#like at least with the second youre just a general shitbag but the first where youre a shitbag specifically to the people | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

isimp4hawkz · 3 years

Text

The Apothecary

(Hawks x Reader)

100% inspired from this beautiful artwork I found on pinterest ^^

This is my first time publishing any of my fics. I hope it’s enjoyable.

*Skimmed for any mistakes but I may have missed a few*

Words: 2.5k

———————————————

"Tell me something birdbrain. Did you come here in search of a remedy or did you come here to snuggle with my owls?" You scold aloud, brow lifted at the scene before you. It temporarily drew your attention away from the herbs you were blending for the person in question. If he really even needed them that is.

The man was bent over, hovering over the counter and barely burying his entire face into the soft plumage of Gamma's snowy collar, rubbing his nose into its depths, small chuckles resounding from him in his own apparent delight. Simultaneously, Thaddeus perched himself daintily onto the golden locks of his hair, managing to keep himself in place as the man's head moved about beneath him.

What shocked you is that they seemed to be genuinely enjoying his company, whereas they hardly acknowledge your existence throughout the day. It was much unlike how they'd usually act whenever someone walked into the shop. As soon as they heard that little bell chime from the entrance, both birds would take off towards their high perches on opposite ends of the room, making it in their best interest to avoid anyone new.

You didn't mind, nor question their habit. They only preferred your lone company either way, though they'd hardly show it. Much like you'd rather be with their company rather than some other person.

On that slow, peaceful evening, you'd discovered that maybe you don't know your beloved companions as well as you thought. For some reason, Hawks was some sort of an exception to them. Much more than an exception, at that.

For crying out loud, he was snuggling into Gamma and cuddling her as if she were a puppy! And she was letting him.

And Thaddeus. Thaddeus' behavior baffled you on an entirely different level. That was a bird who never permitted you any petting privileges, any time you'd insinuate a head rub, he'd screech at you and fan his wings. Very territorial, he was. At least you thought he was.

Yet here he was, God damn nesting in the hair of a complete stranger as if he'd known the man for years. As if you weren't the one who took him in when he was but a weak, fraile hatchling on the brink of death.

"I think your owls like me." Hawks chuckled, his huge crimson wings ruffling giddily when Gamma had begun to coo at his nuzzles, adoringly.

Jealousy. Blatant jealousy is what you felt. You weren't even going to attempt to hide it. You've tried endless times to get those birds to see you as their loving caretaker, showering them with love and treats and sating their every need, but to no avail. If anything, you think they see you the way a caged tiger would view its neglectful keeper, just a source of food.

You huff out a breath, subconsciously putting in more effort to mash the herbs together with the mortar and pestle than you wished.

Hawks noticed your subtle change in behavior. The way you slammed a small jar onto the counter, flicked off the cap, and aggressively shook out whatever was inside onto the cutting board. Or maybe it was the way you were mashing those herbs with a force that made him wonder if they'd somehow wronged you.

Of course; being him, he'd jumped to a brash conclusion. "Oh? Are you jelly that I'm giving the birds more attention than you?"

You stop your relentless mashing of compounds, staring ahead blankly for a moment before shaking your head. "Don't be ridiculous, I-"

"Awoh, it's nothing to be ashamed of, I completely understand."

"I'm jealous of you, actually."

Hawks blinked in confusion, lifting his head away from the owl's downy feathers and looking over at you.

"Seems like they fancy you more than they could ever me." A half-hearted smile tugged at your lips, the morose tone in your voice was inevitable.

Gamma's wide, intelligent eyes shifted to stare at you. It was like she understood every word you said. Her wings lifted, and with a few swift flaps, she was in the air. You flinched when she landed gracefully into your hair, her sharp talons clenching your head as gently as she could.

Hawks chuckled at how frozen you were in that moment, bringing up a hand to scratch Thaddeus on the chin as he stared. He marveled at the way your cheeks faintly turned a darker shade when Gamma had cooed. She'd began to pick at your head softly in a grooming mannerism.

Thaddeus shifted in Hawks' hair, suddenly growing restless.

"Wanna get closer?" Hawks asked him aloud, rhetorically, obliging to the small hoot he received in response and carefully sauntering over to you, wary of the unstable balance Thaddeus had while being on his head.

By the time he got close, you'd managed to settle Gamma down onto your outstretched bicep, but the stubborn owl only flapped back onto your head. The look on your face almost made Hawks laugh out loud, you were distraught. Torn between salvaging the rare chance at bonding with your companion, and continuing the preparation of a remedy for a paying customer.

He knew how much you cared for those birds, so much that he was willing to let you relish in the moment completely.

The smile on his face was somewhat solemn. "Don't fret witchy. I'm sure I can find some other witch who can cook up what I need."

Your brow ticked at the way he addressed you. "Excuse you. I am not a witch. I'm an Apothecary."

Hawks blinked. "Same difference."

You ignored that. "And even if you could somehow find another suitable Apothecary in the general area, I've been told by several patrons that I am the best of the best." You stated proudly, chin held up high in accordance. "The odds of finding someone more skilled than I are low to say the least."

He always enjoyed how confident you were in your craft. That confidence stemmed from true experience and skill, mastery even. You were right for claiming your profession to be deemed that high of a level, there hasn't been a single time in the past where your restoratives had let him down, no matter what their purpose served. He's glad that your clientele have spread the word of your little place, though they're restricted to hushed exchanges of whispers and secret notes passed in inconspicuous areas, out of the sight of any authorities.

The way you obtained some of your ingredients could be considered illegal if thorough investigation was to prosper, but luckily for you, that was yet to happen. No one was dubious of the little flower shop secluded between two towering office buildings at the farthest corner of the longest street in Kyushu. Hawks wouldn't dare run his mouth about its true nature to anyone, he would much rather heal his battle wounds naturally with one of your blends rather than the harsh steroids they'd stick into his body back at the commission.

"Can't deny that fact." Hawks chuckled, looking at you with apparent appreciation gleaming through his hooded eyes. "You've helped me through some tough calls, I don't think I-" He cut himself off in realization of something.

"I...I don't think I've ever thanked you."

You were quick to bring up the fact that he in fact spoiled you. Tipping you thousands over whatever price you'd ask for, as if money was nothing but a nuisance to him and he needed to get rid of as much of it as possible, it had you wondering if he would flaunt it around so carelessly wherever.

"That's different. Of course I'm gonna pay you in exchange for your meds, I'm not some shitbag. But I've never thanked you before."

Now that you think about it, it's true. The majority of times times he's come here, it's been in an urgent burst through the door, with little time on his hands to so much as greet you. You really can't recall a single time where he's thanked you, since he's usually in such a rush. Here one second, gone the next. His reputation stands firm.

Rarely have there ever been situations like this, where he's able to hang around the shop and wait patiently for you to get his order ready firsthand. You'd looked over your shoulder at him while he was appeasing the owls earlier. He had looked so calm, so sweet and tender in that moment, totally relaxed. It warmed your heart to see him like that.

His concern brought a smile to your face, how adorable to think that it would trouble him this much. "Hawks, trust me, you're fine. I know you're thankful. The proof is in the way that you pay literally five times as much as I could ever ask you for—more than that at times!"

Yup. That sounds like something he'd do, even he'll admit it. He distinctly recalls throwing a fat stack of cash at you in several of his hurried instances, not even bothering to ask for the price, or check how much was in the stack. He tilted his head aside and stuck out his lower lip in consideration of his own antics.

But that doesn't stop him from genuinely thinking that you deserve way more than what you make. You're taking one hell of a risk every time you sell another product to some shady person. He thinks you deserve to be appreciated more for that fact alone.

"Well, for what it's worth, thank you Y/n. Really, I mean it. What you do means a lot to me, more than I can put into words." He held your gaze with an adoration in his eyes that you didn't quite understand.

You've never seen seriousness cross that man's expression as well as it did right then.

He's perpetually cheerful and carefree, flirty more oftentimes than he should be. It surprised you seeing him so lacking in that notorious, glowing charisma. Maybe you'd go as far to say that in that moment, it looked like true joy was something he'd never experienced before. You couldn't even form words, rendered a gaping fish.

And maybe you would've actually taken his word for it, if it wasn't for you being reminded of the fact that the two of you had two big ass birds on your heads when Gamma and Thaddeus unexpectedly hooted in unison.

You and Hawks simultaneously broke eye contact to glance up at each other's birds, locking eyes with one another again.

It went silent for a few seconds.

Hawks' hard expression wavered hesitantly, his lip twitching in a futile attempt to remain serious. You then snorted quietly, biting your lip, and that's all it took for the two of you to burst out into a laughing fit that made you to bend over to clutch your sides, causing Gamma to flee from your head hastily and settle on her perch, Thaddeus following suit towards his respective stand when Hawks stumbled backwards a bit.

They'd managed to both ruin the moment and save it all the same, made it into something you didn't quite know you needed until it happened. A good laugh, one that had your face heating up and your cheeks beginning to hurt as the two of you only grew breathless with glee, struggling to keep your balance as you pressed your weight onto nearby objects to avoid toppling over.

The old Grandfather clock at the back of the shop had begun to chime, signaling the passing of another hour.

The sound caused Hawks to gradually come back down from his laugh-high. He submitted to that professional state of mind that subconsciously clawed at his back at times like these, once he was reminded of where he was supposed to be.

It was like someone snapped their fingers and all happiness was wiped from his face. Other than the faint pink still dusting his cheeks, it looked like the laugh that the two of you shared had never transpired.

You didn't even need to hear him say it. After you'd wiped a tear of joy from your eyes and regained your breath, you'd whirled around, right back to where you'd left off before.

A strange atmosphere settled into the shop. It grew peacefully silent, the rays of the setting sun stretched generously into the stop, accentuating gliding specs of dust in their path and lighting the room in a warm honey glow.

Hawks rolled his shoulders, wings reaching out to their maximum length in a comfortable stretch, as you bagged his things.

He'd requested a strong set of numbing-based remedies and other blends crammed with sedatives. It reminded you of the prep for some sort of illegal surgery, but you weren't one to meddle in the business of your customers.

You'd turned to hand him his bag, but were surprised when there was no sight of the man where he'd previously been.

It took a few glances around the room, you almost missed him at first, but there he was, standing before the display window, gazing distantly at the outside world under the evening glow.

Sometimes you'd catch a deep-rooted hardship in his eyes that was nearly impossible to detect. A flicker of something more, something lost long ago that he longs to have again. At times it looked like he was carrying the weight of the world in his wings and nobody knew it.

Or maybe your seclusion in your craft has run you crazy and you're just imagining it all. That's way more believable, anyway.

You'd walked up to his side, eyes trained on the lively cityscape. The city never slept, always bustling with some sort of commotion, but it was oddly calm on that evening. Nothing but nature in all its shapes and forms, like the gentle autumn breeze that shook the trees, like the songbirds softly jittering in a musical dialect only they understood, plus the ocasional car that would stroll by barely exceeding fifteen miles per hour.

Your gaze drifted back on Hawks, who has yet to notice your presence beside him.

Sometimes I wonder what goes on in that man’s mind, what challenges the relentless day brings him, and how he manages to come out smiling in the end.

#bnha hawks #hawks #anime #built different #keigo takami #my hero academia #oneshot #fanfic #apothecary #keigo #fanfiction #idk what else to tag #hawks x reader #y/n apothecary #the apothecary

113 notes · View notes

spaghettiandart · 3 years

Text

memories in three

Originally posted this on the aminos sometime during march, but decided (as of may 3 at 12 am) to post it here too! Yay spur of the moment decision! The rest of the post is from the blogs on the UT and UTAU aminos, and the story is under the cut.

author's note: this was mostly made to be part of my oc's backstory, but then i realized it could exist as a nice character development thing. the art was done on medibang paint and took 2 weeks.

characters: w. d. gaster, grillby, oc

categories: fluff, angst, friendship.

warnings: non-graphic violence, death, blood, mild language.

word count: 4092

[I] | one - the calm

The time they had was always finite. Even at the genesis of it, they knew. They'd look at eachother, a circle of three, assigned to stick together and be loyal to one another, and they knew there'd be no way they'd get along.

It was so easy to pretend, but with five months gone and passed it was getting harder to feign ignorance.

The violent crackles and pops of Grillby's flames match the rapid beating of his SOUL, colors rising to the white and lowering until it was a pathetic red in uneven jitters of anxious panic. He focused on pouring the rum into the barbarously crafted wooden mug, the familiar motions soothing his shaking hands until he felt some semblance of normality surround him.

The background quiet set him on edge, still. He could feel the flames on his shoulders worming their way through the openings on his armor, fingers immediately twitching to cast a flame ball, or reach for his sword, or pour another drink, or so something so that they weren't empty and susceptible to the whims of his ever-twisting emotions.

The tension- oh, how he hated the tension. Being silent was his favorite sport, his carefully cultivated talent, but he was a creature born and bred to exist in the midst of warm chatter and noise. He was not the type of man to be relaxed in silent, cold hate, and neither was he the type to mediate it.

Grillby picks up the three mugs by their handles, two hanging precariously from one hand, cradled to his chest, and the other already making its way to his mouth. The liquid stung at him, but not in the way human beverages did. While their concoctions were tasteless and lowered his HP by decimals, this was warm and fuzzy and the bubbly froth filled his mouth like cotton.

His team was already there. WingDings Gaster, Grand Arcane Battle Artificer of the Deltarune Legion, and Igneous No-Name, Grand Arcane Battle Mage-Scribe of the Deltarune Legion. The names were long in Human English, even longer in traditional Monster languages, but Titles had Meanings and must be Specific and Precise so as to grant Monster the Respect they Deserve. Said verbatim by his own King when he was given his title.

(Grillby No-Name, Fifth General of the Deltarune Legion, was what was inscribed on the back of the wings of his own silvery Deltarune-Symbol pendant. Every Monster soldier got one, regardless of their station and their specific designations. His own was cold enough for precipitation to collect on the metal, enchanted to withstand heat damage.)

His enchanted helmet is resting on a stack of parchment like a paperweight, turned away from the table so that its face was pointed at the wall. The silence was turned up tenfold the minute Grillby sheepishly walked into their section of the "room", and the two magic-users turned their mutual cold shoulder on him as well.

It shouldn't hurt, but Grillby had to stop himself from reeling as if he were struck by a physical hand. Oh, this wouldn't do.

They were a team, after all. Of the same Legion, of the same Fifth Division, of the same status. The silence killed him, repulsed his being down to the core because it was so very anti-him. Anti-Flame Elemental, even, because even when they were quiet the crackling of their flames were enough to communicate their feelings to another.

He only had body language to go off of the two. They may be masters at putting up facades, but he was a master of interpreting them, so the minute he sets the mugs down on the table he immediately pushed the stack of books piled in between Gaster and Igneous like a great wall crumbling to the ground, uncaring of the way the two jumped and jolted at the noise.

His SOUL pounded, filled with anxiety and slight reprieve at the sound, but he needed more. He hated speaking, he much rather would be the one spoken to, but there are little people to be found who'd like to ramble for hours on end to a stranger save for drunken heretics at the little old tavern he used to manage decades ago.

"What in the goddamn are you doing?" Igneous exclaimed, hood haphazardly slipping off her head and catching onto her big ears, holding on for dear life in a losing battle.

"I concur. What on Earth is wrong with you?" Gaster snapped the large tome he was pretending to read shut, the sudden action too surprising for him to not address.

Grillby takes the time to sip from his mug, before setting it down lightly. "... You're both acting like children when we are all adults. Talk out your problems."

Igneous glared at him with an impressive amount of venom. For someone with only two eyes to convey emotion, she knew how to convey it. "I am not talking to a child murderer."

The remaining monster in the room scowled at Igneous, and then at Grillby. "Tell the Mage that human children are the easiest and most reliable source of SOULs to harvest to bolster our ranks."

Igneous' eyes narrowed and her glare intensified. "Tell the Artificer that by killing the humans' children we'd only encourage them to attack as harder. Also tell him he's a shitbag for suggesting it in the first place."

