in a place like this, or the fact that you hadn't had a proper meal in so long made it seem that way.

Javier leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching you. "Good?" He asked.

You nodded, swallowing the last bite. "Yeah."

Javier watched you for a moment longer before looking away. For all the tension between you, there was something in his gaze that you recognized well. Inside the man he was now, was still the man you once loved.

He was different. Older, worn by life and everything that had happened the past few years, but so were you. Thinking about what to say next, you moved from the tiny table to the bed.

"Why are you doing this?" You asked, making Javier's eyes shift back to you.

"Because..." he hesitated, "I never stopped thinking about you, about what happened. I didn't even know if you were alive. I was a fool, querida. I thought loyalty was everything, that Dutch had all the answers. Turns out he didn't, and it cost me the only thing that ever really mattered."

You didn't know what to reply. Of course, years of anger wouldn't disappear after a bunch of nice words. But it definitely cracked the surface of your shell. Part of you wanted to push him away, to protect yourself. But another part wanted to believe him, the part that saw in him your former lover.

When you didn't answer, Javier continued talking, making a bold move by sitting down on the bed. Right next to you. What it made you feel was so familiar yet so distant, you had to shift in spot, attempting to make the distance between the two of you a bit bigger. It barely worked.

Javier leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, hands clasped. He wasn't looking at you when he spoke. "I know I don't deserve forgiveness," he couldn't look at you when he said this, "but I need you to know I never stopped loving you."

His words were an arrow that pierced right through your heart. As painful as it was, his feelings for you never faded. Even back when he made that choice to stand by Dutch. Especially then.

You took a breath to reply, but you couldn't come up with any words. So it just sounded as if you let out a sigh. That didn't make Javier feel any better.

He turned to look at you. "I'd take it all back if I could. I'd leave it all behind for you, right here, right now. Just say the word."

It was the way he said it that finally broke your shell completely. The way his voice was vulnerable. It proved to you that he wasn't trying to manipulate you.

Without thinking, you reached for his hand. He didn't know what to do, but he surely didn't want you to let go.

"You're an idiot." You said, but your voice was soft, without malice. "But so am I for what I still feel for you."

Judgning by how he's been acting, you thought he'll catch a hint this is the moment where he kisses you. It seemed as if he was too stunned to react immediately, so you took the matters in your own hands and leaned in.

It started hesitantly. He kissed you back, but the both of you were carefully walking along the thin thread of any trust that there was left. It took Javier a moment, but his hands eventually pulled you closer. He used to think he had lost you forever, so when he finally found you again... he didn't want to let go.

[sokkastyles]

I have some thoughts about Iroh bonding with Azula and Ozai, after reading your post about it. I find it very interesting to think that Iroh probably is reminded a lot about his relationship, or a lack of it sort of, with Ozai whenever he sees Zuko and Azula interact with each other. I think there are very interesting parallels between both sibling pairs. I also find it very strange that people think that Iroh didn't do enough to help Azula, because I don't think that's completely true. After the scene in Book 2 when Azula almost kills Iroh after shooting a lightning bolt at him, Zuko's response to him asking what they are going to do about Azula is "I know, she's my sister and I should get along with her." This pretty strongly implies that Iroh (and Ursa also most likely) did try to encourage Azula and Zuko to actually try to get along at some point, most probably because he didn't want them to have a strained, basically nonexistent relationship with each other like he does with Ozai. There's also the fact that Zuko would have still wanted to have some type of relationship with any of his family members, and Iroh absolutely would have supported this. I think this is very interesting to think about, because while Iroh and Ozai both grew up believing very strongly in Fire Nation propaganda and ideals, by the time Iroh realizes the truth about the Fire Nation, he's lost his son and his family is shattered in other ways too. Iroh sees how ruthless and cold Ozai becomes and he would never want that to happen to either Zuko or Azula. But he sees that Azula is becoming like that due to Ozai's influence, and I really think that he wanted Zuko and Azula to keep trying to get along as a way of circumventing Ozai's influence on both of them. Whether or not that was enough is debatable I suppose, but I think what changes Iroh's mind on this completely is when Zuko's face gets scarred. I think that's when Iroh would have realized that there's no real way to get through to Azula or Ozai, because they are both violent and manipulative. I don't think any of this can or should be reduced down to Iroh not having done enough to help Azula. While I also do think Azula was failed by the adults around her due to not having anybody around her who could have helped curb some of Ozai's influence, she absolutely should be held accountable for the things she did (and the actual situation surrounding why no one would go against Ozai at that time is quite complicated). This was basically my long-winded way of saying Iroh-Ozai and Zuko-Azula are very interesting to think about as narrative parrallels. What are your thoughts on this?

Yeah, I mean, the fact that Zuko thinks Iroh is going to say that he should learn to get along with his sister is evidence that Iroh isn't pushing some anti azula agenda. But Iroh is also very much reacting to the things Azula has done so far, not just the agni kai and the fact that she was sitting right there smiling at Zuko being burned, which I do agree was an eye opening moment for him.

Iroh's regrets are often about feeling like he didn't do enough, and I think he did try to shield Zuko in a lot of ways from how bad his family was, thinking that that would make things better. Even in "The Avatar State," Iroh is rightfully suspicious of Zuko but goes along with things not just because Zuko won't listen, but because it's hard to tell someone that their loved one is abusive. It was probably hard for Iroh to realize that. I don't know how much of that conversation he ever had with Zuko before, but the impression I get is not a lot.

There's this moment that I think is under-discussed before Azula meets Zuko and Iroh for the first time, where she is practicing lightning, and the scene cuts to Iroh noticing the lightning on the horizon with a wary look. This is supposed to tell us that Iroh knows either Azula or Ozai is after them, but I don't know that he ever said anything to Zuko. I think for a long time he hoped he wouldn't have to have that conversation at all. But he also had to know that he couldn't keep Zuko safe forever, that whatever freedom Zuko's banishment offered would never last.

