#ghana got some much shit to worry about

[grabyourpillow]

So. American gods.

Season 2 and most of the time I'm still like "I have abso-fucking-lutely no idea what any of you people want or what is happening right now or even who you people are.

Summary

What I can say is, every culture that ever set foot in America brought their gods with them. But as a new age rises upon mankind, dominated by non-believers and technology, a new kind of gods threatens the existence of the Old. Will they have it? Or will there be war. And this is already saying... Too much imo.

The characters

So there is our protagonist:

Shadow Moon. What a name. I like him. He gets thrown into a weirdness one could not possibly comprehend and he's like "what the FUCK. Aight I'm intrigued let's keep going" and plays checkers with a dude might-be-a-god but who definitely wants to explode Shadow's brains with a hammer. You go king.

Laura Moon.

Don't worry about her she's fine. Just dead. but fine, except for the smell and the maggots maybe. She is the most ???? Character. Completely unhinged. I love her. She wants blood, and violence. Now she's got superhuman strength. Stomped on a guy's head.

This guy:

A fucking delight of a Leprechaun who swears a lot and drinks a lot and is pissed all the fucking time and gambled his lucky coin away. That is now keeping Laura alive so he has to be with her at all time, for a coin must be given. What a charm (sarcasm) of a guy. Still like him.

What a goddess. What a queen. Has kissed probably every Character in the show(I'm so jealous).

A god from Ghana, shipped to America on the same ship as his people. If I had to pick a fave— let's just say, he'd have good chances. He is well dressed, he is funny as hell, and he is pissed. Rightfully so.

Ilhim so he gets a second picture

This is Salim. Salim is just a nice, guy, He deserves the best. He's looking for the guy he fell in love with. Hope it works out.

One of the new gods. The most insufferable motherfucker you've ever seen in your life. And that's before you've heard him talk. He's pathetic and arrogant, and literally no one respects him. Why do I like him. He has the babygirliest most obnoxious outfits, and his only friend has forgotten him. It's like... Pat pat Cry me a river babygirl but also fucking calm down and have some motherfucking respect.

I've only had this genderfluid native American Person for a day and a half but if anything happened to him/her I would kill everything in the room and then meself.

This is Wednesday. Let's just say. He is behind, a lot of things. Manipulative motherfucker but you'd never know it until you've known him for long enough. He pisses on the tree of life. He has no care in the world. For some reason he needs Shadow Moon.

The show

It's like. Nothing (narratively) is served to you on a silver platter. Stories are told to you, and you have no idea why. You have absolutely no idea at the beginning of a story what it's about, or even if it's important or necessary to the story, or why it's told to you.

(of course it is, but sometimes you don't make the connection until much, much later).

You have no idea who the main character is until like. Mid season 2.

Each time a new episode begins, I checked if I hadn't missed one because the characters are suddenly not where you left them with no explanation whatsoever.

The characters do things and you're like "????" Why tf did you do that? I don't get it? What is the purpose? What is the coherence with your personality or your narrative arc?

But it's just life isn't it? Sometimes shit happens. Sometimes you act on impulse. And it does make sense actually. Only in retrospect.

It's great to see in comparison to the sandman where everything is crafted, every story pulled by the strings of Dream's narration. Here it's just, a mess. A chaos, mingling of feelings, personalities, aspirations, gods from different countries, overlapping stories. And from that chaotic meeting of loose parts emerges the story.

And it's also great to watch in a context where, everything has to be attention grabbing in the first 10 seconds or it's dismissed. Here the story is asking you to trust it. To not seek purpose or quick entertainment but to immerse yourself and just, listen.

I'm not finished yet but I can already sense that it's the kind of work you can rewatch and it's completely different the second time around.

And of course throw in there some "fucking hell this line came into my house through the window, punched me in the face and turned my whole worldview upside down", some beautiful, beautiful cinematic shots, an equal treatment of characters no matter their gender or skin color, and underlying themes and you've got another great work of Neil Gaiman.

[sirravenous2]

My whole life has been a rollercoaster.

I've fought through the very physical as well as degrading mental abuse from childhood. That experience turned to evil vengeful hateful actions during my 20's. Always hiding my depression.

Then being betrayed by the one person I thought wouldn't do me harm.

People trying to exploit me when down.

My love blinded me.

I thought my life would never got better.

I completely had given up on love.

Fuck, I couldn't trust anyone, especially with all these online fakes a hundred a day.

Wrong guy, I smell scammers from half way around the world!

At this point I no longer believe that anyone could accept the love I gave, honest, loyal, communicating, passionate nurturing love.

And I can't see anyone that could literally legitimately love me back loyally & being truly honest & open.

And if I did try the girls must of thought they were far too damaged, they didn't deserve wholesome pure love or the famous bullshit;

I must be too good to be true!

Smh...

Deep down I hoped some one would come along & show me the true meaning of what a committed relationship was.

We could share notes, effort & iron things out...ll

Love we both are missing.

I'd be singing in the shower again, content finally.

I just wish too much in a world full of damaged people quick to compare a great guy or girl to their last piece of shit narcissist or abusive cunt, or a thief of time, money, ability to trust, etc...

Is it possible that an actual truly good person could maybe, just maybe have their own little fairytale; if people could let go of past idiots or gold diggers or shit humans?

Should one just wait for it till it's too late, or your tomorrow didn't come?

Fuck... I don't know.

I've been close, but no cigar.

I'm still waiting, searching, not like I used to.

Because shit, I've walked the soles from my feet trying to hopefully find my person, that one & only.

And with a heart that bleeds, it's fractured & still pained...