"Tell the Mage that she's a naive twat if she thinks that war can be won with no sacrifices."

"Tell the Artificer that sacrifices of that degree are uncalled for and that he smells of elderberries."

"I do NOT smell like elderberries you-"

Grillby clapped his hands once. A burst of flame shot out from the vents on his shoulders and the palms of his hands, making the bickering pair freeze simultaneously from where they were slowly turning their heads to face each other.

"This is what I am talking about," the Swordsman looked at them both with a disappointed gaze from behind his crystalline glasses. "... Children, we are adults. You're going to apologize to each other and agree to disagree, or else I will burn one of the books you collected from the Human Mages."

Gaster slammed his hands down on the table and began to stand, expression thunderous. Igneous' eyes widened to such a degree that they threatened to pop out of her head, and she snapped her head back as if he struck her.

"Child number one, sit down. Child number two, stay quiet- I know you will say something and I will make you regret it," Grillby steepled his fingers, the effort of speaking for so long already taking the energy out of him. He heaved in a breath, the air making his flames crackle with strength. "... Child number one- it may be hard to realize this, but killing children is inarguably immoral and degenerate. Child number two- I advise you to set your pride aside, else your inability to accept the flaws of your naivety may cause you more harm than good... Now apologize, because I am becoming very annoyed at having to speak so much..."

The two stared at him as if he sprouted a second flaming head from his shoulder. Grillby lit up a single finger and held it over a stray paper on the table that escaped his rampage on their books.

Gaster was the first to break. "... ahem," he shifted uncomfortably, and stuck his nonexistent nose in the air so that he looked down at Igneous. "I suppose that I will have to concede at that. Your... interesting... worldview is something we can't quite see eye to eye on."

Grillby stared at him harder, and his shoulders slumped as he hunched over the table.

"And I apologize for my unprofessional conduct," he sighed, picking at the knicks and scratches in his hands in a nervous manner.

The Spirit Remnant stared at the- Skeleton? Shadow Creature? Wraith? Gaster never disclosed what kind of monster, exactly, he was- with clear contempt that faded away into uncomfortable and annoyed vulnerability. She rolled her shoulders, tail curling around her left ankle protectively.

"You're still a terrible creep, and I cannot deny that I would sooner pound you to dust with my bare hands than see you harm a child of any kind," she said, quietly, "but I understand that... things must be done for the greater good, sometimes. I apologize."

The air became heavy with guilt and frustration at that, but at least they weren't outright holding each other in contempt. Grillby prepared himself to speak for hopefully the last time that day.

"... Good. Adult One, Adult Two, may I present to you your rewards for acting your age," he slid over the mugs of wine to the both of them, glad that he couldn't physically let out the relieved sigh he would have released were he able to breathe at the sight of the suddenly bright expressions the two had.

Igneous casted a furtive, unsure glance at Gaster, who angled his body away from the both of them and glared at the papers beneath him. He didn't cover them from her view when she leaned over to glance at them, her brows quirking in question as she took another sip.

The mood didn't instantly change to comfortable. They didn't relax around each other, not immediately. But Grillby could feel the tension in his shoulders drift away as he watched Igneous quietly shoot the other with a question, and Gaster exchanging it with one in return.

The stress of the war was taking its toll on him, but seeing the two gratefully take small sips of his homemade rum and shyly exchange words about their respected professions made the weight on his chest lighten just a little.

| two - the storm

The battle is disorganized chaos, and he hates it. Not for the slaughter, not for the blood shed, not for the dust carried by the wind. He hates the sheer animalistic frenzy everyone on the battlefield was sent into- it's as if the second the fight began the primal instinct in their minds seemed to suddenly reveal itself, possessing their bodies and taking away their willpower to keep their hidden urges hidden.

Such was evident in the human shoving his sword into the throat of a bunny monster, rendering them to dust before the blade could slice its way out. Or a monster with a dragon's muzzle unhinging its jaw like a snake and snapping up a human mage, their spine crushed under the pressure in an instant.

Or even his own... companions, battling back to back against a frenzy of knights, swords gleaming and magic spewing around them. They were beaten down, armor covered in mud and muck, and from the minute trembling carried across their bodies it seemed as if they were ready to topple at any moment.

Gaster's fists tightened as his Special Attack blasted yet another beam of energy to render a pitiful human to ash, the conjured hands twisting in midair before flocking to his sides like a pair of dogs. He looked down from the cliff he was standing on at the clearing they were fighting in, chest heaving from exertion. He couldn't let it overtake him, not yet, but the exhaustion was close to killing him. His limbs hurt to their very core.

Igneous and Grillby were practically attached at the spine with how closed in they were. Igneous had snaked a hand around a human's neck, crushing his windpipe before resting her weight on Grillby's back and launching herself in the air.

Her conjured wings flung out from her back, and she slammed her foot into the chest of another knight, caving it in from the magically-reinforced pressure.

Despite the human bodies piling up around them, more seemed to flood the two as if recognizing them to be the heavy hitters they were. A human swung out with his sword, and Grillby caught it with his own flaming one, pushing it back. The two were neck and neck, heels dug into the ground as the gleaming blades fought against each other. The human's head shifted forward, as if they were saying something, and Grillby's flames burst into a column of blue, indignant fire.

The human took the opening his anger gave them by twisting their body and throwing their weight into Grillby's chest, pummeling him into Igneous and the ground.

Igneous flipped head over heels, wings dissipating as she lied face down. Grillby was shakily getting up, but the human struck out and suddenly there was a hole in the side of his armor, frost creeping around it.

Gaster scowled, and took a few steps back from the cliff in preparation. A voice behind him interrupted his motions.

"You meet your end, monster," a voice hissed from behind him. He tilted his head slightly, and upon seeing that it was only a mage he scoffed.

"Do tell the clouds hello," Gaster flicked the human mage away with little pressure and much disdain from one of the conjured hands, and set his jaw as he hopped onto the back of one of his hands. There was no time to be wasted with meaningless banter.

Hell would sooner freeze over than him seeing his fr- companions, his companions- Fall Down.

Smaller hands materialized around his body, hitting and punching and swatting away oncoming attackers as he rode the hand down the side of the cliff. The fingers stretched out, and he bent his knees ever so slightly.

As the end of the cliff was reached, curving into the clearing, he jumped with all his might off the hand and to the side, landing in a roll before hopping to his feet.

The hand continued on, and barrelled into the human slowly approaching Grillby with the force of a stampeding bull.

Their sword flew out of their hand and embedded into the bark of a nearby tree with a 'thunk!' and Igneous quickly picked up the slack as the hand dissipated, energy coalescing in her hands. Feathers caged the human in.

"... God... no, no," the human moaned in pain, attempting to get up on their elbows. They glared up at the three just as Grillby picked up his sword from where it lay discarded on the ground, grip trembling.

"You dirty freaks," the human weakly said, their chest heaving and breath wheezing. Perhaps that hand broke a few bones... oh well. Gaster found that he didn't much care about not knowing, this time, taking much pleasure in watching Grillby advance at the human with his own sword held aloft.

"You're not m-monologuing, right?" Igneous spoke up, her own breath wheezy. Catching the brunt of Grillby's weight must have hurt, because her entire body was trembling with poorly hidden pain. Almost unconsciously, Gaster shifted his body so that he was in front of her. Her body was trembling in shock and indignation, eyes wide and animalistic as they focused on the human. She looked ready to pounce. "Goddamnit... what are you waiting for, Grillbz? Just end them already!"

The human ignored her, slowly getting on their knees. Their fists clenched. "Y-you... you won't win this war. Kill me, but my brothers and sisters will avenge me! Our mages, our knights, our horses, our citizens- they'll all fight, all against you monsters!"

"Please kill them," Igneous practically begged Grillby, her wispy 'hair' flickering piteously. "They’re not useful. They’re not- just- kill them, please.”

"No, wait," Gaster found himself muttering, suddenly. Igneous snapped her head in his direction, eyes wide- and he almost flinched back at the desperation in her eyes. What did that human say? "I want to see what he'll do."

Grillby was examining the human curiously. His masked head tilted this way and that, his hands exchanging the swords as he stood in front of the human, looking down at it. Music, unidentifiable in genre, played in the distance.

The human looked up at him, glaring through the slits of their helmet. "You know... you know this. And... y-you know what I said before... I w-was right. Kill me, but you'll have to live with that... and that's enough for me to die happy."

There was silence. The two stared at each other, carefully.

"Well?" The human barked. "You're not going to end it? Take me prisoner, then! Flaunt me around! I still won't-!"

Their head was on the ground in a SOULbeat. Gaster and Igneous took a simultaneous step back as blood stained the grass underneath the human, the armored Flame Elemental examining the corpse before kicking it on its side, stomping back to them.

"... Wasn't going to let their dying words be them telling me what to do," he muttered once he reached them.

Igneous' shoulders seemed to drop suddenly, and she looked around them. Corpses, bodies, dust- they were all strewn about the battlefield haphazardly. There was no art behind them. No grand imagination from the divines above.

Just the reeking scent of death lingering over them all.

She took this in, much like Gaster was, and then looked at him. She had no mouth to smile with, but her eyes crinkled ever so slightly at the edges.

"You saved our skins back there," she said, voice still quavering from the quiet horror carried within it, and reached out a hand to him. Gaster hesitated, but let it land on his shoulder. The tall monster gripped it firmly, resting her weight on it. "I won't forget this, you know."

"You can start bothering me about it tomorrow," Gaster said, feeling a bit lightheaded.

Igneous shook her head at that, and gave it a few pats before moving away and CHECKing herself, digging around her small inventory for food. "I don't mean it like that. I mean- yes, I am absolutely going to tease you about this for the next month, but... you... you really do..."

Grillby sheathed his sword suddenly, and looked up at the cliff from where he rode down from. There was a quiet surrounding them. "... care about us."

Gaster shifted from foot to foot. He was no child. He was an adult, for God's sake. Why did he feel so... embarrassed, all of a sudden?

A cheer rose up in a crescendo of voices from beyond the cliff just as the sun made its way to the top of Mt Ebott and began to hide behind it. The battlefield was painted in a swath of gold and pink, and suddenly he wasn't so much focused on the chaos of it all as he was on the way the colors seemed to highlight the edges and curves of the two in front of him, how it made them all the more... real.

Gaster stepped closer to the two. "The humans have retreated. We should be... getting back, now."

It was Grillby who set a hand on his shoulder this time, his face pointedly looking away and at the sunset. "... five minutes."

"Ten," Igneous chimed in, brushing his arm with her own.

The trio stood there throughout the sunset and into the night, and Gaster woke the next morning with his friends resting on either shoulder, the dewy grass fresh underneath him and the battle feeling as if it took place years ago instead of the evidence of it being right behind him.

He watched the rising sun and smiled. There's the peace he was waiting for.

| three - the pieces

The last time Igneous woke up from her Hibernation Pack, it was to a boss monster with kind eyes looming over her.

She panicked, at first. Scrambled back, and then turned to alert the Spirit Remnants that she was resting with that there was an intruder in their den.

All that she was met with was piles upon piles of dust.

"I was able to stop him from hurting you, too," he had rumbled from behind her, " but I'm afraid that I was too late for your companions."

She turned back around, eyes wide with outrage.

He held a paw out towards her, offering comfort. It was stained with the humans blood.

She took it, and pulled him close, demanding that he give her a way to get revenge. His paw clenched involuntarily from surprise, and his dark claws nicked her ethereal skin.

Her essence joined the human's blood, and in the budding tears in her eyes an agreement was formed.

Centuries later, Igneous wakes up in a comfortable, warm bed inside a comfortable, warm home underneath the large mountain that she fought for her life on.

The nightmares were long gone, and memories were reserved for the day to sort through. All that was left for her dreams was darkness and static and white, mutilated hands reaching out for her with holes dug deep into their palms.

She never remembered them, and woke up each morning with the sense of loss lingering heavily in her chest.

In the room over, the sounds of chatter and the dinging of a bell signifying the front door opening and closing began to grow louder and more frequent. Igneous was frozen in the hallway connecting her and Grillby's bedrooms, curled up in a small armchair haphazardly placed there five years, seven months, and six days ago when the two were refurbishing the building and couldn't decide in which room to put it. They decided to share instead, setting it outside and in between their rooms.

She pulled her knees up to her chest, the chattering growing louder in her ears. Soon she'd have to step out and start taking their orders, but breakfast doesn't officially start in another… ten minutes, or so.

She can take her time.

The swaying pendulum hanging on the wall across from her demanded all her attention, grabbed her by the shoulders and looked her in the eyes and reflected her past to her. Her stomach flipped with each sway of the object, hands traveling from her knees to her ankles and gripping them tightly.

It's been centuries. But that loss… was it only from the monsters dusted? Was it only from what that human revealed to Grillby and to her during that fateful fight? Or was it from that missing piece, the hole that separated both her and her friend, the dust-ridden and empty guest bedroom untouched that rested at the end of the hall?

Her fingers clenched tighter, digging holes into her pants that would be covered up by her boots later.

Was it the unfortunate fates of her pack? The piles of dust she woke up sleeping on, almost ready to join them before Asgore interrupted their murderer?

Was it what the human said? The quiet words, so low but loud enough at the same time to be heard from miles away, repeating in her ears? The truth, maybe even the sneer in their voice when they spoke, "Don't worry. We didn't dust all of our prisoners… but you will never find them."

Or the missing piece? The unknown factor that frustrated and scared her to no end, the pounding in her ears whenever she looked at the words unscripted on that silvery pendulum swinging back and forth and back and forth in a maddening rhythm from where it hung on the wall?

Her claws dug deeper, caught onto fabric, pulled. The seams of her pants ripped at the ankle, and her flickering, pseudo-fiery essence darted out in quick licks at the air.

The words stayed in her mind whenever she looked at it, dissapeared when she looked away, reappeared with all the context behind them when she looked back.

Every morning was the same routine. The same, desperate staring at the Deltarune-symbol pendant hanging from the wall. The same hope that she'll remember the name after she looks away.

The dread of not knowing if she'll remember to do it tomorrow.

She reread the name for the four hundred and thirty fifth time, desperately imprinting it on her mind. Grillby had long stopped even glancing at the thing decades ago. She won't forget.

She looks away.

"Shit, I'm going to be late," Igneous muttered, staring at the clock instead. She stood from the chair, confused and wobbly in the knees. "I could've sworn I was just sitting for a few seconds…"

She hurried off down the hall, pulling on her boots as she walked through the Fire Exit.

The pendulum swung on the wall, shaking as the door slammed closed, its name forgotten.

Wing Dings Gaster

Grand Arcane Battle Artificer

Deltarune Legion

Division V

#my art #grillby #gaster #oc #fluff #angst #friendship #my writing #fanfic #undertale #story #tw violence

26 notes · View notes

queerebrum · 4 years

Text

@lorrainebattaglia said: I’m not sure if you’re into soulmate AUs. But I like imagining that instead of being a weirdly tidy shitbag at that gas station (seriously, you washed his windows for intimidation?), that he realizes that this kid with the fuzzy affliction is his other half and it throws his entire life into a blender. Double angst points if for wolves it’s a scent thing and the reason Derek got snared by Kate is because of Chris’ scent on her

Which was an absolutely amazing prompt!! I hope I did it justice!! AO3 LINK!

Chris gave up on finding his soulmate a long time ago.

He gave up when his 18th birthday came and went and he’d walk the halls of his high school (and his college dorm) and lock eyes with everyone and...nothing. No spark. No sudden, inexplicable knowledge that this, this was the person you were supposed to be with forever. Part of him had always wanted to find them, to find the person he was destined for.

But like the good soldier he was, he’d consented to an arranged marriage. They’d even had a daughter – the future Argent matriarch that Chris spent his adulthood keeping Gerard as far from as possible. He’d seen what his father had twisted Kate into. He didn’t want that for Allison.

