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akabane-yum · 3 years

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OTP Asks - All Of Them (9-16) <- Part One

For @toorumochi assass :P

For the Angst

9. Have they made each other cry?

Short answer: Yes

Long answer:

Karma knew that Gakushuu would be a difficult person to live with and that he was sensitive despite his hard exterior, but that didn’t mean he didn’t get annoyed too sometimes.

That night they were arguing about who knows what, saying things they didn’t mean, when the insults became half truths and eventually full truths that became insults. Karma said something along the lines of “Oh, and it’s not my fault your dad didn’t raise you right but it your fault that you’re becoming exactly like him, don’t ask me why I’ll need therapy more than twice a week after this.”

If it hadn’t already clicked to Gakushuu that they were fighting fighting before then, now he got the message. He ran out of the room without another word and Karma had to pace to cool down. Karma decided to sleep on the couch that night and only realized Shuu went off crying the next morning, when the air was cold and rigid and Shuu had tear stains under his eyes. Karma didn’t say anything though, he didn’t really know how to fix it. They ended up spending that whole day apart and eventually had a long talk.

———————

Gakushuu made Karma cry when he told him they’d probably end up breaking up. Karma was joking about meeting Shuu’s mom and Shuu just laughed saying he didn’t think they’d make it that far. That messed with Karma’s perception of permanence and what he thought they were. He thought they were gonna get married some day and that they were going to live together and... what? He tried to ask Gakushuu why he thought they wouldn’t make it and Shuu seemed unbothered. He said something about how they were incompatible in many ways and how they were both handfuls and how life would get harder and how Karma probably wouldn’t be able to handle all the weird changes in Gakushuu’s life because of how the businesses was booming. They said goodnight after that and Karma found himself outside at 3am taking a walk. He didn’t realize he was crying till he came home and Shuu asked him why he was crying. His first instinct was to say he was doing drugs but that would get them nowhere. Instead he said he didn’t want to talk about it, and they went to bed. He could think about permanence another day. And he did, they talked about both that and their insecurities going forward to try to salvage their relationship. (I can imagine that this is a few years into their relationship.)

10. Write a ~300 word argument scene for them.

In another post !

11. What causes them to fight?

The lighthearted answer would be: anything and everything. They fight over how many pillows they need but always laugh about it in the end.

Another answer would be: the fact that at the beginning of their relationship they were insecure about themselves. You know you really shouldn’t get into a relationship until you love yourself enough, at least in most cases. But for them I’m guessing that the mutual attraction was enough for them to get together, which isn’t always bad b u t for them they had a lot to unpack. It’s surprising and maybe even kinda toxic that they stayed together after the first part of their relationship but now they’re happy. I can imagine that they’re happier as adults at least, and that they still do fight over small things like the TV volume but those fights don’t even count as fights. It’s just a little conversation to keep them going yknow?

12. Do they have differing political opinions?

Kinda? Gakushuu is a businessman and probably took a course called “creating capitalism” so we can assume he’s pro capitalism, and on the other hand Karma joined the bureaucracy in Japan (and Japan is, if I’m not mistaken, a socialist country) so he’s probably at least pro socialism.

I just want to comment on how this is cool because Gakushuu being pro capitalism is a solo player as the CEO with the most shares of his corporation. Whereas Karma who we assume is pro socialism works as a bureaucrat for the government. Which is cool because capitalism is more about individuals climbing the corporate ladder and whatnot whereas socialism is more of a government intervention thing where the government has control and places limitations. (There’s way more to it but I tried to badly summarize.) So they’re both doing very well in their respective economies. That being said, we could go into the capitalist tendencies in Japan but we won’t! AHEM THE MAIN QUESTION WAS ABOUT POLITICS BUT I WARPED IT SORRY THEYRE PROBABLY BOTH MORE LIBERAL BUT I WONT GO INTO THAT.

Anyways to finish off explaining the “kinda” I answered with, I said kinda because I don’t think they feel strongly enough about their own (preferred) economies to argue about it. Though maybe Karma will complain about some of the disparity in wealth he sees between Gakushuu and others but honestly I don’t see them caring much, since they have the luxury of living in their own bubble of karushuu happy fun. I hope this blurb made sense.

13. Name something they would never do for the other person

Gakushuu would never give up his ambitions to be with Karma. Sounds sad but after letting go of some of those insecurities that were there at first, he’s found his self worth and won’t give up all his hard work for anyone. Is that selfish? Personally I don’t think so, because it would be selfish for someone to ask him to let go of his dreams for them. Karma would never do that anyway, so. By give up his ambitions for Karma I mean like if Karma were to ask Gakushuu to drop his work or him, he’d be dropping Karma.

Karma would never settle down entirely because Gakushuu asked him to. This is similar to the first one but I don’t think he wants to calm down and live in another tropical country and retire young just because they have enough money you know? Not like Gakushuu would ever ask him to slow down but if he did then Karma would still probably work a few jobs because of how boring life would be without something to do. This is basically like Gakushuu’s but I feel like Karma’s is less intense and he wouldn’t break up with Gakushuu right away because of this.

Take that as you will ^^

14. What would be a dealbreaker

This is the same as the last one I think. Telling the other to slow down and pick between their passions (for work lmao) or them. Since it’s the same ish for both of them I don’t think there would be that much of an issue though. Maybe if Karma killed Shuu’s cat then that would be a dealbreaker, who knows.

15. What are traits they dislike in one another?

Karma dislikes how Gakushuu is a workaholic and Gakushuu hates how Karma is taller than him :P also how quick he is at making impulsive decisions. HmMm maybe also how Karma snores- that’s not even a trait i- anywayyyyssss

16. If they broke up, what would be their opinions of each other.

Oh boy. I’ve thought about this for not karushuu things too so here’s my take on this:

Karma would consider Gakushuu as an addition to the toxic people in his life. First his parents, then some of his teachers, and now his first boyfriend. He’d remember the happy moments they had together but quickly try to replace them with the sadder memories. He’d try his best to paint Gakushuu is the worst lighting, he’d villainize (not a word but shh) him so he could go on thinking he didn’t do anything wrong and it was Gakuhsuu’s toxicness that tore them apart.

Gakushuu wouldn’t think of Karma. Not after a bit of time, not because Karma never came to mind again after the breakup, but because any thoughts of Karma would be illegal. Honestly I can see him thinking that his time with Karma was an era of weakness. He can’t go back to that weak state, not even in his memories, so he doesn’t. (Well maybe in the middle of the night some days he does but he’d never admit to that.) I hope my grammar here was bearable lmao.

I’m sorry I’m tired lmao I can’t proofread but yk :))) next part up soon!

#asano gakushuu #assassination classroom #karushuu #karma akabane #karma x gakushuu #shoe #akabane karma #otp #ask otp #angst #breakup #headcanon #otp headcanons #asks #yoit #anyways

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missroserose · 3 years

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Summertime Thing

Okay, so really I should be working on the first chapter of this (which I actually have a hard deadline for on the 18th, sorta—more on that later), but I promised @laveracevia and @redmyeyes and @notwhatiam (and also an anonymous Tumblr person) that I'd post the bullet point outline for my angsty wincesty teen Sam novel so here it is, all three-thousand-plus words of it. Still tentative and with a fair amount to fill in, but that's what makes it an outline. (Has anyone yet beatified the SPN showrunners for setting the bar for research so ridiculously low? Praise be unto them! 😂) So, without further ado:

• It’s the summer of 1999 and Sam is sixteen.

• They’re living in rural Arizona for the summer, in a little town in the Chiricahua Mountains called Bisbee that I definitely didn’t live in for three years.

• Bisbee’s a weird place. It used to be a wealthy mining town, but in the ‘70s the company pulled out and the economy crashed. Some of the residents are old mining families, some are old hippies and artists who moved there due to the picturesque scenery and bargain-basement real estate, some are early baby boomers looking for an inexpensive place to retire. There's a surprising amount of live music, an absolutely thriving conspiracy scene, and the local police blotter is a smorgasbord of weirdness.

⁃ John picked it because it’s the county seat (which means lots of local records) with cheap housing and residents who don’t ask too many questions. Dean loves it because it’s straight out of the a Western—several famous movies filmed on Main Street, and the theme-park-town of Tombstone is half an hour’s drive away. Sam hates it, but in fairness, Sam kind of hates everything right now.

• Sam’s getting regular beatdowns with the puberty bat—he’s growing what feels like an inch a week, his voice is randomly cracking, he’s ravenously hungry all the time, and his moods go from happy-go-lucky kid to moody teen to full-on young-adult angst on the turn of a dime.

• Most terrifying of all, his relationship with Dean is fracturing. Dean can tell he’s having a hard time of things, of course, and tries his best to cheer Sam up. Sometimes they get on great; other times, even being in the same room as Dean makes Sam feel like his skin is three sizes too small.

• The frustrating part is, no matter how much of a shit Sam is, Dean won't give up on him entirely, just gives him space for a day or two and then reaches out, like—“hey, come keep me company while I give the car an oil change,” or “hey, sounds like there’s a hell of a party going on up the gulch—let’s go sneak in, I bet they have booze, maybe we can get you laid,” or “hey, Dad said we can take the car, let’s drive to the new mall in the next town and go see a movie. Anything you want.”

⁃ Sam definitely picks Cruel Intentions, intending to make Dean sit through something he’d find boring, but it backfires—the incest subplot ends up making him even more uncomfortable and Dean, predictably, digs watching Sarah Michelle Gellar and Selma Blair make out onscreen.

• Dean is having the time of his life this summer. The town is picturesque, the bars don’t look too closely at his fake ID, Sam’s old enough to fend for himself mostly, and he even gets an evening gig as a bar back a few nights a week, which means he has a little cash. Sure, Sam’s been weirdly moodly lately, but it’s just puberty, it’ll pass.

• Sam, meanwhile, is on his own a lot, with John either out working, out drinking, or buried in his notes; he spends a lot of time walking down to the library over the post office, which is surprisingly extensive, but more importantly, air-conditioned. If he has a couple bucks he might go to the new coffee shop by the library and buy an iced tea for lunch.

• At some point when John’s gone, Dean brings home Tina, a local bartender. Weirdly, they don’t seem to be sleeping together, at least initially; mostly they just hang out, easy with each other in a way that makes Sam jealous.

⁃ Sam hates it when Dean brings home girls (for the obvious reason that he gets kicked out of the house, of course), but he actually hates it more when Tina starts hanging around regularly, all the more so because she’s always very sweet to him—but Dean’s into her and that means Dean’s attention is on someone other than him.

⁃ Tina keeps working on Sam, and eventually he confides in her—he hates their life, hates lying to people, hates the ceaseless travel and string of anonymous motel rooms and constant scrambling for cash, but Dean loves it and he loves Dean. She mentions having a sister that she has a complicated relationship with, too.

• One day John announces that they’re taking a day trip as a family together, and they drive up to the Portal-Paradise area, which is a sky island—a mountain forest surrounded by desert, surprisingly lush and peaceful, with stunning views from the peaks.

⁃ It’s also a fairly cursed place, with bullet-riddled “KNOWN HUMAN TRAFFICKING AREA” signs and a cluster of boarded-up hovels from the ghost town of Paradise that definitely don't look like a Bender compound waiting to happen

⁃ After they've wandered around a bit, taking in the gorgeous landscape and sheer relief of being amongst so much green after months in the desert, John has them all pile back into the car and takes them up to Sugarloaf Peak. As they're climbing the mountain, he mentions that the fire watch station at the peak is a great place to watch for {insert signs of supernatural phenomenon here}. Sam gets upset at that, accuses John of using their family time for hunting. Dean points out (quite reasonably) that their family time has always been hunting together. John goes into Marine mode and shuts down the conversation, Sam grumbles something about "just because it's always been that way doesn't make it right," and goes into a sulk.

⁃ As he's sulk-climbing up the peak, Sam becomes convinced at one point that he hears running water. John tells him that’s unlikely before monsoons start, and to keep climbing. Sam keeps hearing it, though, and asks Dean whether he hears it; Dean listens, but doesn't hear anything. Sam falls further behind, trying to see the source—he catches a glimpse of something shimmering amidst the few trees and strikes off looking for it—but there’s nothing there, only a cliff that he nearly goes over. Dean comes up behind him a minute later, urges Sam back up the trail.

• The next day at the library, perhaps driven by Dean giving him shit about hallucinations, Sam starts looking into the history of water in the area—they’ve driven over the San Pedro River but it always just looked to him like a muddy creek. He learns about the 1877 earthquake that broke the water table and reshaped the water in the area, lowering the San Pedro's level and transforming St. David from a malaria-ridden swamp into a town of artesian springs.

• Later that week, Sam’s sitting outside the coffeeshop possibly reading Flowers in the Attic when he hears the older woman at the table next to him insisting that mutants are living in Paradise, only coming out at night, kidnapping people and murdering them, mutilating their bodies and leaving them for the sheriffs to find (and cover up, naturally). Sam is only half-listening—conspiracy nuts are a dime a dozen in this town—until the woman's friend asks patiently where they're getting water from, and the woman says something about haunted springs in the forest. He pretends he’s Dean for a moment, cuts in on the conversation, says he’s doing an independent study project over the summer. The woman fills him in on not just the one disappearance, but several over the past decade, mostly border-jumpers and itinerants.

• Reading between the lines, Sam starts to wonder if there’s a vampire nest in Paradise; he takes down some names, starts putting the research skills he's been learning to good use. He looks up some of the newspaper records on microfilm, finding records—occasional mentions in the Bisbee Observer (and before that, the more legitimate and much less typo-filled Bisbee Daily Review) of people missing, reading up on the history of Paradise.

• He comes back from the library, excited to tell Dean and John what he’s found, only to find John gone and Dean and Tina halfway through a case of beer she brought; they invite Sam to join them, and Sam does. Drunk!Sam ends up talking a lot about how cool the sky island forest is and trying to convince Tina to come with them to see it, but Tina seems oddly resistant. She changes the subject, tells them about her sister, how she was so dominant that she couldn’t tell where her sister ended and she began. Sam starts to feel a sort of kinship with her.

• The next morning he wakes up, discovers that Tina and Dean are gone. He wanders out to where John’s working in the living room, tells him what he’s found. John, who got in late the previous night and is singularly focused on demon activity, is a little condescending towards Sam—there’s dozens of conspiracy theories circulating through town, and besides, if there were actual vampires in Paradise he'd have found some direct evidence by now, they’ve been here more than a month.

• Sam is adamant about going anyway—"you always say it's our job to look into things nobody else will"—and maybe John's a little swayed by Sam's passion (or maybe Sam threatens to steal a car if John doesn't take him). As a sop, John gives Sam the keys to the Impala and tells him to come back if he needs help; as he's about to leave, John calls Sam back, gives him a tenner and reminds him not to head out to the middle of nowhere without supplies. Sam stops at the Circle K, packs a couple jugs of water and some nuts and jerky, and takes off; he’s a little pissed at Dean for ditching him the previous night (and also for, he assumes, sleeping with Tina) so he doesn’t bring him along.

• A couple of hours later, he’s jouncing up the road. The road is empty, as usual, the sun is hot, as usual. Sam gets to the border of the sky island, where the sun is less ferocious, and pulls off at the first group of abandoned houses. He goes to investigate; the first two are empty, barely more than hovels. The third looks empty, but he spots a table with no dust on it; looking closer, he finds a trap door down to a cellar.

⁃ Sam knows he should go get Dean, but he’s still feeling jilted, so he goes and grabs a machete from the Impala’s trunk

⁃ Carefully, he makes his way down the rickety staircase into the basement, shining the flashlight around—and is nearly jumped by a middle-aged woman, yelling at him in Spanish. He has some high-school Spanish but not much; he manages to ward her off, convince her he’s not ICE or Border Patrol. She still doesn’t trust him, but he notices the two children in the corner, the chains holding them there. In Spanish: “Why are they held?” “Coyote,” the woman spits. “Went to demand more money from my family. Should have been back three days ago. Probably drowned in a bar.” Sam doesn't 100% understand but gets the gist—the empty water jug in one corner and stinking bucket in another tell most of the story. The disappearances, the mutilated bodies—it's nothing supernatural, just people doing awful things to each other.

⁃ Sam picks the locks on the chains, tells the woman to wait a moment; he goes out to the Impala, gets the food and a jug of water, gives them to the woman. She’s still wary, but accepts the gifts. She tries to give him a warning, something about water, though his Spanish isn’t quite good enough to make it out; she also presses on him a small figurine, clearly very old, something that looks like a mermaid.

• He gets back around twilight, finds Dean and John bent over photocopies of local records. John sees him come in, asks him if he found anything. Sam opens his mouth, intending to tell him about his day…then decides against it. Just says there’s no vampires. John grunts in acknowledgement, mind already elsewhere.