My mind nowadays relentlessly guarding the last pieces of the only heart I have, pushing more people away because through experience being single my 1st thought about each new person is: Bitch is fake, A dude from Nigeria/Ghana who knows..with some stolen pics of some poor girl who has no clue a Motherfucker is pretending he's her. (I'm never fooled, all fakes have suck ass grammar).

If I approach any woman to learn who they are, and to see if they are my compliment, not my completion.

It'll turn out I'm not their compliment because they want more than me, more like material things or monetary gain not love & romance happily ever after!

With this world going government ape shit with control actually being the 1% or ELITES, YOU ALL NEEDN'T BE WORRIED ABOUT MONEY & THINGS!

More like who will be by your side when majority of population are just things controlled, used or disposed of like trash?

Time counts, time never stops & what passes is forever gone, no money can buy time back, you cannot bargain or borrow time.

No money will purchase happiness or love.

And NOBODY is promised tomorrow!

So no rush to love out of fear!

Yet I weigh on each hand what's worse?

Dying alone still waiting on an imaginary perfect person?

Or, not dying but aging till the heart slows too much & the search ends & nobody their to even know you're dead?

As the sunsets in our eyes that final time, you turn to look beside you:

I want to see in someone eyes that's right there saying my last I love you, & go in peace because our lives were full.

After all what becomes of that real lover, the soulmate that never had deviant motives or hidden agenda?

They never had silence, gave all of themselves, always loyal, affectionate with passion & compassion and was always honest, never abandoned you?

That's loving.

Real living!

Or...

A heart beating slower saddened wasting what somebody missed because of pride, shy, comparison of that past experience keeping them there, pushing others away as if that last narcissistic guy still has control or became magically this new legitimate person?

And then twin flames who missed connection..

Sadly both alone, apart, yet still simultaneously hearts stop beating.

It's over.

Your mind is a good thing but we should always trust our heart & gut more and our mind plays tricks!

Just hear me out...

Don't let the last fuck up person or your mind seal your heart.

And never having the chance to have your last beat be with the one you belong with.

Nobody is promised a tomorrow.

[nahimjustfeelingit-writes]

Imagine

The Reader and Erik’s friends are trying to set them both up on a blind date but the catch is...they’re already dating.

Warnings: Fluff. Slight smut, short.

When friends interfere there is no going back....

Four women positioned around a freshly baked pan of peach cobbler with spoons in their hands scooping it out to add to their bowls of vanilla ice cream. It was after they just had a steak dinner and some red wine. They all planned to go out with their boyfriends to a Carnival that’s in town. All accept for Y/N who was single and would be without a date to attend the Carnival. Her friends and and their boyfriends had a trick up their sleeves. Y/N wasn’t going to be the single one out of the group any longer...

“What are you smiling about, Y/N?” Nisha, Y/N’s friend since the 4th grade asks while trying to peek at her phone.

“Just these dumb ass memes, they are so funny,” Y/N giggles, “I swear, the internet is undefeated.”

“For a second there I thought you were talking to some guy.”

Y/N placed her phone face down, looking up at Nisha with a tight smile on her lips as if she was hiding something, “When you know, you’ll know.”

“Well,” Nisha looked around at the other two women. Frankie, Y/N and Nisha’s friend from college who has smooth butter pecan skin and shoulder length layered Auburn hair and Lanay, Nisha’s cousin who stood at 4’ 11, chubby, long natural hair that reached her waist, shared the same sneaky look with Nisha, “We just might know sooner than you think.”

Y/N licks the sweet peaches from her spoon, before taking her tongue to lick the sugary bits off her upper lip, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“We took it upon ourselves to set up a blind date for you tonight,” Frankie spoke up first.

“A blind date? Really y’all?” Y/N let’s out a suppressed laugh while giving all of them an odd look, “Listen, I trust y’all judgment but...I’m not tryna go on a date with a man-“

“He’s perfect! You said we know you right? This one is the exact match for you. Funny, intellectual, tall, smells great, very very handsome, has a career-“

“Can’t forget his voice...we know how much you love a man with a sexy voice-“

“You guys, calm down,” Y/N held up her hands at all of them, “I’m good. I’ve been tagging along while y’all are in relationships so what’s the difference?”

“It’s just time, sis. Time to forget about the whack motherfuckers you’ve been with and open your heart to a new and improved man.” Lanay spoke while secretly being nudged in the arm by Frankie to say something.

“Is he a build-a-nigga? Y’all talking about him like he was made in a factory like a Ken doll.”

“He’s that great!” Nisha says with excitement, “Honestly, you two will hit it off instantly when we get to the Carnival.”

Y/N could do nothing but giggle at her girls. They were so pushy when it came down to trying to hook her up with men. All Y/N wanted to do was go to the Carnival and have some fun on rides that she hadn’t been on since she was in high school.

“The only reason why I’m going to agree to this is because he could possibly win me a big Pikachu and I’ve ALWAYS WANTED a big Pikachu. This is strictly on a friend level, okay?”

“When you see him, you won’t say that anymore,” Frankie wagged her brows.

“He’s that amazing, Ugh,” Lanay touches her heart like she was in love.

“Why don’t you two share him then?” Y/N poked fun at them both, “Y’all seem more excited about him than I do.”

“He can win you the big Pikachu and he can give you big orgasms,” Nisha shrugs.

“SIS,” Y/N shoves her, “Why are you so nasty? I’m not sleeping with this man, whoever he is, what’s his name anyway?!”

“Can’t, you’ll find out when we get there-“

Lanay cuts off Nisha, “because we know you start judging based off of names-“

Y/N cuts off Lanay, “Well, can you blame me? Names can tell a lot about a man.”

A knock came to Nisha’s door, a big smile on her face while she rubbed her hands together deviously, “That’s Craig and Shawn. Chavez and your mystery man are going to meet us at the Carnival.”