So nearly two decades past the average age one meets their soulmate, the last thing Chris expected was to look into a pair of angry hazel eyes and feel it. Whatever Chris was going to say flew out of his mind. He froze. This young man, this werewolf was his soulmate.

A shocked expression flickered across Derek Hale’s face too, the werewolf’s nostrils flaring suddenly before his eyes flicked away from Chris’s towards the gas pump. In a low voice he said, “Honestly, at this point killing me would be the least awkward way to handle this situation, so if you could just get that over with quickly, I’d appreciate it.”

Chris couldn’t exactly blame Derek for expecting that to be the reason he was there. Him, and the six other hunters he’d brought with him for back up. Chris stayed silent for another long moment, trying to figure out exactly what a married man his age and a twenty-something werewolf did about a moments-old soulmate bond.

Clearing his throat he looked at the other hunters. “He’s all alone, I think I can manage him.”

“Mr. Argent –”

“You heard me.” He looked around at the hunters. “Go back to the house. If I need backup, I’ll be sure to call.”

Chris was sure that inevitably this choice would raise eyebrows with someone. Him sending his backup away? Leaving himself alone at a gas station, late at night with a werewolf just nights after bodies had started showing up? Unheard of. If anything happened to him, the men he’d just sent away could be killed for allowing it.

But, Chris was a soldier not a prince, no matter how Gerard tended to treat him.

When the other hunters had left – and Derek was done pumping his gas – Chris held up both of his hands and stepped towards the young man. “Two questions. I just need to ask you two questions and then if you never want to see me again, I’ll understand.”

Derek had his hands tucked into the pocket of his jacket, and turned to face Chris, his mouth pressed in a thin line. “Fine.”

“Are you the alpha?” It was a question that needed to be asked, though Chris had a feeling just from the way Derek held himself that that wasn’t the case. He didn’t seem like the kind of alpha that would be wreaking havoc. He seemed like a terrified young man.

“No.” Derek answered, eyes on the ground. “And don’t ask me to prove it.”

“That would be a waste of my second question,” Chris smiled. “Do you know who the alpha is?”

Derek shook his head. “I’m trying to figure it out too.”

Chris nodded. “Thank you for being honest.”

Derek sighed, his eyebrows drawn together, and he looked up finally, those hazel eyes - flecked with gold and green now that Chris was close enough to see them. “Can I ask you a question?”

Chris folded his hands in front of him. “Seems fair.” He studied the hunch of Derek’s shoulder, the way he kept his hands in his jacket, the hard set of his jaw.

“How are you related to Kate Argent?”

Chris frowned, his own brow furrowing at the question. “She’s my sister.”

Derek let out a long sigh and then nodded. “Got it. Thanks.” Without another word, Derek walked around to the drivers side of his car, glanced at Chris one last time, climbed in and drove away.

Chris didn’t know what to do with the information presented to him. He prided himself on his ability to compartmentalize, to keep his emotions out of decisions like this. And yet, as he watched the tail lights on the Camaro fade into the darkness, he couldn’t seem to figure out how he was supposed to go back to his life like everything was normal. LIke he hadn’t just run into his soulmate at a gas station.

He had so many more questions – how did Derek know Kate? What did Kate know about the Hales that she’d never mentioned? How much did his father know about the whole situation? How would Victoria react when – if – she found out?

He had more questions than answers.

And he wasn’t even sure if he wanted the answers.

Chris’s head was spinning. He was spinning and dangerously close to the kind of breakdown that hadn’t happened in years. He drove aimlessly around Beacon Hills, knowing exactly what – who – he was looking for but not sure where to begin to look.

He should be home. Home with his wife who’d been bitten by an alpha werewolf. Home with his daughter who in a matter of days would be losing her mother. Home keeping an eye on his father and trying to piece together how they were going to deal with the fact that one of his daughter’s classmates had been turned into a kanima.

Instead, he was alone, driving around Beacon Hills, following a tug in his chest because god damnit he deserved answers.

There was only one alpha werewolf in Beacon Hills at the moment. There was only one person who could have bitten Victoria, and Chris needed to understand why he’d done it.

He finally found the Camaro parked at an old rail depot, and pulled his SUV next to it. He rubbed at his eyes – stinging with unshed tears – before climbing out of it, pulling his gun from his holster before he walked into the building.

The depot was empty aside from Derek, who stepped out of one of the rail cars to stare at Chris in the near-dark. Chris wondered idly where the gaggle of teenagers Derek had also bitten were. Did they still have homes, have families to go back to? Or were they out terrorizing a town he was supposed to be protecting?

“You bit my wife,” was what spilled out of Chris’s mouth. There was an edge of hysteria to his voice. Confusion. Pain. He was closer to his own breaking point than he’d realized.

Derek leaned down to flick on a lamp and warm yellow light filled the dingy space. His arms crossed over his chest. “I didn’t have a choice.”

“I should kill you,” Chris laughed, bringing his free hand up to his mouth. He held the hand with the gun out, staring at it. “I should kill you right here for what you’ve done. It wouldn’t even break the code.”

“So why haven’t you?” Derek asked, eyeing the gun warily. That’s how they always were around each other. Wary. Nervous. Neither of them knew how the other thought or felt because they’re soulmates and they’re strangers.

“Tell me why. Tell me why my daughter deserves to grow up without a mother? Tell me what I did to deserve to lose her. She’s my wife Derek.”

“She was going to kill Scott.”

Derek’s tone was soft, sure, and so painfully truthful that it tore another hysterical laugh out of Chris’s throat. “What are you talking about?”

“Biting her was the only option I had. It was that, or kill her. I’m sorry, Chris. I didn’t do this to hurt you. I did this to save Scott.”

Chris slid his gun back into his holster before the shaking in his hands progressed far enough that he’d drop it. He folded both of his hands in front of his face, pressing his lips against his thumbs and looking over the tops of his hands at Derek. “She lied to me.”

Derek shrugged one shoulder. “I don’t know what she told you. But, I’m not lying, Chris. You’d know it if I was.”

He would. He’d know because the bond in his chest that had led him to Derek would have told him. Chris felt unfamiliar tears prick in his eyes, hot and salty and foreign. His body was shaking and he was so unbelievably confused.

“Why would Victoria want to kill Scott? He hadn’t broken the code.”

“Y’know, I didn’t really stop to ask. But probably for the same reason your sister burned my family alive: because she felt like it.”

“Victoria isn’t Kate. She’s a good woman. A good mother.” Chris blinked rapidly to clear his vision, still staring at Derek. His instincts were screaming for him to turn away, hide his weakness, be anywhere but standing in front of an alpha werewolf in the middle of an emotional breakdown.

“I made a choice, Chris.” Derek’s voice had lost its disinterested edge. He’d stepped forward, head cocked to the side. “I made a choice between letting Scott die, or biting Victoria. I didn’t kill her. If she chooses to die instead of become a werewolf, that’s her decision. I didn’t do this to hurt you.”

Chris felt tears slip, hot and heavy. He finally broke his gaze, turning his back to Derek and wiping the tears away from his eyes. A million words flitted across his tongue; I don’t know what I’m going to do. Why is this happening? What did I do to deserve this? What did Allison do to deserve this?

A warm hand landed on his shoulder and Chris jumped but refused to react or turn. The hand felt like fire, the first real time Derek had ever touched him. It was nothing more than Derek’s palm resting on his shoulder, finger squeezing slightly, but it grounded him. Nothing made any more sense or felt any easier, but the tightness in Chris’s chest eased, and he felt himself draw in a shaky breath.

“I’m not sorry I did it.” Derek said, his hand still anchored on Chris’s shoulder, warm and real and a comfort. This was what it meant to have a soulmate. One touch from Derek felt more powerful than any time Victoria had touched him in almost 20 years of marriage. “I’d do it again. But I am sorry you’re hurting, Chris.”

Chris wasn’t sure what was worse: the fact that Derek wasn’t sorry, or the fact that Chris couldn’t bring himself to hate Derek for what he’d done.

Chris gripped the fence so hard his knuckles were white and the metal threatened to bite into the skin of his fingers. His knees felt weak, his heart shattered into a million tiny pieces. He tried to focus on breathing, on the simple in-out pattern, practiced and honed in hundreds of life or death situations.

In-2-3 out-2-3

Chris knew he had to keep himself together. He wanted to run to where Scott McCall sat holding his daughter’s body and see if there was any sign of life left, any chance that she could be alive. He wanted to hold Allison and tell her everything he’d never gotten the chance to. How proud he was of her. How amazing a person she was becoming. How he’d go through every painful part of his life over again just to have her in it.

And now she was gone.

Chris knew it in his heart. And Scott, as Allison’s soulmate, would have known best. Even without the banshee’s wail that had ripped through the night, the way Scott sat, numb and shell shocked, holding her body, told Chris everything he needed to know.

Chris was afraid that if he let go of the fence he’d go tumbling towards the ground. He was afraid he’d lose the carefully crafted persona of composure and competence. His daughter was gone. His wife was gone. He had nothing left to hold onto. Nothing left to live for, to fight for.

An arm, too warm to be human, wrapped around his chest from the back. A body, solid and real was suddenly right behind his. Chris knew instantly who it was and let out the shuddering breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. He didn’t turn, didn’t dare take more than what Derek was freely giving, but he did lean back. He soaked in the heat of Derek’s body against the icy numbness of despair that was setting in.

“I’ve got you.” Derek’s other arm was wrapped firmly around Chris’s waist, Derek more than strong enough to keep Chris from falling to his knees with the gravity of his grief.

A lot had changed since that night at the gas station, where Derek had still been so lost in his own grief and anger Chris wasn’t even sure there was a whole person underneath the facade. A lot had changed since Chris had come to Derek begging for answers about biting Victoria. Derek was no longer an alpha. Chris no longer hunted. Now, he was a protector.

He was a protector and he’d failed to protect the person dearest to him.

Chris finally let go of the fence, his hands shaking as he cupped then over his face, drawing in long, uneven breaths. There was so much to do. They needed to figure out a cover story. He needed to coach the kids - Kira and Isaac and Scott – so that they didn’t reveal the supernatural. There were steps that needed to be taken before Chris could break.

But he took the moment Derek offered him. The moment of quiet understanding between two men who had collectively shared more loss than many would ever know. Chris let himself be comforted by Derek’s presence, by the warmth and the strength of his arms, by the quiet, even rhythm of his breath against Chris’s back.

When he was sure his knees wouldn’t go out from under him, Chris stepped forward gently. Derek’s arms fell away, though one of his hands rested on Chris’s hip, like Derek wasn’t quite sure that letting go was a great idea. (It was a terrible idea. Chris wanted to hide away in Derek’s embrace and pretend like he wasn’t facing the hardest situation of his entire life.)

“What can I do?” Derek asked softly.

Chris was afraid if he turned around, if he saw the softness, the genuine empathy in Derek’s eyes, he might break. “Stay close.” Chris said. “Please.”

The gentle brush of Derek’s thumb over Chris’s hipbone felt more intimate than a thousand kisses as the werewolf softly said. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Once the Nogitsune is gone, locked away in a wooden box carved by an emissary for an alpha werewolf whose spark no longer exists, Chris sat down at his kitchen table with the heavy realization that all he had left in this world was Derek Hale.

His soulmate. His perfect match. The person he was supposed to have spent his life with.

Derek had stayed close since Allison died, but Chris wasn’t the only person Derek had. Chris wasn’t jealous of that fact. He was thankful, really. Thankful that Derek had a pack who needed him, a pack who loved him. He had Scott and Isaac and Stiles and Lydia and Kira. And Derek had done his best as the pack elder to hold them all together through this storm of loss.

And they loved him for it.

They loved him in a way Chris wasn’t sure his shattered heart would ever be able to manage. They loved him in a way Chris wasn’t sure he deserved to love someone like Derek. Someone who made his mistakes and learned from them. Someone who had faced a life full of so much tragedy he nearly put Chris’s own to shame.

And yet, Chris looked up to hear the door open, and heard laughter – laughter – ringing through his otherwise empty apartment. Derek and Isaac stumbled through, laughing about whatever happened at the movie they’d gone to see. Isaac looked at Chris, flashed a small, grateful smile, and then excused himself.

“Movie was okay then?” Chris asked after a moment.

“Definitely not the worst one they’ve convinced me to go see,” Derek said, wandering towards the table and leaning against the corner next to where Chris sat. “Do anything exciting?”

“I finally ordered the postage.” Chris motioned to the jar that held the Nogitsune. “And reached out to a contact in France. They’re going to take care of it.”

“That’s good.” Derek smiled, small but genuine.

Chris felt the warmth, the comfort of having his soulmate near wash over him. He couldn’t stop himself from bringing his hand up and resting it against Derek’s hip. Derek’s all but lived at Chris’s apartment in the last few weeks. Staying close, being nearby for when things felt like too much. “I don’t know how to thank you.” Chris said quietly. “I don’t know where I’d be without you.”

“It never gets easier,” Derek said. There was so much wisdom in what he said that it made Chris ache for the child Derek had once been. Had he ever known peace? “But I wouldn’t be here without people to rely on.”

“I’m sorry you got stuck with someone like me,” Chris admitted, running his thumb over Derek’s hip bone. “You deserve someone your own age, someone less broken.”

“That’s not how soulmates work. Besides.” A small chuckle escaped him. “I’m sort of broken myself.”

Chris stood up, shaking his head. “You still deserve so much better.”

“When I was 15, I had to mercy kill the girl I loved as she died from bite rejection.” Derek stepped closer to Chris, their bodies nearly touching, Derek’s hands at his side, brushing against the grip Chris still had on his hip. “When I was 16, I thought I found my soulmate. Turned out it was your sister, she just smelled like you. She burned my family alive.”

Chris looked away, letting his eyes fall closed. “I’m sorry.”

“Stop.” Derek said. One of his hands cupped Chris’s cheek, tilting his face back towards Derek’s own. “A few months ago I was manipulated by a dark druid masquerading as an English teacher. The details don’t matter but I can promise you this, Chris. You are what I deserve. You’re my mate. I may not have liked it, but I’ve never doubted it.”

They were so close that Chris could see the kaleidoscope of colors in Derek’s eyes. Their bond was singing with the truthfulness of his words and Chris was overwhelmed with the rightness of how the moment felt. “I don’t know if I can love you the way you deserve.” Chris whispered.

“You already do.” Derek said, leaning their foreheads together.

Chris let his eyes slip closed, let himself stand there in the moment, his daughter pushed to a corner of his mind as he reveled in being close with someone who made him feel whole despite the ragged edges and broken pieces. “Are you sure?” Chris asked, needing to know, needing one last confirmation that this was what Derek wanted. He wanted a broken old man with more skeletons than he had closets to put them in.

Derek didn’t reply with words, but the kiss he pressed to Chris’s lips was soft and sweet, genuine and giving. Somehow, despite the world's constant attempts to turn him into something sharp and dangerous, Derek had retained this softness, this capacity for love and forgiveness.

Chris stopped over thinking. He stopped thinking altogether. There would be time for that in the future. For now, he just leaned close, wrapped his arm around Derek’s waist and returned the kiss.

#teen wolf #Chris argent #Derek hale #dargent #cherek #deropher #chrisderek #my fic #soulmate au #grief and mourning #dh #ca #in bed with the right argent

27 notes · View notes

shtbgs-blog · 6 years

Text

GANGGANG, alright hi it’s tea and this is shitbags central aka your #1 station for all trash, all the time!!! I already have ( 7 ) fucking muses because I’m a whole ass mess of a person and I’m here for legit any plots I even have a plots tag that I started because.... I wanted to ANYWAY let me give you the rundown on my shitheads alright.

jesus fuckin christ this took way longer than anticipated and some have more information than others rn but i’mma make aesthetic posts for them all later tonight ok :///

DONALD “DON” O'CALLAHAN looks an awful lot like JUSTIN CHATWIN. HE is THIRTY and while they’re FLIRTATIOUS they have a tendency to be pretty UNFAITHFUL. You’ve probably seen them around Kola listening to ALONE by HALSEY FEAT. BIG SEAN & STEFFLON DON.

so... first things first... he’s in the mafia

but he makes it seem like his life is amazing and he’s some big important CEO ( wow am i the only one getting jimmy/steve vibes already? )

That’s probs because he’s heavily inspired by the character but he is not canon.