So when Zuko modifies his need to protect himself from Azula with "I know I should be trying to get along with her," I don't think this is Iroh saying this out of lack of trying to bring the family together. It might even be Iroh feeling guilty for having said something similar in the past, or felt something similar, since we know from Legacy of the Fire Nation that he did once have those thoughts about Ozai, and since we know he got Azula a doll. Like, maybe he was thinking about all those warning signs he ignored or tried to downplay, because no one wants to think a father would hurt their son or a sister would want to hurt their brother. Maybe he was thinking about his own guilt about not trying harder to "get along," and it was important for him to not let Zuko suffer the same feelings, to let Zuko know that he didn't have to stand by the way Iroh himself did for so long, for his own protection and for other people's protection.

Can you imagine Iroh having a similar thought process, right before the agni kai, about how surely Ozai would not really hurt his own son?

Or maybe Iroh was thinking about how Zuko thought he couldn't defend himself from his own father for the sake of family. "She's my sister," sounds a lot like "I'm your loyal son," doesn't it?

I mean, if I had to guess what Iroh was thinking after Zuko got scarred, it might be similar.

He was my brother. It was his son. I didn't know.

I have no time for people who think Iroh is acting out of some weird prejudice and isn't intimately familiar with what it feels like to love a sibling who isn't capable of loving you back.

[kalkori]

starts punching the wall. starts punching the wall. starts punching the wall. starts punching the wall. starts punching the wall.

people seem to like it when i yell at the void analysing video games [see: me still getting notifications on my fleshcousin post going "YOU. YOU GET IT"] so um.

HEAVY SPOILER WARNING FOR GREAT GOD GROVE & INSCRYPTION

i have always hated how people tend to flatten p03 into the evilest guy on earth but unable to articulate for the normal person just WHY i hate it. But great god grove gives me the full ability to explain it to the normal person:

p03 is inspekta, at their core. except, they never had any support.

lets think about some p03 traits that are... overlooked.

for example, can we talk about the fact that p03's minions are the only ones actually DEVOTED to them?

like, grimora and leshy's minions are mostly neutral about them. magnificus's... um... tower companions don't really have a choice.

But P03's?

they could just... leave. any time. whenever. but they dont. in fact, they are willing to sacrifice themself for p03 when they really don't need to.

reminds me Of A Certain Person's Little Busy Boys. and you can TRY to make an argument that inspekta doesn't actually care for them but occam's razor. they like their boys

this next bit is more well known, but there are more hints that p03 is sort of putting up a facade.

in the uberbots, they all each reflect the parts of a scrybe p03 has distaste for.

G0lly represents themself, and instead of it being the grand "wow this uberbot is awesome," it is the one played up THE MOST and the one p03 hates THE MOST

and it is... cute. nice. trusting.

the part p03 hates about themself... is the part that isn't cynical, has not been broken down by the miserable existence in the floppy disk, that is always desperately reaching out.

i would actually argue that p03 is more innocent than inspekta.

because p03 does not know what the old_data is until they're in too deep, or, they never get to know at all.

see, theres a secret with the bone lord in act 3 where are the end luke AND P03 learn the true nature of the old_data

and p03...

only has that to say.

p03's plan was to NEVER spread this evil, and hell, they didn't even destroy anyone. they explicitly keep them around, and those turned into cards don't even get their whole memory erased (cough cough) LESHY (cough cough)

in the end inspekta and p03 had the same goal: to be remembered, to be the only one, and most importantly, to be loved.

so why did inspekta get a happy ending, while p03... well... "wins", but in the worse case scenario?

it's simple. the gods cared about eachother, the scrybes didn't.

"grimora-" grimora committed murder suicide and went "its for the best" without asking anyone.

Magnificus.

leshy could not care less about the scrybes, if erasing their memory and casually throwing away the bodies says anything.

inspekta, on the other hand, had all of their god buddies essentially screaming at them "WE LOVE YOU." because they could see past inspekta's facade, and see the real inspekta, see hector.

none of the scrybes could see past the acts the other put up.

in conclusion/tl;dr: the power of love and friendship could have changed the ending to inscryption and i am not joking

[sparrow-and-seed-scrawls]

Finding Real Life in Characters

something I’ve found compelling is the beauty of life in characters.

I recently finished a story about a deeply hurt character, one who’d been betrayed and shattered, one who very well could have been written as a dark, unkind, and brooding man.

The author could have brushed past his trauma, as so many artists and writers do, watering down the sharp gravity of pain into nothing but a ‘sad backstory, but he’s attractive so it doesn’t matter much’ beat. It’s certainly worked for sales in the past.

That sounds a bit harsh, I suppose, but I’d forgotten how it felt to see such understanding kindness displayed in media. I specifically remember a line that (paraphrased) said, “I want to tell you ‘I’m sorry’ again, but this isn’t about me. You don’t need to be reassuring me right now. This is about taking care of you. You’re allowed to cry. There is so much strength in allowing yourself to feel those things.”

And I can’t stop thinking about it. Despite everything this character had gone through—from being taken advantage of to losing everything he knew—he loved people. He found broken pieces of his own grief in others and helped them find their way to continue, showing that it’s okay to cry, it’s not weak to ask for help and healing, it’s necessary to feel.

He said, “I don’t know what you’re going through. These [circumstances] are felt and perceived differently by everyone. But I have been to dark places before, too, and you’re not going to heal by shutting yourself off.”

So often we write, draw, imagine characters as better versions of people. They’re more good, more attractive, more angsty—they let us forget the bad parts of ourselves. But characters are also meant to show us how to live through our mistakes and/or pain.

Yes, he had a tragic backstory, and it affected his choices, his words, his personality. Of course it did, it’s realistic. But the ‘tragic backstory’ gave him character motivation and realism, not something to make him appear attractive or mysterious to other characters.