“Wait...,” Y/N says while Nisha walks away to open her door, “So ALL OF YALL are in on this?”

“The guys are friends with him. We’ve all hung out together before. Not so much lately because he’s been busy but that’s how we met him,” Frankie clarifies.

“Okay...see...y’all are some plotting, medaling, motherfuckers,” Y/N snatched up her black mini backpack that had a cute pink and black faux fur dice key ring attached to it, walking away and towards the living room where Nisha talked with Craig and Shawn. Craig and Shawn are tall and muscular like a couple of football players. Craig is Trinidadian and Shawn is from Ghana. Both of them could pass for brothers. Smooth carob skin with matching kinky fros and thick facial hair.

“Sup, Y/N,” Craig playful gave Y/N dabs to mess with her, “You ready to get on some roller coasters?”

“I’m ready to fuss both of y’all out,” Y/N says with her hands on her hips, “What is wrong with y’all setting me up on a blind date?”

“Just tryna look out for you. We approve, you’ll be fine,” Shawn spoke nonchalantly.

“Y’all get on my damn nerves,” Y/N rolls her eyes, “can we go?”

“Yeah, the car is unlocked, Miss Salty,” Craig always called Y/N that, “Yeah, my mans would love you. He like girls with attitude and mouth.”

“Well your MANS don’t know who he’s fucking with.”

————————-

Finally at the Carnival, Everyone entered in a group, making their way towards the arcade where Chavez said to meet. Y/N couldn’t help but to adjust the short pleated black skirt that she wore and the cropped black tank with a chain lace up in the front. She looked cute and sporty. If she was going to entertain this man for the duration of the night at least look good. The big arcade sign with the outrageously bright lights couldn’t go unnoticed as they approached. Y/N instantly spots Chavez sharing a blunt with a guy who’s back is turned towards them with a white hoodie on that had the words, Good Sex No Stress One Boo No Ex Small Circle Big Checks on it in pink lettering. Black sweats on and white Nike Hauraches, he was indeed tall, maybe 6’ 3 1/2. He could also pass for a football player too. Chavez was the shortest out of all the men but he was still tall, caramel skin and a close cut.

“There he isssss,” Nisha says to Y/N while her arm was linked with Craig’s, “You ready?”

“Nisha, shut up,” Y/N rolls her eyes.

“Hey, they’re here,” Chavez taps the mystery guys shoulder, “Where’s YN-“

“Hey Chavez,” she looked over to the guy who was currently putting out the blunt on the wall of the arcade.

“Erik, this is Y/N. Y/N, Erik.”

HOLY SHIT.

Y/N sucked in a panting breath. She was stunned where she stood. Those onyx eyes. Those full lips. That broad nose. The dreads that peaked out of the top of his hood. Is this really happening?

“I told you sis,” Nisha laughs are her friends stuck expression, “Erik, I’m sorry she’s being so damn rude.”

Erik blinked like he was back to reality. His composure was more put together than Y/N’s. He clears his throat, putting out his hand for her to shake.

“Sup’ ma?”

Y/N grabs his large calloused hand, shaking it slowly, “H-Hi.”

“She is shook,” Frankie whispered as she approached her man, Chavez, to give him a kiss.

“So, where to first?” Craig asks.

“Doesn’t matter to me,” Nisha looked around the group, “What do y’all think?”

“Maybe we can play some games first,” Erik suggests with his eyes still on Y/N, unblinking.

“You could win Y/N a big Pikachu,” Lanay spoke with enthusiasm, “She always wanted one.”

“I can do that,” Erik looks Y/N up and down, “That’s okay, right?”

“Y-yeah,” She gave a shivering inhale, “Sure.”

—————————

“Get these rings around the bottles to win a big Pokémon.”

Erik accepted his rings, rolling up the sleeves to his hoodie before looking down at Y/N then over his shoulder. The others were occupied with other Carnival games to worry about Y/N and Erik. Y/N was mute the entire time, afraid to even look at Erik.

“You can breath now, baby girl,” Erik tosses the first ring successfully, “They are far enough away for you to be yourself around me like you were last night.”

“Erik,” Y/N whispered while watching him make the second bottle, “I didn’t want them to know about us until I knew for sure that this was official.”

“We just started dating like, almost a month ago, Y/N. I know you have your boundaries and shit but if I’m putting in time with one girl that’s what it is. I told you this before-“

“Then you should know why I am the way I am. I’ve been played plenty of times, okay?”

Erik tosses the third ring, the Game Worker impressed with his skills since most people miss. He pauses, looking down at Y/N with his onyx eyes that made her melt, “This ain’t just a what the fuck moment for you, it is for me too. They wouldn’t tell me who you were and them niggas kept nagging me to give it a chance so I went along with it to play nice but now that I know it’s you, ain’t no playing nice. Consider this date number three, sweetheart.”

Y/N blushes with a bite of her lower lip, “If you win me that Pikachu I’ll give you a secret kiss in the tunnel of love.”

“How about a secret touch too? Can a nigga get that?”

Y/N rolls her eyes with a pretty smile, “Depends on what this touch is.”

“Hmmm,” Erik squints his eyes with a dimpled smile, “You just gotta wait and see what these hands can do. They had you squirming with just a cuff of that ass.”

“Stopppp,” Y/N whispers.

Erik made the fourth ring. This was already set in the bag.

“Wow!” The Game Worker who’s name tag read Kenny claps, “Three more rings and the Pikachu is yours!”

“It’s already mine,” Y/N says while watching Erik continue to be successful, “He’s just that good.”

“Let me get it down.”

Y/N squeals, jumping up and down before giving Erik a one arm hug. She looked over her shoulder and noticed Nisha, Frankie, and Lanay pointing and laughing. If only they knew.