He’s FUN and EXCITING and literally brand new i don’t know shit about him besides how he’s gonna act

which is nice and sly and secretive and flirty aight

IMOGEN WARD looks an awful lot like MADELAINE PETSCH. SHE is TWENTY-TWO and while they’re REBELLIOUS, they have a tendency to get pretty CLUMSY. You’ve probably seen them around Kola listening to REPERCUSSIONS by BEA MILLER

Imogen was a twin sister but her sister died in a haunted house like technically three days ago but we’re gonna pretend like it wasn’t okay

Honestly, she’s loud and exciting most of the time. She’s kind, compassionate, cuddly, sweet and adventureous. It’s just like, too much though. She wilds the fuck out and is constantly go go going like she doesn’t want to stop

she smokes a lot of pot

and she was technically living in a college dorm with her sister but.... she is now officially a college drop out and living back at home

not that she’s ever there tbqfh

She’s got an ex boyfriend that makes her feel a lot of conflicting emotions and will make her REAL WEARY of active relationships because like, STUFF. IM NOT TALKIN BOUT THIS!!!!!!!!

anyway that’s imogen

JAMES WILLIAMS looks an awful lot like MILO VENTIMIGLIA. HE is THIRTY-FIVE and while they’re FLEXIBLE, they have a tendency to get pretty AGGRESSIVE. You’ve probably seen them around Kola listening to IROBOT by JON BELLION.

He Was Married to his highschool sweet heart but then one of his younger twin brothers (? does that make sense) died of an overdose and he sort of lost his mind

And the other twin is in and out of jail for drug related issues

He an alcoholic but he doesn’t fuck with drugs

and he’s actually a police officer

just your generic ass cop he wants to get a promotion but he doesn’t see it in his future

he’s nice but it’s VERY EASY to piss him off

MILO SHEPARD looks an awful lot like NICK JONAS. HE is TWENTY-FOUR and while they’re DISCREET,they have a tendency to get pretty RIGID. You’ve probably seen them around Kola listening to FLARE GUNS by QUINN XCII FEAT. CHELSEA CUTLER ALL THE KIDS ARE DEPRESSED by JEREMY ZUCKER

He’s a foster care social worker meaning he deals with kids who have real fuckin ruff lives okay

He was inspired to join this life because he himself was in foster care for a majority of his life and his case worker basically adopted him when he was fifteen

He’s dedicated his life to giving back like his adoptive father did for him

He has vague memories of his mother but he doesn’t remember much because last time he saw her he was 6

He is constantly busy with cases / children and there’s a strong chance you’ll find him at an ice cream shop with one of the kids he’s working with

oh and he 100% probably has nights where he just stays at the office and lets the kid sleep on his couch because he couldn’t find a foster home

which... u know, with a life this hectic u think he’s ever had any sort of relationship? ha, NO.

OPHELIA MONROE looks an awful lot like BILLIE LOURD. SHE is TWENTY-FIVE and while they’re FRIENDLY, they have a tendency to get pretty JUDGEY. You’ve probably seen them around Kola listening to THUNDER by IMAGINE DRAGONS

So originally I was gonna have her still living at home and working in a mom n pop shop

but since she’s twenty give I’m actually gonna progress her a little bit

She’s left home and now lives in a little bus that she transformed into her house

It’s literally one of the short yellow buses but painted white and black

She got a whole ass house in there a bed, a kitchen, a table

and her cat

And she’s in Kola just to kind of get out and see what the world is like maybe get a job and move out of her bus bc she’s been traveling the past two years it’s time to settle

She’s probably been here maybe a few months

SHANE FRANCIS looks an awful lot like CARLSON YOUNG. SHE is TWENTY-TWO and while they’re ADVENTUROUS, they have a tendency to get pretty DISRUPTIVE. You’ve probably seen them around Kola listening to BETTER DAYS by HEDLEY

OK SO SHANE comes from old money and like you can tell she wears designer and she’s kinda bratty sometimes

but she’s got a good heart like real life

okay no she doesn’t she can sometimes be real bitchy to strangers but the SECOND you get to really know her you know it’s all just a reflex to people trying to get to know her ig??

She loves to give back to charity / work with those less fortunate than her

Whenever she can, ( which is not a lot ) she breaks away from her parents and lives her life how she wants which means partying but, not always, they sort of have her on a tight leash because she has a reputation to uphold

( aka rich spoiled posh ) but Shane doesn’t like this life she wants her own life

WESLEY LLOYD looks an awful lot like AARON TAYLOR JOHNSON. HE is TWENTY-FIVE and while they’re HARD WORKING, they have a tendency to get pretty OBLIVIOUS.You’ve probably seen them around Kola listening to I’M NOT FAMOUS by AJR.

ALRIGHT so this is, last but not least, Wes Lloyd

At 15 he left home to move in with his grandfather

while there he began rapping with his friends ( hoodie allen vc )

and life was honestly good he was getting good at music and had a girlfriend who he really thought he loved and he was happy

then his girlfriend left him

and his grandfather died

and he was twenty three and miserable

when his grandfather passed he left him a great deal of money and the house he had grown up in. Wes took this time to rebuild the home by hand because that’s what his grandfather would have wanted.

During this time he still wrote music but it was sad ( front porch step vc )

Now two years later, the house is complete and he is living with his best friend in his big ass house and honestly his music career is taking off, especially with the happier, more up beat music he’s creating ( jon bellion vc )

He’s just here for a good time and he wants to LIVE his BEST LIFE

#y did i pick up 7 muses #this fucking INTRO POST #fckit:intro

5 notes · View notes

theunderdogwrites · 3 years

Text

Ghislaine Maxwell: Co-Conspirator or Victim?

There are a few things in this world that gross me out to my very core:

- Children eating ice cream. Just no. More gets on their face than in their mouths and it activates my gag reflex and I must look away in horror. And someone get the hose because I am not touching any of it come clean up time.

- Feet. There are no words

- Bestial older men who terrorize young women and under-age girls with sex and those who help them engage in lascivious behavior. Should this not be something that disgusts everyone?

My zodiac sign pegs me as more of a leader than a follower. I find this laughable, but some around me might argue that I am capable of taking the reigns, but not always the best at adhering to authority exerted by others. If I am challenging you for your position, it’s because you’re either a bully or a fucking senseless shitbag and I don’t want those around you subjected to your vast lack of insight. Because in reality, I am super happy to follow intelligent, respectful human beings and even behave myself. It means I can just smile and nod and day dream – my favorite pastime.

If you are not familiar with the name Ghislaine Maxwell, I still hope you cringe at the name Jeffery Epstein. Convicted sex offender and all-around sack of malevolent slime. Also, a coward. Also, unfortunately dead (either by his own hand *I don’t believe it* or snuffed out by some frightened people of great power *I believe this*) before he was able to be made someone’s bitch in prison. Such a tragedy when sex offenders / sex traffickers don’t live long enough in prison to be passed around and used like a cum dumpster. Sometimes the punishment SHOULD fit the crime.

There is plenty of information out there about Ghislaine Maxwell. Here are a few key points on her:

- Her father was Robert Maxwell. He was a British media proprietor, a former member of Parliament (MP), a suspected spy, and a fraudster (having misappropriated the pension funds of his employees). Just to give you a good idea of who Robert Maxwell was: he was the inspiration for the villainous media baron Elliot Carver in the 1997 James Bond film Tomorrow Never Dies. I. Am. Jealous!

- Her father died in November 1991. He had boarded his 190-foot yacht, aptly name, Lady Ghislaine and found the next morning naked, spread-eagled and afloat in the Atlantic. Two autopsies could not conclusively prove a cause of death, but most say suicide because he was set to answer questions surrounding his corporation’s billion-pound debt load that was distributed among at least nine different international banks and investment firms, and the massive hole in its pension reserves. In simpler terms – he was fucked

- Robert Maxwell left his family in ruins. Ghislaine, his favorite child whom he groomed in his image from a young age, was understandably crushed

- Ghislaine is best known for being a socialite with immense connections among the international elite. It’s been stated that she was quite personable, a little bit quirky and therefore often a standout at parties; with many people being drawn to her. (Side note: I recently watched the HBO documentary on her titled, ‘Epstein’s Shadow’ and the tagline under ALL of the people they interviewed who knew her on a social level read, “former friend of Ghislaine Maxwell”. This just made me laugh. I’ve tried to envision the conversation where these people demanded that FORMER be included. Yes, quickly distance yourself from the stink less they think you too might smell bad)

- Depending on who you listen to, Ghislaine met Epstein in either the late 1980’s when her father introduced them (how apropos) or in the late 1990’s at a party in New York following a difficult breakup with a Count. I wonder what breaking up with a Count looks like, feels like. A Count is a historical title of nobility in certain European countries, generally of average rank in the hierarchy of nobility. So basically, he’s not THAT special. But probably feels he is because, well, he has a title. Just imagine the insult you could hurl at him during the break-up: “Count von Count has a bigger penis than you!” *If you do not know who that is – just leave now because you’re shameful*.

- Epstein and Maxwell started out as a couple, but that morphed into more of a companionship / friendship / let’s rape young girls together type situation. You know, how most connections organically evolve.

- Ghislaine Maxwell has been accused of befriending minors and attempting to build a relationship with them, then later delivering them to Jeffrey Epstein to abuse. Maxwell would allegedly lure the young girls to Epstein’s residence under the guise of paid massage work. She’d target disadvantaged minors who she thought wouldn’t be able to refuse the money. Maxwell & Epstein allegedly lured slightly older women into their gross lives with the promise to assist in their careers.

- Additionally, Maxwell and Epstein have been accused of trafficking some of these girls out to their friends and associates among their extremely elite circle. Most notably, is Prince Andrew. Investigators have identified as many as 36 girls that were victims of Epstein and Maxwell’s sex trafficking ring. Some of them - as young as 14. It’s believed there are many more victims yet to be identified.

- Following Epstein’s arrest in July 2019, the FBI started looking for Ghislaine. She went into hiding. Eleven months after Epstein’s “suicide” in prison on August 10, 2019, Maxwell was located. She was arrested in New Hampshire, where she was living a life of seclusion on a sprawling ranch.

- Ghislaine Maxwell faces federal charges including transporting a minor for the purposes of criminal sexual activity, and conspiring to entice minors to travel and engage in illegal sex acts. She is awaiting trial in a Manhattan jail. A trial that was to begin July 12, 2021 but has been delayed till the fall at the request of Maxwell.

You now know all you need to know about Ghislaine Maxwell for the purposes of finishing this piece.

The HBO documentary poised a question and instead of answering it, they’ve pretty much left this viewer with repetitive thoughts and disrupted sleep while trying to answer that very question… ‘Ghislaine Maxwell, Co-Conspirator or Victim?’.

Victim: a person who suffers from a destructive or injurious action or agency / a person who is deceived or cheated, as by his or her own emotions or ignorance, by the dishonesty of others, or by some impersonal agency

My first thought when this question came up: “Wow HBO, if I was a victim of Epstein’s depravity, I’d be so pissed at you right now. Daring to group in the woman accused (several times over) of basically being a fancy pimp and securing playthings for her rich, giant-faced brute and his pals, with the young women whose lives and brain chemistry (yes, I said that: see TRAUMA) have been forever altered by Epstein’s fuckery… BOLD”.

But that thought took me to this thought: “Ghislaine was a Daddy’s girl. And as we know, her dad was a fiend. It is repeated many times in print, that Robert Maxwell conditioned his daughter and corrupted her character. In some twisted way, there might be a case in which she is in fact, a victim. A victim of a severe patriarchal environment that started at a young age and was instrumental in forming her concepts of success, decency and love (given and received)”.

My mind then went straight to this:

She was raised by a plump, rotten human being and most likely, wanted to please her dad… as most daughters often do, and perhaps never thought to question anything. How many of us are guilty of that?

Robert Maxwell passes (Ghislaine has maintained that he was murdered, but with no evidence to support her claims) and the now lost, without a compass Ghislaine, finds her way to Jeffery Epstein.

I think there is something to be said for what and who we attract into our lives. And for what and who we allow to stay in our lives. I’m just going to assume that the majority of people in this world do not willingly desire to attract destructive, soul sucking wankers into their lives, but have had to expunge a number of them from their existence. Full vision doesn’t always mean you are not blind. Love can be murky and really fuck up those rose-coloured glasses.

Co-Conspirator: A co-conspirator is a fellow conspirator - someone engaged in a secret plan by multiple people to do something evil or illegal

By this definition, Ghislaine Maxwell should be spending a great deal of the rest of her life in prison.

She saw bad stuff. She blinded herself to bad stuff. She facilitated bad stuff. She became the bad stuff.

If I was the prosecuting attorney, I might end with those four sentences. But make it all dramatic… throw in a brief pause after each one… maybe do the Bill Clinton “I did not have sexual relations with that woman” thumb gesture:

On second thought, considering how intertwined he could be in all of this… I’d most likely just use the classier karate chop into the open palm to bring my points home:

(Side Note: if you really hate your life, try a deep dive on active hand gestures and how they often provide social leverage)

So, to finally answer HBO’s question: ‘Ghislaine Maxwell, Co-Conspirator or Victim?’…

As I was told numerous times in counselling… “You are not at fault for the things that happened to you when you were young and had no control. But as an adult, you can’t let those past experiences define you and your actions. If you do, then you are responsible for the things you do now”.

Fault is past tense. Responsibility is present tense.

Ghislaine is not at fault for how she was raised or groomed, but if she lured just ONE girl/woman into Epstein’s clutches to be raped and trafficked, then she is absolutely responsible and should be held fully accountable.

She was a victim who turned into not just a co-conspirator but also a lying coward.

I believe ALL the women.

#ghislaine maxwell #jeffery epstein #bill clinton #hbo #epstein's shadow

1 note · View note

atomicblasphemy · 3 years

Text

Today I learned a tough lesson on bird diplomacy: it doesn’t work.

Especially when it comes to this fucking asshole.

That’s a feathery demon called Sabiá do Campo. A formidable foe, I’m still debating if an honorable one, but still undeniably an asshole.

My story with this diṕshit starts a few weeks back. You see, in the home I’m at there’s this place, next to a cute little table I like to drink coffee at sometimes, where they put sugary water and some fruits so the cute wee birds come and enjoy. It really is nice, and I like to watch them while I’m having my caffeine fix. So, in terms of numbers the strongest ones should be the Cambucaia. These guys:

I don’t know if the pictures I’m posting make it clear enough, but there’s a bit of a problem there. The Cambucaia is tiny, the Sabiá is several times its size. This would lead to the Sabiá essentially driving the swaths of Cambucaias into starvation and I could not stand for such injustice. I should evenly distribute the means of papaya and banana acquisition among all sorts of cute birds, even the Sabiá.

Mind you, I chose not to be outright aggressive or anything even remotely like that. I just sat there not breaking eye contact to the point the Sabiá was to uncomfortable to let it’s guard down to eat, and when it would try to harass the Cambucaia I would just shift my position a wee bit and watch it fly away. You know, keeping all intervention to a bare minimum. I think at some point the Cambucaia actually got the hint that I took their side in the conflict and started scooting closer to me. It was nice.

Anyway, that was some weeks ago, and ever since I paid little heed to bird geopolitics. There were some few interactions here and there but I thought they were mostly positive and coming from a place of curiosity of the Sabiá about this weird featherless biped. They just would stand there, come a bit closer, and just keep on watching me. I thought they forgot our little spat weeks before.

Today I learned I was being woefully naive.

Birds hold grudges.

Especially those assholes.