He respected others’ boundaries because his had been ignored. He was scared of change and opening up because it had cost him. He was gentle when others were in emotional pain because he knew how it could damage. And we saw this in the everyday, not just the plot points and angsty scenes.

There is something so true and real about seeing how life affects everyone differently. Seeing how it’s possible to change and possible to live past hurt.

He was an absolutely incredible character. I wish I could explain this better, maybe one day I’ll be able to, but life in writing—life with a past of pain, life that changes to keep that pain from happening again, life that heals and helps, despite what happened, is absolutely unforgettable.

Realness in characters is what makes art and story so addicting.

[ochrearia]

I don't think I should be allowed to have a brain at this point literally can't do anything without my brain making leaps between vaguely related topics all just to prove I'm untrustable and a love bomber and I'm gonna be honest I think the latter is actually true considering how I've been acting this whole time. And I hate that it took me this long to understand that yes I have been too much and all these other things etc etc

And then I'm self aware it's a spiral but I also don't care that it's a spiral because for once I need to hear it because I know what I'm like and I know I just end up scaring people out of telling me the truth out of guilt or whatever and god I make myself sooooo mad sometimes holy shit. But this is my problem that I caused so now I get to lie in this bed because I told myself I was too much and couldn't act like this and did it anyways. And in my quest that was never going to end well wanting to make everyone feel special. I have made my words mean nothing and thus it's like no one is. Incredible job Ochre

I know what the problem is and I'm going to fix it by stopping all of this because that's really all I can do. And I really have no right to feel like shit because I'm the one who was doing it. And I'm tired of making everything about me too I've needed to stop that shit for a while. Just. No more of all this overbearing affection amongst other things. This is not how I should exist

Literally a bunch of top results of how love bombing works good job me. Actually just fuck off for once. And I need to stop talking about everything like I keep telling myself to so just. One. And that's it. Still better than writing another overdramatic cringe toxic one-shot and dragging YS's character down with me or any of the others at this point. I'm just pissed at myself. Like get real. And in an hour or two I'm going to get even more mad at myself for acting like this outwardly, find someone else to bother

Whatever. Just start over. Again. You'd think I would know better by now. Christ

[ultimateyakazoo]

chapter 1 trial

[bumblingbabooshka]

"Everything you went through was meaningless." [St Voyager S3 E7: 'Sacred Ground']

[peppermintack]

show tempe gang crossover with the morris islanders would actually have been the best episode of bones ever. btw

[razorsadness]

maybe we’ll hug each other in a past life (part one of three)

So much to say, and where to begin. “Begin at the beginning, and when you come to the ending, then stop.” I guess I’ll begin with the Giant Paddy O’s Show on September 7th, as that was the first big event of these past two+ months, and I jotted down so many notes about it.

We were truly blessed that day; it was the first day in months when it was chilly enough to be leather jacket weather, which was perfect for the outfit I was gonna be rocking that night. I was vending at the White Lilac, a new venue in Kenosha (well, they’ve been open about a year now), and also performing on the stage there at the end of the night. The day before, I’d been told by one of the event organizers that I had to bring my own card table for vending, unless I wanted to use one of the small high-top bar tables at the venue. I have a card table I could’ve taken, but I really didn’t want to haul that around on top of all my merch, etc., so I was just like, fuck it, guess I’ll use a small table. But, blessing number two, when I walked in to the White Lilac and explained my situation, Kelly—the owner, who was also working the door alongside his wife that night—said: “No worries, we have an extra table you can use!” and pulled a long folding table out from under the stage. And right after that, he gave me a free bottle of water and a free basket of popcorn fresh from their popcorn machine. The little while after that was spent setting up my table and waving away the yellowjackets that flew in the open door and landed on my popcorn, then I went outside to have a cigarette before the first performer went on stage. That’s when Pookie and Dean showed up, and I was like: “Holy flashback to 2000-2004, Batman.” Dean said ‘hey’ to me but we didn’t talk much, he seemed anxious and wanted to stand off by himself chainsmoking, which hey, I get it. But Pookie, he came up and gave me a huge hug and said: “It’s so good to see you.”

Here’s a little summation of my friendship with Pookie: he is one of the few friends from that era of my life I had a totally platonic relationship with. Though actually it requires a more nuanced explanation than that. When I say “platonic relationship,” I don’t necessarily just mean people I never hooked up with, I mean people that there wasn’t even any flirtation or romantic/sexual spark with. And actually he and I did make out—once. It was at a Halloween party at Paddy O’s in 2003, and a bunch of us were out back in the beer garden, and Beagan and I started making out (because that is the kind of friendship we’ve always had), and Pookie and Beagan had made out before so they started making out, too, and we were all drunk and back then Pookie and I were both single and we were both makeout bandits, so we made out for a little while before stopping and just looking at each other like: “No.” Later, we talked about it, and we were both like: “No offense, I love you, man, and it’s not that you’re unattractive, but there was no there there, and I feel like if we ever made out again it would just make me feel weird and sad, so, let’s not?” And then we cheers’d each other and that was that, there was never any awkwardness between us afterwards, we just both knew we did not at all feel that way about one another. We had a great friendship, the kind where you can give each other a hard time in an affectionate way, but also have deep, meaningful conversations, and know that the other person always has your back. Like, we could talk shit to/about each other (he’d call me a dirty Mick and I’d call him a filthy Frog—though I have French ancestry too, he’s mostly French; we’d make fun of each other’s favorite music), but if anyone else seriously talked shit about one of us, or did something fucked up to one of us, and the other one found out? Heads would roll. He was one of the only guys that were part of the Paddy O’s crowd/Kenosha scene who a. believed me and b. cared when I started telling people that the King of Kenowhere had raped me. Yeah, we were great friends, but I hadn’t seen or spoken to him in at least a decade until that Saturday night—not because we’d had a falling out, just because life happened—and then he hugged me, and let me tell you, I hadn’t been hugged like that in such a long time. It was the biggest, warmest hug, full of love and 20+ years of friendship. He hugged me, and then we immediately went on to reminisce about ye olde days.