“Chill out, ma. It’s just a hug. You acting like you got your tongue in my mouth or something...unless?” Erik licks his lips, “I know how much you like my tongue.”

“Get my Pikachu, big head.”

Erik chuckles, grabbing the Pikachu and handing it to Y/N. It was almost let height with how short she is.

“You look fucking adorable with your fine ass.”

“Thank you handsome,” Y/N reached for his hand, “Take me to the tunnel of love.”

—————————-

It wasn’t a tunnel of love it was a scary tunnel. Y/N didn’t see how this would be romantic but it was dark enough for Erik to get his kiss and touch. Y/N and Erik were last to get in, the rest of their friends in wagons before them. Erik placed the Pikachu in his lap, taking one of his arms to wrap around Y/N, stroking her arm as the wagons entered the dark tunnel. Out of no where, dark green lights ignited their path, misshapen mirrors on the walls and smoke rising from below the tracks.

“This is so damn eerie,” Nisha looked around with wary eyes, “I’m scared somebody gonna pop out.”

Y/N wasn’t bothered nor did she have to time to admire the tunnel because Erik was kissing her neck. The big ass head of the Pikachu covered his actions. He was tonguing her neck down, Y/N’s eyes fluttering shut. her feet in her platform vans went up on her tiptoes and her thighs clenched tightly. Her mouth opened slowly when his tongue licked her ear, a quiet gasp escaping her mouth. Erik tickled her ear with the air from his nose when he started laughing.

“Don’t make me put you in my lap, Y/N.”

As good as that sounded, she couldn’t do that anyway since they were on a ride. His hand came from around her to rest on her upper thigh. Erik squeezes it, Y/N making her thighs go tight so Erik wouldn’t get his hand up her skirt.

“Stingy.” He whispers before smacking her thigh.

Y/N kisses her teeth, looking straight ahead at her friends before opening her legs.

“Oh? I can get in there now? We moving from first base?”

“You are an ass,” Y/N jumps when she feels his finger tips on her crotch.

“This a phat pussy,” He looked down at her, his face bathed in the green light so lustful, “I just know she juicy too.”

“Shut...up,” Y/N pulled in a lung full of air when Erik’s fingers pinched her pussy lips together.

“Yep, nice and phat.”

Y/N was still stuck on the fact that Erik is her blind date when they are already dating. Now, his hands were up her skirt rubbing and pinching her pussy lips. He was making her soaking wet and she knew for sure he could feel it.

“YES LETS GET OUT OF HERE THIS IS BORING.” Frankie yells from the front causing everyone else to laugh.

Erik slaps her pussy a few times before taking his hand from under her skirt. Y/N let’s out a disappointing sigh as the wagons line up outside of the tunnel. Erik gets out, teaching down to grab Y/N out with one arm. He hands her the Pikachu before wrapping his arm around her shoulder.

“Y’all move quick I see,” Craig commented while watching Erik and Y/N.

“Y’all were right, I’m feeling her so far,” Erik says while staring at Y/N like she was the most precious thing on earth.

“Awww how cute,” Lanay looked like she wanted to take a picture of the moment.

“Where to next?” Chavez asked.

“A roller coaster?” Y/N suggests, “We can do The Volcano.”

“Oh, hell nah. I know that’s not the one where your legs are swinging?!” Frankie looked petrified.

“Those are the best ones though,” Erik was down.

“Count me out. Baby, can we try the Wild One?”

The Wild One is a standard wooden roller coaster.

“Yeah, babe, that’s fine.”

They both left to go there, leaving everyone else to go on The Volcano.

The walk was pretty short, Erik and Y/N hand in hand. The line for The Volcano was pretty short. Y/N placed her Pikachu near a shelf with her bag. She got in her seat, bringing the bar down in front of her to secure it. Erik helped her out, tightening it to make sure it was in place. The Ride Worker came around, pushing down on the padded bars before pulling it to make sure it was in place. The worker put his thumb up to signal that it was all clear before the ride started up. It was one of those coasters that has a fast take off. Y/N squeezed Erik’s hand, causing him to laugh before the ride blasted off causing Y/N to scream at the top of her lungs.

—————————

Her hair was definitely a mess but she didn’t care. Her and Erik were in line alone for another roller coaster. It was the Wild One. They sat close together, their thighs touching and Erik placing his hand in her lap.

“You still look sexy as fuck with a messy bun.”

“I should have known not to fix my hair all fancy,” Y/N glances up at Erik, “This is my favorite date of ours so far.”

The ride began to ascend.

“Mines too. Especially hearing you scream like a fucking banshee,” Y/N shoves Erik, his laugh making her smile.

“I always scream on roller coasters even when I love them.”

“It’s cool,” Erik’s hand went further up her skirt.

“Erik, what are you doing?” Y/N looked down at his hand spreading her thighs. She could see him pull her panties to the side, her pussy instantly feeling the wind and cooling the heat she felt from being so damn turned on. He takes his thumb and his middle finger to spread her lips, the tip of his pointer finger rubbing circles around her clit. Y/N’s head went back, eyes closing and her moans caught in her throat.

“We’re almost there,” Erik speaks in a soft tone, making Y/N crave him more. His fingers traveled lower, two of them leisurely sinking inside of her pussy. Y/N moans softly, her hands coming out in front of her to firmly grasp the bars before the feeling of falling overcame her. Everyone else around her screamed through the thrill but all Y/N could do was moan and smile with Erik’s fingers attacking her pussy. Her hair whipped across her face with every turn, Erik watching her with a big handsome smile. Another drop came, Y/N squealing a little while her hips moved in tandem with Erik’s thrusts. She never felt this charged in her life, her body leaned in towards his during a turn, her laughs and gasps of pleasure against his neck. Erik turns his head, her hair in his face while their lips crashed. The ride began to slow down her thighs tightening around his hand because she didn’t want him to stop. Erik reluctantly pulls his hand out, causing Y/N to whimper. He licks his fingers clean before helping her out of the cart and adjusting her skirt. Her but was no longer there, long curly hair all over her head. Erik smooths her hair out of her face before giving her a kiss.