• The next morning, Dean's missing again, so Sam stalks off to go swimming at the community pool. He’s doing laps, trying not to think about anything, but Dean keeps coming to mind, the way his eyes met Sam’s when Tina was talking about her sister, the way they felt almost hungry. It keeps haunting him, something about that hunger—he's walking back down Main Street, past some of the shops and galleries that sell local art to tourists, when he sees a large painting of La Tlanchana that bears some resemblance to the mermaid figurine—the woman’s warning comes to him again, and two pieces click together in his mind.

• He starts researching La Tlanchana and her various legends and beliefs about her over the years, particularly drawn by the darker and more vengeful incarnations that the Aztecs worshipped. He starts formulating a theory about the disappearances, that they’re linked to…what? A haunted spring? A mermaid? He’s so tantalizingly close…

• He comes home when the library closes, all excited to tell Dean what he’s found and get his input, but John and Dean are both gone; Dean’s bed is rumpled, and the sheets smell like…well, they smell like Dean and Tina, in a way that makes Sam’s stomach flip with jealousy. It's not that he hadn't guessed that they were sleeping together, but...he’d thought Tina liked him. He’d thought…Dean belonged to him. Little things like the hollow of his hip when his jeans rode low, or the way his knees bowed out when he walked, or the tightness around his eyes when he was trying to hide something—

⁃ —does horny uncomfortable 16-year-old Sam sit on the bed and envision his brother and Tina together and end up desperately rubbing one out right there on the bed? Oh yes he does. Afterward, roiling with several emotions (of which only some are shame), he half-considers going to the bar to look for Dean—but he has more trouble passing for twenty-one, and besides, what is there even to say?

• The next day, Sam intends to sleep late to avoid Dean, but his brother comes in at ten or so, in a disgustingly good mood. “Come on, Sammy, you’ve been cooped up in that library too long. Tina was telling me about a cave up on Mule Mountain, supposed to be a great place for a picnic.” John is still gone, and Sam’s in no mood, but can’t really say no to Dean.

• The brothers strike out over Mule Mountain, watching out for snakes and wildlife, looking for deer. Sam tries to explain to Dean his half-formed La Tlanchana theory, but Dean just humors him. Sam, nettled, starts griping about Dean’s navigation skills, about the way he sounds like their father, about all the time he’s spending with Tina, etc.

⁃ Dean deflects, but Sam’s upset about a lot of things he can’t acknowledge, so he starts in on the major sore point in their relationship—ripping on John for trapping them here, for never letting Dean be a kid, for always demanding their unquestioning obedience and loyalty, etc. Dean tolerates Sam’s griping to a point but once he starts in on their father it’s only a matter of time before he’s threatening to kick Sam’s ass; when Sam gets to the “he’s never let you be independent” part, Dean informs him with no small amount of anger that John has offered to give him the Impala, let him take jobs on his own—but he refused, because he’s been taking care of Sam—

⁃ They’re so caught up in arguing that they miss the way the sky’s going dark—it’s not until the first crack of thunder splits the sky overhead that they shut up and look at the sky, which is incredibly threatening

⁃ Sure enough, a moment later it starts pouring, with all the ferocity of a full-on faucet. Dean whoops, shedding his shirt like it’s an old skin, and dashes for an overhang that might shield them from the worst of it

⁃ Sam swallows and follows, soaked to the skin and shivering as much from fear as from cold. Cue the most miserably sexually-charged moment possible—Sam tryiing desperately not to notice all those little intimate physical things about Dean that he loves, Dean oblivious and in his element watching the storm transform the landscape

⁃ There’s a moment—maybe Dean says something like “Whatever it is that’s been eating at you, spit it out, Sammy—“ where Sam almost confesses. But cowardice, or perhaps intuition, hold his tongue—some secrets don’t need to be told. So instead, he passes it off as moodiness, apologizes. Dean confesses that he’s not actually all that into Tina—she’s fun, and all, but he knows they’ll be moving on soon enough. He lets slip that John’s halfway convinced that there’s no case here, anyway; they’ll probably be moving on in a week or two. Reluctantly, they allows things to revert to the status quo; as a consolation, they find a waterfall and eat slightly soggy sandwiches alongside it.

• The next morning, Sam wakes up to an entirely different town—the hills are starting to turn green, people in town are making plans to picnic by the waterfalls, everyone’s mood is lighter. Sam realizes he’s already looking at the town differently—as yet another place that’ll be in the rear view mirror soon, not as a place he inhabits. He’s coming to terms with that—glad for it, in some ways—when something tips him off that things aren’t right. Maybe the crackpot dude tells him the cycle is beginning again, or he overhears some gossip about how Tina didn’t show up for her shift last night, or sees something in the police blotter. Regardless, he ends up convinced that Dean and Tina have run off to the sky island and that Dean is in danger. Sam once again channels Dean, steals a county truck and floors it out to the sky island, this time forgetting to bring any supplies.

• Sam arrives in Paradise but sees no sign of Dean or Tina. He realizes he's parched (even flooring it out to the sky island, it's a good hour's drive); he listens for the water sounds. Instead, he hears Dean’s laughter, low and beckoning. He follows it, finds Dean standing shirtless in a spring, the version of Dean that terrifies him, untouchable and threatening and irresistible. For a moment he's almost taken in—but he knows Dean like nobody in the world, and thus knows a copy when he sees one. Not-Dean smiles, shimmers, reforms into the more familiar mermaid form.

• La Tlanchana (or this version of her) tells Sam how he puzzles her. She usually kills violent men, and Sam has a lot of violence in his past, and a destiny of violence in his future—but he was kind to the migrant mother, and undid some of the horror she’s seen done in her land. She sings for him, a lullaby of sorts, luring him away from his life of violence and yearning—

• Sam’s about to submit to her song when Tina appears, tells her to stop, that Sam’s destiny is his own to choose. La Tlanchana sneers at her, the same way you did? and Tina says yes—I’ve chosen you. It’s been more than a hundred years, and you’ve seen so much horror, grown vengeful—but I still love you, your kindness, the way you give life in the desert. They sing together, their voices intertwining, until they turn to water, melding together.

• Sam shakes off the daze, goes back to the truck; a few minutes later, he finds the Impala, bogged down in the rutted post-monsoon roads. He shakes him awake, questions him to see what he remembers—Dean appears to have been hypnotized, or something similar. He uses the truck to pull Dean out of the rut, tells him to return to the town, everything's over. Dean will have questions later, but for now he goes.

• Once Dean is gone, Sam goes back to the pool, now a perfectly mundane little monsoon-fed spring. He takes out the little figurine of La Tlanchana, sets it on a rock nearby, tells both Tina and her sister goodbye, and thanks them for their help.

• Epilogue: Sam is beginning his junior year in yet another new school. The smell of the school is the same, as are the lights (flourescent) and the lockers (stamped metal that echoes when it slams); he finds the guidance counselor’s office, lets himself in. The counselor looks up at Sam, comments on both his excellent grades and his peripatetic record. Sam: “So, if I wanted to go to college…”

#supernatural #sam and dean #wincest #summertime thing #my writing

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nemodeutopia · 3 years

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This is basically a 1000-word essay, so I’ll put this up here, but do encourage you to read, especially if we disagree and someone sent this to you in a desperate gamble to make you understand.

TLDWR: capitalism does all the ooga-booga that people say socialism does anyway, and the failings are all exactly the same and happens regardless of what economic system you use. Call it what you want, but make living independently actually possible, and the village people will be much less likely to come at you with our fucking pitchforks you idiots.

The reason I believe minimum wage is insufficient and the rich would be fine if they were more heavily taxed:

A lot of these numbers have been simplified to make it easier to follow, but other than the hypothetical 10% tax, they are all roughly accurate to what I could find researching.

If my tax rate is 10% and I make $300 dollars a week, then that leaves me with $270 a week. Take out for groceries at an average of $50 I have $220. Assuming that I don’t have any prescriptions, or rent, or cable, or gas, or utilities, or really anything else considered mandatory for adulting, then that’s not bad, right? But, most people do have those other things, so that’s not so good. So, instead, we make cuts here and there, eat less healthy, decide we probably don’t need to go to the doctor for that pain, because maybe it isn’t something serious after all, and if it is serious, we may have to miss work, and then we may get fired.

If the rich have a tax rate of 10% and make 5,000 dollars a week that gives them 4,500. They would pay more a week in taxes then I make in a week. But they would still have plenty of money to live comfortably.

Rounding down on most things here, but average rent for America is ballpark $1000 a month, mortgage rates I found reported around the same. And that is of course assuming that you qualify. Bear in mind that apartments can require that you make, for example, double the cost of living there as a security measure, and banks will turn you down if they believe your income is too low for a loan. Phone $100. Medical I won’t even presume to make an average on because insulin costs more than most gaming consoles. And I highly doubt the richest of executives is buying one of those every month. I also won’t touch cars, as gasoline prices fluctuate and mpg varies. A monthly pass for public transport, if you’re lucky enough that your city has reliable transport, averages at about $60, but closer to $100 isn’t super unusual for big cities.

So, changing that weekly take home of $270 to a monthly of 1,080 and check it against those prices. Assuming that utilities is included, which covers things as basic as trash disposal and plumbing, we are in pristine health and insurance is paid for and half way decent, which is not a given, as well as no student loans since we’re working on federal minimum wage here, we get to keep negative $80. It costs $80 more than you make at federal minimum wage to live for a month as an independent human being.

Reminder, the -$80 average I found does not include: Food, any form of health care, any utilities, clothing, internet or entertainment outside of what comes with your phone plan, transportation outside of public infrastructure, any surprise fees or expenses of any kind.

I am not touching education costs, including the additional cost of public school. I could make a whole post off the cost of public education without the rest of this depression inducing rant.

At above what Obama wanted to define as wealthy you could do that working one week a month and still have money to put back in the economy.

I grant that this was done off (just above) the federal minimum wage, so most people are probably making more money than this, especially if they’ve been in the same job for a while. But I also took the national average costs for most of the expenses. And anyone working for tips can very easily be making about half that. You also may have noticed that I didn’t include grocery in my monthly figure, because while everyone eats, the cost varies widely, and you can get free food if you need it from banks, churches, your job if you’re in that area of the service sector and lucky, etc.

Yes, if you just start printing money and handing it out, inflation is going to ruin life. But, if you redistribute existing wealth instead of letting it amass and be hoarded by a handful of individuals who basically just pass it around among themselves if they do anything, while still collecting more, then instead there would be a still largely constant amount of wealth, but it would be used instead of artificially rarified (now) or drastically devalued (creating new currency and adding it to the pile). The people who say we can’t just pay people more willy-nilly aren’t wrong unfortunately. And I can certainly understand how someone who has their life style assured struggles (whether through managing to claw up, surviving to the point where it assured by government support paid by with taxes, or some combination) to understand the plight of those who don’t without realizing the climb keeps getting steeper. Presently, people who are actively doing and creating are inevitably passing the money they earn back up to the people who do not, who pass a fraction of it back. Instead of just increasing the amount of currency, now largely a digital entity, so at least we don’t have to trade our wallets for wagons, we need to ensure circulation and assess distribution.

A lot of people don’t like the “s” word, even people on social security will talk about how socialism would destroy this nation. There are also people who believe minimum wage raising would destroy industries. They don’t think it’s fair that the rich should have to pay more. But, if the rich paid 10 cents on every dollar they brought in, they honestly might not even notice. If a person working minimum wage pays 10 cents on every dollar they make then they probably need to live with other people and pool all their recourses in a communal setting while politicians and the wealthy eat expensive meals, spend extravagantly and don’t suffer in the least, like in *insert current socialist or communist boogeyman state* but with the “average” person being aware people are living like this and not personally seeing it.

MacKenzie Scott has proven that the ultra-wealthy would not suffer from increased taxation by, essentially, cutting out the middle man and almost privatizing socialism, as absurd as that sounds. Dolly Parton is also an individual who proves that obnoxious levels of wealth are still possible while distributing wealth to those who don’t have it, though I don’t know as many of the particulars with her. I do know they both, as well as others I do not know, choose to redistribute their wealth to lower social rungs and are still fabulously wealthy.

#socialism #communism #capitalism #cost of living #rant #eat the rich #I don't even care if you do it literally #bare minimum #humanity #value of human life #democratic socialism #democratic capitalism #economy #probably just shouting into the void

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thiswasinevitableid · 4 years

Note

11. Centaur Indruck (maybe specifically Duck) rating up to you

Here you go! I went with SFW, and a western theme just for fun.

It’s only May, but the desert air is hot and dry, will only get more so as the summer spreads across the mountains. The sun drives Duck to the stream running down the hill, it’s banks shaded by cottonwoods. Pa Newton sent him in search of flowers for the table; it’s Ma Newton’s birthday, and her husband is determined to make it perfect.

“I only get so much time away from the mines, best make the most of it.”

Duck knows just what to pick. Lupines and Daisies will make the perfect bouquet. He spies a clump of daisies, lowers himself to the ground, taking care not to crush too many as he sits. There’s a scuff of rock as grey-brown dust lands on his shoulder. He looks up, expecting a jackrabbit or maybe even a deer, and finds a human staring down at him.

The boy must be about his age, his pale hair falling about a face that’s as skinny as the rest of him. His clothes look fancy, which is at odds with the tear in the knee and smudges on his cheeks. Brown eyes are watery as they stare back at Duck, and he suspects his hands are over his mouth because he was crying and didn’t want Duck to hear him.

“Uh, howdy.” He waves. Instead of waving back, the boy seems more alarmed.

Maybe he’s never seen a centaur before?

Duck tries again, “You lost? I’m goin back up to town real soon, and if I can’t help you, my folks can.”

The boy sniffs, “I’m not lost. I’m hiding.”

“From what?” Duck gathers up his daisies, spots lupine near the rock where the boy is perching.

“Other boys in town. I hate it here, hate how hard it is to breathe, hate the dust, hate how there’s odd things like centaurs and cactus cats out here-”

“Hey!”

The boy winces so intensely Duck regrets yelling, “Apologies. I just, I wish we’d never left the city.”

That explains the clothes. Duck, at eleven years old, knows very little about the town economy. But he knows that while the silver is found in the mines around his home, the money runs down hill to Carson City.

“How come you did?”

“Father got a new job at the bank. Why are you here?” He cocks his head.

“‘Cause my family’s lived in these parts for six generations.”

“No, I meant by the water.”

“Oh. Uh, pickin flowers for my mama.”

“Don’t let the other boys see you. If they broke my glasses for drawing flowers, I don’t think they’ll be too kind to you.”

Duck shrugs, “I ain’t scared of them. And there ain’t nothin wrong with drawin flowers.” Bouquet finished, he stands, the boy’s eyes widening as he registers the differences in their shapes.

“You wanna walk up the hill with me?”

“Yes, please.”

As the trek back to the dusty streets of Virginia City, he learns the human is called Indrid, and that he’s much more talkative than his initial reticence implied. They’re mid discussion of the caterpillars Indrid is raising when they reach a fine, three story house. Indrid bids Duck good afternoon. Duck asks him to wait, takes a lupine from the bouquet, and tucks it safely into the buttonhole on his jacket.

------------------------------------------------

“Want some?” Duck holds out a biscuit from his lunch pail. Indrid takes it, scarfing it down in one go.

“Hungry?” Duck teases, sipping from his canteen.

“Enough to eat a horse.” Indrid grins as his friend clutches his sides, laughing. He’d used the turn of phrase accidentally two weeks ago, then tried to cover it with a joke about only if the horse was willing, which only made his friend guffaw and wheeze harder. Now, whenever one of them needs to crack the other up, they mention eating horses.

They’re fourteen, and have spent the better part of the summer working on the Newton Ranch. Duck’s father, after a very close call in the silver mines, decided to extend his time above ground by running an egg and dairy supply for the town. Indrid convinced his father that it was good for a young man to earn a living with his hands during his youth, as it would make him strong and healthy. Mr. Cold, with a little assurance from Mrs. Newton that she would make sure the boys didn’t loaf about, agreed.Mrs. Newton is a woman of her word. Here he is wind-burnt and tan, sweat running down his back and callouses forming on his hands.

He’d do double the work if it meant staying near Duck. Duck’s parents seem to suspect this, and some combination of them wanting their son to be happy and wanting to earn the good graces of a wealthy family leads them to give the boys time to rest or wander about the farm after dinner before sending Indrid on his way.

It’s during one such evening circuit, on the far edge of the property, that Indrid finds a chipmunk burrow with his foot. The pain in his ankle sends him to the ground.

“Ow.”

“Shit. Can you stand at all?”