Back inside the White Lilac, the first act, Kenye, a glampunk poet/musician, went on. He performed songs about being bipolar, and about class war, and one called “Emily Dickinson Was Right,” and then he performed poems about heartbreak and ghosts (specifically about haunted places in southeastern Wisconsin). So clearly I have a lot in common with this fella! I went up to him after his set, to say I really liked his stuff, and to talk about ghosts. I told him some of my own stories of local haunted places, and mentioned that I’d also done a lot of research about haunted places in southeastern Wisconsin for a blog post when I was writer-in-residence a few years back. Kelly overheard us talking, and jumped in with his own spooky local story, and it was pretty neat, to be chatting about ghosts and haunted places with a couple likeminded folks.

Codes Within Codes (aka Cody) went on next, and I got really into his stuff. It was like Radiohead meets the Chemical Brothers meets some heavier industrial bands. I was messaging with Yoni at the time, and was like: “Oh hey, check this guy’s stuff out,” and he did, and said he dug it, and might play it on his radio show at some point. Then I got my first beer of the night, a tallboy of Garage Beer. I’d never had it before, or even heard of it, but I liked the name and specifically chose it because it has a low ABV. Even with the low ABV, I sipped it slowly, because it was still early on in what was gonna be a long night, and I did not want to get blotto before my set. I sipped my beer, watched (d)VICES’s set. One of the people vending at the table next to mine was this gorgeous woman; I immediately got a teensy crush on her. She came over to look at my stuff, bought a copy of my mini art zine, and we chatted about various stuff, art and music and zines and the like. Somehow the topic of train hopping came up; it turns out we both used to do that. And then we were talking about our favorite cities and it turns out she has a New Orleans connection, too, and even knows some of the people I know there. Shit like this happens to me all the time—meeting new people and discovering they have connections with some of the same people and places I do—but every time it happens, I’m amazed all over again at how fucking small this world is. Also, she had a leopard print sweater tied around her waist, and I noticed that she had a leopard-spot tattoo on one of her arms. I was wearing a leopard print shirt, and I rolled up my sleeve to show her my leopard-spot tattoo. She said: “Leopard twins!” and we fist-bumped.

Then it was time for me to head over to Paddy O’s to see The Yates Kids. Oh, The Yates Kids. One of my longtime Kenocore favorites. (There’s a lot more I could say about that band, but I’ll get back to that later.) I’ve seen them at least a dozen times over the years, but it had been over nine years since I’d last seen them, and, other than the Bikini Kill concert in April 2023, I hadn’t seen any live punk show since pre-pandemic. So, needless to say, I was stoked. All the Paddy’s bands were playing on an outdoor stage, back in the beer garden, so first I walked in through the front door, and waited at the bar to get a drink. It was packed, so I had to wait a while, and while I waited, I noticed my friend Hank was standing at the bar next to me. He was standing next to a guy I vaguely recognized but couldn’t place. They were talking about feeling old, and I jumped in and said: “I know the feeling.” Hank said: “Oh yeah, you’re like the same age as us, huh?” And I said: “I think I’m a little bit younger than you are.” (Hank is 48, I’m only 42.) The other guy said: “Jesus, Hank, are you saying she’s an old man, too?” Then, turning to me: “You don’t look like an old man. You’re beautiful.” Hank said: “Hey, this is my friend High Life. High Life, this is Jessie.” High Life reached out to shake my hand, and said: “It’s great to meet you.” I said: “Oh, we’ve met before,” because at that point I’d realized who he was, but he was adamant that we had not met. “No way. I wouldn’t have forgotten you. You’re way too hot to forget.”

Let’s go back in time for a minute. Back in the days when I spent most of my time at Paddy O’s and The Port (or at least, most of the time I was in Kenosha), High Life was a regular at both bars, too. He was a sexy, fucked-up punk rock dude, and I was a fucked-up punk rock girl (and all the Kenosha punk dudes found me irresistible, ha ha), and when none of our other friends were around, we’d drink together, and flirt. Eventually, we ended up hanging out outside of the bars, one-on-one or at parties; we’d make out and do drugs together, and we fucked a couple times. It was never anything serious, but it was what we both needed (or at least what we wanted) at that point in our lives. Then I stopped hanging around those bars quite as much, and by the time I was back in that scene he’d gotten married and had a kid and stopped coming to the bars much at all for a while. We’d still run into each other at shows occasionally, but we never really talked, and before September 7, we hadn’t seen each other in over nine years. Still, I never forgot him. He was a good dude, despite his issues, and aside from the sex and drugs, we also shared great conversations. I’d sometimes think of him, and our brief symmetry, fondly, especially when I was nostalgic for my misspent youth of wild parties and brief flings. So yeah, as soon as Hank introduced us and I heard his name, I knew who High Life was. And even if that hadn’t rung any bells for me, I would’ve figured it out by the time I went out to the beer garden to see the band, because did I mention he’s one of the guitarists for the motherfucking Yates Kids? Yeah, he is.

So there I was, feeling really fucking awkward, because he was sorta hitting on me (which, don’t get me wrong, was great—he’s still a cutie and I don’t get hit on so much these days) yet insisting that we’d never met. It’s not that I was upset that he’d forgotten me—our little thing ended 20+ years ago, and as I said I hadn’t even seen him in nearly a decade, and we’re older and look different and I hadn’t even recognized him at first, and not everyone’s memory works the same way mine does—it’s just. What was I supposed to say: “We’ve definitely met. We used to fuck! We’ve shot up together!”? I was not going to do that. What I said was: “Oh, y’know, it was like twenty years ago, back when everyone was at this bar every night. No worries.” He said: “I really think I’d remember you. But we’ll talk more later, okay? I gotta get out to the stage.” He headed outside (Hank had already wandered off, to talk to another friend of his); I got my drink (whiskey & ginger ale), then I headed towards the beer garden, too. On my way, I saw Lily. She gave me a hug and said she had a gift for me. I asked her to bring it over to the White Lilac later, so I could stash it in my suitcase rather than trying to carry it around; she said she would. Then I saw Honey, who said: “I just texted you YATES KIDS NOW!!! because I knew you wanted to see them tonight.” “Thanks,” I said, “but I’m way ahead of you on that one, babe.”