“OOOOOOOOO!!!!!”

Both of them turn to spot their friends watching.

“That’s my boy Erik!” Shawn called out before wolf whistling.

“YALL ARE SO CUTE!” Nisha looked like a proud mother.

Y/N looks up at Erik through her lashes, “Should we tell them?”

Erik wraps his arm around her shoulder, walking Y/N over to get her bag and her Pikachu, “Nah, let’s drag this out, it’s fun.”

“You are so devious.”

[romolite]

*Important FAQ*

Aka questions that pertain to what I usually post about or stuff I don’t like getting asks about but continue to get asks about regardless.

[Insert any invasive question about my ethnicity/race]

I’m Ghanaian American. My parents were born in Ghana and I was born here in the US. I’ve seen it more on twitter and tumblr, but Black Africans don’t like me because I’m American, and black Americans don’t like me because I’m African. So I’m stuck in the middle lmao. I’m what you’d consider a First-Generation African, my parents are Continental Africans, and if I have children, they will be considered Generational African Americans.

First Generation African: A black person born in the US to parents who were born in Africa

Generational African American: A black person born in the US to US-born black parent(s)

Continental African: A black person born in Africa to parents who were also born in Africa

Non is just a prefix, black people don’t have a monopoly on the term! I suppose you think nonbinary people are racist huh?

Yeah sure it wasnt coined by black people but the context it’s currently used as was predominantly used by black people. ALL people who are not black benefit from and contribute to antiblackness, even if they are marginalized themselves. That kind of dynamic doesnt exist in other contexts (unless we’re talking about transfem + transmisogyny, but that’s something you’d have to talk to someone who is transfem about. Plus they have their own word for  “non-transfem”). Using it in contexts outside of antiblackness is appropriative (Yall are annoying as fuck with the “non-aspec” “non-lesbian”(this term also has anti-bi roots btw) “non-bi” shit etc, stop it. You also can’t complain about the “replacement terms” lumping yall with oppressors when “non-x” does the exact same thing you’re so worried about. “Cis” puts cis gays with cis hets, cis disabled people with cis abled people, cis white people with cis poc, I could go on.) 

Plus we’re talking about marginalized groups here. Black people are a marginalized group. Binary people as a whole are not so the term nonbinary isn’t appropriate at all.  I dont take issue with terms like “nonamerican” or “nonwhite” because (obviously) whites + americans as a whole aren’t oppressed for being white or american.

Basically using "non-x” in contexts to talk about oppression bad, everything else good.

Follow up: If we can’t use non-[marginalized group], what can we use instead?

There are other words to describe the people you’re talking about

non-transfem- TME

non-LGBT- cishet, or people who aren’t LGBT

non-trans - cis

Black people don’t have a monopoly on the acronym nb! I’ll call myself nb if I want to!

At this point I dont really care, go on your antiblack crusade elsewhere and out of my inbox, I’m always gonna mean nonblack when I use the acronym nb. 

And yes, you’re antiblack as fuck if you think black people telling you “nb” stands for “nonblack” is the same as exclusionists claiming “aspec” is for autistic people.

Is x AAVE?

I have a tag dedicated to what is and is not aave and how harmful it is for nonblacks to use aave given its history. I know some things overlap with southern culture but others are specifically for black people. A lot of “stan twitter” language/slang is just repackaged AAVE. No, I can’t tell you how to stop using AAVE. Don’t tell me you’re going to try to stop using AAVE, I don’t want to hear it.

Why don’t you like the n-word being compared to LGBT slurs?

Race and Sexuality/Gender aren’t comparable topics because each deals with a different history of oppression. I don’t care about slur discourse that much because I don’t even use/reclaim any myself except the n-word.

I have a problem with nonblack LGBT people co-opting black culture and struggle(like they always do), especially for trivial online discourse.

And to be honest it goes deeper than slur discourse. Every other day someone is weaponizing the oppression of black trans women, or comparing “cishet aces/aros” in the LGBT community to white/nonblack people invading black spaces (you know, something that ACTUALLY takes resources away from the people who need it, see the cultural appropriation of Black African and Blac American culture in literally any nonblack community while black people get demonized for said culture), or tokenizing their black friends to get away with something blatantly racist. And that’s not even getting into how a lot of gay slang/stan culture is just repurposed AAVE/black culture.

And I’m not gonna lie, I’ve seen this more with exclusionist accounts than inclus accounts, but it’s still not excusable for inclus to do that either. We get erased as black gay/trans/queer/aspec people up until it’s time for discourse accounts to bring us up to one-up each other

Can you give me advice on x?

Most likely not, because I’m not an expert or an advice blog. I’ll try, but don't take my word for it. I’m also tme, able-bodied, not Jewish, singlet, etc, so I’m not able to accurately answer questions about transmisogyny, (physical?) ableism, antisemitism, “sycourse”, etc.

I might be able to give advice on school-related stuff since I just graduated high school, but remember that students are not a monolith, and what worked for me may not work for someone else.

Can I follow if I’m nonblack/a minor/cishet?

Nonblack and/or cishet can follow but watch your step, minors blacklist the #minors dni tag before following

Why do you hate Ao3?