Indrid tries it and sits right back down, “No. I guess we’ll have to go very, very slow on the way back so I can hobble, and pray another hole doesn’t take out my left foot as well.”

Duck flicks his tail, “I mean, if you wanna take all night, sure. But, uh, what if I give you a ride?”

Indrid blinks at him in the twilight. Riding a centaur is Not Done; the centaurs find it insulting, and humans view it as scandalous.

“You won’t get in trouble, I promise, and I’ll go slow.”

He nods and the centaur kneels, the human clambering awkwardly onto his back.

“Duck? Where do I put my hands?”

“Huh. Around my shoulders, maybe? Yeah, that don’t mess up my balance none.”

Indrid presses himself to Duck’s back, marveling at the strength in the muscles moving beneath him.

“You know” he murmurs into Duck’s hair, “I’m awfully tempted to say giddyup or some such nonsense.”

“You do and I’ll buck you off and leave you for the coyotes.”

“You can buck me anytime.”

Duck calls his bluff by giving the world’s smallest buck. Indrid yelps, then cackles into his shoulders as Duck trots forward, the two of them laughing into the desert night.

-------------------------------------------------

“Blasted mosquitos” Indrid waves his sketchbook in the summer air. At sixteen, he’s taken to wearing red spectacles and black clothing. This style, combined with the sharp angles of his face, leads more than a few people in town to say he looks sinister.

Duck thinks he’s dashing. Not that he spends much time looking, not at all. Indrid is such a constant in his life that he hardly notices the changes as they age. Except when Indrid smiles at him in a secretive way or when, as he did yesterday, he strips down to nothing for a swim in the river.

“Maybe they’re mad you ain’t drawin them.” Duck reaches into the cool water, picking up several stones just right for skipping.

“But I have. I used my magnifying glass to make a detailed sketch of one last week.”

“Jesus, ‘Drid, is there anythin you ain’t drawn at this point?” The stone skips five times

“Well….I haven’t drawn you.”

“You’ve drawn me plenty.” Six skips this time, not bad.

“I mean in the, ah, traditional sense.”

Ker-plunk

The stone sinks in one as Duck looks over at his friend.

“You already have your shirt off. Even with the wrap gone, I, ah, I couldn’t see, that is, only if you want to.” He sighs, “I’m not expressing this well. What I mean is that you have the finest form of any human or centaur I know. I would like to capture it, try to do it justice. If, if you’ll let me?”

Duck stands, grabs the strap of the wrap covering his lower, “You’re hard to say no to, ‘Drid.”

“You can if you...need...to.” Indrid follows the fabrics path to the ground, then fixes his eyes on Duck as he lowers himself into a comfortable position.

“This good?”

“Extremely.” The human’s gaze fights to stay clinical as it scans him, rough outlines of his body forming on the paper. Soon, Indrid is engrossed in the illustration, though whenever they lock eyes or he glances at Duck’s chest or hindquarters, he goes pink.

Duck whistles, tracks the songbirds hopping from tree to tree. His friend doffs his jacket, rolls the sleeves of his white shirt up as sunbeams scatter through the trees.

“You really are handsome.” Indrid murmurs, “you know that, right?”

“Heard as much from folks now and then. But you sayin’ it is a, uh, interestin development. Almost like you’re tryin to tell me somethin.” His voice catches between teasing and earnest, afraid moving too far one way or the other will scare his friend away.

“I...I need to get closer, to capture some details.” He slides off the rock to sit on his knees near Duck’s chest. The half-finished drawing peeks out from the paper, it’s perspective too far away for Indrid’s current examination to be of any use to it.

“What details are you hopin’ to capture?” Duck pushes pale hair out of Indrid’s eyes.

“I, ah, the dapples just here, and this line, oh to hell with it.” He lunges into a kiss, so eager he nearly knocks Duck sideways. The centaur snickers, cups his face as ink-stained fingers thread into his hair. Indrid licks into his mouth, messy and unpracticed. Duck holds him there tames the frantic exploration down to something more refined but no less hungry. By the time they separate, Indrid’s face is bright red and Duck’s lips are sore.

“‘Drid?” He brushes their noses together, runs his palms soothingly up and down a rumpled white shirt.

“I’ve wanted that for so long.” Indrid sighs, curling closer in spite of the heat. Holding him like this, able to inhale his sweat and aftershave and feel his heartbeat, Duck understands there’s no going back. There is no pretending not to know, not to see the way Indrid looks at him. Which is fine by Duck; he loves Indrid Cold, and he doesn’t plan on stopping any time soon.

-----------------------------------------------

Duck is twenty years old when he learns that joy and heartbreak can exist in one body without ripping it apart. This is a pity, since he’d prefer bifurcation to the sorrow on Indrid’s face.

“I’m sorry, Duck. I have to stay here and take over the bank, even though following you west is all I want to do.”

Two months ago, a friendly man stopped while Duck was tending the garden outside city hall and chatted with him for the better part of an hour as the centaur worked. The man turned out to be a millionaire with a massive estate mid-way up the California coast, including parts of a forest he wished to maintain but keep wild. He offered Duck the role of head gardener and arborist, and the contract was signed a week ago. The centaur assumed, from his active encouragement and celebration, that Indrid was coming with him on this once-in-a-lifetime chance.

“I’ll send a wire, tell ‘em I gotta back out.”

“You will do no such thing.”

“Seems to me you don’t get a say in that.”

“Duck, please” Indrid sets his left hand on his shoulder, right clenched at his side, “please do not cast your future aside on my account. Just because I have to stay here doesn’t mean you do.”

“Why do you have to stay at all?”

“I’ve been groomed to take my fathers’ place for years. I’m not sure there’s a way out of that, not one that I can see. Sometimes, fate is not in our favor.”

“Fuck fate.” He stops his front hoof.

“Here, you might need this out in California” Indrid lifts his fist, intending to give what it contains back to Duck, as the centaur placed the item there not even five minutes ago.

Duck stops his hand, wraps his own around it, “No. I know the man for me is right here.”

“As do I” Indrids voice is tight. When his face drops against Duck’s chest, it’s damp with tears.

“Then he better write to me to let me know how he’s gettin on. And if he” Duck swallows around the painful possibility in his throat, “if he ever changes his mind, all he’s gotta do is send it back to me in a letter.”

Indrid slips his hand into his pants pocket, “Understood.”

--------------------------------------------------------

“Duck!” Leo, one of Mr. Greenbanks two bodyguards, hails Duck from the mansions’ patio, “come on in a second, someone Mr. G wants you to meet.”

The centaur wipes his hands and trots briskly up the path to the house, droplets of fog strung through his hair. Most days he likes the peace and quiet of his work, but today he’s not in a contemplative mood; Indrid’s last letter was two weeks ago, when they usually come once a week if not more. Illness doesn’t stop him, he simply asks a friend in town to take down and post the letters.

Once he’s certain he won’t track mud into the house, Duck makes his way towards the voices in the parlor. He must be more heartsick than usual today, because that voice sounds like-

“Ah, Duck, here you are. This is Mr. Indrid Cold, a talented young artist who will be illustrating my various scientific writings. And,” Mr. Greenbank winks, “will have the honor of being in charge of any artistic endeavors at the Academy of Sciences.”

Indrid extends his hand. Duck kisses it out of habit, notes his employers' perplexed expression an instant too late.

“It’s a, uh, an old, uh, centaur custom--no, fuck, it’s-”

“We are well known to each other.” Indrid smiles his most genteel smile.

“Splendid! I’m hoping to draw up extensive records of my arboretum, so it’s good you two get along.”

“Indeed.” Indrid tips his head, then turns his attention away from Duck, “where would you like me to unpack my things?”

Duck leaves them to their logistics, stunned. Indrid not only being here, but acting distant after six months apart raises so many questions that he wants to lay down in the flowerbeds and holler until someone answers them.

He busies himself among forest wildflowers instead, wondering why Indrid never mentioned he was applying for that position.

“I hope this explains the gap in my communication.” Indrid, shivering near a tree-trunk, pulls out a handkerchief and wipes his glasses, “I didn’t want to tell you my plans for fear they’d fall through and make you all the more disappointed. Also, the journey here was rather chaotic due to an attempted train robbery. All that is to say I’m sorry if I caused you any distress.”

“Yeah, you did” Duck sets down his tools, “but it was so fuckin worth it.” He yanks the human into an embrace, kisses him until his glasses are all askew. Indrid moans, slipping his fingers under the hem of his work shirt to stroke the band where skin meets fur.

“What happened to fate?” Duck nips his jaw.

“As someone I know so eloquently put it: fuck fate.”

“Smart fella.”

“He is.” Indrid pulls back, mapping Ducks’ body with his hands, “And I also have something for him.” The human tucks a sprig of Lupines-- weighed down with a silver engagement ring--into Duck’s shirt pocket.

“You said sending it with a letter meant the end of things. By that same token, delivering it in person signals their beginning, yes?”

“Yeah.” Duck kisses him, soft as the lifting fog, “guess we better tell Mr. Greenbank he can just let you stay in my cottage.”

“Indeed. May I, ah, see this lovely abode?”

“Right this way. You want me to give you a ride.”

Indrid shakes his head, simply takes Duck’s hand and falls into step beside him, “No. I suspect there will be plenty of opportunities for, ah, riding later. After all, I’m here to stay.

#Indruck #indrid cold/duck newton #monster march #centaur boyfriend #reader request

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pointnumbersixteen · 4 years

Text

A Head Cannon Biography and Character Analysis and of the Captain, Part 7: the Sad Ending

We’ve finally reached the end. I usually like to give a bit of argument before I give conclusions, but I’m going to alter this slightly, so that people don’t start reading, get invested, and then realize they’re reading something they’re not comfortable reading.

That being said: I think the most likely explanation for the Captain’s death is suicide. It’s still head cannon, but I personally wouldn’t bet on anything else at this point.

If you’re not comfortable reading an in-depth analysis of the whys and hows of this or a rendition of what his head space might have been like leading up to it, for whatever reason, or you simply don’t believe it’s something he’d do, I made another post for you to refer to called ‘Alternate Endings’ that gives different options.

...

Now for the argument:

World War II ends in August of 1945. The Captain most likely never saw any combat. He was unable to find the sort of validation that might have given him accordingly. He’s a forty-six year old captain with a dead-in-the-water career. And unfortunately for him, the British government is deeply in debt. It cannot financially sustain the over three million man army that it built up for the war. It has to downsize back to pre-war sizes (less than a million), eventually even smaller, as with the advent of nuclear bombs, the air force and navy have become more important than the army. Two out of every three people in the army, at least, have to leave it. This was a process that took a few years, but at the end of the war, everyone knew it was coming. A lot of people only joined for the war and are demobilized once it’s over, but not everyone wants to be. Decisions have to be made on who is staying and who is going.

And the Captain is just the sort of person who’d end up on the ‘go’ list. His men don’t respect him. He’s far too old for his rank. He hasn’t received a promotion in twenty years. There’s probably at least some suspicion about his sexuality. Meanwhile, there are plenty of much younger men, artillery captains who joined for the war, who upon taking a look at the harsh post-war economy, decide that they want to stay in. They’re good at their jobs. They’re popular with their subordinates. They likely have young families, wives and children, to support. They have the sorts of personalities that can impress the higher echelons. They have the potential to make major. These are the kind of men making it onto the ‘stay’ list. When you have to get rid of every two out of three people, that’s the way these things go. And to make things easier when the time comes, you put the people you want to keep in the better commands, and you suggest to the people that you don’t want to keep that maybe they should look into other options, to save yourself from having to get rid of them later on.

At Button House, preparations are underway to stand down the unit and return the estate to its owners. The individuals who joined for the war that want to go home once it’s over are preparing to be demobilized. The rest are getting ready to be reassigned. At some point the Captain goes to talk to higher echelons about his own reassignment and gets the absolutely crushing bombshell: “Actually, we ‘strongly encourage’ you to take early retirement.”

(I experienced research failure trying to find out what British military pensions looked like at the end of WWII, so I’m stuck going with the modern version and hoping it’s the same, or at least fairly similar.) Essentially, if you stay in until you’re sixty, you collect full pension, but early retirement is available for anyone over the age of forty with more than twenty years in, receiving about a third of what the pension would normally be. So, they’re not suggesting putting him out with nothing, but it’s not a lot, either.

He would argue, of course. Ineffectively. He doesn’t have the sort of interpersonal skills necessary to convince any of these people. His main arguing technique seems to be being forceful and persistent about what he wants, but that doesn’t work on people who outrank you.

Again, I’m not sure whether they could have quite officially forced him out or not, at that juncture. But it would be easy enough to unofficially force him out: just suggest that there have been suspicions about him for a while and maybe, if he doesn’t want to cooperate, it’s reached the point where there should be an inquiry about it. And if anything’s found, he won’t get early retirement, he’ll be kicked out and probably sent to jail in disgrace. And even if nothing’s found out, or can be proven, his reputation will be ruined just by the question of his sexuality being officially asked and even then the only reassignment he’ll get is something pointless and tedious, sorting out-of-date records or the like, until the inevitable juncture is reached, within the next year, where he CAN be officially forced out due to government mandated personnel cuts (the first round of which were in ‘46). And eventually he’d have the sense to stop arguing and acquiesce. Because really there is no choice for him. It’s ruin or worse ruin.

But: the army is the only thing he has.

He’s been in the army at least half his life. He has repressed the person he might have been and lived his military persona that entire time- longer, even, if you head cannon as I do that there was military boarding school involved, in which case he’s been living that persona since he was eleven years old. He’s institutionalized. He can’t think of himself outside of the military. It’s his entire identity. He can barely remember who he was before daddy decided to ‘man away the gay.’

He certainly can’t picture letting his stuffed-down repressed gay self out. That’s still against the law. That will still be against the law for another twenty-two years (male homosexuality was decriminalized in England and Wales in 1967). And if Havers is dead, the only person he might have ever considered taking the risk for is also dead. Maybe he even blames himself a little for that death: he didn’t try to stop Havers leaving, when he clearly wanted to. And it’s been eating at him for years.

In the perspective of his time, he’s too young to properly retire, and the pittance of a pension he’s being offered probably would only cover the basics anyway, he wouldn’t be overly comfortable, but he’s too old to start over with another career that he’d be better suited for, or that he’d enjoy, or that would make him happy. I personally think theater would have been his choice if he’d ever been able to make one (one of these days I’ll back that statement up), but there would have to be that voice in the back of his head telling him even if he wasn’t too old for it, he’d be no good at it: he played the role of the Captain for twenty years and still didn’t do it well enough to convince anyone.

He can’t picture any future for himself at all.

And he has to consider himself a failure. Never made major. Never saw combat. And now the army wants him gone.

He sees himself failing at his entire life’s work. The thing that composes the entirety of his identity is being taken away from him. He can’t live any sort of authentic life; that just isn’t an option in 1945. He has nothing to look forward to and nothing to live for. Which leaves one option.

I’ve been there. Luckily, it was the one point in my life where I’ve actually had access to decent mental health care (CBT is lovely, guys, or at least it did positive things for me), but solid mental health treatment didn’t really exist back then, either. Luckily, I didn’t go through with it. But I think the Captain did.

He probably fought with the idea for a long time. Until his retirement date was nearly on him. Suicide had a significant stigma back then. It was the ‘coward’s way out,’ as it used to be looked at, and whilst he was a lot of things, a coward wasn’t one of them. But as the appointed day got closer and he couldn’t picture a future past it, he realized he just couldn’t face it.

And then the appointed day arrives, for him to leave. One way or another.

He’s a squeamish man (again, not a coward, courage is a matter of backbone, squeamishness is a matter of stomach). He can barely look at the plague victims. He was shocked by Pat’s bloodless arrow through the neck. He’d want to avoid a gory death. He probably wouldn’t shoot himself. Honestly, the army probably never gave him a gun to shoot himself with. But the forties was a time in which the deadly potential of pharmaceuticals was well known, but they still weren’t particularly well controlled yet. Given the war, he wouldn’t have been nearly the only person seeking sedatives, and the local doctor or chemist probably wouldn’t think twice about giving him a supply. Had anyone slept well since the Blitz, after all?

His uniform is already packed away in his foot locker, and he’s wearing the civilian clothes he’s supposed to leave Button House in, but he decides that isn’t right. He decides he wants to die with the uniform on. It was his whole life, after all. Even 75 years after his death, when they do the ‘what would you wear if you could’ discussions, he can’t even imagine himself in anything but his uniform.