Outside, I made my way through the crowd and got a spot near enough to the stage I could see the band, but far enough away I wouldn’t be bumped into by anyone in the slam pit. Then The Yates Kids played, and it was awesome, just what I needed. I danced my ass off and sang along to all the songs I knew, which was most of ‘em, and I watched everyone in the pit and was happy that there was a pit and that it was mostly women and old punks. Joni, who was also there dancing and singing along, came up and gave me a big hug and then went back to dancing, and I sipped my drink and looked around at all the familiar faces. There were also some faces who notably were not there, and I don’t just mean the dead punks—I mean a couple of dudes who were part of the Kenocore scene who have now been kicked out of bands and banned from most events because word got out they were rapists and abusers. It’s been really heartening to see, actually. The tide is turning—people are less likely to tolerate that type of shit these days, at least as far as I can tell—and what’s been especially heartening is that most of the people making sure these fuckers don’t show their faces have been other (cis, straight, white) men. Back when the King of Kenowhere raped me, well…

Granted, it took me a while to tell anyone (other than Jenny) what had really happened, but… Okay, so. K.K. had a reputation for being a heartbreaker/womanizer type. There were a lot of girls and women in southeastern Wisconsin who “hooked up with” or dated him, and then weeks or months later were like: “Fuck that guy.” I was not the first, nor was I the last. The guys in the scene—his bandmates, other dudes that ran in the punk scene or just hung out at the same bars—they just assumed he’d broken our hearts and moved on to the next girl, and that’s why we hated him. But a while after he raped me, I started talking to the other women that hated him, and discovered that no, he hadn’t broken our hearts. He’d either raped us or emotionally/physically abused us, or some combination thereof. We kinda became a whisper network; we spread little bits of what had happened to all of us in a way that wouldn’t “out” any of us individually, to try and warn other girls away from him before he got his hooks in. (He was really good at turning the charm on so you wouldn’t notice all the red flags, and if you did happen to notice one of the red flags? Well, he’d tell you some sob story about his life that made you think: “Poor little sad baby boy, I will take care of him in a way no other girl ever has, I can fix him, and he will understand me.” And now I’m thinking of Kathleen Hanna’s “True Love:” And then she met this boy (the anti-hero) who had these beautiful sad eyes and looked like a lost and abused little child and he said, “I am wild like you, I am fun loving like you and understand what has happened to you, I will love you.”) I’ll never know for sure, but I can only hope that our whisper network kept at least some women from being hurt by him. But yeah, the guys just never knew. Or didn’t want to know. And when I finally tried to tell some of them what had really gone down, most of them responded with: “Oh. That sucks.” And that was that. They didn’t kick him out of their bands or kick him out of bars or beat his ass or even seem all that concerned about what had happened to me and all those other women.

So, yeah. It’s just heartening to see that the women in that scene are now being believed, and the men are now keeping the creeps and abusers and rapists out as much as possible. (Thankfully, K.K. was also not there, nor were any of the guys who brushed off what he did to me.)

After The Yates Kids’ set, I walked back across the street to the White Lilac. I stopped outside, in the purple lilac dusk, first, to have a cigarette. Micah walked over at that point, and we talked for a while. Micah is the guy who sets up the whole Giant Paddy O’s show every year; that night he was also performing not one but three sets—one solo and two with different bands. Oh, and he’s my best Beagan’s ex. We’ve messaged each other a bit since they broke up, but I hadn’t actually seen him in person since, and that was two and a half years ago. My loyalty is of course to my bestie, but she’s never told any of her friends to cut off contact with him (it wasn’t that kind of breakup), and they were together for such a long time that he and I became good friends in our own right. It was really, really good to see him. After our chat, we both went into the White Lilac, and it was time for Micah’s solo set, as Torrahbull. His solo stuff is electronic and really fucking good; it reminded me a lot of The Prodigy and some other big beat stuff from that era, mixed with abstract hip-hop, and I once again danced my ass off. (Micah messaged me the next day and said the highlight of his set was looking out into the crowd and seeing me dancing.)

Then I just sat at my table, watched some other poets and musicians perform, sipped another beer, talked to people that stopped at my table. A few people bought zines; I made some new friends and talked to more old friends. Lily came by, gave me the gift she had for me—a miniature horse skull replica, because we’ve been trying to get a Mari Lwyd happening in our area for the Yule season for years now, but there’s always been some hiccup or other. (Fingers crossed, it may actually happen this year!) Now that night had fallen, there were no more yellowjackets flying in—there were moths flying in, instead. But moths are significantly less bothersome than yellowjackets. Cody stopped by my table; we traded stickers. I told him that I’d recommended his music to a radio DJ friend in Philly, and he was stoked. He also told me that he’d recently been making connections with some electronic musicians out in Philly, and so might actually end up playing some shows out there in 2025. And again, it was a moment of meeting someone new who has a connection to some of the same places and/or people I do.

Every once in a while, I ducked outside for another cigarette and a moment alone, or to talk to people who were hanging outside. Hank had come over to the White Lilac by that point, and we had a big long conversation about everything from local poetry community drama to politics to parenthood to punk. He told me how his other friend (meaning: not High Life) that had been at Paddy O’s had left after the Yates Kids set, because he thought things were getting “too crazy.” He said: “I mean, he’s from here, but he’s lived in Oregon for a long time now, and I think he forgot what the midwest punk scene is like.” We talked about how midwest punks are a rare breed; how most of us are lifers in the scene even if we don’t go to shows and party hard every week like we did when we were younger. We agreed that Midwest is best and that midwest punks are more hardcore than punks anywhere else. Then we were just quiet for a bit, looking around at the neon signs of restaurants and bars and the lights bending and refracting on the water in the harbor, and it was like a hundred thousand nights before and it was just as beautiful as the first time. I said something about the lights on the water, how poetic it was, and he said: “It is poetry.” There’s not too many people I could have that exchange with without feeling like a huge dork, but Hank gets it.