*long sigh*

I don't, I have a problem with the fact that it allows racist and (frankly voyeuristic) pedophilic/abusive/incestuous content to exist on its platform. It’s a good concept overall, but the devs are complicit in allowing “underage” and “noncon/dubcon” fics on their platform.

And there's the fact that they somehow need donations every year despite exceeding their goal several times over each year?

What’s wrong with Hazbin Hotel/The Ships/Vivziepop?

[WIP, as I have to go into extensive detail about this and I currently don’t have the energy for it]

TLDR: Viv made a half-assed apology for supporting racists (one of whom did blackface [yes the mask was used to do blackface shut up] to mock black activist) and drawing gross content. Her current projects including Hazbin Hotel are full of anti-gay/trans/aspec (Angel Dust, Vaggie, Alastor), antisemetic (Mimzy), and racist (Vaggie again, that yellow cyclops character that I’ve forgotten the name of) content under the guise of humor. If you’re into that shit, whatever, just don’t follow me and don’t whine when I make posts criticizing it.

What’s wrong with Hamilton?

Aside from the fact that it’s very obviously glorifying slave owners and made people worldwide believe the founding fathers were good people, LMM, the creator, is nonblack. This isn't his story to tell at all. 

Can you tag x?

I have a list of things I usually tag because they come upon this blog a lot. I cannot do catch all tags, as I have way too many followers for that. The closest thing to that is the “ask to tag” tag when there’s something potentially triggering but I’m not sure what it is. Everything is tagged as “x tw”. If something is extremely triggering, I’ll tag it as “major tw”

Do you tag slurs?

I tag slurs I’m not able to reclaim at all (i.e., d slur, f slur, t slur) or slurs I can reclaim but are being used as a slurs. I don’t tag the n-word, as I reclaim that one. I always tag the r slur

Can I message you about something/someone?

Unless you’re a mutual, most likely no. My DMs are only open to mutuals.

Do you want to be mutuals?

I don’t usually follow back people who follow me, especially if you’re under 16 or post things I’m not interested in.

Why is it important to have byf or about?

1) So I know gross people aren’t following me. This is not up for discussion

2) So I know someone’s not speaking out of their lane, which tends to happen a lot. (i.e, someone refusing to disclose that they are tme when discussing transmisogyny, someone not having their race listed when discussing racism)

3) Some people don’t want to interact with people under 18 or over like 30 or something.

Yeah, yeah, people aren’t entitled to personal information and all that crap but I have a serious problem with people speaking on topics from a place of privilege. Not to say they can’t talk about those things, just perhaps add a disclaimer that you’re privileged when talking about these things and be open to criticism, and NOT blocking people of the said marginalized group when they tell you something you’ve said was problematic.

I also have a problem with people who are intentionally vague about their age. There’s a difference between interacting with someone who’s 20 and someone who’s 29. I don’t want to say it’s the opposite for minors but at the same time there’s a difference for saying something racist at 13 and doing so at 17, and keeping your age vague makes it harder to determine how to deal with something like that. (Not that 13-year-olds shouldn’t know better, it’s just I don’t feel whole ass callout posts and receipt blogs are necessary for someone of that age).

Also anyone under 16, I can't stop you from following, but keep your interaction limited, please. This isnt an 18+ blog but I do rb suggestive jokes from time to time

I sent you an ask and you never answered it!

It’s likely that

I never got it

You were blocked

I’ve already answered this or it’s been answered in my faq

It’s a random positivity ask (which I appreciate but not sure how to respond to those)

You were rude in your ask and I didn’t feel like answering

I forgot until it was too late, which happens when my inbox gets a lot of asks at a time.

You sent it to the wrong blog (I.e, sending asks about my ocs to this blog instead of @ochood )

Hey, the op is [insert post] is [someone on my dni]! I usually double-check myself, just to be sure.

Have you heard about [someone who is mutuals with someone I’m loosely connected with]?

Most likely, no. And unless they’re an immediate danger to someone or they’ve got my name in their mouth, I don’t care.

Do you know who [x person/group/thing] is?Most likely no. Not to sound like a hipster but I don't usually keep up to date with trends. If I do hear about something, it’s most likely from twitter or Instagram.

Why am I blocked? Check here.

Why do you continuously move mains/change URLs/update themes?

I’m inconsistent. And sometimes there are posts on my blog that I no longer stand by.

Can I tag you in posts I think I’d like?Of course! 

[spidercakes]

Peter is a famous cat burglar and Tony is a police officer trying to catch him

Omg this is so fun! I love this idea :) Went with a little bit of identity porn for it as well.

*

MJ is freaking out and yeah, Peter too because he totally didn’t see this coming. “Is she okay?” Shuri, princess Shuri of Wakanda, asks as she gestures to MJ hyperventilating on his couch.

Peter doesn't know how me manages to play it cool but he does. “She’s fine,” he says, “and much more competent than she looks.” Mostly because at the moment she looks like she’s a panicking fifteen year old but she’s good, very good, its why Peter works with her. And also she blackmailed him and Ned into stealing some artifacts like seven years ago and he’s gotten good at it so now he does it for a living. The funny thing is that he’s dating a cop, which Peter takes personal pride in because Tony isn’t exactly stupid. Actually he’s way too smart to be a cop but for whatever reason that’s where he ended up.

“Good, so you can do it then?” Shuri asks and Peter nods. “Great, if you get caught its better you than us,” she says and Peter frowns. “Using Wakandan tech would be a little obvious, would it not?” she points out, guessing at Peter’s thoughts.

“Good point. I thought that um... axe looking thingy was from Ghana though.”

Shuri presses her fingers to her temples, “please don’t tell me you think the British actually label their stolen artifacts correctly.”

“Yeah, that’s what MJ is for...” he says, wincing a little.