Of course, he’s distraught. If he decided to take the common combination of alcohol and sedatives, perhaps he’s already started drinking. Either way, his mental state is such that when he puts the bits and pieces of his uniform back in place whilst looking at himself in the mirror, he fails to entirely account for the fact that the mirror reverses the image and his ribbons are backwards. When he’s done getting dressed, he salutes himself in the mirror, as you see in the opening, and then goes through with it, taking the entire supply of sedatives at once, and dying shortly thereafter. (Word of god says that both the reversed ribbons and the mirror are important, after all.) There are no marks on his ghostly-self because the method of death didn’t leave any.

No doubt he was surprised to find himself a ghost, but perhaps not disappointed. Most people who consider suicide don’t actually want to die, they just can’t bear to go on living the life they’re leading. And as a ghost, he could continue living out his respectable military persona for the rest of eternity. The other ghosts don’t necessarily know how he died. I wouldn’t put it past the army to say, ‘let’s write this one off as a heart attack,’ to avoid the paperwork and embarrassment/scandal of having one of their officers kill themselves on the day they were supposed to retire Maybe none of the other ghosts know better (I’ll go into this more in an upcoming post). Or maybe they at least have the tact not to say. I think he would prefer them not knowing, because of the stigma, though.

But that’s why he won’t let go of the trappings of the military even 75 years after his death; the entire reason he died is because he couldn’t let go of it. And that’s why he’s the Captain, instead of going by his name, whatever it is. The person with the name is someone he’s ashamed of, a failure and a degenerate (in the views of his time), while the Captain is the ideal he had tried to live up to. The Captain is the person he’d rather die than not be.

Of course, this is (as Pat tries to point out to him every now and then) mentally unhealthy. But every bit of repression he put himself through or that was forced upon him in his life, including staying in the military as long as he did when he wasn’t suited for it was mentally unhealthy, too, and there was no recourse available to him for it in his time.

To add a few points to this argument that are outside of the direct narrative: in s1e1, during his second (I think) argument with Fannie over her late-night screaming, he seems willing to hear her out until she starts hinting about her ‘actual’ death, at which point he yells over her that he doesn’t want to hear it, he just wants the screaming to stop. He seems a bit desperate about it, actually. I think he was operating under the assumption that she also killed herself, and that it comforted him a bit, that the oh-so-proper Lady Fannie Button also committed suicide (since again, there is a stigma) and he didn’t want to be told otherwise. When she brings up the topic again, when they’re discussing Julian pushing Allison out the window, he tries to stop her again (despite the fact that since they’re not in the middle of an argument, he has no reason to), but ineffectively.

Also, from the standpoint of the narrative, the writers have to explore how everyone died eventually. There are only so many variations of ‘accident’ and ‘homicide’ you can do and keep things engaging. I can’t see the writers not going with at least one suicide, if only to have a different situation to explore. Robin and Kitty are the only other deaths we have no clues about, but I don’t see either of them as candidates for suicide. And it would make sense to portray the repression and oppression the Captain faced in his life as having consequences. It did often enough in real life. The suicide rate in the LGBT community has always been unfortunately high.

I’m going to stop here, with his death, since all seven parts together are pushing 12,000 words, not counting the interludes, or the forthcoming post-script. I’ve got plenty more to write, about events after his death, his relations with the other ghosts, and even (more) things that were happening culturally while he was alive that might have interested him that I couldn’t work into this, but I had to end this piece somewhere, and since it’s a head cannon biography, I thought the appropriate place to end it would be his death.

If you’re experiencing serious depression or thoughts of suicide, please seek help. Things do get better; you just have to make it that far.

And if you actually read all seven parts, please know that I adore you. I know it’s been really, really long. When I posted the first part, it took more than a day to get its first note and I started worrying no one would look at the wall of text presented and ever want read it. So, whether you agree with me or not, thank you for making it this far.

#the captain #bbc's ghosts #bbc ghosts #how and why i think he died #cw: suicide #cw: mental health #he deserved better #but was born 80 years too early

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shiishki · 3 years

Note

okay wait, i changed my mind. you should answer all of these questions as well, if that's what you want from me >:)

oof there's a lot of it, that's what i get for wanting to be ✨aesthetic✨

1: 6 of the songs you listen to most?

vowels (and the importance of being me) - hunny

honeypie - jawny

pretty young thing - michael jackson

mirrors - justin timberlake

sunflower - red orange county

paradise - rude-a

2: If you could meet anyone on this earth, who would it be?

a therapist.

ok someone else.. uhh,, my grand grandma because i only have scratches of memories but i dunno if that counts since she passed away...

*rummages through ancient scripts* uhh ok someone who isn't dead.. uhm,, tommie? yeah I'd like to meet them if i could meet anyone on earth

3: Grab the book nearest to you, turn to page 23, give me line 17.

ok, the closest german, english or polish book? nvm i have english

"suddenly was. So I just said thank you a few times too, and Mum" ironically this is one of the normal lines in this book

4: What do you think about most?

the fact that I'll have to do something after school. and I don't know if i want to go to college or get a job bc i have no legitimate idea on what to do with my life. it gets overwhelming, just the lack of knowledge about the actual experience.

5: What does your latest text message from someone else say?

6: Do you sleep with or without clothes on?

with, tho i sleep with just shorts in summer

7: What’s your strangest talent?

not sure if it's a talent, but i can fall asleep anywhere

8: Girls… (finish the sentence); Boys… (finish the sentence)

girls are pretty. boys are pretty

9: Ever had a poem or song written about you?

by me, yes. no one else has written a poem about me specifically. nvm, tommie wrote one and it shall rest on my wall, or desk, i need to find a place for it

10: When is the last time you played the air guitar?

uhh i think last month?

11: Do you have any strange phobias?

i don't think so, but i am hella afraid of the possibly gigantic, terrifying things in the ocean depths that humans haven't discovered yet

12: Ever stuck a foreign object up your nose?

yep, beloved legos as a lil child

13: What’s your religion?

i can't ever remember the name, but i believe gods (from all religions) exist in some way or form. so i believe in different pantheons and etc.

14: If you are outside, what are you most likely doing?

walking my doggo, skateboarding, thinking about how to make the lives of my characters worse

15: Do you prefer to be behind the camera or in front of it?

behind it.

16: Simple but extremely complex. Favorite band?

uhmm the arctic monkeys? or the strokes

17: What was the last lie you told?

i know what i want

18: Do you believe in karma?

yes, the rule of three specifically

19: What does your URL mean?

i don't know. it's something me and my sis came up with and that's just my whole identity now.

20: What is your greatest weakness; your greatest strength?

uhh greatest weakness.. i can't finish things. strength is that I'm very stubborn so maybe I'll finish that thing out of spite

21: Who is your celebrity crush?

i grew up thinking crushes were like unicorns. my ex was odd enough to argue with that i didn't love her if i didn't have a crush on her. but I think if i had to guess.. selena gomez, especially in the role of alex russo in wizard of weverly street

22: Have you ever gone skinny dipping?

nope

23: How do you vent your anger?

i write angry letters. sometimes they're sad letters. i write a lot of letters. except i never send them out and no one made a movie about them :}

24: Do you have a collection of anything?

jars and witchy bottles, books? scented candles

25: Do you prefer talking on the phone or video chatting online?

phone calls are stressful enough as is, i don't need you to see my reading off what i frantically wrote to not stumble over my words

26: Are you happy with the person you’ve become?

i think so, yes, but that won't stop me from becoming better

27: What’s a sound you hate; sound you love?

hate flies buzzing right by my ear, love cat purring

28: What’s your biggest “what if”?

what if I'd been born in a place where it was illegal for me (nonbinary) to live, in a time when others thought of me as a curse?

29: Do you believe in ghosts? How about aliens?

they be chilling.

30: Stick your right arm out; what do you touch first? Do the same with your left arm.

right arm, doggo, left arm, pillow

31: Smell the air. What do you smell?

fresh air and doggo, because doggo is with me and I can't live without open windows

32: What’s the worst place you have ever been to?

i dunno tbh

33: Choose: East Coast or West Coast?

which one is less homophobic?

34: Most attractive singer of your opposite gender?

every gender is my opposite gender. selena gomez and justin timberlake

35: To you, what is the meaning of life?

to make it easier for people down the line

36: Define Art.

make thing, thing goes woo

37: Do you believe in luck?

yis

38: What’s the weather like right now?

it's nice actually, very sunny, slight breeze

39: What time is it?

12.59 am

40: Do you drive? If so, have you ever crashed?

i don't, but i once crashed into a fire department vehicle with my bike. bike ded.

41: What was the last book you read?

Crooked Kingdom by Leigh Bardugo

42: Do you like the smell of gasoline?

i legit ass don't know what gasoline smells like.

43: Do you have any nicknames?

many variations of my name, aka. Luce

44: What was the last film you saw?

i think it was Robin Hood: King of Thieves, but it might have been that half of spider-man homecoming i managed to watch with my poor internet

45: What’s the worst injury you’ve ever had?

oh man i dunno... it's not an injury, but i was very sickly as a lil kid and almost died :)

46: Have you ever caught a butterfly?

once, years ago

47: Do you have any obsessions right now?

hmmm horizon zero dawn i think

48: What’s your sexual orientation?

proud pansexual ^^

49: Ever had a rumour spread about you?

not really, i don't think they're big enough to be actual rumors,, meh

50: Do you believe in magic?

yis

51: Do you tend to hold grudges against people who have done you wrong?

meh. they suck, i know they suck, that's it.

52: What is your astrological sign?

cancer ♋

53: Do you save money or spend it?

i attempt saving. attempt

54: What’s the last thing you purchased?

for my own money, sweets. i bought lizards for my cats so they can brush their teeth from my dad's amazon acc

55: Love or lust?

luv

56: In a relationship?

nope, i buy my own cookies

57: How many relationships have you had?

1, kinda toxic toward the end, very stressful, don't recommend

58: Can you touch your nose with your tongue?

nu ><

59: Where were you yesterday?

on the fields walking my doggo

60: Is there anything pink within 10 feet of you?

yep, a pastel pink hoodie in my closet uwu

61: Are you wearing socks right now?

yis, thicc warm socks

62: What’s your favourite animal?

cats

63: What is your secret weapon to get someone to like you?

cuddles and food.

64: Where is your best friend?

bold of you to assume i have a best friend.

65: Give me your top 5 favourite blogs on Tumblr.

tommie-hildebrandt, kageyuji, nekomas-kuroo, joyful-soul-collector

66: What is your heritage?

I'm a demon boi from Poland tho that's not a thing to be proud of, i mean, look at the economy. awful.

67: What were you doing last night at 12AM?

sleeping, trying to sleep.

68: What do you think is Satan’s last name?

Pinkton. or Satan.

69: Be honest. Ever gotten yourself off?

this is such an odd combination of words i had to look it up. yea.

70: Are you the kind of friend you would want to have as a friend?

a friend who won't laugh at me when i ask them to order smth for me because I'm too anxious to.

71: You are walking down the street on your way to work. There is a dog drowning in the canal on the side of the street. Your boss has told you if you are late one more time you get fired. What do you do?

excuse me? i am saving the doggo wtf. f u boss, I'm gonna sell my tragic story to the news.

72: You are at the doctor’s office and she has just informed you that you have approximately one month to live. a) Do you tell anyone/everyone you are going to die? b) What do you do with your remaining days? c) Would you be afraid?

a) i tell my parents. b) live the hell out of them uwu c) nope uwu.

73: You can only have one of these things; trust or love.

trust.

74: What’s a song that always makes you happy when you hear it?

history maker - dean fujioka :]

75: What are the last four digits in your cell phone number?

3332

76: In your opinion, what makes a great relationship?

communication, trust, some more communication.

77: How can I win your heart?

let's not pretend to be something else to please each other, and bring some bitter chocolate.

78: Can insanity bring on more creativity?

maybe. it could. i don't have a say in it since my sanity is held by tape.

79: What is the single best decision you have made in your life so far?

eat the pizza. stop caring about others not liking me/parts of me. just living for myself uwu.

80: What size shoes do you wear?

uh i dunno how the american sizes work and i don't wanna look it up so, 39, 40 fits too.

81: What would you want to be written on your tombstone?

demon boi

82: What is your favourite word?

socks.

83: Give me the first thing that comes to mind when you hear the word; heart.

the bloody organ that sits in your chest and pumps blood into your body so you don't die.

84: What is a saying you say a lot?

uhm im not sure if that counts as a saying, but fake it till you make it

85: What’s the last song you listened to?

blinding lights - the weeknd

86: Basic question; what’s your favourite colour/colours?

oh a normal question people use for ice breaking, sea blue and pastel variations of it.

87: What is your current desktop picture?

like my wallpaper? or the actual picture that sits on my desk? or how my desk looks like atm? it's ugly, a lot of papers and pens and schoolbooks.

88: If you could press a button and make anyone in the world instantaneously explode, who would it be?

donald trump. or the next asshole who'll try to take the rights of the lgbt and poc away

89: What would be a question you’d be afraid to tell the truth on?

this. this is the question.

90: One night you wake up because you heard a noise. You turn on the light to find that you are surrounded by MUMMIES. The mummies aren’t really doing anything, they’re just standing around your bed. What do you do?

yo there's a pizza somewhere in the refrigerator, want me to heat it up? we can have a sleep over and talk about our feelings :3

91: You accidentally eat some radioactive vegetables. They were good, and what’s even cooler is that they endow you with the super-power of your choice! What is that power?

telekinesis! or shapeshifting! i could do such fun things with telekinesis ^^ yeah I'd totally eat some radioactive veggies

92: You can re-live any point of time in your life. The time-span can only be a half-hour, though. What half-hour of your past would you like to experience again?

that time my "friends" got me into shoplifting, half-hour is more than enough to punch some sense into my brain and develop good music taste

93: You can erase any horrible experience from your past. What will it be?

can i save this one? i don't think i have an experience horrible enough to be erased haha

94: You have the opportunity to sleep with the music-celebrity of your choice. Who would it be?

sleep as in.. uh no thank u. but I'm down for a sleep over with sam smith ^^

95: You just got a free plane ticket to anywhere. You have to depart right now. Where are you gonna go?

just me? what about my pets? my fam? it's lowkey illegal for me to go just anywhere without them owO

uhhmm, greece. imma become part of the greek pantheon out of pure spite. and maybe toronto canada.

96: Do you have any relatives in jail?

not any that i know of o.o

97: Have you ever thrown up in the car?

i think i may have but i honestly don't remember

98: Ever been on a plane?

nope, i dunno if i like planes, but I'd probably sleep if i were on one.

99: If the whole world were listening to you right now, what would you say?

yeet.

#that was long #probably because my stubborn ass wanted to make pretty formatting #shiishki.rambles #shiishki.interacts with tommie

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gongju-juice · 4 years

Text

1. Once Upon A Southern Night

Not So Bad After All

Warnings: None that I can think of

“You look lovely, Y/N, why don’t you try to be more optimistic?”

You looked up at your mother’s hopeful features. Carmine Robynson was an exceptional surgeon with national and international awards in her field. She was also the most beautiful woman you’d ever see. Her skin was a glittering porcelain white, and she had pale pink lips and caramel colored eyes that seemed to change color every now and again. Today, her long blonde hair was pinned up in a bun—perfect for a long day at her new job at the hospital.

“I’m trying to be, mom,” you whined as she ran her fingers through your hair, bringing your curls to life. “But I’m so worried. I’ve barely ventured outside the state of Alabama, how am I supposed to fit in with people from Washington State?”

Carmine rolled her eyes. “How do you think I felt when I traveled all the way from England to the States? It was terrifying, dear. Much more terrifying than you moving to a new state. I promise, you’ll be fine.”

You grabbed her things, and she locked down the house. The new house was Victorian style, like one of the houses you see in the movies. You and your mom spent months picking out the perfect furniture and decor to make your new residence come to life. It was one of the positives about the move.

In the driveway, the car hummed quietly. It was a sleek silver Mercedes, perks of a surgeon salary. You climbed in and slumped in the seat.

The drive to the school was fairly pleasant. The long, winding road was flanked on either side by towering jade green trees that cast blue shadows on the ground. The sky, as it had always been since your arrival, was gray and overcast. It was quite a difference from your sunny home back south.

The school was small, just about the size of your old school. Except this time, it was even. . .less diverse than back home. At your old school, you were normally the only black girl in most of your classes. However, there were still others in your school that made you feel less isolated. But here, everybody was white as a wedding gown, and it made you nervous. Growing up with a white mother, you’d think you wouldn’t have that issue. But if anything, your experience as an adopted black kid made it quite clear what it was like to feel different from everyone—from black and white kids alike.

“Love you. Have a good day,” she said with a kiss to your forehead.

You climbed out of the car, and immediately shivered from the morning air. It was September, and already it felt like winter. Sixty degrees back at home was December weather.

Your first class was homeroom. The teacher, Mrs, Bobbins, made you introduce yourself to the class. Everyone was very interested in the new girl on campus—the new girl who also happened to be the only black girl in class. This interaction did lessen your nerves some, but you were still anxious to get the day over with.