Then it was time for Joni’s set, and my set, with Honey (as Dead Language Decoder) backing us up. I had brought my tripod so I could get video of the whole thing, but when I pulled it out, I discovered the locking pin was missing. Fortunately, one of the people at the table next to mine had electrical tape, and when I got the tripod to the right height, he helped me tape it into place. Joni went first, and she brought the house down—she’s a fucking amazing performer (as well as a phenomenal poet). When I went up, I said: “I don’t know how I’m going to follow that.” I wasn’t actually looking for encouragement—I wasn’t feeling bad, I was just simply trying to acknowledge how fucking great she was, in a mildly self-deprecating way—but still, a few people shouted: “You got this!” And I did have it. My performance went great, too; I’m not the same kind of performer Joni is, but when I’m on I’m on, and that night I was on. Afterward, we hung around while Honey did some of her music solo. I started packing up, while also talking with more people. Pookie gave me another big hug on his way out, said: “I love you.” (Oh, to be told you are loved by an old friend! That’s the stuff!) One of the other poets who’d performed earlier in the night came up to me, and said she was heading home to immediately go write some new poems, because my stuff had inspired her so much. (That’s the stuff, too—being told my writing inspired someone else is probably my favorite compliment ever. Though being told my writing made someone cry is a close second.)

After my stuff was packed up, I stepped outside for one last cigarette and to chat with a few more friends/say my goodbyes before hauling my stuff to my car and heading home. I talked to Hank some more, and then: oh, High Life was there, too. Turned out he’d been in the crowd for my set. “Hey,” he said, “your stuff is really good.” “Thanks,” I replied. “I’m sorry about earlier,” he said, “I uh…I do remember who you are. We used to…” “Yep, we did.” “You must think I’m a complete asshole, or maybe just stupid, huh?” “Nah, it was more amusing than anything. Like I said, it was a long time ago.” “Yeah. Oh, but hey—I did mean what I said. I think you’re hot.” “Thanks.” “We’re all going over to The Port for the after party. You should come.” “Wish I could, but I’m kinda beat. Plus I don’t wanna get too drunk before I have to drive all the way back to Racine.” “I get it. Maybe I’ll see you around again soon?” “Yeah, maybe.” Then he gave me a hug and moseyed off to the after party. I said goodbye to Joni and Honey. Honey said: “It’s so good to see you. You need to come out more often.” “I for sure do,” I said, and she hugged me. Then Joni hugged me and said: “I love you. Your stuff is so awesome.” “So is yours,” I said, “It was so good to perform together again. It’s been too long.” “We should do it again soon!” “Yes we should! I love you.” And with that, I went back inside the White Lilac one last time, grabbed my stuff, put it in my car, and drove home.

My whole family was already asleep when I got there (no surprise, as it was well after midnight), but I couldn’t fall asleep. I was still fired up from all the love, and the music, and the adrenaline spike I always get when performing. It didn’t help that through the open window of my bedroom I could hear both an owl hooting in a nearby tree, and a loud accordion from someone blasting norteño music a few streets away. When I finally did fall asleep, I had sex dreams about High Life.

The next morning, I received Facebook friend requests from both Dean and High Life. I accepted both. Dean and I immediately got to chatting. He apologized for not really talking to me when he saw me the day before, but said that he has really bad social anxiety these days, and was currently in the process of adjusting his meds, so was extra on-edge that night. I of course said “no worries, I get it,” because though my anxiety isn’t as social-based as his is, it can sometimes be triggered by social situations, and I’d had my panic meds in my bag at the show just in case. Then we started talking about other stuff, like the Beats—he’s one of the few people I’ve ever known who was into the Beats in as deep a way as I am. In any case, we message each other about random stuff every few days or so, now, and I’m glad he’s back in my life. The first message High Life sent me was very flirtatious, a lot of: “No, seriously, when am I gonna see you again?” And I was very tempted to respond with: “I’m free whenever you are,” cuz like I said, he’s still a cutie, and his band rules, and the sex dreams were hot as fuck, but I decided to play it cool, and ultimately decided that I’m not gonna pursue anything with him. Mostly because it would be 5000 kinds of messy—the Kenosha scene is very small and borderline incestuous (not in the literal sense, obviously), and I banged my way through it Back in the Day, and there was so much drama, and there would probably be even more drama now, and as I’ve said before…I am too old for that shit.

I was feeling good all day, albeit a little achy (I fucked my hip up dancing at the show) and tired, but mostly good. Realizing that so many people remember me fondly, and like me, and like seeing me, and want to see me more often. And then in the evening I got a text from our landlady: “Can I come do a walkthrough of the property next Saturday?” And I went into full-on panic attack mode. I was shaking, crying, pacing, swearing, the whole bit. Because I have had bad experiences with landlords or their lackeys doing walkthroughs. Especially when we lived in the house on Colonial Ave.—our landlady’s daughter was always trying to evict us because she didn’t like the way we kept house or yard, and basically just didn’t like us, and was also a raging bitch. So I was having flashbacks to that and going: “Oh my god, what’re we gonna do, what’re we gonna do?!” And P. was very calm and rational, saying: “It’ll be fine, we’ve lived here over six years and have never had problems with her, and she gave us almost a week’s notice. We’ll just clean and organize as best we can, but she has to understand that we live here.” And though I knew, logically, that he was probably right, I couldn’t turn my panic off, because panic is not logical, and then he got kinda shitty, telling me I had to get my shit together because I was upsetting the kids. And of course I didn’t want to upset the kids, duh, but telling a person in the midst of a panic attack to calm down and get their shit together does not help.