Shuri turns to her, “well, clearly you’re better at this than he is,” she tells her.

MJ finally regains her cool as she nods. “Poor white boy would be mostly helpless and flexible without Ned and I,” she says. “And here my mom thought I’d never make use of that anthropology degree,” she says, pleased with herself. Yeah, she doubts MJ’s mom thought she’d start an artifact smuggling ring returning stolen artifacts to various countries of origin but okay. And that doesn’t touch on the weekend jobs, which are usually more personal things and Peter finds it fun to thwart rich people’s security systems.

*

When Peter gets home Tony is pouring over a large pile of paperwork looking confused. “I don’t get how this guy manages to do all this,” he says.

Peter slips an arm around his shoulders and perches in his lap, “he’s good, I’ll give him that.”

“Too good to be working alone but there’s no evidence he’s working with anyone else,” he says, hand settled on Peter’s thigh.

There’s good reason for that and Ned is most of it, not that Peter doesn’t do his fair share to make sure they’re untraceable. But Ned is the guy in the chair and he’s damn good at it. Peter’s just backup. “I’m sure you’ll find him some day,” he says, kissing Tony’s cheek.

“I hope so because I’ve heard rumors of another robbery,” he says.

Peter knows, he’s spread a few well places rumors about a museum across the city from his actual target. “To be fair,” Peter says, “maybe the museums he steals from shouldn’t have a bunch of stolen shit in them. Seems like a good way to solve the problem at hand here is to give people their stuff back.”

Tony sighs, “you can’t just steal things, Peter.”

“Exactly, tell the museums to give the stuff back,” Peter says. Its not what Tony meant and they both know it so Tony sighs and gives him a look.

“You know what I meant,” he says.

“Sure I do, but I still think the problem is the museums here. I mean, stealing doesn’t seem so bad when you know the things that are being taken were already stolen,” he points out.

“And if those things end up on the black market?” Tony asks and Peter squints.

“We both know nothing has ever ended up there, that’s not a real argument.”

“But those things do disappear without a trace. Its possible they’re in someone’s personal collection now.” They aren’t, Peter knows, because he goes and steals things back from personal collections too.

“Isn’t this guy known for like... managing to steal a whole ass mummy from someone’s personal collection?” he asks. “I’d love to know how he managed that.”

Tony snorts, “you and everyone else. But yeah, I guess he’s stolen from a few personal collections too.”

Try dozens or better, but its harder to make connections to personal collections than it is to museums. Also, a lot of people with personal collections got those collections in less than legal ways, meaning calling the cops isn’t really something a good lot of them want to do lest they bust themselves for illegal activity in the meantime.

“See? Stuff probably isn’t going to personal collections,” he says, snuggling into Tony. “Now put that stuff away, you promised we could have a date night.”

*

Peter looks ridiculous sitting on the ground with one of the eyes of his suit blown off, exposing part of his face and his suit is torn. “Man, that’s going to take forever to fix,” Ned mumbles.

“The suit? Are we not going to talk about how that total hottie nearly killed Peter, appeared to kill his girlfriend, and then made off with that Wakandan artifact?” MJ asks. “What the hell are we going to tell the Wakandan royalty about this?”

“Um. That a total hottie nearly killed me, killed at least one of his accomplices, also stole one of those mask thingies, and then made off with their artifact?” he asks more than states. MJ cringes when he says ‘mask thingy’ but lets it slide on account of he’s bad at memorizing weirdly specific things about cultures he’s never seen up close before.

“We’re going to get marked by Wakandans before the American police finally figure us out and its so much worse because you’re dating the American police,” MJ mumbles.

“I’m dating a single cop, not the whole of American police come on,” Peter mumbles.

“Bootlicker,” MJ accuses. “Just want to get my opinion out of the way before I’m taken out by whatever passes for Wakandan Secret Service.”

Peter turns to Ned but he shrugs, “I’m kind of with MJ on that one, but also he’s hot. I’d stoop that low too,” he says, earning a look from MJ. “Oh come on, give Peter some credit Tony is hot.”

MJ lets out an annoyed noise. “Stark isn’t unattractive,” she says, acting as if admitting that hurts more than having her teeth pulled.

*

Tony is looking over the footage wondering how the hell this dude manages to stick to walls when he gets lucky and notices. The robbery went wrong, way wrong, and its clear no one expected the surprisingly attractive second robber if their first guy nearly getting shot in the face is any indication. But it does bust the eye of his suit and leaves his face partially visible for a few seconds before he turns from the cameras and crawls away, still attached to the ceiling.

He doesn’t expect it when he notices, of course he doesn’t expect it, but he’d know that face anywhere.

*

When Peter comes home he’s fully prepared to crawl into bed with Tony and snuggle up to him for the last time before he’s presumably killed off by Wakandan royals but when he gets there he knows Tony knows. He’s not exactly easy to read and he looks so hurt.

“Tony,” he says, instinctually going to him but Tony takes a step back.

“Was any of this even real?” he asks and Peter frowns.

“Tony, I steal things, that doesn’t make me an actor. So not my skill set,” he says. “But I’ll be honest, I saw that you were on the case and you’re hot so I figured I’d indulge myself a little. But then you ended up actually having a personality and after I found out that you managed to get a bunch of your coworkers arrested and charged with domestic abuse and also covering up for other cops I was kind of a goner.”

Its an easy way to soften the situation, Peter knows, because Tony doesn’t much care for any kind of abuse and he’s automatically endeared to anyone who feels the same way. “Then what is all this?” he asks, gesturing to his pile of files.

“I’ve already explained it to you like ten times,” Peter says. “And honestly I’ve had a really bad week so can we skip this talk until I sleep off nearly being shot in the face?” he asks.