Second period was Advanced Chemistry. Honestly speaking, you hated the first Chemistry. But as a part of your advanced trek, you had no choice but to take the class. It wasn’t that difficult—not when you had a full on surgeon to help you out living in the house—but still, it was not your favorite subject by a long shot.

The space between the second and third period was strange. The school was allowed to have “break”—a period of time where the staff and students alike could chill for fifteen minutes and do whatever they wanted.

Not knowing where to go or who to talk to, you stumbled to the canopied walkway on the side of the building. Here, there were fewer students. However, at the end of the walkway by the blue double doors, a group of gorgeous looking teenagers stood conversing quietly amongst themselves.

“Hello, Y/N, isn’t it?” called a voice beside you. It was a curly-head ginger girl with the prettiest ice blue eyes and freckled skin. She was very tall, and wore athletic tights and a long volleyball shirt with the school’s Spartan mascot.

“Oh, yes. It’s me,” you said, pushing up your thin-rimmed glasses. “I’m sorry, but what’s your name?”

“Amelia Bloom. You probably didn’t notice me, but I’m in your homeroom. You’re a new student, aren’t you? Your mom is Dr. Robynson that was just hired at the hospital?”

You were impressed by how much she knew. It always took time for people to figure out that Camille was your mother. And you thought Satsuma, the town you came from, was small. But Forks hit a whole new level of “everyone knows one another.”

“Yeah, we just moved here. Sorry if I seem a little antsy or what have you. I’m just a little nervous, that’s all.” You offered your hand. “I hope we can be friends, though.”

You swore you saw the blond hair boy of the group flinch. But just as quickly as she glanced at him, you saw he had never even moved. Great. Now your mind was playing tricks on you.

“Those are the Cullens,” Amelia explained, judging you wanted an answer by the spooked expression on your face. “The most coveted teens in all of Forks. They were adopted by Dr. Carlisle and his wife Esme, who are both pretty young themselves. Don’t try to make friends with them though, they’re pretty stuck up.”

You couldn’t help but feel disappointed by that, though it was quickly replaced with a wave of optimism.

“Well, I don’t like to judge people before I meet them, but I won’t bother them then, if that’s the case.”

The bell rang loudly just then, and Amelia showed you to your next class.

Interestingly enough, your next class was history, and in it was three of the Cullen siblings. You wanted to sit near the front of the class like you always did (on the account of your poor vision), but lamented to find that the seats were assigned. Confused and anxious to blend in, you turned to the teacher for help.

“Ah, Ms. Robynson. Lovely of you to join us today,” said the man, who informed his name was Mr. Howard. “You can take the empty seat by Jasper. Jasper, please raise your hand.”

To your surprise, the blond Cullen boy lifted his hand in the air. Just then, all of the confidence left your body. You were intimidated by utterly attractive he looked—like a daffodil in a field of weeds.

You slowly walked to your seat, which he had already pulled out. Oh God, you thought. You would have to sit by him. You would be within a foot of his presence, and you’d have to act like everything was fine.

You brushed your skirt down as you took your seat and pulled out your notebook. Already, the lavender covered book had been used. However, you loved history and couldn’t bear to throw away your pretty notes from the beginning of your old class.

The first page you turned to was marked in postage stamps from the antebellum period. You had a picture of the Oakleigh Plantation Mansion from Mobile, one of your favorite southern pieces of history.

“Okay class, it’s going to be a sensitive unit, but we are moving on to the Pre-Civil era, also known as the Antebellum Era. It’s important to know the important parts President Andrew Jackson and James Buchanan played in shaping the tensions and economic standings that inevitably led to the Civil War. So for your bellringer, you’re going to be listing some factors that led to these said tensions. You have five minutes. Begin.”

You turned to a fresh sheet of paper and took out your calligraphy pens.

Factors that led to Pre-Civil War Tensions:

Jackson left the country in an economic depression by his withdrawal of federal funds from the National Bank in 1832, thus causing the Panic of 1837 which heavily impacted cotton exports and revenue for the Southern economy.

The expansion West caused an imbalance of power between states which made Southern states feel they had no authority in the federal government. It was an intense competition between slave states and free states.

Events such as Bleeding Kansas, Harper’s Ferry, and the Dredd-Scott Supreme Court ruling caused many across the nation to become angered.

“Does anybody have any ideas?” Mr. Howard asked.

The class was silent, and you realized it was much different from what you were used to. Where you were from, everybody knew about the Civil War—no matter how skewed or racist their beliefs were.

Beside you, Jasper raised his hand.

“Yes, Mr. Hale.”

“James Buchanan did virtually nothing to stop the wave of seceding Southern states, and although he believed secession was wrong, he didn’t believe he had the Constitutional power to stop them. Had he quelled the fears of the slave states, the war could have been prolonged another few years.”

“Right, as always, Mr. Hale. Would anyone else like to attempt?”

“May I?”

Mr. Howard looked at you excitedly. “Of course. Have a go, Ms. Robynson.”

“The Southern states believed that they had done nothing Constitutionally wrong. According to them, they’d only joined the Union in the first place due to the Fugitive Clause added to the Constitution for the sake of the Southern states voting on the new Constitution after the Articles of Confederation. Because Northern states violated this clause, they felt that they were breaking the so-called “contract”, and that only they, as independent states, had the power to decide if their end of the bargain was being upheld. Even though the Fugitive Clause was not a part of the immediate Pre-Civil War Era, I feel it’s the most important aspect to mention when evaluating the factors that led to the war.”

Mr. Howard clapped loudly, waking up the rest of the class. “An amazing answer. I couldn’t have said it better myself. Now, without further ado, let us begin today’s lesson.”

Beside you, the Cullen boy shifted. “Not bad,” he murmured before gazing back forward.

Your heart leapt within you.

That night, your mom arrived home at seven. You had already eaten, knowing your mom only ate late at night. She was a strict dieter and pretty much only drank the tea concoctions from her thermal cup. But you were an avid omnivore and didn’t mind eating without her.

“How was your first day at school?” she asked, setting her things down on the couch.

“It was better than I honestly expected. I even met a new friend. Her name is Amelia, and she’s the captain of the varsity volleyball team and even plays softball and golf.”

“Wow!” she exclaimed. “See, I told you everything would be fine. How’s history?”

“Mr. Howard seems to know what he’s talking about. Not nearly as biased as Mr. Davis was, but very sympathetic to the North.”

“I guess now that you’re up here, you won’t have to worry about an abundant amount of hot-head racists. But if something does happen—”

“I know, Mom. I know.”

You dressed in your silk nightgown and headed for bed. On the middle shelf of your bookcase was a model of the Oakleigh Mansion. You didn’t know what it was about it, but the antebellum era intrigued you. And this house in particular. . .

You turned on the lights inside the little house and turned off the lamp. Now it was dark in your room except for the tiny chandelier lights glittering inside the white home.

Sighing, you turned on your side. The curtains fluttered in the light breeze from your slightly open window. This gorgeous house, and quaint little town was your home. You’d have to come to accept the changes—which were not all bad. You miss your friends, you missed the warmth and sunshine, but the world was not over.

And maybe, just maybe, you’d have the opportunity to see Jasper Hale more often.

I hate the fact I can write faster for my fanfics than my actual real-life projects but you can thank sTePhEnIe MeYeR for that.

Part Two Part Three Part Four

#jasper hale #jasper hale fanfics #jasper hale x reader #jasper hale imagines #twilight imagines #twilight x reader #carlisle cullen #edward cullen #rosalie hale #emmett cullen #alice cullen #cullen

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nightklok · 4 years

Note

TELL ME ABOUT HOW YOU WRITE PICKLES AND CHARLES PLEASE ;0; what are you inspirations for their dynamic? you write them so in love and it makes me immensely happy

Thank you firstly, means a lot because writing them happy brings me so much joy-even if I probably wrote more angst than fluff of them at a point-jkfl

I have answered Pickles here so I’ll write about Charles and why I write them together with the way I do! :D

Charles

I feel like Charles has a lot more emotions/feelings than the show tries to give him credit for (I like to think that by season 4, he learned to be a little be more emotional around the boys enough as he learned that it’s okay to be a bit emotional if he needs to around them BUT then Doomstar completely wrecked him)

I really adore trying to write characters that are normally stoic in the show into more gentler/emotional people. I feel like the DVD extra of him taking calls and season 4/Doomstar shows he can be emotional! He has friends outside of Dethklok, his own hobbies/interests, definitely feels something and I don’t think my idea of him is really all that far fetched. He’s not just some asshole in a suit and while he has done questionable things, 9/10 it’s for the sake of Dethklok and not himself (Whoops forgot about Melmord here but even then I think Charles isn’t being selfish because he really does know he’s the only one that keep them in control-Melmord is just a snake oil salesman in a non-existent clown costume or something-)

I do keep in mind that he is a serious person and most likely is even when around people he completely trusts. He’s a person who can be a bit hard to read but he’s also not that hard when you actually get to know him and really know where to look when talking to him. Also I do headcanon that he is autistic but that’s for another story i think

He’s a character that even though I know is emotional inside, he does have to keep a stoic/non-expression look to him on the surface. He has the most important job in his life and he’s well aware of it. Being emotional/expressing anything but seriousness could possibly endanger him and Dethklok. It’s probably not by much because I do think even when he is emotional and can express himself, it’s still controlled to a degree. He can’t just let himself completely break in front of someone, he wouldn’t allow that at all. I’d imagine he’d have to pretend that he only sees them as coworkers and nothing else or that the band would have to do the same to him or there would be kidnapping attempts. there probably is anyway on a yearly basis but thanks to him, it’s near impossible to do that as they do have highly trained klokateers.

But I still believe even regardless of that that it must get exhausting at times. A warm bed and wanting to sleep in is something that everyone desires to do at least once but they have to get up early and go to work or do whatever they need to do. Charles is human and he’s a human has needs like everyone else. I feel that he does probably have the days where just sleeping in sounds like a wonderful thing to do or that there are stressful days where he’d just need a long bath or something. Because of this, I don’t really seem him as aggressive or overly dominant when off work and in a relationship. Having to take care of a band and basically the world’s economy is exhausting. If he just wants to be taken care of, let him!!

Basically what I’m saying is let the guy take a nap

I do like to try and base off characters/writing off real people/situations so I think I gotta say Brian Epstein who managed the Beatles really helped in figuring out how Charles is like as a manager to Dethklok-I really began researching him around the time I got into the show because of class and it was interesting reading about him and I honestly think he’s one of the best band managers I heard of (next to Peter Grant of course-). I do also relate to Charles in some level though the patience he has I think is really almost inhumane because wow-

I kinda did write Chickles first before this so i might be repeating? So I’ll just leave this as it is but either way, I just like writing him as a little bit more emotional/down to earth. I get that it might be OOC a bit but I feel like the aggressive/dominant part is a little bit way too OOC-

Chickles

I honestly wonder why I write them so in love too if i have to be honest dsflkj

To answer what the inspirations; i feel like a huge factor into why I write them the way do (and probably any other ship) is because while i have had the feeling of falling in love before, i never really had the experience of being in a romantic relationship or went anywhere even close to that with someone. I feel like this is kinda obvious but its about the yearning I kinda do fantasize what it must be like but I do also take what I have learned/read/seen from either relationships I know of personally or seen in media and apply to them. I take both toxic and good relationships to see what I do/don’t want to write when it comes to relationships and what they would/wouldn’t do. I don’t use toxic relationships to completely shape a relationship but rather analyze it, see why it’s toxic in the first place, and see what I can do to either when I write relationships/pairings in general. Obviously I use Addams family’s Morticia and Gomez as a base for writing good relationships in general because who wouldn’t???

I also think writing terribly written Chickles fanfics and even ones with Charles probably help to in writing Charles. Are they near uncomfortable and make me wanna take a shower after reading them? Yes-but reading them not for entertainment/knowing what you’re getting into and then thinking about why you didn’t like it honestly helps in keeping a character in check. Not something I recommend for works that can potentially trigger you but for for those fics that just don’t nail their character right, can be useful in knowing how you don’t want to portray a character/relationship. It can be VERY easy to make Chickles a toxic pairing if you don’t know how to handle them right. Having a character like Charles be with someone like Pickles can be easy to butcher if someone doesn’t really study their characters. Charles doesn’t have to be completely dominant nor is he a Christian Grey-like character that doesn’t seem to know how to properly communicate with his partners. And Pickles is definitely not a weak, submissive person and is stronger/braver than anyone gives him credit for when writing those relationships. I like to think that while one may be a little more dominant/in control of the relationship, they are complete equals. If one needs to be taken care of, the other will step in and help them out.

Writing them that they had knew each other in the Snakes N’ Barrels era/80s has always been basically canon to me too! So I guess it just makes it also a lot easier to write them as in love when I set the stories in dethklok/present day; whatever problems that they had in the beginning that they fear the other might judge/yell/misunderstand for would be long since resolved/handled by the time the show aired. Whether they actually date or not by then kinda depends on the story but either way, they would have a strong relationship. They would have learned about each other, their problems and who they are inside and out. They fall in love with the little things they do and learn to handle any pet peeves with them but accept them as who they are. They have gone through so much together behind the scenes and their relationship to each other probably is one of the few that hasn’t changed when Dethklok got incredibly famous.

Season 3 and onward might be a different story. Though it’s not because of personal grievances but more of just the topic of keeping secrets & not telling the truth when they would’ve most likely been so honest with each other before. And honestly that’s what makes it REALLY devastating to write about; Pickles would know jackshit for at least a few years (Assuming that Season 3 & Season 4 took place within 3 years at best.) and I don’t think watching someone you really love/care about die in front of you, then come back less than a year later and refuse to talk about why they’re here and give vague/cryptic answers is gonna put things back to normal. (Maybe one day I’ll finish that fic I poured near 10,000 words in-).

And honestly it’s probably where I would like to explore on their relationship the most but it’s just so damn complex and detailed that I definitely need a lot of time to work on. They’d both want things to go back to normal but by Charles coming back, it signaled that things weren’t as what they used to be and that they most likely won’t be. What used to be a relationship based on comfort, familiarity, and a predicted unpredictability, has become something much more than neither of them have either prepared for. They’ll have to work hard to move past it and accept that like their relationship, things won’t be like they used to be. But with how much time they have spent together and that they still love each other regardless, they’ll be able to go through with this and get their happy ending!! (And I guess this is why I evolved from ‘definitely not the marrying type’ to ‘yeah they definitely get hitched after galaktikon’ because charles and pickles have probably signed a lot of important documents all their lives, so signing a marriage certificate that binds them to each other would be the most sentimental/important document he’s ever signed.)

All in all,they have such good potential writing because it’s just easy to write them for me. From their first meetings to first relationship to getting to be signed to Dethklok, I feel like they have something I probably won’t be able to replicate in other ships. They are an absolute joy to write and getting to explore.

God i could go on forever about them but im gonna stop dlfskj

#lampmeeting #Insomniac Coffee Talks [asks]#god did any of this make sense #who the fuck knows #i hope this makes sense #thanks for asking!! :D #headcanon: charles foster offdensen #pairing: chickles

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annazverina · 4 years

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2020 Letter to the World

In 2015, I began writing annual Letters to the World to reflect on what I learned during the year. I shared my first one publicly in 2018, and since then I discuss certain topics that were relevant during the year and what they taught me. Enjoy.

***

I typically don’t start writing my annual Letter to the World until October or November at the earliest, but this year has already been a huge whirlwind for the entire world. I started writing this in April and edited it until the day it was posted. At that point, we had been in isolation for a month. A few weeks later, yet another revolution sparked within the United States. As soon as the riots and protests started, I knew this would be the hardest letter I’ve ever written.

This year I will discuss coronavirus, racism, social media, and the importance of face to face communication.

Around the time I finished writing last year’s letter, a new illness was taking over Wuhan, China. This new, mysterious strain of coronavirus was infecting people left and right. But like any other American, I didn’t worry about it, though I kept track of it on Twitter. I remember the time when there were only 600 cases, and it hadn’t spread outside of Wuhan yet. Man, those were the days. It’s amazing how much the world changed within a month, a week, and a few days.

A month before isolation, my friends and I drove down to San Antonio for the TMEA convention. Tens of thousands of music educators in the same building. At that same time, San Antonio had its first cases of COVID-19. Less than a month later, SXSW was cancelled. That’s when I realized that this was becoming a big deal. The same day the WHO declared the pandemic, my university announced it was moving to online instruction for what would eventually be the rest 2020. My first day of quarantine was 14 March. I began vlogging occasionally to document the experience.