The following week was full of mostly bullshit, broken up with small good things. We had to do all kinds of cleaning and organizing, and my hip injury had gotten worse, so I was in a lot of pain while doing all that. Plus I was still internally panicking about the impending walkthrough, and the kids were both in constant bad moods, and during that week it was Derry’s birthday and I was missing him so hard and worried about him too because he’d had surgery in the time since I’d last seen him, and I wanted to write but had hella writer’s block, and after our one weekend of cool leather jacket weather it had gotten hella hot and dry again (and windy—and hot dry winds make my allergies worse), and ugh ugh ugh. The small good things were trips to the craft store for Halloween-related craft stuff, and making visual art. And I got to talk to Derry—though we couldn’t be together on his birthday, I was able to call him—and he was doing well; the surgery was a success and he was recovering speedily.

And the walkthrough happened, and it was chill. The landlord said she understood why our house was a bit cluttered, and she wasn’t upset about any of the normal wear and tear. She said she was going to have the front porch repainted and repaired (there were a couple boards that were partially broken and needed replacing), and the broken storm door replaced. The only thing she seemed a little concerned about was how overgrown our yard was—not grass-wise, but “weeds”-wise. She asked if we could do some weeding, especially out front, so she didn’t get a citation from the city, and that a week later she’d come back with her husband to haul it away to the yard waste composting place. We of course said yes, no problem. So after she left, I breathed a sigh of relief—I really thought P. had been right; I had been panicking for no reason, and everything was fine.

The next day we went to a local farmer’s market, for fresh apples and cranberry white cheddar and some other treats. I dressed up a bit, for no other reason than that I felt like it, and took a selfie, and the day after that I posted it on Facebook with the caption: “I looked hella cute and autumnal yesterday.” And a bunch of people commented, and one was Ashanti, saying: “Hell yeah you did.” And I responded with: “Miss you, lady,” but the amazing thing was she was typing the literal exact same words to me at the exact same time, and we both clicked ‘post’ within a millisecond of each other. And then she said: “We said it at the exact same time. That means we’ve gotta fix it.” So we started DMing about when we can get together. That was two months ago and we still haven’t yet—we’re both very busy—but I almost cried tears of joy that day when we first got back in touch. We hadn’t talked in so long, and I really thought she hated me or at least had written me off entirely. See, for a while after we met, she was relentless in trying to hang out with me one-on-one, and we only did a couple times—partly because we were both busy a lot, but partly because of some weird feelings/insecurities on my end—and then she just stopped trying, and when I would message her she wouldn’t respond, and yeah, I thought I’d fucked up what could’ve been a really close friendship. Well, from talking to her again I found out that it had nothing to do with me. She’d just been going through her own shit and wasn’t very active on social media (including messaging apps) for a while. Much like seeing all those old friends the night of the Paddy O’s show, it was a reminder that a. everyone has their own shit going on that can keep them from reaching out and b. most of the people I care about still care about me, too.

On the last day of summer, we took the kids to Old World Wisconsin. We drove there on the backroads, through all these small towns, one of which was having their autumn festival that day. The houses and the downtown storefronts were so lovely, and I briefly thought: “I could live here,” and then I saw how the ratio of Trump signs to Harris signs was, well, heavily skewed towards the Trump side. Old World Wisconsin itself was fun—despite the fact that the weather was still very much summer weather (it was 90 degrees that day)—we learned about Norwegian rosemaling and old-school shoemaking, and played a game of sticks and hoops, and P. and I got to try an old-style Lithuanian beer. When we got home that day, we did a bunch of weeding in both the front and the back (focusing on the front), and piled everything in the front yard. And not an hour after we’d finished, our landlord showed up. She did text first, but I wasn’t looking at my phone—but anyway, they decided to come by and haul the stuff away early because it was supposed to rain the next day. And that’s when shit got really weird. She started freaking out about all the “weeds” we still had left, even though I thought we’d done quite a good job of clearing things, and she started freaking out about the clutter that she’d previously said she understood. We didn’t talk much about it that day because they were in a hurry to load everything into their truck, but she seemed really pissed and said that over the next couple weeks, they’d be coming by not only to repaint and repair the porch and replace the storm door, but also to clear out the rest of the yard to their liking. So I was immediately panicked again.

But the next day, the first day of autumn, came with a drop in temperature and some soothing and much-needed rain, and I made more art, and set up my autumn altars, and ran errands, and drove around in the rain while listening to Depeche Mode, and I felt briefly better.

My better mood didn’t last long. After the one day of rain, things got warmer (not as hot as before, but still too warm for my liking) and drier and windy again, and the landlord and her husband were there every day for a week, absolutely ripping every single plant out of both the front and back yards. And every time I tried to talk to her, to ask if there was any help we could give, she’d say no, but then start ranting about something. It was either “the yard looks like trash because you let all these weeds grow and most of this neighborhood is homeowners with immaculate lawns and you’re bringing the property values down,” or “there’s too much clutter in the basement, you just can’t keep it there, it’s a fire hazard, you need to get a storage unit if you don’t wanna get rid of it.” And I still had writer’s block, and the kids were still grumpy, and I couldn’t even take them out to play in the yard because it was full of people ripping plants out. After a few days of feeling like a hostage in my own house and seriously worrying she was going to evict us, I decided I had to talk to her about it. Of course I couldn’t say what I really wanted to say: “I don’t give a fuck about property values, and we purposefully let certain plants grow if they are non-invasive and good for pollinators, not to mention leaving some overgrowth so that the fireflies have a place to lay their eggs. And the clutter you’re freaking out about? It’s in the unfinished half of the basement—isn’t that the part of the house most people use for storing things? And it’s some boxes of papers and some bins of old clothes. It’s not like we have stacks of oil-soaked rags next to the furnace. And fuck off about a storage unit—are you going to pay for it?!” So I phrased all that in the nicest, calmest way I could: “We purposefully let some of the plants grow, because we like to have birds, bees, and butterflies in our garden. I wasn’t aware it was such a problem; I promise in the future we will not let it get like that again. As far as the clutter goes, I am aware that we have a lot of stuff we need to get rid of, and I have been going through it and getting rid of stuff, little by little. So please don’t worry too much.” It wasn’t a lie about going through and getting rid of stuff—in fact I’d taken a huge load of things to the Goodwill the week before she did the walkthrough—and in any case, I must have said the right thing, because she almost immediately calmed down. She apologized, said it was partially on her for not doing the walkthrough sooner and letting us know about the issue with the yard before it got to that point, and also said she’d been stressed because the company she’d initially called for a price quote on the porch job had tried to upsell her and insist they needed to rip out and rebuild the entire porch, for which they were going to charge an exorbitant price. She also said she wasn’t trying to get rid of us, that she likes us, and that she can tell we love this house just as much as she did when she lived here. Crisis averted.