So, I just brewed myself some coffee. I don’t like it too hot, so I like to leave it aside the mug to cool down a bit before I started drinking it. In the mean time I decide to go check on the vines just underneath the place where there’s normally fruit for the feathery dickheads. You know, just to make they grow more evenly so the whole ensemble looks prettier. So I did that, and when I stand up there the demon is, less than two feet away from me, just watching me. I’m no expert in bird body language so I believed it came from the place of curiosity I grew accustomed from the Sabiá. I wave at it and cheerfully say hi. It doesn’t reciprocate, that should have been my first hint.

There’s also this little stair way next to the feeding grounds, normally I like to sit down at it while drinking my coffee. Today however, I chose to drink standing up for a change, this meant I had a privileged view of the action that was taking place.

There was the one dickhead I just met, on the deck, still watching me. It speedily starts shortening the distance, sustaining eye contact. That was their general. It learned from our previous disagreement. But it was only when I saw the other two of their kind in the ground below also watching me that not even I could remain oblivious: they were surrounding me, this was hostile action towards yours truly.

I had to, on the fly (pun intended), decide on a few things: first, that my policy when it comes to bird vs featherless biped conflict would be to never strike first unless that’s a bird of prey that can actually kill me; second, the Cambucaia were nowhere to be seen so the Sabiá must have driven them away, peace was not an option; third, I wanted to finish my coffee and probably get a second one. All of these meant one thing and one thing only. I had to stand my ground as long as possible and see what the enemy would do next.

Now, a thing about me. I’m a jumpy person, I get startled easily especially when I have good reason to expect something to happen. There’s one very clear piece of bird body language: when they fly towards you fast, about half the distance, then retreats to perch back at their original position. That’s the bird equivalent to “fock off, m8″ in a cockney accent, of course. Should I stubbornly stand ground I was bound to drop the mug, not only would the thing shatter in the stair’s steps, but I would lose my coffee: I would fail my third objective. I needed to cut my loses, lest I suffer a humiliating defeat at the wings of the Sabiá gang. I retreat back inside.

While I’m there, coping with the loss on our first battle, I try to figure out what my next course of action should be. I can’t come up with anything reasonable, so I decide to have myself a cigarette, meaning I’d need to go downstairs. I’d have to cross the battlefield where I was defeated by that valiant yet dickish foe.

And there, on the same spot, unflinching was the general. I had no evidence that was the general. But I know that to be true, I knew it in my heart.

I light my cigarette, I look around. The general is alone. The general had been the one to start hostilities: this was between the two of us, the other two were just underlings. This was my chance to take the upper hand back, or at least make the fight take place in a level field once again.

I crouch down. The general looks at me curiously. I start walking, trying to make my best impression of a cat. The general realizes my intentions, it hides behind the vines, apprehension clear in it’s beady gaze.

I sprint, just a couple of steps. Just enough to pay the general in kind for the previous hostility. It flies away. We were even. I rejoice, the territory was now safe for the Cambucaia once more.

I keep on smoking my cigarette, tapping myself on the shoulder for defeating a creature with no concept of the written language, no opposable thumbs, and a fraction of my size. The preposterous nature of the conflict isn’t distant from my mind. I know my fight is a righteous one, my allies, the Cambucaia now could eat in piece. Yet it was not my intention to cut off the Sabiá from a steady and reliable source of nourishment.

No, I needed to make a grand gesture. Something that would make even them realize I have no intention of continuing hostilities, that should they allow the other birds a share of the bounty this could go back to being an idyllic and peaceful feeding ground for all feathery bastards.

I needed to give them a banana.

I go back inside, not the general nor its underlings anywhere on sight as I make the supply run. I pick a banana. I peel a banana. I place the banana in the sacrificial altar: a token, a symbol of my desire for the immediate cessation of all hostilities, of my humble honest wishes for peace between feathery dickheads and featherless bipeds. Soon enough I watch as the Sabiá are the first to acknowledge the banana.

There is doubt in my mind, however. As I placed the peace offering I could not see any Sabiá witnessing the act. Unacquainted with Sabiá cosmology as I am, I had no reason to believe they would connect the causal chain of events and understand properly my gesture. I needed to give them yet another banana and do so in a way that they would incontrovertibly know it came from me.

I do that, as they watch me wearily. I can’t blame them for being suspicious, it only makes them more valorous foes as far as I’m concerned. As soon as I take a couple steps back from the second banana offering, the scooch towards it, beaking on it voraciously.

Could it be a new friendship blossoming? Could my efforts for a diplomatic and peaceful resolution have succeeded? This easily?

But the Sabiá is a fickle creature. It, the general, - who else would be this callous, after all? - once again shortened the distance between us, between me and the banana as if it suspected I was about to steal it from them. It was its way of telling me to “fock off, m8″ once more. A clear insult seeing how it watched me doing the offering.

I could not stand for this unjustifiably insult. Because make no mistake, this was nothing short of an insult. “Oi! Fuck you, you literal leaking shitbag (yeah, don’t go thinking I didn’t see you shitting all over at least for times during our battles). Is this how you gonna act? I’m trying to be mature here, I really am. But I can’t have an adult armistice with you if you keep being this petty. Fuck you dude. Fucking asshole.” I cry, wounded both in my heart and in my pride.

And so, this is the current status quo in the front. I didn’t allow things to escalate any further today. As far as it’s my understanding we are still at war, if a cold one now. I shall remain defending the Cambucaia’s interests, the Sabiá in all likelihood will stubbornly insist in monopolizing the food sources.

Tumblr friends, if I die, you shall now know who is to blame: those villanous Sabiá. If I die, don’t mourn me. For I died a righteous death, I died fighting for the Cambucaiá’s right for bananas and sugary water. I can ask for nothing more.

Yet, know this too: I do not wish to go to war. I meaninglessness is an inherent part of war. And I do respect the Sabiá, they proven dignified, valorous, brave. All qualities I strive to embody as well, and hope to have done so in this ever so terrible juncture. But I’m at the beckon call of my allies, that is most crucial part of friendship. I will not cower. I will yell my “SLAYEEEER” war cry at the top of my lungs and jump into the trenches. Which sounds like a terrible idea given the airborne nature of the conflict.

I shall uphold my not striking first policy. But, as of now all I can say is this: onwards... to victory.

0 notes

simmancy · 6 years

Note

I was wondering how you first started your berry legacy? Did you make a new simblr for it? How did you first start posting and getting into a routine? I really want to make a legacy myself but i'm scared that it would look really mediocre and unorganized! Any tips on how to plan out the storyline and start posting? Thank you!! (asking this to a few different blogs so sorry if yo see this question somewhere else)

I’m honestly super honored that you’re asking me! I’m still a pretty small simblr compared to a lot of people.

I’m going to put this under a cut, just so it doesn’t clutter up people’s dashes because I RAMBLE (like seriously, I’m re-reading it all now and I go on and on and on) but I’m gonna cover everything you asked!

TL;DR: get mildly inspired, get involved in the community and have fun with it!

I cannot recommending creating a new blog enough. While it’s definitely easier to just create a sub-blog off your personal, you’ll have a harder go at keeping things separate once things take off. Plus then you probably won’t have ALL your million tumblr things that you’re already following mixed in with your sim stuff, making things so much harder to follow.

Once you start your simblr (whether a sub-blog or whole new tumblr), TAG EVERYTHING. XKIT SAVES LIVES. Not really, but it will save you a lot of time once you install the Quick Tags and make tag bundles. Seriously.

At least once a day, a “reblog if you’re a maxis match simblr” thing comes across my dash–don’t be afraid to reblog those when you’re starting out. (Or the alpha equivalent if that’s your thing).

Seriously, don’t be afraid to reach out to people and get involved. Ask for sim requests, reply to things, join a Discord server–don’t be afraid to talk to people! I’ve actually made a few good friends this time around. It’s awesome.

This is just one of the unfortunate realities about things–if your pictures look good, you’ll get noticed quicker and blah blah. You can get by on just writing, but it’s a lot harder. This is still tumblr. It’s microblogging. LOOOOONG text posts (like this one lmao) are not what it’s geared towards.

Anyway. I play TS4 on Ultra, and that does a lot of work for me. Sometimes all you really need to do is sharpen and brighten things up. Reshade is another good alternative, if your computer can handle it–that takes a lot of the decision making out because it edits for you! I used to use PickyPikachu’s reshade presets. The downside is that it’s pretty resource heavy.

The basic point here is that having good lookin’ pictures goes a long way to making your stuff look “not mediocre.”

Also, and this is a side thing–find a good theme for your simblr, something that looks good for both text posts and pictures, probably something with either a sidebar or header (or both).

This is the meat of the section and it’s all really Kit/Pastille-specific.

I started up the Pastel Pastilles because I saw Berry’s challenge–I had already read Splash of Color a long time ago, and had a (now obviously abandoned) TS3 rainbowcy. But TS4 was fun and ran like a beast and I liked berry sims, so I dove in. If you were to go back in my archives, though, you’d see that I started posting a TS3 LEPacy, and that’s not even my first one.

I’m not going to even talk about the Grims in this post, since they’re really new. But they’re a prime example of using community involvement to stay interested haha. I’m very excited to play with Ruby and her future family because of all the nice sims people sent for her to eat alive become friends with.

Planning with the Pastilles

With the Pastilles, I honestly got a little tipsy one night and did my initial planning based around Halsey’s Hopeless Fountain Kingdom. Like… Not even gonna lie. That was honestly my starting point. You can almost see hints of this in some places. From there, I had certain scenes I wanted to hit.

Gen 1 - Luna - “Hopeless”; it’s about being in a shitty relationship and hoping that changes lmao (“I hope hopeless changes over time”). Luna and Dianthus were meant to have a much more obviously toxic relationship but Luna ended up having four kids by her second pregnancy and I just couldn’t play and write that fast. However, I always knew that Luna’s big moment would be telling Dianthus to get out.

Gen 2 - Verity Vine - “Now or Never”/“100 Letters” - There are a couple things that have stayed consistent in this gen: Veri and her dreams, the peach spouse’s dad was gonna be a dick and they would be separated for years, and they were gonna hook back up at a wedding.

My very first concept was that Riesling was going to be a bit more wishy-washy and bend to his father’s will (hence “Now or Never” being the song). By the middle of the generation, it was clear that Veri would become the distant one (“he said ‘please don’t go away,’ I said ‘it’s too late’”).

Part of writing a sims legacy sometimes is… letting the sims do the writing for you. Meri and Forest weren’t supposed to be the ones getting married (it was supposed to be Chai Tea and Black Cherry) and they definitely weren’t supposed to have the twins but honestly the story is better for it, you know? And obv most of Veriling’s story isn’t the way I initially planned.

All this said, once I knew where I wanted the story to go, I knew I wanted to plan around a few set-pieces: the fountain scene where Riesling trips onto Veri and she realizes “OH SHIT,” the scene where Eiswein walks in, Punk!Veri’s “I don’t dream at all anymore,” and Riesling’s “Hi, I’m Riesling Puck, you might recognize me from your dreams.” Those were all scenes I knew I HAD to get.

Gen 3 - ??? - “Angel on Fire” - it’s about anxiety lmao so I don’t mind linking it, it’s pretty obvious. Gen 3 has an anxious heir, a song about anxiety was on the nose.

I don’t really recommend the getting tipsy part, but definitely do recommend going in with a basic concept.

The cool thing about challenges is that you already have the guidelines as a starting point. One of my favorite parts about this challenge in particular is seeing how people re-interpret the rules–for instance compare the Gumdrops, Frosts, Amours, Pastilles, Fairyflosses, Prisms–we all started from the same basic rules and there’s still a lot of variation, especially once you get past the initial introductions.

Also, SERIOUSLY: don’t be afraid to take inspiration from crazy places–a song you heard on the radio, a movie, your own life, whatever. Like, I decided Veri’s generation would have it’s first Act at Oxtail University because of the “dream of ivy covered walls and smoky french cafes” line in “Beautiful” (from the Heathers musical). The song otherwise has VERY LITTLE to do with Gen 2. It’s just that line became a starting point for me.

Keeping Things Lookin’ Snazzy with the Pastilles

Looking back, you can kind of see Gen 1 was a bit brighter and lighter/different in editing style than Gen 2. I purposefully set out to get a “dreamy” feel for Gen 2′s pictures. It works for me and the Pastilles–it might not for your legacy! Play around with things to see what works.

I’ve also noticed a lot of banners nowadays (they weren’t as big my first go around here on simblr, but they’re everywhere now). I think that helps to keep things “on brand,” organized and consistent too. I personally don’t use a banner for the Pastilles–I didn’t start with one, and now it looks super wrong to me when I try to use one…. So instead, I’d recommend looking at @frost-rainbowcy–she is SUPER on-brand. I can only aspire to reach that level of #a e s t h e t i c.

HOWEVER, I do keep everything on my blog hyper-organized–there’s a main page where everything’s pretty much linked, and the character page.

TBH, you don’t need to go that in-depth. I just like leaving weird easter eggs in places. You might too.

Posting Consistently

So, I started posting the Pastilles officially almost a week after I made the first post with Luna. That’s because I played a BUNCH right at the beginning, so I’d have something consistent to post for a while. It wasn’t initially as story-heavy as it is now. That’s something you probably want to decide before you start posting.

Right now, I’m posting inconsistently because I’m trying to wait around for Cats and Dogs and not give into the temptation to give Veri and Ries the babies they keep wishing for, but….

I’m in game almost every day–I get off work most days between 2 and 4 now, so by 6 PM I’ve eaten/showered/started up TS4. Even if it’s just to make a sim for someone.

I tend to do all my picture editing on Sundays, as it’s my day off. Sometimes it bleeds over into Monday, my other day off. I don’t always write posts up those days, but I at least stick them in the queue so they’re THERE. For me, it helps giving myself that weird deadline lmao

As a result, I almost always have something queued up.

I utilize the queue like MAD. Right now it’s set at 6 posts a day between 3 PM and 12 AM EST, but I change it up depending on what I have going on and what I can crank out. Usually I leave it on 13 posts a day.

Basically, learn what works for you. It does take some trial and error, but you’ll get it eventually.

Now here’s the real truth: you won’t post consistently if you don’t love your game or your sims.

I love playing the Pastilles as much as I love writing them. To the point that I have them backed up in several places just in case. I’m genuinely attached to the family, and that makes it worth it to me. Sometimes that doesn’t happen immediately (I love Luna, and Vino, and even Dianthus that shitbag, but you can tell that I got invested with Veri and Ries–Gen 1 is 30 pages long on my blog. Gen 2 is 92 and counting).

Storywise, I stay interested because I love the fluffy romance bits and snappy dialogue as much as the Drama Bombs, and also (spoilers) I’m a sucker for supernatural stuff. So I tailored my legacy to fit that.

But when I don’t want to play sometimes I just go in game, grab a few pictures of them in CAS and redo the character page for the 25th time. And that’s okay too. I just always try to make sure I have something to post, even if it’s a small (even if it’s just Riesling’s face. Because I know that’s what y’all want. It’s cool. I get it).

I seriously rambled a lot, but I hope this helps!! Once you get started, please let me know too! I’m rooting for you, non, and any nons to come after you.

#ask #simblr tips #oh gosh i am genuinely so stoked to answer this haha #Anonymous #I️ need to edit this is the morning it’s 2:30 AM and I need to sleep haha

84 notes · View notes

rantsaboutponies · 6 years

Text

Season 7 Retrospective

Well, we’re between highly anticipated movie releases this weekend (for me, anyway), so it’s time for our annual look back over the season!

Good lord, the beginning of Season 7 seemed like so long ago. I could have sworn the Flurry Heart episode was last season. Maybe this has just been a really long year. Well...okay, yeah, I can certainly see why it would feel that way, given the year this has been.

With a rating of 4-9-13 (W-L-T), this season must have been better than the last one, even if it didn’t feel like it. Season 8 is forthcoming, so how long before Hasbro gives up and reboots the series again? Only time will tell.

So, here we are. From best to worst:

#1. “Secrets and Pies”: This episode was...good? Like, really, really good? Why? I don’t get it! I wouldn't be so confused if you guys did this more often! I swear, the next time this happens, I'm going to get whiplash!