I barely left the house during quarantine. For the first five months, the only reasons I left were to go walking, move out of the dorm, or to pick up food. My family took a trip to Colorado right before I left for school, which was our first time eating at a restaurant in 150 days. None of my family or our friends officially tested positive. At school, my roommate did, which led to a two week isolation for me. It really bothered me that those who could stay home weren’t. I get that the United States was founded with freedom in mind (even though we’re not free yet), but I don’t understand why people weren’t willing to give up a little bit of freedom and wear a piece of cloth on their face. Sometimes, you have to give up freedom for the sake of the big picture. I learned that many Americans don’t understand that. The United States shut down too late and reopened too early. Those above us care too much about money. The economy is important, but so are people. Human lives matter, including Black lives.

We all know what happened.

Every January in elementary school, we learned about the Civil Rights Movement. However, they did not mention that racism was still an ongoing problem. They implied that it was a thing of the past. God, I wish it was. I don’t think it ever will be, but the things we can do to eliminate it as much as possible are promoting anti-racism and teaching those who come after us that no matter where someone comes from, they can’t form any opinions about them until they know what’s in their heart.

That entire week after the murder was very overwhelming. It made me wonder what kind of families racist people grew up in to think that it’s okay to not be good to everyone. I live my life with one thing in mind all the time: be good to myself and others. And I think everyone else, regardless of socioeconomic background, race, religion, whatever, should do the same. And we must teach those who come after to follow those footsteps.

There was never a class in school dedicated to being good citizens. They just yelled at the students doing bad things to stop, but never explained why it was bad, nor did they tell them how to be better. Common human decency is something that should be taught K-12, and I honestly think it’s more important than STEM (Science, Technology, Engineering, and Math). We cannot force the students to rely on their parents for something like this, because some parents are uneducated, some are not good people, some suck at parenting, and way too many children in the world don’t even have parents. Schools are the ones that need to teach kids how to be good… all the way through.

WE MUST BE THE CHANGE. Those currently in power appear to not be doing anything, so those who want change must RISE UP. For us civilians, signing petitions and donating is great, and being good, like I mentioned above, is also something we should do. We must change our behavior for the better. We cannot rely on other people to do stuff for us. We must do it ourselves. Change is not a process that can happen over night. So far it’s taken decades/centuries of work, but someday we will be there. Even if we don’t live to see it, the work we do now will help our future descendants.

After George Floyd’s murder and the explosion of social media, I was super overwhelmed with everything I was reading. I decided to take the month of June off of Twitter, and man, I’m glad I did. Social media in general is a toxic place to be, and cutting out Twitter and Facebook was healthy for me. In terms of toxicity, Twitter and Facebook, in my opinion, are the worst platforms. On Twitter, it’s hard to control what you see in your feed. Most of the tweets in my feed are from people I don’t follow. They’re tweets I never signed up to see, and they flood my feed with posts that sometimes feel like propaganda. Sometimes I feel like celebrities are worshipped like a deity. I often feel like I’m not allowed to have my own personal beliefs on Twitter, rather I have to conform to what the loudmouthed users believe. If I don’t, I’m racist, misogynistic, homophobic, etc. Facebook is similar, but most of the people I follow are my friends or family, so I can’t unfollow them.

Surprisingly, I like Instagram. Reposting is very uncommon, and posting more than once a day is unofficially considered spam, therefore people have to put all their politics into one single post, which I can scroll past and never see again. You never see posts from people you don’t follow, (except for the occasional advert) and overall I think people use it mostly to share photos of their lives. Most of the flaws that come from Instagram are the people who use it, but it’s easy to avoid them.

My brother shared some statistics with me recently. Only about 10 percent of Twitter users tweet on a normal basis. About 40 percent of people in the United States have a Twitter account. With that in mind, theoretically, the loud mouthed Twitter users only make up about 4 percent of the U.S. population. Or… something like that. I don’t know how accurate these statistics are, nor do I know where my brother got them from. Regardless, social media does not represent everyone in the world. Not even close.

The nice thing about living in a world of social media is being able to keep in touch with friends and family while quarantined. This whole quarantine process made me ever so grateful for face to face meetings. Some people believe no one will ever want to work again once everything ends. That’s not true. I think most people like working. Being able to leave the house every day and do something, even if it’s something you don’t like, is what keeps us sane. When it came time to return to school, I was initially really mad due to COVID. I ended up being okay with it. My school did a fantastic job at keeping COVID cases down for the entire semester (we only had an average of 20 cases a week, compared to some schools who had hundreds). Not only that, but I was able to see my family away from home again. Even though we wore masks and social distanced most of the time, things felt somewhat normal.

If you are the kind of person who could care less if you see your friends and coworkers in person, don’t forget that most people don’t feel that way. It’s hard to have group conversations on Zoom. You certainly can’t have a party where multiple conversations happen. Don’t assume everyone feels the same way about something. Let people have their social gatherings when it’s acceptable again, and don’t belittle people who feel different from you.

Everyone must do the right thing… all the time. Even when no one is watching. It’s our job to develop the habit of being good to ourselves and to others regardless. If we do that, we’ll be able to go back to a normal-ish life sooner. Lin-Manuel Miranda called America a “great unfinished symphony” in Hamilton. America, you great unfinished symphony, we still have unfinished business to take care of. The change we need won’t come tomorrow. The amount of work we have before we reach the double bar line will take generations to get to. We cannot allow a repeat sign. We must start today. May 2021 be a year of healing.

#2020 #just reflecting #reflections #fandom #lams #destiel #phan #johnlock #important #healing #beautiful #covid #fuck covid #blacklivesmatter #acceptance #respect #quarantine #zoom #2021

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qqueenofhades · 4 years

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Hi, I'm sorry if I bother. English is not my first language, and I hope to be clear. I read that you are a historian. Here, in Mexico, I was studying history, but I discovered that after bachelor's degree, you need at least a master's degree in order to get a job that allows to live. Other factors aside, that put me off quite a bite. I wanted to ask you how that works in your country, if there are job opportunities and things like that. Thank you so much!

First off, you’re not a bother at all, your English is just fine, and I’m happy to help!

As for your questions: ..... ahaha, oof. Up front, I will say that I’ll try to be both supportive and realistic here, since I obviously feel strongly that we need more historians, I myself am a historian, and I don’t want anyone to base their decision solely on what one person on the internet tells them. There are a lot of factors for you to consider, and this is intended to just give you my perspective on how I’ve experienced them. I have answered several other asks about my academic research and career trajectory (such as it presently is....) in my school stuff tag, which you might like to consult to see what else people have asked/I have answered. But I do want to be honest with you about what you might expect, especially in the COVID world, which has turned an already-grim academic job market into... well, one thing at a time. Let’s get started!

I am American, or at least my passport says I am, and I have either studied, done research, or taught (sometimes all three) in the US, the UK, and Europe. I did my PhD at a fairly prestigious large research university in the UK, and I’m currently applying for jobs in that same general sphere (the US and the Anglophone academic world). That, therefore, is the experience that I’m speaking to, though I can imagine there are some things that are more or less the same across the world. Obviously the US is a screaming hellfire nuclear waste dump right now, teetering on the brink of permanent fascism, so.... that’s a cheerful and promising prospect for long-term academic employment in this country, by which I mean it terrifies me. Also, as I have ranted about on many occasions before, the humanities in general have been so systematically, deliberately, and extensively devalued by late-stage capitalism as not being monetarily “worthwhile” that it’s no accident that there aren’t many jobs. This isn’t to say there aren’t ANY, but.... yeah. Nobody wants to become a historian because they think they’re going to get rich for it. They’ll be lucky to get a stable job. My perusal of job boards has all been “online part time adjunct instructor!” which is frankly, brutally depressing. Everything is gig-economy, ad-hoc, temporary-term disposable labor, which is devaluing and destabilizing an entire generation of eager young academics who really WOULD like to be gainfully employed in education and just can’t be, and.... oy.

Ugh. Anyway. I promised I was going to be supportive, so we won’t get too far into the weeds of my existential despair right now. In short: yes, to teach college/university, and possibly the better kind of high school, you will need at least one graduate degree in history, and there’s no getting around that. If you want to do something history-adjacent but not academia, that requirement might be changed. There are plenty of other careers that would value a history degree and the critical thinking, reading, analytical, and big-picture skills that it teaches, assuming that any of us have jobs in the future. You may want to consider if you have enough passion for the subject to do multiple rigorous (and often expensive) advanced degrees in history; if you don’t want to do a master’s, that might be a sign that you like history as a hobby, but don’t want to commit to it professionally. And that is completely fine! it doesn’t make you a failure or mean that you’re any lesser as a person, and if you study history up to the bachelor level and decide that you don’t want to do it anymore, it’s better to know that now than before you’re stuck sinking years of money and effort into something that burns you out and isn’t where you want to be.

I have been honest about the fact of how hard a PhD is (the hardest thing I’ve done in my life) and how dispiriting the post-degree job market is (I realize I have the especial bad fortune to be job-hunting in the plague world, but hooo boy). The basic standard is that you never hear back from anybody at all. Sometimes they send a polite form-letter “your application will not be progressing to the next stage we wish you the best” rejection, but the culture has basically become that they just straight-up ignore you, and I hate it. It’s like screaming into the void over and over. Applications are often multiple pieces of labor-intensive work (CV, cover letters, teaching statement, research proposals, previous courses, contacting people to write letters of reference for you) and to constantly do that and get.... absolutely nothing in return is, again, complete trash on your mental health. Even if you recognize that it’s not really about you and there are a ton of people going through the same experience, it’s not fun. I’m about to submit yet another application, 18 months or so after I first started job hunting, and I have yet to receive even a single request for an interview. Imma be real with you chief: It sucks. You run through the whole “I’m clearly a fraud/an idiot/wildly unqualified compared to everyone else/etc” impostor syndrome highlight reel. And you just kind of have to deal with it, suck it up buttercup, and trudge your ass back to the job board anyway.

Then again: no matter how nihilistic that sounds: there are some jobs, and people do get them. There aren’t many of them, and the competition is therefore intense; every humanities/history postdoc or entry-level professorship opening will probably have a good 50-75 applicants at least, and that’s on the very low end for the more prestigious schemes. My dear @oldshrewsburyian, however, has gone through the exact same grind with early-career researcher hell and temporary visiting jobs, and she did in fact just land a tenure-track position earlier this year, which is wonderful and well-deserved. So: It can happen! I know people who have gotten real academic jobs, in other words! There is hope for the rest of us! Theoretically!

Basically, you’ll need to decide what your appetite is for future study, what kind of positions you might like to apply for and where, what your plan is if that doesn’t work out, if you would be happy doing something history-related but outside academia, if you’re willing to accept that we may not know for several years what the post-COVID job situation is, and all the other major uncertainties right now. I really wish I could give you clarity on these things, but unfortunately, I don’t know myself. Nobody does. So I mean this from the bottom of my heart: Good luck. Hang in there. Let’s hope things get better soon, or at least eventually. Until then, Ave Imperator, etcetera.

#history #school stuff #anonymous #ask

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snappedsky · 4 years

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Fanatics 72

Devi and Johnny attend a fancy party. Previous! Next!

The Social

“-it’d be a great opportunity-.”

“Mom…”

“-there’ll be lots of people-.”

“Mom.”

“-you might even meet a man-.”

“Mom!”

Devi buries her face in her hands. During their one year trip through space, she found herself missing her family and resolved to visit them when she returned. Now she’s very much regretting that decision.

“I’ve told you a million times,” Devi says sternly, “I hate. Going. To parties.”

“I know, dear,” her mom, Marylyn, replies calmly, “but after your yearlong disappearance, don’t you think it’s time you finally did something with your life?” Devi groans. She didn’t tell her parents the truth behind her trip- not that they’d believe it- so they think she just went on some kind of pilgrimage. Which actually isn’t that far off.

“I am gonna do something with my life,” Devi insists, “I’m an artist, remember.” “But when was the last time you made any money off your art?” Marylyn asks.

She sputters, offended. “We-it-it-I-I haven’t a chance yet. I just got back two weeks ago. Things will pick up.”

“Devi,” Marylyn says sternly, “I really wish you could follow your dreams but you need to be realistic. You have bills to pay, groceries to buy. You don’t wanna end up homeless, peddling your paintings on the street, do you?”

Devi groans with annoyance.

“Now, at this social, there will be plenty of upper management workers for many high level businesses,” she continues, “if you were to meet them, they could put in a good word for you and you could get a very high paying job.”

“Great, be a desk jockey,” Devi growls, “I’d rather slit my wrists.”

“Okay, that’s enough,” Devi’s dad, Roger, finally speaks up. “Marylyn, if she doesn’t want to go to the party, you can’t make her. But, Devi, your mother is right. You need to be more realistic and consider your future.” Devi looks away, seething with irritation.

Later that night, she’s lying on the floor of her studio, flipping a paintbrush between her fingers.

Making a living through her art has always been the plan and it’s always been hard. She’s had moments of weakness but she’s never wanted to give up. And where has it gotten her? The only job she had that involved painting was with NERVE Publishing, and that sure didn’t work out.

Sighing heavily, she stares at the blank canvas hanging over her. Mocking her with its blankness. Her dad’s words swirl around in her mind. He’s always been so supportive of her. Have things really gotten so bad that even he’s losing hope?

She sighs again, dropping the paintbrush.

---

“You want me to what?” Johnny asks incredulously.

“Don’t make me repeat myself,” Devi groans.

“A party? Really?”

“Not a party, a social.”

“What’s the difference?”

“It’s fancier,” Tenna remarks, leaning over the arm of his couch.

Johnny groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Why me?”

“I don’t wanna go alone,” Devi replies, “and I can’t bring Tenna. She’ll stand out too much.”

“And I won’t?” he scoffs, “people go out of their way to stare at me in restaurants.”

“You at least know how to be quiet,” she argues.

“Whaddya mean?” Tenna snorts, “I can be hella quiet.” They both stare at her incredulously before Devi looks back at Johnny. “Look, just…come with me, please?”

Johnny groans loudly and immaturely. “What day is it?”

“Saturday.”

“That’s in two days!”

“It’s tomorrow.”

“Fuck!”

“What’s all this screaming about?” Cammie asks as she rolls in from the kitchen.

“Johnny is accompanying Devi to a social,” Tenna replies.

“Oh, wow, that takes me back,” she snorts, “I had to attend a ton of socials with my parents when I was about your age. Don’t you worry, Devi, I’ll get him cleaned up for it. You won’t even recognize him.”

“Thanks, Cammie,” Devi smiles weakly, “it starts at 8 so you’ll have to pick me up at 5:30, just to be safe.” “Ugh, fine,” Johnny groans, folding his arms like a scolded toddler.

That Saturday evening, Devi does some last minute touch-ups to her makeup in the bathroom. Or she tries to, but her hands are shaking too much. So she just grips the counter in aggravation.

“This is a bad idea,” she states.

“Hey, maybe you’ll have fun,” Tenna suggests, leaning against the doorway.

“Not likely,” Devi grunts as she slips by her.

Stopping in the living room, she incessantly taps her foot and checks the time. It’s not 5:30 yet but Johnny is always late. She can’t afford to be late to this thing if she wants to make a good first impression.

She groans and squeezes her arms as she paces around.

“Look, D, if you don’t wanna go to this thing, then don’t,” Tenna says.

“No, no, I-I wanna go,” Devi insists, “or…at least I should.”

“But you’re like super stressed.” “It’s just because I haven’t been to any kind of social event since before we went to space,” she points out, “I’ll be fine once I’m there…probably.”

They both perk up at a knock at the door.

“Ooh, I’ll get it,” Tenna chirps and races over. Devi stays where she is, sighing heavily and hanging her head. She looks up when Tenna exclaims excitedly and steps aside, gesturing dramatically.

“M’lady, your date,” she says as Johnny walks in. He’s dressed in a three piece black suit and tie with his hair smoothed back. He’d be almost unrecognizable if it wasn’t for his permanent scowl and pouty slouch.

“Don’t call me that,” he growls and faces Devi. His scowl disappears in a flash when he sees her. Her black hair has been styled to have tight curls at the ends and she’s wearing dark purple lipstick to match her beautiful purple dress with spaghetti straps and a slit up the right side, with black pumps.

“What?” she grunts, starting to feel a little self-conscious.

“Nothing,” he says quickly, looking away. “You uh look nice.”

“Oh. Thanks,” she replies, “uh so do you.” They both stare at the floor in awkward silence.

“You two are so cute,” Tenna comments, popping up in between them before pushing them out the door. “Now get out there and have fun, you crazy kids.”

As they both stumble into the hallway, she slams the door behind them and they look back incredulously.

“She knows that’s my apartment, right,” Devi grunts.

They both shrug apathetically and head out.