Even though she was still around in the evenings working on the porch through the end of September/beginning of October, I was no longer worried about getting evicted. And my writer’s block cleared. I suddenly had all these ideas, and wrote some poems, and started working on that month’s zines…and then all the weeks of dry winds and allergy bullshit caught up with me, and I got a sinus infection. I was in excruciating pain, and hella fatigued, for a few days, in fact it was so bad I was afraid I might not even be able make it to Chicago Zine Fest on October 5th, let alone finish the new zines. But I guess I’ve gotten better at managing my disabilities than I used to be, because I got in some writing and zine-layout/zine fest prep time every day, yet also took plenty of time to rest and do other stuff to take care of myself, like take long hot baths and drink a lot of tea and eat soup. And I got the zines done, and one of them—Neal & Jack & Me—I think is a pretty good piece of writing. (The other one isn’t bad either, it’s just that that one was a reprint of a story I wrote in 2018, so it’s not brand-new.) And by the day before CZF, I felt mostly better—definitely well enough to go.

[afniel]

Maaaaaaaaaaaan, come on.

(the post has ended up in the tags btw. I am not changing this and I need you to understand that it is just me talking to myself semi-publicly)

[dawntheduckrb]

I'll stop posting wips eventually but it's been five days since I've said anything and I don't want anyone to think I'm dead/dying/stuck in a ditch and withering away, so here's 10% of the reason I disappeared (the duck is stuck in rendering hell) (and my little baby laptop is screaming at me every time I open up this file)

I might still be mostly lurking for a little bit so please be patient with me in the meantime 🙏🙏

[homophyte]

it is interesting to me that ive seen lately (n yknow this is subjective and likely not any real social force just what ive seen) many queer people simultaneously talking about taking back and embodying unpalatable and ‘unmarketable’ queerness (the recent return to the terms faggot and transsexual come to mind) which i think is pretty evidently shaped by the conservative moment were in of demonizing queer ppl and especially gnc and trans people as predators--it reads as a return to queer isolationism in the face of external hostility, imo--while at the same time ive seen a lot of rallying around the “original” 6 stripe rainbow flag as opposed to any of the purportedly ‘factional’ flags of different queer identities, with the assumption being different identity flags divide us while the rainbow flag encompasses everyone and its kinda fascinating to me bc the rainbow flag is probably the single most marketable and palatable and uncontroversial symbols of queerness which has been seamlessly uptaken by those who wish to sell it back to us as gets pointed out every pride month with all the cringey pride merch.... i dunno you could maybe take that as a point of hypocrisy and claim the queer community is itself in a conservative moment rn where its returning to a sense of history and historical continuity (perhaps even out of that sense of external threat) or even that the queer community has for some time been in a conservative moment given the like, decade of identity discourse and lashing out at any people deemed to not have a sufficiently established history or however we should categorize the bihets/ace discourse/transtrender-tucute discourse/pan discourse/bi lesbians discourse (because lets be frank its essentially all the same discourse just keeping up its momentum by leapfroging from one target to the next) which i think is, like, SOMEWHAT true but not entirely? its more interesting to me, in any case, as an expression of a conflict the queer community is facing given that current state of affairs RE antitransness and that very recent history. like, the simultaneous need to retreat to a safe sense of community which is welcoming to the very things the outer world is demonizing ie mutable gender, complex or contradictory experiences of gender, gender expression which is hostile to the cis binary, but also the ways in which it has to grapple with those discourses which have largely defined the community infighting for again the past decade. its queer people begging the question ‘how can we make the queer community welcoming to the girlfags and genderfucks and tboys who are being threatened when we have spent so much time making the queer community a hostile place for anyone with a non-conventional or not easily (or even just palatably) sortable sense of queer identity’. and the answer it seems to be grappling with at the moment is like, welcoming all that diversity of experience but being absolutely averse to naming it. yes we love all the fuckery with gender and sexuality never be marketable but like, ew, why are you calling yourself [insert microlabel here]. you can be genderweird but you cant call yourself genderweird. you can only exist as queer in the broadest possible way (the all-inclusive gay pride flag!) but if you try to name the specifics or use those identity labels weve been fighting over for years youre doing it wrong (the progress pride flag is now ugly and cringey and ‘too much’). i think theres something also to the way (at least on this site) transmisogynistic discourses have really taken hold as legitimate (though yknow i wont downplay how much a problem transmisogyny has like. always been in queer spaces no matter what) in the name of protecting n defending trans people. like its just regurgitated transmisogyny but its being mobilized supposedly in the service of helping trans people. idk its definitely getting a little late for me to string this together fully coherently but theres a throughline there, in the ways certain ideas are being consolidated and reified as ‘yes were more progressive now!’ when i think theres definitely something to question there in terms of like...are we? are we actually? are we doing better by the people were trying to help or are we setting strict standards and forcing ppl to adhere to them again?