#2. “Rock Solid Friendship”: To complement the really good Pinkie Pie episode, here’s an episode that was really good in every way except Pinkie Pie! They’re at exact opposite ends of the season, too. Maybe it’s an equivalent exchange thing.

#3. “Triple Threat”: I thought this episode did a pretty good job of avoiding the “why don’t you just tell them?” problem that virtually every episode of every sitcom runs into. We’ve already established that Thorax is a whiny little milquetoast weenie and that Ember is a heinous prick who doesn’t listen to anybody but herself. Hell, that was the entire reason for the conflict in the first place! Honestly, why would Spike try to reason with either of them?

#4. “To Change a Changeling”: If the monster hadn’t turned out to be a giant mole, the ending battle might have seemed a little more life-threatening. That, Starlight’s very, very stupid plan, and Pharynx’s abusive ass made this episode a little worse than it should have been. Apart from that, though, I liked it!

And now here’s the hardest part of the list: trying to figure out which “tie” episodes were slightly better or worse than all the others.

#5. “Once Upon a Zeppelin”: Yeah, Twilight’s parents were annoying (and idiots), but not to the point that I’m going to dread them ever showing up in any future episodes (unlikely as that is at this point). Plus, bringing back Iron Will actually seemed to have a point, and it helped that he didn’t have to “unlearn” his lesson from his first appearance just to make the current episode make sense.

#6. “Uncommon Bond”: This episode went out of its way to prove that yes, Starlight and Sunburst really do have only one thing in common. I would have expected the resolution to be the realization that the two of them liked more things than just that board game, but nope! Giant version! That’s it!

#7. “Daring Done?”: I was so distracted this episode that I forgot to mention that Pinkie Pie was actually acting like Pinkie Pie and not an annoying little shitbag! It was refreshing! But anyway, you’d think Daring-Do would have written enough books by this point to realize the obvious tropes this episode followed. The real challenge for her is going to be stretching this adventure out to novel-length.

#8. “Discordant Harmony”: I’m still not sure what made Discord think he needed to change a bunch of shit about his house to make Fluttershy happy. It looked the same way he made her house look every time he visited her. What did he think she was expecting?

#9. “A Health of Information”: This is the second episode in a row on this list where Fluttershy acted kind of like a doofus throughout the episode for no discernible reason. It also proved that unicorns are the solution to everything. Need to grab some moss from a swamp without falling in? Unicorn! Need to collect honey from the flash bees without going anywhere near them? Unicorn! Need to destroy an entire planet without breaking a sweat? Unicron!

#10 & #11. “Shadow Play (Parts 1 and 2)”: The first half fools you into thinking this isn’t just going to be a run-of-the-mill finale episode by promising you a halfway interesting quest before immediately giving you all the artifacts within a few minutes. Ha! Gotcha!

#12. “Hard to Say Anything”: I’d kind of hoped we were past the whole “two men competing for the trophy that is the personality-deprived female character” cliché, especially in a show designed for children, but I guess not. I mean, at least Big Mac and Feather do realize that’s what they’re doing by the end, but that doesn’t fix Sugar Belle’s “sexy lamp” issue.

#13. “A Royal Problem”: Has Twilight been of help to any friendship-related issues since she stopped being the main character? I think these episodes must be based on Twilight's memoirs, i.e. this isn't how things actually happened; this is how she remembers them happening. Here's what really happened during "Magical Mystery Cure":

Twilight Sparkle: So...I accidentally totally and completely fucked up my friends’ lives, but then I fixed it! That means I'm good at having friends, right?

Princess Celestia (sarcastically): Oh, yeah, you're a regular princess of friendship.

Twilight Sparkle: *gasp* Really?!

Princess Celestia: Oh, no, I didn't mean– Ah, crap, the music's already started. ♫ You've come such a long, long way... ♫

Princess Celestia (mentally): I've really got to stop using the word “princess” as an insult. This is the third one this week. I'm running out of castles! She'll just have to stay in the library until I can find another one.

#14. “All Bottled Up”: This episode is a perfect example of why the writers typically just don’t include characters in an episode if they have nothing to do in said episode. That escape room nonsense was just stupid. The six of you might be best friends, but you have never gotten along that well!

#15. “Celestial Advice”: Ugh, this one. “As a teacher, I have to send my student away. I don’t know exactly why I have to do that, but I’m sure I’ll figure the reason out later. Oh, wait, you don’t want to leave? Well, that changes everything! You can stay!” I think they were making this one up as they went along.

#16. “The Perfect Pear”: One of the emptiest “love” stories I’ve ever seen. This was an “attraction story”, if you can even call it that. This is another case where I’m positive that at least a hundred better fanfics had been written about this exact story before the episode was released. I get why people have headcanons about things now. Why wouldn’t you have a fanon when the canon is so...weak?

#17. “Honest Apple”: Once again, we have a brand-new writer for this episode. Kevin Lappin was very likely just given a slip of paper with “APPLEJACK = HONEST” written on it, which constituted the entire material he had to work with. That might explain why Applejack was such an unlikable prick for the entire episode.

Whoo... All right. Here we go.

#18. “A Flurry of Emotions”: If you don’t want to watch your kid (because, seriously, you’ve got better things to do), just show up at one of your relatives’ houses one day and dump it on them. They’ll have such a guilt trip that they’ll be glad to accept! But make sure it’s someone who’s completely unqualified for the job and has a mountain of other responsibilities first. That’s the best way!

#19. “Campfire Tales”: The fact that this episode was actually just a clunky setup for the finale might explain why all three stories sucked so hard. It’s this season’s The Mummy!

#20. “Not Asking for Trouble”: Now we’re going to get into the part of the list where I have to figure out which episodes are worse by balancing how much the episode irritated me in general with how toxic the moral is. Trust me, if your children’s show has a moral of “Do what you want to do for other people, regardless of what those people have explicitly told you not to do, because you’ll end up being right in the end. After all, people don’t know what they want!”, you’ve fucked up something awful.

#21. “Fluttershy Leans In”: I said in this review that this felt like the MLP version of The Fountainhead, but I only just recently realized that I also said the same thing about Season 5's "Canterlot Boutique". Given that the episodes were written by different people, this must be a storyline that creative types really like (even if it’s nothing more than a power fantasy).

#22. “It Isn’t the Mane Thing About You”: All right, you actually had a good idea with this one. Despite being the Element of Generosity, one of Rarity's main problems has always been her vanity. That means you pulled off the rare feat of making the moral both 1. something the character hasn't already learned in a previous episode and 2. something that a normal functioning member of society might not automatically possess. (There has been a distressing number of lessons in the past five seasons or so that don't fit one or both of these qualifications.) It's just a shame you crashed and burned so spectacularly by 1. turning the moral from “don't be vain” to “have confidence” (something Rarity has never struggled with AND which you have already had as the moral in MULTIPLE previous episodes) and 2. went about it in the most nonsensical way possible!

#23. “Parental Glideance”: This one was a little sickening. The “my parents are so embarrassing!” trope is bad enough, but you’re an adult, Rainbow Dash! Grow up! If the things your parents are doing embarrass you (or if they’re legitimately dangerous, like SHOOTING FIREWORKS OFF AT AN AIRSHOW), talk to them! You can do that without snapping and acting like a dick!

#24. “Forever Filly”: Holy crap, I have never wanted to punch a fictional cartoon character in the face as badly as I did in this episode. I don’t know what made Sweetie Belle act like such a little shit or why Rarity is so out of touch with her (seeing as Sweetie Belle would have had to have been about four to be into the stuff she was trying to do), but I hated this. Shove your black box experimental theater up your ass.

#25. “Marks and Recreation”: I got the sense from the beginning of the series that cutie marks were originally supposed to be something really deep and meaningful. I mean, they’re your passion. They represent that thing that you love so much and are so good at that you can spend the rest of your life doing it and wearing a permanent symbol of it on your body. Well, not anymore! Now it’s just some obligatory shit that you get because you have to and that doesn’t have any real meaning at all! Fuck you! Just...fuck you!

#26. “Fame and Misfortune”: Yeah, no surprise there. Holy shit, this was a painful experience. Like “Stranger Than Fan Fiction”, this was just embarrassing to watch. To quote somebody else, “...you don't get back at critics by attacking them, you do it by ignoring them and continuing to be awesome.” Hell, this episode's moral is contradicted by its own existence. “You shouldn't be affected by criticism of your work. That’s why I wrote this episode where all my critics are painted as raving lunatics and I am totally the victim!” The fact that this is the SECOND such episode is just pathetic. This one actually manages to be worse, though, because, unlike the earlier episode when it was just Quibble Pants being a dick, this one paints the ENTIRE fandom as either complaining whiners who hate everything or creepy stalkers who follow everywhere you go. Nothing says “we want you to keep watching” like insulting the few fans you have left right to their face!

Remember, next week is the review of the remaining six Equestria Girls: Summertime Shorts. Be there!

#my little pony: friendship is magic #my little pony friendship is magic #my little pony #friendship is magic #mlp fim #mlp #fim #my little pony spoilers #mlp spoilers #spoilers #season 7 retrospective #retrospective

5 notes · View notes

myherorp · 4 years

Photo

THE QUIRK DATABASE HAS BEEN UPDATED !

incoming information on vigilante, sky walker.

get to know them !

faceclaim: nam yoonsoo, actor

name: noh jiahn

vigilante name: sky walker

gender & pronouns: cismale, he/him

age: 22

occupation: graduate student

reputation: a true vigilante, through and through. sky walker’s as similar to a robin hood as this world will probably get, questionable methods and all. rather than target villains, it’s well known he acts more as an addition to the police–focusing on corruption, trafficking, etc. the police’s methods are limited, and everybody knows most heroes would rather go for the fame and glory of taking down a villain than ousting a prostitution ring, so sky walker fills that gap (albeit illegally). his methods aren’t completely clear, but it’s assumed he uses his quirk behind the scenes to gather evidence (sans warrant), before ultimately arresting the culprits (aka leaving an anonymous tip for the police where they ultimately find files of evidence and the shitbags stuck to the ground or walls). his methods, success rate, and choice to remain anonymous (aside from the few vague descriptions given to the police) have gained him popularity among the younger generation. a take it or leave it type among the public for sure.

the quirk !

quirk name: adhesion

quirk description: user can create, shape and manipulate any/all types of adhesion (the tendency of dissimilar particles to cling to one another). one can make non-adhesive surfaces stick together or make anything previously adhesive no longer so.

abilities:

stick/seal › jiahn can ‘stick’ up to four surfaces together at once so long as any part of his body touches the surface he wants to adhere. this ability is usually applied by him ‘sealing’ a criminal to the ground for arrest. since his quirk is molecular, there is no physical ‘glue’ that appears. rather, the molecules of the person’s body/clothes become attracted to a different surface, such as a wall. he can also adhere simple things, like sealing a door closed. so long as the molecules are different, he can stick them together, and he can decide how far of an area he’d like to adhere.

air walk › by using his quirk to adhere the air molecules to one foot while making the other foot non-adhesive, doing so interchangeably allows jiahn to ‘walk’ on air (as well as water). this is similar to how a water strider uses surface tension to walk on top of water.

wallcrawling › similar to air walk, jiahn can make himself adhesive to any surface, allowing him to walk/crawl on walls, ceilings, buildings, etc. as he makes himself stick then unstick to the surface.

ungum › the opposite of seal, this ability allows jiahn to make something previously adhesive (naturally or through his quirk) become non-adhesive. ungum causes molecules to stop clinging together and separate. it can be used to undo his own sealant (of a person/thing) or break apart the adhesion of molecules should the need call for it (such as a window, causing the glass to shatter).

patching › this ability enhances the already existing adhesiveness of molecules. at a basic level, it could mean making the glue of two papers stronger to guarantee they won’t become unstuck. on a larger scale, it could be reinforcing a collapsing building to prevent further collapse or to patch up any cracking. patching’s effect will not disappear unless jiahn removes it himself.

weaknesses:

touch › in order to adhere surfaces together, jiahn must touch them with any part of his body. if he can’t touch whatever he’s trying to adhere (and he must touch both things), then his quirk can’t be used. this weakness does not apply when using his quirk on his own body.

time limit › through trial and error, jiahn’s discovered there’s a five minute time limit where what he touched first can become attracted to whatever he touches next. after five minutes, if jiahn has only touched one thing, it won’t become attracted to anything and he’d need to touch it again for his quirk’s effect to reactivate. this weakness does not apply when using his quirk on his own body.

concentration › in order to use his quirk, especially on himself, immense concentration is required. it’s taken jiahn endless practice to master simultaneously activating and deactivating his quirk in order to air walk and wall crawl. if he becomes too distracted, he tends to either stick his entire body to whatever surface he’s trying to climb, or when walking on air, will simply fall from the sky until he reactivates his quirk.

physical strain › when using his quirk on himself for extended periods of time, jiahn’s body will begin to succumb to exhaustion. it doesn’t happen often as he’s usually not in situations that require him to go beyond his quirk’s limits, but iit’s definitely not impossible. it can also happen if he’s attempting to adhere extremely large surfaces, as it takes up more power to cover more space.

effects › for surfaces that would normally not be attracted to one another, jiahn’s quirk can make them adhere for up to four hours. the larger the surface is, the less time it will stay adhered. however, if he’s enhancing previously existing adhesion then the effect of his quirk doesn’t disappear unless he removes it himself.

the history !

triggers: abuse

the birth of noh jiahn is front page news, congratulating the noh conglomerate’s ceo on his first born son. it’s picture perfect, really–a healthy baby to succeed in his father’s footsteps, a beautiful wife at his side, an ever growing fortune.

toys, gadgets, and countless nannies tending to his every need–jiahn’s your average chaebol in every sense of the word. to an outsider, he’d be living life on easy mode. but it’s a childhood filled with classes, sports, and tutoring. there’s no time to play or relax when you have shoes to fill.

jiahn has a personality that wants to be good at everything he does. of course, that also means he isn’t the type to enjoy sitting pretty, and every chance he got, trouble came running. it starts with harmless pranks on his nannies, which turns into sneaking out, and he only becomes more of a menace with the development of his quirk. jiahn’s reprimanded every time, but his nannies are soft on him and his parents never learned how to discipline their child in the first place. nobody ever manages to fix that mischievous nature of his.

his popularity in school is purely from daddy’s money and he knows it. his parents give him more freedom (so long as he’s top of his class), and jiahn’s not stupid enough to think he’s invited for anything else other than forking over his wallet. but he can’t bring himself to care. fake or not, they’re the only friends he has at the end of the day. maybe he just has a hard time saying no. or maybe there’s a part of him waiting on someone to treat him as more than his background.

despite knowing his future’s set, jiahn can’t help dreaming about attending u.y. it’s fruitless, he knows, yet just like every other kid his age, the allure of being a hero and saving people tugs at him. it’s the first time jiahn’s ever wanted something he knows he can’t have.

corruption runs rampant among the wealthy, and bile always rises in jiahn’s throat at the horrific things the people around his family have done and continue to do. however, one doesn’t simply disagree with those at the top of society. so jiahn listens, figuring out who’s connected to who and how. it’s a gold mine of info for heroes and police alike, but it’s clear neither would ever come close to scratching the surface unless they were privy to everything jiahn is.

bringing up his dream to his parents doesn’t go over well. his mother’s stare is blank, unfeeling, while his father’s handsome face scrunches up into something grotesque. he’s met with a slap in the face at even throwing the idea of being a hero and cleaning up society out there.

jiahn continues practicing his quirk in secret, and like with everything he does, improves quickly. it’s in his second year of high school he happens to witness a robbery while sneaking out of the house. the police arrive at the scene with the robber completely adhered to the ground and a confession note beside him. it’s labeled as the work of an unknown vigilante.

if being an official hero is out of the question, jiahn doesn’t see why he can’t take things into his own hands behind the scenes. the noh conglomerate’s perfect heir in the day time, and a vigilante at night. someone has to stop the elites from themselves, and who better than someone also part of society’s top 1%? so his vigilante work grows more complex, and eventually he’s given his nickname: sky walker, based off testaments on how the vigilante’s able to walk on air using his quirk.

jiahn’s done all he can to keep his identity secret. he’s the perfect son in every way: top grades, good looks, and a friendly personality to boot. it’s stifling, being unable to ever say how he really feels lest he ruin his image. but jiahn needs it that way. it’s best if nobody believes him capable of being a vigilante, let alone one as infamous as sky walker.

the personality !

kind, friendly, and generous with his money is how most people around the heir to the noh conglomerate would describe noh jiahn. he’s nice with good looks to boot and that’s all anyone really cares about anyway. his parents see him as an obedient kid for the most part, at the very least, he always does what he’s supposed to do and meets expectations. and as long as he does so? anything he does in his spare time (so long as it doesn’t cause trouble for the family’s reputation) is fair game. his nannies would tell you he’s got a good heart, but he’s a menace all the same. someone who spreads himself so thin it’s a surprise he hasn’t broken down yet.

underneath it all? jiahn’s more of a cheeky, mischievous, sarcastic prick. he’s still a good guy if we’re talking morals, but he’s nothing like the innocent front he puts on. instead, his language is coarse and his temper is short (thankfully he’s developed a talent for hiding it). while his personality might not be the best, jiahn’s got a strong moral compass and is the type to do things by himself to ensure they’re done right. he puts up with a lot simply because his convictions are stronger than any temporary feeling. but that doesn’t mean he never lets a backhanded comment slip or an annoyed facial expression here and there. at the rate he’s going, he could win an award for best actor.