After getting into Johnny’s car, they begin the 1-2 hour drive across the city, depending on the traffic which is always bad. They’re mostly quiet and just listen to the radio. But the sound of Devi’s incessant tapping on her arms catches Johnny’s attention, and he eyes her curiously.

“So why do you wanna go to this thing?” he asks, “doesn’t seem like you.”

Devi hesitates for a second. “…I just thought I should try meeting some people.” “But you hate people,” he points out.

“Yeah,” she sighs, “but it’s…I don’t know. Important, I guess.”

“Hmm,” Johnny grunts, unconvinced, but drops the subject. For now.

They arrive at the venue around eight o’clock. It’s in a penthouse of a fancy, expensive hotel. As they pull into the parking lot, Johnny eyes everyone going inside with disgust.

“Prissy, self-important, sticks-up-their-asses…” he mumbles incessantly.

“Be nice,” Devi warns, “or at least don’t do anything.” They exit the car and go into the hotel. Both of them immediately feel out of place in such an expensive looking place, like if they just look at a vase for too long it might crack.

They walk briskly to the elevator and enter it with two other couples in nice clothing.

“Are you going to the social too?” one of the women asks.

“Uh yeah,” Devi replies, smiling awkwardly.

“I’ve never seen you there before. First time?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, you’ll enjoy it. It’s simply lovely. Good food, nice folk.”

“Th-that’s good,” Devi comments, trying to be polite. Meanwhile Johnny doesn’t even try to mask his scowl.

The elevator arrives and they exit into a large room. On the far wall is a giant window overlooking the city; the wall to their left has a doorway leading to a big balcony. In the middle of the room is a long table with lots of different kinds of finger foods and punch. And clustered throughout are groupings of rich folk, their chatter mixing into a cacophony of “stock market” and “economy”.

Directly outside the elevator is a suited man with a notebook who is checking off the names of guests.

“Hello there,” he says politely as Devi and Johnny approach. “Names please?”

“Um Devi D,” she replies.

“Ah yes, your mother said you were coming,” he says and Devi visibly cringes. “And this is?”

“Uh this is Johnny, my…um…” “Date?”

They both rankle at the word but don’t argue and he marks down Johnny’s name.

“Okay, enjoy the party,” he says and they pass.

“Hoooookay,” Devi sighs heavily as she looks around. Most everyone is grouped up, like a middle school dance. But there are a few by themselves at the food table. They seem to be scanning the room, like her, but more analytically and less fearfully.

A rustling by her side breaks Devi’s train of thought and she glares at Johnny as he tugs at his tie.

“Would you stop that,” she hisses.

“I hate it,” he whines, “a noose is more comfortable.”

“Just-.” She smacks his hand away and takes a deep breath. “Just stay here and don’t do anything.”

He huffs and folds his arms as she walks away to the food table.

“Be confident,” she tells herself as she approaches a well-dressed man holding a glass of punch.

“Hello,” she says, waving to him. “I’m Devi.”

Her skin crawls as he looks her up and down, but she maintains her smile and he smiles back.

“Hello, Devi,” he says and shakes her hand. “I’m James. It’s a pleasure.”

“Likewise,” she replies, “so, James, what is it you do?”

“I am so glad you asked,” he purrs and hands her a business card. “I am CEO of High Rise Banks.”

“High Rise?” Devi questions as she looks at his card. They were the second biggest bank in the city, before Mussolini banks went under.

“Yes,” James says proudly, “as you can imagine, our stocks have really risen since Celio Mussolini passed, may he rest in peace.”

“Uh, he’s not dead,” she points out.

“Yes, but he might as well be. His reputation is ruined.”

Devi struggles not to roll her eyes and smiles instead. “That’s really interesting, James. I bet working in such a…lucrative bank is a great opportunity.”

“It sure is,” he beams, “and a beautiful woman such as yourself would be a great secretary. Why don’t you give me a call sometime and we’ll set up an interview?”

Devi fights every urge in her body to gut-punch the creep and maintains her smile. “Great. Happy to.”

“Fantastic,” James purrs before walking away.

As soon as he’s gone, a heavy sigh heaves through Devi’s body and her smile drops like a ten ton weight. She looks at the business card again. This is good. She probably has a high chance of receiving a job now because of this. It’s good…right?

A heavy pit grows in her stomach as she stares at the card and she sighs again.

“What’s that?”

“Fu-!” she bites her tongue to keep from shouting ‘Fuck!’ as she spins around to Johnny, peeking over her shoulder.

“I told you to stay put,” she hisses.

“I saw you talking to that guy and got curious,” Nny shrugs, “I caught most of it. You were really talking out your ass. You don’t care about ‘High End Banks’ or whatever the fuck.”

“No,” Devi admits as she pockets the card. “But I need a job.”

“So you wanna work with these pretentious assholes?”

“It’s not about what I wanna do, it’s about what I have to do,” she states and turns away. “Why don’t you eat some snacks or something and don’t bother me.”

Johnny watches her walk away, eyes narrowing suspiciously.

Devi spends about an hour talking to people around the party. She didn’t notice before, but most of them are rich, self-important, pompous, creepy white men, sometimes with pretty women hanging off their shoulders like a trophy. And they’re always happy to talk to another beautiful woman, especially when she keeps smiling at everything they say.

It really leaves a disgusting taste in Devi’s mouth.

Johnny watches the whole thing from the table, scrutinizingly observing Devi’s every move. He refuses to interfere, even when a group of women hanging around one older man laugh and insult her like teen girls, and she doesn’t snap back. Not even when another man gets a little too close into her personal space and she doesn’t even step back.

But Johnny can feel himself at his limit when a third man starts getting too touchy. He takes Devi’s hand and starts rubbing her arm. Johnny spots Devi’s other hand twitching, like she wants to slap him. But she doesn’t.

As the man reaches her shoulder, Johnny steps in, grabbing his arm and pulling it back.

“Johnny!” Devi exclaims.

“Who the-!” the man starts to bark but freezes up when Johnny glares at him. Johnny lets go of his limp arm and leads Devi away, despite her protests.

“Johnny! Stop! What are you-!” she snaps as he leads her out onto the balcony, letting her go as he closes the door behind them.

“Why didn’t you punch that guy?” he asks, “I can tell you wanted to.”

“Of course I fucking wanted to,” she snaps, “I want to punch everyone in there! But I can’t. I’m trying to get these people to like me. And I told you to stop bothering me!”

“Then why’d you bring me here!”

She stops, unable to answer.

Johnny takes a deep breath to calm down. “Look. The only reason I didn’t snap that guy’s arm and disembowel him with the punch ladle is because I know this is important to you. But I’m not just gonna watch you degrade yourself.”

“What choice do I have?” she asks hopelessly, “nothing has been working out the way I want it to. I need a job if I’m gonna survive and art is just…is not working out.”

“Have you even tried?” Johnny asks, “we just got back from space like a week ago.”

“Two weeks.”

“Whatever.”

Devi sighs and looks off the balcony silently, rubbing her arms from the chill of the night air.

“Why are you trying to be this person?” Nny asks, “what happened to the badass Devi who never took anyone’s shit? Who helped sabotage an alien ship? Who kicked my ass?”

Devi chuckles lightly but quickly grows somber again. “I don’t know. Maybe my parents are in my head but…I just think…maybe I should start acting like an adult.”

“And who decided this is what being an adult is?” he questions, gesturing to the party. “Granted, I don’t know what it is, but it doesn’t have to be this. Right?”

She doesn’t reply, just looks into the party forlornly.

Johnny sighs and leans against the railing, folding his arms. “Look, I’m not gonna tell you how to live your life. If this is what you want, I’ll…I’ll stay out of it.”

Devi smiles at him gratefully and looks back at the party, then at the city skyline off the balcony. What does she want? “Right now…” she mumbles, “all I want is to…enjoy this view.”

Johnny looks at her with surprise before turning to the city. “It is a nice view.” They stare a second longer when the door opens.

“Devi, everything okay?” James asks as he walks out.

“Uh, yeah,” she replies, “everything’s fine.”

“That’s good,” he says, “so, listen, why don’t you join me at my after party at my house? Some other guests are coming, as well as some friends.”

“Ah, no, I don’t think so,” Devi says, staring at the floor.

“Oh, come on,” James insists and steps closer. Johnny’s eyes narrow angrily but he forces himself to stay put. “A pretty girl like you; you’d be the center of attention.”

James reaches forward and gently brushes his finger against Devi’s cheek, and her patience snapping is nearly audible.

She slaps James across the face, knocking him off his feet. He’s so in shock, he doesn’t even move; just lies there, rubbing his aching cheek. Johnny is surprised too by her sudden shift, but even more pleased.

“That’s it. That’s fucking it!” Devi shouts as she leaves the balcony, everyone staring at her with bewilderment. “Fuck this shit! I am sick of trying to live my life everyone else’s way. I’m gonna become a freelance artist even if it kills me!”

She stomps to the food table, taking out all the business cards she’s earned tonight, tearing them to pieces, and dropping them in the punch bowl.

“Johnny!” she barks.

“Coming,” he chimes, stepping over the still shocked James- but not before giving him a quick kick in the gut- and racing after her. They enter the elevator and leave behind a really stunned party.

They’re quiet as they get into Johnny’s car and drive away. Then Nny asks, “so…what now?”

Devi takes a couple deep breaths, running her fingers through her hair. “I know where we should go.”

A little while later, they arrive at the hill where they had their first date, a long time ago. Leaving behind their uncomfortable shoes, as well as Johnny’s tie and coat, they get out and sit on the hood.

Devi breathes the air deeply before stretching and sighing happily, lying back against the windshield.

“Fuck,” she breathes, “it feels like…a huge weight was just removed from my shoulders. What a waste of time all that was.”

“Yeah,” Nny agrees, “still, pretty worth it to see you floor that asshole.”

“Yeah,” she chuckles.

They’re quiet for a second as they stare at the stars.

“Thanks for coming with me,” Devi says.

“No problem,” Nny replies.

#invader zim #invader zim fanfiction #johnny the homicidal maniac #johnny the homicidal maniac fanfiction #iz jthm crossover #myocs #myart

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tinyshe · 4 years

Text

Story at-a-glance

Technocracy is not based on common pricing mechanisms such as supply and demand or free commerce. Instead, the economy of technocracy is based on energy resources, which then dictates the types of products being produced, bought, sold and consumed

Technocracy, the brainchild of which were scientists and engineers, requires social engineering to keep the system working; hence the need for massive data mining and surveillance

Many of the terms we’ve heard more and more of in recent years refer to technocracy under a different name. Examples include sustainable development, Agenda 21, the 2030 Agenda, the New Urban Agenda, green economy, the green new deal and the global warming movement in general. The Paris Climate Agreement is also part and parcel of the technocratic agenda

Other terms that are synonymous with technocracy include the Great Reset, the Fourth Industrial Revolution and Build Back Better

The common goal of all these movements is to capture all the world’s resources for a small global elite that have the know-how to program the computer systems that will come to dictate the lives of everyone. It’s the ultimate form of totalitarianism and the absolute destruction of personal freedom and privacy

In the video above [go here], James Delingpole interviews Patrick Wood, an economist, financial analyst and American constitutionalist who has devoted a lifetime to researching and understanding technocracy — a resource-based economic system created from scratch that really has no equal in terms of what the average person has any understanding of.

Wood has written two fascinating books on this topic: “Technocracy Rising: The Trojan Horse of Global Transformation”1 and “Technocracy: The Hard Road to World Order.”2

As explained by Wood, this new economic system — which is not a natural one — is not based on common pricing mechanisms such as supply and demand or free commerce. Instead, the economy of technocracy is based on energy resources, which then dictates the types of products being produced, bought, sold and consumed. In essence, energy replaces the concept of money as a commodity.

That’s strange enough, but it gets stranger still. Technocracy, which emerged in the 1930s during the height of the Great Depression, the brainchild of which were scientists and engineers, also requires social engineering to keep the system working.

Sustainable Development intends to take control of all resources, all production and all consumption on planet earth, leaving all of its inhabitants to be micro-managed by a scientific dictatorship. ~ Patrick Wood

If people are allowed to do what they want, consumer demand ultimately drives commerce, but that won’t work here. Instead, consumers need to be directed, herded if you will, to consume that which the system needs them to consume, and in order for that to happen, they need to be more or less brainwashed. As a result, the technocratic system requires extensive surveillance and artificial intelligence-driven technologies to keep everyone in check.

Technocracy Is Not a Political System

What’s more, technocracy seeks to eliminate elected officials and government as a whole. They have no place in this system which, when fully implemented, would run itself more or less automatically, with input at the top by the technological masterminds. There’s also no room for nations or nationalism that might influence behavior.

As noted by Wood, Aldous Huxley’s dystopian novel “Brave New World” offers a compelling glimpse into technocracy. There’s no political system. It’s all run by engineers and scientists, and the algorithms they create. As noted in the description for “Technocracy: The Hard Road to World Order:”3

As a resource-based economic system, Sustainable Development intends to take control of all resources, all production and all consumption on planet earth, leaving all of its inhabitants to be micro-managed by a Scientific Dictatorship.

While the technocratic plan has been underway for decades, things have been rolled out in rapid succession this year. If you’ve formed the impression that we’re all suffering from some sort of “boiled frog” syndrome, you’d probably be right.

Self-evident rights have been stripped from us and people have more or less grown to accept situations that would have been unthinkable a year ago. We’ve been told to work from home and avoid going anywhere. Our businesses have been shuttered “to protect public health.”

We’ve been told to wear face coverings even while outdoors, while eating and in our own homes. We’re now told we’ll have to have vaccine passports if we want to get on a flight in the future, and world leaders are openly talking about the Great Reset.

Now, the central banks were obviously part of this plan too, from the very beginning. The central bank system is crashing as we speak, having reached the end of its functional life as the global debt burden exceeds countries’ ability to pay the interest, but the reset they’re talking about is not another central bank system.

It will be centralized, yes, but again, the very basis of the global economy will shift away from the commodity of money to the commodity of energy. In the interview, Wood explains how the technocratic elite, members of the Trilateral Commission in particular, have influenced and manipulated economic regulations to ensure their success.

Sustainable Development, Agenda 21 — It’s All Technocracy

As explained by Wood, many of the terms we’ve heard more and more of in recent years refer to technocracy under a different name. Examples include sustainable development, Agenda 21, the 2030 Agenda, the New Urban Agenda, green economy, the green new deal and the global warming movement in general.

They all refer to and are part of technocracy and resource-based economics. Other terms that are synonymous with technocracy include the Great Reset,4 the Fourth Industrial Revolution5 and the slogan Build Back Better.6 The Paris Climate Agreement is also part and parcel of the technocratic agenda.

The common goal of all these movements and agendas is to capture all of the resources of the world — the ownership of them — for a small global elite group that has the know-how to program the computer systems that will ultimately dictate the lives of everyone. It’s really the ultimate form of totalitarianism.

When they talk about “wealth redistribution,” what they’re really referring to, Wood notes, is the redistribution of resources from us to them. My previous article, “The Global Takeover Is Underway,” features a video by the World Economic Forum where they straight up say that by 2030, you will own nothing. Everything you need you will rent.

Technocracy 2030 — A Glimpse Into the Future

A glimpse into this future was also offered in a November 2016 Forbes article written by an unnamed person from the World Economic Forum Leadership Strategy team. It reads, in part:7

“Welcome to the year 2030. Welcome to my city — or should I say, "our city." I don't own anything. I don't own a car. I don't own a house. I don't own any appliances or any clothes.

It might seem odd to you, but it makes perfect sense for us in this city. Everything you considered a product, has now become a service. We have access to transportation, accommodation, food and all the things we need in our daily lives …

In our city we don't pay any rent, because someone else is using our free space whenever we do not need it. My living room is used for business meetings when I am not there.

Once in a while, I will choose to cook for myself. It is easy — the necessary kitchen equipment is delivered at my door within minutes … Shopping? I can't really remember what that is. For most of us, it has been turned into choosing things to use. Sometimes I find this fun, and sometimes I just want the algorithm to do it for me. It knows my taste better than I do by now …

The concept of rush hour makes no sense anymore, since the work that we do can be done at any time. I don't really know if I would call it work anymore. It is more like thinking-time, creation-time and development-time …

My biggest concern is all the people who do not live in our city. Those we lost on the way. Those who decided that it became too much, all this technology. Those who felt obsolete and useless when robots and AI took over big parts of our jobs.

Those who got upset with the political system and turned against it. They live different kind of lives outside of the city. Some have formed little self-supplying communities. Others just stayed in the empty and abandoned houses in small 19th century villages.