#myheroaccepted #myherofollow #abuse tw

0 notes

literateape · 6 years

Text

American Shithole #9 — Robert Mercer, Part One: Cambridge Analytica

By Eric Wilson

In what may prove to be the undercover investigation of the early 21st century, the BBC4 exposé on Cambridge Analytica has blown the roof off a story that had long gone dormant. The hidden camera footage is career-defining, and the transcript reads like the Darwin Awards for Espionage. It’s jaw dropping in scope and stupidity, and it feels a bit like you’re watching two proper devils talk shop in hell.

Posing as potential clients, journalists secretly filmed Cambridge Analytica officials describing how their company rigs world elections. I still can’t believe it — they probably can't believe it — but these sweet BBC geniuses basically Scooby Doo’d Cambridge Analytica. Enjoy your place in the annals of journalistic legend, you deserve it.

Well done, Shaggy!

The twitterverse was experiencing twittergasms, as word had gotten out on the segment before it aired. Perhaps it was more of a Twitterquake, as you could feel the tremors across social media in anticipation. In our age of big stories, this was bigger, and you could sense it on Monday morning before the news broke.

As far as the video is concerned, it’s a must watch — one where operatives from Cambridge Analytica, including CEO, Alexander Nix, describe the legal and illegal tactics they use to manipulate supposedly free elections all over the world. Note the calmness with which they speak, it really is captivating in its cold, calculative way.

A second installment of the BBC4 investigation aired a day later, and it brought to light Cambridge Analytica’s critical role in the success of the Trump presidential campaign. They were far from humble. In this hidden camera video Alexander Nix and other CA operatives actually take credit for Trump’s victory.

It would seem that if there is an election happening, Cambridge Analytica is there — working angles, using sex slaves as honey traps, blackmailing enemies, manipulating big data, all safely from the shadows. Well, it's not so safe in the shadows anymore, Nix.

The BBC isn’t the only one on the case.

While that was amazing work by the team at BBC4, American Shithole has its own crack team of investigative journalists, and our operatives — working deep undercover — were able to procure a top secret list of other gifts and services Cambridge Analytica reserved for its highest paying clients.

Dictators brought to power by Cambridge Analytica may also have received:

1. Buy 9 elections get 1 free* Customer Loyalty Card.

2. Subscription to Children’s War Refugee Monthly magazine.

3. Slovenian Sex Slave First Lady Platinum Upgrade.

4. Super PAC Mystery Sack!™**

5. First time dictators received a signed copy of Howard Zinn’s So, You’ve Bought Yourself a Country, Have You?

6. Handmade Russian lamp for presidential office desk.***

7. Children’s War Refugee Monthly complimentary pinup calendar.

8. The American President DVD case with a ripped copy of Wag the Dog inside.

*Please refer to your customer loyalty card owner’s manual for rules regarding free election eligibility. **Super PAC Mystery Sack!™ is a subsidiary of Mystery Sack! International and may contain foreign politics. ***Lamp must be on the desk facing the president at all times.

The one name I was expecting to hear more in the media this week was Robert Mercer.

Unfortunately, there was little to no mention of the Mercers, as Cambridge Analytica faced a torrential downpour of bad press, day after day. It’s been a fucking shitstorm in the blogosphere on both sides of the Atlantic (more on this later), but the lion’s share of the focus has been on the company and its senior officer, Nix.

It astounds me how this family of billionaires seems to so effectively manipulate their own media presence — even when one of their own companies is embroiled in a scandal involving election tampering, criminal behavior, and international conspiracy.

CNN’s Don Lemon barely mentioned the Mercers by name on Monday, during his interview with the Cambridge Analytica whistleblower, Christopher Wylie — while Steve Bannon, former Mercer lackey and Pigpen from the Upside Down, was mentioned at least a dozen times.

If you are going to talk about a company that was clearly influential in the Trump victory, maybe you should mention the asshole that owns 90 percent of the stock — mega GOP/Trump donor and serious contender for all-time Shitbag of the Universe, Robert Mercer. Or perhaps his daughter, who currently sits on the CA board of directors.

That is some Obi Wan level Jedi mastery right there. These are not the billionaires you are looking for.

But they are the billionaires we are looking for! Here they are behaving terribly, and we as dutiful wealth-worshipping Americans let them get away with it every single time. We let them game the broken system to serve their greed, and strip resources, and ruin communities, and rig fucking elections — and we worship them for the effort.

We allow them to continually commit crimes against humanity, and now we are allowing them to systematically dismantle democracy. Yet somehow we are blinded by their wealth, as if greed were some sort of cherished American virtue, this richness that absolves all sin.

The past few days I’ve looked for news stories on Robert Mercer; passing mentions at best, with very few interviews or articles focusing on the individual that owns the company that just may be responsible for both Brexit and Trump.

Yes, if you are a little late to this developing story, so was I, but you are reading that correctly.

Cambridge Analytica has also been connected to Brexit, possibly the worst development in the UK in a half-century — that is, if you don’t count the invention of modern-day reality television a development. Thanks, Brits, we took your reality TV, and after over thirty years we have reduced it to what is now a stupefying slog through a kaleidoscope of spirit-dampening white-hot noise and eye vomit.

But I digress.

If a billionaire’s company can orchestrate Brexit and the Trump presidency, via numerous illegal activities — and the billionaire gets away with it — this is a message to all would be tyrants that the upper echelon of the ruling class may do anything they please, with no fear of consequence.

We are talking about crimes with ripple effects so pervasive, so widespread and far-reaching, that it would be impossible to calculate the damage done, or the punishment deserved.

In this humble American’s opinion, anything less than a massive devaluation of the Mercer family, and jail time for both Robert and his diamond-bespectacled harpy of a daughter, Rebekah, would be an invitation to every two-bit, hustler, billionaire tyrant on the planet to treat entire countries like their own personal political stomping ground.

Not that they aren't doing that already.

This might make Robert Mercer the reigning Worst Person on the Planet. I cannot think of two events in recent history that have sown more discord, created more havoc than Brexit and Trump.

I get Mercer isn’t news sexy. I don't want to write about him either — it’s like trying to write negative copy about Mr. Rogers. By comparison, I was chomping at the bit to eviscerate Cambridge Analytica CEO, Alexander Nix. He so plays the part of the Bond Villain to perfection. I imagine he likely has a few rather unpleasant appetites as well. I could write jokes about him for days.

The real villain here though, is Robert Mercer, and by proxy or association, his ogress fishwife of a daughter, Rebekah. Look at the two of them. They look like they’re about to preside over the fucking Hunger Games.

So who is this charming prince, you ask? Tough to say, as he leads a largely private life.

The few that know the reclusive billionaire describe him as a quiet loner. I already see where this is going. He lives with his many cats. Uh-oh. He hates the establishment, and was thoroughly convinced long ago of all the craziest conspiracy theories involving the Clintons. Oh, boy.

And like all billionaires, his power has increased manifold since Citizens United, and Mercer has taken advantage of that, as one of the most generous GOP donors over the last eight years.

What we have is another crazy-rich asshole using his gross overvaluation to fund shadow companies that rig world elections. Including ours. I struggle to find the reasons why we value these billionaire cretins so?

Is this misguided misanthrope single-handedly responsible for the destabilization of the west? No. Hardly. It’s not for lack of trying though. Mercer's just plodding along, money-murdering everything decent in his path. He’s like Jason Voorhees in a suit.

No, Mercer has plenty of help. There's another name that always seems to turn up whenever you cast light into the shadows. Erik Prince is linked to Cambridge Analytica as well, and at this point I’m no longer surprised to see his name when investigating criminal activity.

I look forward to the day when our value system better reflects the compassion of the species we long to be, versus the greed of the humanity we desperately need to leave behind.

Mueller’s widening investigation now thankfully includes Cambridge Analytica, and that may finally shed some light onto why certain republicans seem willing to do anything to protect this president. The House Intelligence Committee majority republicans ending their investigation into Russian collusion, risks indictment of collusion itself. We need to discover what kind of pressure has been put on elected officials to get them to risk ruining their careers and lives the way Devin Nunes and the rest of the House Intelligence Committee majority republicans have, with their shameful cowardice.

This is good news, my friends. The brilliant undercover work by the BBC has done more to connect the dots between various forces at play, than any other investigation breakthrough so far. Everything is starting to come into focus — even with the Mercers doing everything they can to keep this out of the media — which means it will be harder for republicans that may have been compromised, to continue to support this morally bankrupt administration.

Also, it might be time to dust off your Myspace account, because Facebook is Face-fucked.

B.S. Report

I wanted to draw attention this week to a story already in the rearview. For whatever reason it was several days before I caught wind that Republican Leslie Gibson had, among other things, dismissed student activist Emma Gonzalez as a “skinhead lesbian.”

For obvious reasons, many in America (such as myself) feel very protective of these kids. I get really fired up about them. I pissed and moaned that I had missed the story, and I was ranting a bit on social media how this asshole Gibson needed a social media handshake, or a nice hello from the world.

It wasn’t an hour later that the universe calmed my sputtering fit. I was informed much had been put in motion, and that Gibson's words had encouraged a challenger for his run for congress (he was running unopposed), and not long after that, he announced he was dropping out of the race.

I thought this deserved more focus for the power of it. The raw power being rightfully transferred from a hateful, bigoted asshole — back to the people, where they would choose to give it to someone worthy. And that is what I am talking about, America!

#Cambridge Analytica #Alexander Nix #Robert Mercer #Facebook #Leslie Gibson #Emma Gonzalez

0 notes

theliterateape · 6 years

Text

American Shithole #9 — Robert Mercer, Part One: Cambridge Analytica

By Eric Wilson

Well done, Shaggy!

The BBC isn’t the only one on the case.

Dictators brought to power by Cambridge Analytica may also have received:

1. Buy 9 elections get 1 free* Customer Loyalty Card.

2. Subscription to Children’s War Refugee Monthly magazine.

3. Slovenian Sex Slave First Lady Platinum Upgrade.

4. Super PAC Mystery Sack!™**

5. First time dictators received a signed copy of Howard Zinn’s So, You’ve Bought Yourself a Country, Have You?

6. Handmade Russian lamp for presidential office desk.***

7. Children’s War Refugee Monthly complimentary pinup calendar.

8. The American President DVD case with a ripped copy of Wag the Dog inside.

The one name I was expecting to hear more in the media this week was Robert Mercer.

That is some Obi Wan level Jedi mastery right there. These are not the billionaires you are looking for.

Yes, if you are a little late to this developing story, so was I, but you are reading that correctly.

But I digress.

We are talking about crimes with ripple effects so pervasive, so widespread and far-reaching, that it would be impossible to calculate the damage done, or the punishment deserved.

Not that they aren't doing that already.

This might make Robert Mercer the reigning Worst Person on the Planet. I cannot think of two events in recent history that have sown more discord, created more havoc than Brexit and Trump.

So who is this charming prince, you ask? Tough to say, as he leads a largely private life.

And like all billionaires, his power has increased manifold since Citizens United, and Mercer has taken advantage of that, as one of the most generous GOP donors over the last eight years.

I look forward to the day when our value system better reflects the compassion of the species we long to be, versus the greed of the humanity we desperately need to leave behind.

Also, it might be time to dust off your Myspace account, because Facebook is Face-fucked.

B.S. Report

#Cambridge Analytica #Alexander Nix #Robert Mercer #Facebook #Leslie Gibson #Emma Gonzalez

0 notes

sweetxrevenge-blog1 · 7 years

Text

Utah

This is just a collection of things I drabbled out after finishing New Vegas Bounties bc it hit me really hard in the feelings haha. They don’t have a lot of explanation in them, but they’re just sort of an ‘in the moment’ thing.

The saloon reeked of blood, gun smoke, and the cheap alcohol it supplied. The former two were new additions, courtesy of the bounty hunter standing in the middle of the room surrounded by the corpses of those who had betrayed her. All but one. The slippery little shit escaped from under her nose, running out into the snow. It was pointless, though- she stepped outside and fired off a round into his leg, sending him down. He shrieked in pain, dropping his tough-guy facade completely. Ketan stomped through the snow over to him, ignoring the pain shooting through her hands and arms as she grabbed a handful of his hair, tugging his head back to look him in the eyes, keeping a solid foot on his back. The fear she felt in his gaze was the most satisfying feeling she had felt in a long time, and she savored it too much to be disgusted with herself. "Why?" She demanded, she didn't ask. She commanded him to answer her. He was crying, ugly crying. "I w-was scared!" He cried, snot running down his face which was bright red from the cold and the tears. "There wasn't any way you'd win, it was safer to side with Marko! I didn't know he would- he would..." "You killed Randall without a second fucking thought. I don't want any of your goddamn excuses." Even though she had just challenged him to give her one worthwhile. "I didn't enjoy it! Neither of you ever took me seriously!" "We were trying to protect you, you little shitbag!" She shouted, tugging harder on his hair. There wasn’t anyone to draw the attention of, they were all dead. Her volume didn’t matter. "This life is not what you wanted! This is what happens! No matter what choice you make, you die, either way!" "I just wanted to be like you!" He sobbed, squeezing his eyes shut. "Then let's start with surviving a bullet to the brain," She spoke coldly, colder than the snow falling around them. She pressed the barrel of Sweet Revenge to Ford's temple, and pulled the trigger with no hesitation. He died instantly, falling limp out of her grip when she let go of him and stepped away. "Failed step one." Sweet Revenge was returned to its holster, and Ketan sighed. She hated herself. She hated that this was the only solution. The first time Steven was 'killed', she was filled with rage, ready to slaughter anything in her way to avenge him. This time, she just felt empty. A twinge of guilt ran through her, but she suppressed it just like she suppressed everything else. Ford wasn't a bad kid. He just had his head so high in the clouds, he was too scared to come back down to Earth. That didn't excuse him from Ketan's traitor policy: they die. Ketan lit a cigarette, eyes still set on the corpse in front of her. It hurt to kill him. She wasn't going to deny her own humanity, it hurt to have to be the one who put him down. She was so certain he was just some kid who needed guidance, who needed to be shown reality. He already knew reality, though, that was apparent when he abandoned his beliefs to join what he thought was the winning side. That's the kicker: it wasn't the winning side. It was the losing side. Anyone who opposed her was the loser, she made sure of it. It would catch up to her some day, like Marko kept insisting it would- she knew that. It was just going to catch up to him, first.