Once in a while I get annoyed about the fact that I have no real privacy. Nowhere I can go and not be registered. I know that, somewhere, everything I do, think and dream of is recorded. I just hope that nobody will use it against me. All in all, it is a good life.”

However, if you rent everything and have no private property of your own, then who does own all of those things? The technocratic elite that owns all the energy resources does. Disturbingly enough, one form of energy resource that modern technocrats apparently intend to harvest, if patents are any indication, is the human body.

Human Body Activity as an Energy Resource

Microsoft’s international patent8 WO/2020/060606 describes a “cryptocurrency system using body activity data.” The international patent was filed June 20, 2019. The U.S. patent office application,9 16128518, was filed September 21, 2018. As explained in the abstract:10

“Human body activity associated with a task provided to a user may be used in a mining process of a cryptocurrency system. A server may provide a task to a device of a user which is communicatively coupled to the server. A sensor communicatively coupled to or comprised in the device of the user may sense body activity of the user.

Body activity data may be generated based on the sensed body activity of the user. The cryptocurrency system communicatively coupled to the device of the user may verify if the body activity data satisfies one or more conditions set by the cryptocurrency system, and award cryptocurrency to the user whose body activity data is verified.”

The U.S. patent application includes the following flow chart summary of the process.11 This patent, if implemented, would essentially turn human beings into robots. If you’ve ever wondered how the average person will make a living in the AI tech-driven cashless world of the future, this may be part of your answer.

People will be brought down to the level of mindless drones, spending their days carrying out tasks automatically handed out by, say a cellphone app, in return for a cryptocurrency “award.” This kind of merging of digital and biological systems is ultimately what “the Fourth Industrial Revolution” is all about.

Who Are the Technocrats?

While technocracy used to be an actual private club, the technocrats of today do not necessarily have membership cards, so it can be difficult to correctly identify them all. Key players, however, are the members of the Trilateral Commission, Wood says.

You cannot simply join the Trilateral Commission. They select their own members, and it’s by invitation only. A list of the members as of 2020 can be found on FredDonaldson.com.12 Well-known names in the U.S. Trilateral group include David Rockefeller, Henry Kissinger, Michael Bloomberg and Google heavyweights Eric Schmidt and Susan Molinari, vice president for public policy at Google.

Recognizing the necessity of the media, there’s also David Ignatius, a columnist for The Washington Post; David Sanger, chief Washington correspondent for The New York Times; and Gerald Seib, executive editor at The Wall Street Journal.

It’s an interesting list of individuals that can be worth reviewing to get an idea of where, how and through whom technocracy is gaining ground and being implemented. Other groups to look at include:

The Club of Rome

The Aspen Institute, which has groomed and mentored executives from around the world about the subtleties of globalization. Many of its board members are also members of the Trilateral Commission

The Atlantic Institute

The World Economic Forum

The Brookings Institute and other think-tanks

Certain individuals can also be identified by their actions. Examples given in the interview include Bill Gates and British Prime Minister Boris Johnson. Once you become familiar with the technocratic agenda, you can start to recognize the players rather easily.

The Pandemic Is Part of the Technocratic Takeover Too

Last but not least, the pandemic is part and parcel of the technocrats’ Great Reset that will usher in a whole new world of unimaginable restrictions on freedom. It has already accomplished a massive redistribution of wealth — again, from the middle class, from small business owners, to large multinational companies such as Amazon.

Eventually, don’t be surprised if you hear talk about providing everyone with a basic income — a step toward the 2030 cashless “utopia” where you own nothing — and universal debt forgiveness in return for the forfeiture of all rights to private ownership going forward.

The lockdowns also had the effect of demolishing local economies around the world — an entirely needless manmade situation that is now used as an excuse for why we so desperately need to “reset” the economic system, and while we’re at it, we should “build back better.”

Lockdowns and school closings have ushered in calls for more online learning, which locks youths into the digital surveillance matrix to an even greater extent than before, and as the COVID-19 vaccine is being rolled out, it sets the stage for biometric surveillance, tracking and tracing, which will eventually be tied in with all your other medical records, digital ID, digital banking and a social credit system.

All of this in turn requires 5G, which just so happens to be rolling out in the midst of this pandemic. Again, once you become more familiar with the technocratic agenda, you’ll see how all these seemingly random events are not particularly random at all, but weave together, forming a grand net — and we are what’s for dinner.

The answer is to, first, educate yourself and others. I urge you to listen to Wood’s interview in its entirety, as he goes over a lot that I have not summarized here. Once you can see the plan, the next step is to resist and object to any and all implementations of the technocratic agenda. We can win, for the simple fact that there are more of us than there are of them, but we have to be vocal about it — we need to join forces and present a united front.

+ Sources and References

source

Study Feeding Pigs Human Food Canceled for Cruelty

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myrecordcollections · 4 years

Photo

Tu-Do Hospitals

Patients Of.....

@ 1986 W Germany Pressing

*****

1986 - the first TRUST (The Punk Magazine In W Germany) appears. The German hardcore scene is still in its infancy. Some of you will remember vividly and not be able to suppress a few sentimental tears, for others the seriousness of life had not even begun.

One of the better known bands back then was TU DO HOSPITAL. In the first TRUST there was some kind of report about that. 15 years later I ask Winni, who was then singing at TU DO HOSPITAL, about his memories of then and what his life looks like now….

***

Hi, first introduce yourself, what's your name? how old are you? What are you doing?

Winni: Hi - I'm Winni, on this planet for 34 years, currently in San Francisco, California, where I work as a graphic designer.

Winni, you used to sing at TU DO HOSPITAL. in the first TRUST there was a report about you and 2 concerts that you played in leutkirch and linz. that was 15 years ago. what memories do you still associate with the band and the “scene” in germany back then?

Winni: I found the scene very exciting at the time. The whole punk rock history seemed to be changing and a lot of new people came into the scene who were very active and redefined punk rock.

I think a lot of kids came along who were very influenced by the US hardcore scene and that brought new momentum to the movement. Suddenly you saw a lot of new people at the concerts who didn't care how “punk” they looked or whether they were laughed at when they went around with their skateboards.

This may all be a very personal experience, but around the mid-80s there was suddenly a lot going on. Many new bands & zines started, more concerts were organized and all of a sudden there was a network across Germany and other countries that made it possible for bands like ours to play everywhere.

At concerts you often met the same people who were very active, whether it was a cow village in Holland or Kreuzberg - at that time you traveled huge distances to see bands and a lot of people in bands were also involved in organizing concerts and wrote for zines. I think to myself that that has not necessarily changed today, only the “scene” is probably much bigger and more professional today compared to back then.

To stay a bit in the past: TU DO HOSPITAL was a band with very personal lyrics that were probably written by you. “You think you know me, but that's not true. you see my clothes and hear what i say, but what i feel is hidden inside me from you. my thoughts change very often, because i'm learning new things every day, but you have this picture of me and you think i'm still like that ”(from“ wrong image ”). what do you think of your old texts today? and to stick with the wrong image, what kind of person is winni wintermeier today?

Winni: I haven't looked back at the old lyrics for a long time and can no longer find the old record to read it all over again. I can still remember a few fragments and I think that many of the things I wrote back then seem a little naive today. On the other hand, much of it is still valid today and some thoughts have not necessarily changed. I can't even describe in a few words what kind of person I am today.

I could try to describe my personality, but it will probably sound like some sappy personal ad. Who I am and what I do in this world is a question that I continue to research with great interest and which may never be able to answer. This is partly reflected in the old texts.

In retrospect, what significance did the band have in your life? why and how did you break up?

Winni: At that time the band was already an important part of my life. As a result, I have had relevant experiences and met many people who have also shaped my life. We broke up because of musical and personal differences without much drama. We just got to a point where it wouldn't have been easy to continue as a band.

And does it still matter today? are you still in contact with your bandmates? do you even have contact with anyone “from the past”?

Winni: It hasn't lost its meaning, but looking back it was just one of the many important experiences I've had in my life. I lost contact with my old colleagues, but recently a friend sent me a CD from the Carnival of Souls, the band from Achim, the old guitarist.

You now live in san francisco and run the one-man company 3AM (www.3am.net). how did your move come about?

Winni: Boredom drove me to San Francisco in 1992. I had studied photography in Germany for two years and that didn't really help me. I just couldn't imagine going through this for 2-3 years. I had visited San Francisco several times and had become a kind of second home.

I knew a lot of people who do interesting things and there was a lot going on in terms of culture. For me it was very inspiring to take the big leap to concentrate on the things that interest me (music, photography, design, art, etc ...)

Do you see a connection between the punk / hardcore ideals that you also promoted in your texts for TU DO HOSPITAL and what you are doing now? “It's ok if you don't like our music because we don't play what you want to hear. if you don't like the things we sing about, listen and try to understand us. I don't mind if you don't like our music. we put our energy into it and like to play it ”(from“ our music ”)“ i feel young and strong, full of energy. I know how to use my strength, I won't hide it. i live to be creative and not to waste my time. I know there is an end, but I'm not afraid of dying. "(from" 1-2-tu-do ")

Winni: Partly yes, I'm a little “punk rock damaged”. I still have many ideals from earlier times that are reflected in my work. With “3 am” I work on a lot of record covers for various small indie / punk rock labels or just for friends for little money.

These are often projects that are very non-commercial and where no one earns anything materially. On the other hand, I also do a lot of things for bands that call themselves punk, but are basically nothing more than any other rock band that want to be popular and successful.

I often have to make compromises so that I can pay my rent. To get to the quotes - I sometimes wish I had the same energy again that I had at the young age of 18 - my body can no longer keep up with what I plan to do in my head, ha, Ha.

With 3AM you do some graphics / layout things for various punk / hardcore things. how did this collaboration come about?

Winni: A friend of mine was working at a small punk label that had just released two records and needed a graphic designer for their new projects. Back then I had designed a couple of CD covers in Germany that I showed them and all of a sudden I got a lot of work.

The label (Fat Wreck Chords) then grew quite quickly and other labels (Hopeless, Side 1, etc ...) saw my stuff and suddenly it became my full-time job. It was quite hectic because I had to teach myself everything and I had hardly any idea how to use a computer.

Can you live on 3AM?

Winni: So far I've been able to make ends meet, but right now I have to look around a little for new work. The budget for a lot of record covers is quite small and for the last two years I have often helped out with a hi-tech magazine that paid me quite well, but they are just going down the drain.

San Francisco has become very expensive and the new internet economy has almost completely destroyed the city, which has made it very difficult for many people to survive here. At the moment I would like to concentrate more on my photography, because I don't feel like sitting in front of the computer all the time.

Do you actually see your work as political? do you try to make certain statements in what you do? or is that more "art for art`s sake"?

Winni: My graphic arts less, although I often work for bands that are politically oriented in their lyrics. Some of my photos are more political because I am interested in documenting the influence people have on their environment. That suggests more in the direction of photojournalism and as an artist I wouldn't necessarily describe myself because this term is not important to me.

I think that with 3am I will try to create a free space in which I can work for people who have similar points of view and who work outside the big system and that is politically motivated.

what motivates you these days?

Winni: The urge to explore life. I find inspiration for this everywhere, whether it's music, art, literature or the old man sitting around the corner in my café.

What will you do if we repeat this interview in 15 years?

Winni: I don't know - I still haven't decided on a big plan for the future. I'll be able to tell you that in 15 years.

Thanks for your answers!

#Tu-Do Hospitals #Patients Of ..#San Franciso #Punk #Winni #TRUST Magazine

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ibrahimkhalilof · 4 years

Text

This is How I Made $40k In Passive Income By Age 26

I’m talking here about real passive income, not the kind where you spend years writing a book. There’s one caveat though and you need money to make money.

I started investing part of my income every month at age 23. Three years later, I had made $40k in profit tax-free and could put down a deposit on my first house. All with less than an hour of effort per year. $13k per hour of work doesn’t sound bad, does it?

It’s not sexy but I relied on getting a professional job and investing my excess income. Many in my position don’t do this and sacrifice future financial freedom. You can take the profits to start up your own business with less reliance on outside help. Self-funding the initial stages gives you more credibility when asking others for more money.

My Economics bachelors and central bank experience made me confident to invest responsibly. Yet the steps I took weren’t complex and here I break down what I did.

NOTE: Lucky factors went my way with exchange rates, freak performance, and government bonus schemes amongst others. Do not read this and think similar performance can be produced reliably in the future. This is a high-level overview and I do not go into blow-by-blow detail.

Surrendered my arrogance

One of the biggest mistakes I see is people thinking they are exceptional. Investment funds have whole teams of hyperqualified people and complex algorithms. Yet 85.1% of active funds have failed to beat the S&P 500 in the last 10 years. How can you honestly believe you can win?

I bought index and active funds from the major economies rather than individual stocks. This takes the decision making out of my hands. As I’m from the UK, I invested through an ISA (the equivalent of a superpowered Roth IRA) to earn tax-free.

I spread myself out geographically with stocks in the USA, UK, mainland Europe, and Asia. My risk was dramatically reduced as I owned shares in thousands of companies. By using index funds, my fees were far lower than buying individual stocks. When I wanted exposure and index funds were unavailable, I found funds by managers with long histories.

Invested first and spent afterward

Every month, the same amount left my account automatically. I never considered this as spending money so it never factored into my buying decisions. I could start the account with significant savings from 1.5 years of working that were sitting in a low-interest current account.

There are all kinds of apps to encourage people to invest their savings. One of the tricks I dislike is rounding up purchases to send to the pot. You buy a cookie for 20 cents and 80 cents goes straight into your fund. This takes control away from you and leaves your input reliant on chance events. The return is already based on chance so why make it even more uncertain!

Some portray compounding as a type of sorcery. Yet 7% return per year for ten years on ten dollars is $9.67 profit. On a thousand dollars it is $967. Don’t make the excuse of something is better than nothing when you can put away more. It takes time to build a portfolio to the point where it can make a difference in your life. I had a massive advantage by living with my parents.

If you truly want passive income, you need to examine your spending habits too and decide if anything is a luxury you are happy to be without.

Never invested if I couldn’t afford to lose 50%

I could invest more than I did but I always kept some in reserve. If anything happened to me, I could cope with losing half the value of my investments. The amount you’re willing to risk can change over time and change your plans in line with this.

The worst crashes in the S&P history have taken the value to around half but they have always bounced back. We still didn’t fall below this even when news of the pandemic hit or when the financial crisis of 2008 struck. You can be confident a developed country’s stock market won’t completely self-destruct. Only a massive event could do this and then you’d have bigger problems!

Individual stocks can go to zero but it is harder for a fund to do so. You must feel comfortable with the unlikely worst-case scenario for peace of mind. There’s always a chance of great losses and you can’t blame anyone else if you lose more than you can handle. It is possible to lose everything!

Examined my opportunity costs

Let’s not pretend it isn’t a privilege to invest. Not only must you cover your expenses but also your debts. I was fortunate to have student loan debt with an interest of less than 2%. As long as I believed I could beat this rate, it made sense to invest extra money rather than paying off debts early.

Yet I know others are not as lucky. The average stock market return in the long-run has been 7% for the S&P. If the interest on your debt is higher than this, pay it off first! You have to decide your willingness to take the risk if your interest is less than this. I cannot tell you how much. I took a risk by investing in emerging economies and those paid off.

For entrepreneurs, when starting a business you should believe you can beat this rate in the long run. At the time, I didn’t have a business idea I thought would be a better path. You should be confident in forecasting significantly more than this to make the extra effort worth it.

Allowed the money to do its thing

There’s a secret of investing many people seem to forget. Looking at the numbers doesn’t magically make them increase. Interfering too much will backfire.

I thought about taking my money out several times when it looked like the peak. I thought about adding more whenever it looked like the bottom. Every time I was wrong. I would have lost wealth if I had acted. Trying to perfectly time the market will leave you anxious and constantly checking the news. Not to mention the lost income by needing to pay fees for every trade.

What you need to take with you

Investing in the way I did gave me much greater financial freedom. I did it while working a 9–5 and fresh out of university. The hardest part is working to get the money to invest but once you have this, it’s about making the strategy as easy as possible. These are the steps I took and can help you too.

1. Surrendered my arrogance — I bought funds, not individual stocks.

2. Invested first then spent afterward — I could only spend what I hadn’t invested.

3. Never invested if I couldn’t afford to lose 50% — I didn’t put my security at risk.

4. Examined my opportunity costs — I was sure it was the best use of my money.

5. Allowed the money to do its thing — I didn’t obsessively check on it.

Thank you for reading and have a wonderful day! Remember this is my story and you must examine the risks for yourself. I have intentionally not given the exact funds because they may not perform the same in the future.

Any actions taken are completely at your own risk, this should not be considered financial or legal advice. I am not a financial advisor. Please consult a financial professional before making major financial decisions.

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