It was over. The cold, icy mountain air bit at her skin and the wounds still healing on her shaking hands. She stood alone, now; Marko's corpse was still warm beside her, if that man ever had any warmth in him at all. What a shame she hadn't brought a shovel with her, maybe she could have returned the grave he buried her alive in. It was, after all, conveniently empty now. Instead, she stared down at the fresh grave directly in front of her, right at her feet. The graveyard went on for a mile at least, countless unmarked wooden crosses in neat, organized lines; she wasn't sure whether the number or the sick tidiness of the way the corpses were buried was worse. However, only one grave held her interest, the one in which the dirt hadn't yet settled. Ketan knelt down by the wooden cross, careful not to disturb the mound and pulling her knife from its sheath on her thigh. Controlling her hands was still difficult, and she likely wasn't going to have perfect control of them ever again. Slowly but surely she carved into the wood, paying attention to neatness and detail as she wrote out the name of the deceased: Steven Randall. Once she was satisfied, she stowed the blade and pushed back to her feet. The tears were coming, and the first thing that came to mind was surprise that she was even capable of crying anymore. Her hand drifted towards the holster on her right side, pulling Sweet Revenge from its place there and looking it over. Part of her was tempted to bury the gun with him, as some sort of final step in fulfilling the revenge he wanted so dearly, the revenge he put on her shoulders. No, he didn't put it there. She did. The moment Ketan realized that she and Randall were family, that they were all each other had, that revenge became her responsibility whether he was alive or not. Maybe it was selfish to think he was all she had. She had other friends- she had Boone, Arcade, Veronica, all of the people she had encountered and who agreed to help her. It was definitely selfish to chase her own revenge high the way she had, leaving them all once more without a clue of her whereabouts, too consumed with hatred to bother telling them that she might not come back. That was the sad truth: it was entirely possible she wouldn't come back. But Randall was different from the others. He reminded her of someone, way back in the deep reaches of her mind where forgotten memories slept. It could have been anyone, perhaps her father or brother, if she ever had either. He was the first real friend she made after she crawled out of the grave, and how fitting it was that she avenged him after crawling out of one again. It wouldn't bring her peace. She knew that. Ketan would never know peace, no matter what she did, now. "I know you wanted me to keep it," She mumbled, idly returning the revolver to its holster at her side. "Doesn't feel right, not after all this, but like you said: would have just locked it back in the safe. Grave's about the same thing." Nightfall made the coldness of the air bitter, so much so it left a bad taste in your mouth. She let out a long, visible exhale, hands snaking their way into her jacket pockets. "Good bye, Randall, you crazy zombie bastard," her lips couldn't help but curl into a smile when she said it. Ketan turned to look back towards the pass she came through, turning to leave. Her steps were heavy through the snow, and her boots were soaking wet. She figured that if being shot through the hands and buried alive couldn't kill her, neither could frostbite. It was gonna be a long trip home.

Ketan's eyes opened like curtains being drawn at the speed of light, shooting upright in her bed. Her body was shaking, her breath was labored and she was coated in a cold sweat. It was the nightmare again. The same one that came every week, sometimes every night for several days in a row. It was so rare for her not to have it, she considered this normal, and she should have been used to it by now, but you never really got used to dying. It was Frosthill, the townspeople all on their knees in the street, then they're all gunned down. Their cries and the gunshots ring in her ears and echo like ghosts wailing at her in accusation, in blame. The blood turns the snow red, and it melts away while Ford, that fucking two-timing coward, puts a bullet in Steven's head without a second thought. It stings, she wants to scream, but she's gagged and she can't make a noise above a muffled yelp. The screams feel like rats trying to claw their way out of her throat, turning it sore and raw. Her stomach does somersaults, trembling in rage and pain as that monster, that horrific bastard has the nerve to touch her, to hold her jaw and force her to look at him. His words blend together into a cacophony of screams and laughter so concentrated it's deafening, as the ground below her opens, and swallows her whole. The darkness made it hard to breathe, like the chasm was getting deeper but tighter, suffocating her while she could still hear that hideous chorus of screams and laughter, telling her it was her fault, everything that happened was all her fault. Ketan ran a hand through her hair. Every time this happened, she would usually cope with it by getting hammered and passing out from that, since that generally drove the nightmare away. It was always temporary, every fix was temporary. Nothing could truly fix her psyche. Her eyes surveyed her hands. The large, grisly, round scars in the center of her palms and the backs of her hands were a constant reminder that the nightmare wasn't just a dream, but that it happened, and it happened because she fell for a trap she should have seen coming a mile away. The scarred areas were still tender and sore- her fingers, especially her middle and ring fingers, didn't work quite as well as they used to, just as she predicted. Nothing in her worked as well as it used to. Her mind wandered while she sat up in the middle of the night, eyes drying out from the heavy air conditioning blasting into her room. An idle thought wondered how much Med-X it took to kill you. She pushed the thought away. She considered getting up and seeing if anyone else was awake, but she didn't. This was her battle, it didn't matter to anyone else. Give her the Hypocrite of the Year award, but she wouldn't make others deal with her bullshit. She dealt with theirs so that she could forget about her own for even a short while.

A grumbling sigh found its way out of her throat and she reclined back into bed, staring at the ceiling fan as it spun. She just hoped sleep would find her again, soon.

#;;out of character #;;drabble #hi i just want to share these bc i havent done real writing in #a long time #and these explain some shit #but not a whole lot lmao #// suicide mention #// murder mention #i guess #its violent

0 notes

canaryatlaw · 7 years

Text

So, today was certainly an adventure, lol. So remember how yesterday I had the whole overslept my alarm by 40 minutes thing? Well I mostly thought it was coincidence but I have suspected the brand of melatonin I had been using was too powerful and causing my mid-morning naps. Well, after today I'm convinced that's the truth, and enough of the truth that I got off the bus and went straight to Walgreens to buy a different brand before even going home, lol. So you could say this morning was a bit of a mess. Basically, I got up fine, got ready fine, got on the bus fine. Then I felt a little compelled to close my eyes. And I mean, I have a long damn bus ride (generally a little over an hour) and I never really fall asleep like this so I'll just open my eyes every so often to make sure I know where we are. WELL. Guess what failed miserably??? That plan. I had extra time too cuz I was just meeting my boss outside the building at 9:30 so we could go straight to the CIPP (I'll explain that later). The next thing I know, I wake up and look outside and not recognize it. I look at the front of the bus and the next stop says 33rd street. Time is 9:29. FUCK. The numbered streets don't even start until you get onto the south side, and legit the only times I've been on the south side is to go to midway airport. So I was wayyyyy out of my territory here. So I did the reasonable thing- got off at the next stop and got an uber to drive me back up to work, lol. Thankfully I only overshot it by about 10 minutes or so, and my boss was also running late (which she kind of always is, which at this point I'm okay with) so it wasn't too bad. Ah, but this was only the beginning. So we go to one of the DCFS locations downtown for the CIPP. CIPP stands for clinical intervention to prevent placement- basically meant as a meeting to try and solve problems so kids don't have to switch placements, or at least that's the general idea of the meetings. This particular one was to get two of our clients specialized. If a kid is considered specialized they get more access to services, and the foster parent has to have extra certification for it (they also get some of a higher stipend for the kid, but I mean it's not that much to begin with so its not really a cash grab). It was two sisters, 10 and 13, the 13 year old being non-verbal. It seemed as far as anyone could tell they didn't have any official diagnoses other than cognitive delays but it's very possible they're both on the spectrum. So it wasn't much of an argument, everyone pretty much agreed they should be specialized. And then we still sat and talked, but I have no idea what about because I started fucking falling asleep in the middle of the goddamn meeting, and I could not control it at all. Like I felt like I was going in and out of consciousness, like I would open my eyes but not having been conscious of shutting them before that second it just happened, and my boss had to like, nudge me twice during the meeting to keep me awake. So of course I feel SO bad about it. Towards the end someone suggested a bathroom break and another one said they were gonna get a drink and looked at me like "hey do you wanna get something too?" which I took as my cue to go get some caffeine, they had cans of coke for 95 cents in their vending machine, but even with the quarter I pulled out of my laundry pocket I didn't have enough change, so one of them just took pity on me and gave me a dollar (I insisted she did at least take the change I did have). I wouldn't say I chugged the coke exactly, but I tried to get it into my system very quickly as it definitely helped. We ended not too long after that, and as soon as we're outside I'm like to my boss "omg I'm so sorry I don't know what's going on with me" and she was just like "no I'm just like concerned about your health like are you okay? Do you do need to go home for the rest of the day??" So I assured her I was fine at this point now that I had at least 12 oz worth of caffeine in my system. So we ran to jimmy johns and ate in the car on the way to our second meeting of the day (I saw "our" but of course I just sit there and watch and say nothing). This was a child and family team meeting, which is just like with the workers and such to try and handle things. Now, there are a lot of messy cases in the foster care system, but trust me when I say this case was a MESS. Basically, this girl's brother had been sexually abusing her and pulling off straight up incest since she was like 8 to the point where SHE FUCKING GOT PREGNANT BY HER GODDAMN BROTHER and when I heard that I was immediately like uh, is that baby okay????? But apparently he's 2 now and no special needs have availed themselves yet so that's definitely a relief. But basically the girl is 17 now and doesn't really want to leave home but the case got screened in anyway, but they can't find a placement for her as a parenting teen so she's been living at home with her shitbag mother and HER FUCKING BROTHER and ugh it made me so mad. My boss told me when they went to trial the mom like made the girl burst into tears because she basically testified "I don't care about you, I don't want you, I just care about my grandson" like um you're a piece of shit and shouldn't be in charge of any child, ever. So we're really far down the south side now, farther than I've ever been. And this meeting is with the family and the various caseworkers. Apparently it used to be an intact case so there was a whole transitory process of switching caseworkers. And also my boss hates the PD on the case with a burning passion, so that's fun. When she saw the new caseworkers name she like hesitated for a second and was like "I may not like her but I'm not sure, I'll know her when I see her though" and OH, she did not like her. It was really funny because my boss has like a really soft spoken voice and sounds just very sweet and calm but she also will not back down from anything, and I had to spent the majority of the meeting with my elbows on the table propping my arms up to somehow cover my mouth with my hands to cover the giant smirk I couldn't help every time they got into a skiff. I'm definitely going to need to develop a better poker face for this kind of thing, because I don't think future coworkers will appreciate me laughing at them (which is though my favorite thing to do when I want to piss someone off). So I really don't know if we accomplished shit in that meeting, but we drove the girl back to the day care place to pick up her son(/nephew) and my boss was like, if this caseworker isn't helping you you call me, ok? I'll make it work. They were talking about something regarding her not going to something the other night and the girl mentioned her son had been sick and was home with her mom, who gave him some pepto bismol which seemed to help. And when she said that I was like wait. Pepto bismol to a 2 year old? That doesn't sound right. So I google and it says there is a "children's pepto" out there but it somewhere different, but pepto bismol is for children and adults 12 and over. We were like at the day care place at that point so I just tried to like super casually ask "just curious, was that normal pepto bismol your mom gave your son?" And she just said she didn't know, which is fair enough, but gives me the feeling it was the adult stuff. So then when she left the car I go to my boss like "yeah pepto bismol is only for kids 12 and over" and she just kind of sighed and said to be careful though because this girl will never say anything negative about her mother, even if her mother's treated her like shit. Sigh. So we drove back to the office, took a bit of a scenic route and got to see the white sox stadium for the first time, and over the course of the day I just had some good conversations with my boss and I feel like we definitely bonded to some extent haha so I was happy about that. We got back to the office at like, 3:45, so I'm like okay I can at least try to be productive for an hour, so I go to my computer and now it won't even let me log in. So I just sigh and go over to the tech guys desk and he's not there, so I wait with my arms leaning over the front and he shows up a few minutes later and just starts laughing when he sees me there again haha so he comes in and figures it out and we have amusing conversations about stupid politicians and other random stuff. It was entertaining. He did get it to work, and then I almost had to go get him AGAIN because of another issue but I figured that one out and got to go back to listening to the calls. Nothing too juicy here, but no phone sex, thank GOD. I did mention that to my boss, who's not the attorney that gave me the assignment and she like died laughing and told me to make sure I included that in the report, because if mom tries lying on the stand that's like, the ultimate impeachment lol. So I listened and took some notes and after a while headed out. Fine ride home, took the bus one stop further than usual (just the next block down) to go to Walgreens and buy new melatonin. I decided to go with a brand I had used before but in their gummy form to see how that goes. And then I grabbed a few extra random things, paid, and went home. I made dinner and settled in with my laptop and started watching Iron Fist. I got through the first 3 episodes tonight and I'm somewhat less than impressed. I heard this criticism from other before starting the show, but even without hearing other people thinking it the pace of the show is just soooooo slow. Like I'm moderately interested in the central plot they have unfolding, but it's just taken them so fucking long to get there it leaves me wanting to bang my head against the wall. Like I don't know if I can take another 10 hours of this when barely anything has happened in the first 3. I'll probably stick it out for the sake of the defenders though, so at least I'll have a full backstory on all of them. The one scene where the ninja girl (I know zero character names other than Danny at this point) kicked that gross guy's ass at the cage fight because that was fucking awesome, and it left me wondering why we couldn't have had a show called "The Daughter of the Dragon" (which is what she called herself) instead? I feel like that would've been a lot more entertaining than this. Another highlight was when not-dead crazy daddy warbucks leaves his penthouse and grandma heroin shows up and scares the living shit out of him, because that was just fantastically satisfying to watch. And yeah, that was about it. Did my back exercises, and I've kind of been experimenting with some other ones I used to just kind of do for fun with putting my legs all the way in the air and just relying on my abs for support and bringing my legs down over my head to touch the floor behind me and then back up again without falling forward, and I think it's been good so far, even if it leaves my neck and head a little sore. I also just find it entertaining, so there's that. Shortly before I finished the show my roommate came home so we talked for a bit as she set up the tiny grill she bought so we can grill stuff for Memorial Day, lol. The grill is very cute and tiny. And we talked about all the shut going on at our alma mater (I forget if I talked about this yesterday? I don't think I did) because they're basically fucking everything up again and majorly changing up the theatre program by firing half the grad staff and moving the grad programs under the umbrella of the undergrad programs, which makes no sense......? And it's weird because my freshman year there the undergrad art programs were considered part of the comm/arts school, not the undergrad, and at the end of that year there was a huge thing about putting it under the undergrad studies school, and our dear acting professor was a very vocal proponent against the move, and half a year later when they decided to fire 8 undergrad professors including him and refused to give us any reason why, it was largely speculated that they were getting rid of anyone who was giving them resistance on what they want to do, and that's how our best prof got canned. So it looks like the alums of the comm school (which I'm not technically one of but they are still involved in this situation) have been leading the fight and just getting everyone to email the administration. So I figured my best argument was hey, I've noticed a disturbing pattern of you rounding up groups of people in mass firings, let me tell you how much you doing that while I was there screwed up the rest of my education there and that I very much blame that decision for it, and while they've pretty much already lost any loyalty I might've had to them I would write on behalf of the current students because I don't want to see them get screwed over like that. Then when I got the response I laughed, because other people in the Facebook group had posted the "stock reply" everyone had been getting, that only varied with some saying "we'll make sure this email gets passed on to the higher ups." Well, my email was like two lines and pretty much only said "we'll pass your email on to the higher ups." I guess I came off as a little too angry to get the "we appreciate your feedback and concerns" response which I really just thought was hysterical. So there's all that bullshit. I'm all for rebellion of course and I'll encourage everyone to fight until their last breath, but I also know that it's always going to be a losing battle because at the end of the day they just don't care what any students or alumni think, they're going do whatever they want. By all means, still fight, raise hell, let them know just how angry you are and fight to the final breath, but maybe just be willing to accept that unfortunately this is something they're going to have to live with, which sucks. I've blabbed on long enough about this though and it's 12:45 am, thank god I get to sleep in cuz I'm gonna need it. Goodnight my people. Happy weekend.

#daily journal #May 2017

0 notes