Tony considers it, Peter can see he’s got a whole lot more questions, but he leaves it alone for the moment and opens his arms to Peter. He sighs and walks over, curling his arms around Tony’s waist and smiling when Tony does the same.

*

Tony looks shocked and Peter can’t say he blames him. He would be shocked too if not for his knowledge that Shuri is actually pretty cool and it turns out the Wakandans aren’t pissed. Shuri looks a bit harassed as she leans against the doorway. “Please do not call my murderous cousin hot,” she says.

“Well he was before he tried to shoot me,” Peter says. “And you know, his girlfriend.”

Shuri looks a bit pained but says nothing on that in particular. “Yes, well, turns out he has a lot of rage issues. Caused a lot of drama, threw my brother off a cliff, normal Wakanda stuff,” she says like kings get tossed off cliffs normally.

Tony frowns, “is... is that normal in Wakanda?”

“Yes of course, point is you don’t need to worry about it we got the vibranium back,” she says and winces, getting a dirty look from her guards in orange. “Um. I mean... can we get back to my murderous cousin?”

“Is he always that big of a dick or do you think he can be redeemed?” MJ asks.

Peter frowns, “you’re really gunna date a dude who murdered his ex?”

“No, dumbass. I’m going to have sex with him, Jesus. No need to make a commitment,” MJ mumbles.

“Well, you’ll have to summon him with a Ouiji board and have ghost sex,” Shuri says, then pauses. “Do those things actually work or are they a myth or American horror movies? I want to know if I can summon a ghost to haunt my brother,” she says excitedly.

[silvensei]

In This Mad Machinery

A human and an android swap bodies, resulting in identity crises, existentialism, philosophy with the boys, and fun!

Detroit: Become Human | gen | 20k | rated T | introspective comedy/sci-fi

Chapter 4 (2k words) | [AO3 link] | [first] | < prev | next >

- - - - - - - - - -

“And you’re sure Markus will be okay with…y’know, all this? Like it won’t freak him out if I just walk up to him as not you?”

“He is a leader for a reason: he’s reasonable.”

“Mm. Good reason.”

“Just explain it to him from the beginning. Offer to share the day’s memories if that’ll be easier—oh!” Connor shifted in the driver’s seat to fully face his partner and held up a hand. “Not a memory transfer! That’s a different process altogether. That’s what we did to switch. Markus technically is part of the same prototype series as me, so it might prompt for a complete memory transfer—don’t do that one!”

“I got it, Mom: Don’t accidentally kill myself.” Hank shut the door, leaning his forearms on the open window. “As for you, just lay low. You can tell Jeffrey that you’re you if you want, he’s probably heard worse from me before, but maybe don’t let it get out into the whole precinct. Not only would CyberLife get snippy about their secret plans leaking too much, but can you imagine the hell Gavin would raise? Christ.”

Connor paused. “I’m not sure if I can, but I’m sure he would be troublesome.”

Hank laughed. He had heard Connor laugh before, on very rare occasions, but he didn’t think it ever sounded this relaxed and easy. It really gave his rough voice an amicable quality. “Swing back here when you’re done? Or call if it’s more than an hour?”

“Can do, Lieutenant.”

He stepped away from the car as Connor shifted out of park. “Careful with the wheels,” he called before starting down the driveway toward the Manfred house.

In the corner of his vision, the external temperature reading increased to 67.7°F (19.8°C). Focusing on the readout expanded the widget: RH 58.1%, Precip. 12%, Wind 3 mph NW, Sunset 8:52 PM, Moon Phase—

He looked away. It was still there—being a heads-up display and all—but the gesture dismissed the weather. Who could possibly need that much information. No one. It’s been bombarding him from all sides with random facts and figures and updates ever since he woke up like this a couple hours ago (2 hr 32 m 57 s). No wonder Connor was such a know-it-all: his programming forced him to be. Hank slowed his stroll. What was Connor going through right now, free of his encyclopedia of trivia for the first time in his life? Hopefully not lost and unsure and uninformed. God, he hoped not.

He shook his head, quite literally to get his damn android brain to stop calculating the chances that his best friend was having an identity crisis or existential crisis or any number of other crises. Instead he thought about how his shoulders didn’t ache when he did that. His knees didn’t have that familiar creaking he’d grown so accustomed to, either. In fact, besides the pressure on the soles of his feet to keep him grounded and the near-imperceptible brush of fabric and sunlight against his skin, he didn’t feel much of anything. Thinking about his current body only brought up biocomponent specs and functionality reports (100% - Fully functional).

“Fucking-A…,” Hank muttered, noting once again he didn’t sound like himself. Being stuck in an android could be likened to sensory deprivation and informational oversaturation at the same time. If he dwelled on it too long, it’d drive him insane.

Something pinged him as he approached the door, and the door clicked open. “Welcome, RK800.”

Hank stepped into the foyer, marveling at its grandeur. It was a veritable mansion when compared with his single-story shack. It probably was a mansion. He wondered if Sumo would like living here, with the marble and the high ceilings. Maybe in the summer. The stone would keep him nice and cool. Air probably circulated well in here, too. Although the zebra rug didn’t look terribly comfortable

The double doors across from him slid open. Strolling in in an asymmetrical tee and jeans, Markus slipped a paint brush into the pocket of the smock tied at his waist. “Connor!” he called with a grin, wiping off some paint from his hands. “I thought you’d never take up my offer to stop on by!”

Hank returned the grin. He’d have to pass that comment on to Connor. “Hey, Markus.”

The android caught him in a brief hug before stepping back. “So what’s up? Care for a painting lesson?”

“Thanks, but not right now. Just have some…neat info we thought you would enjoy.”

“Oh, really?” He crossed his arms. “‘We’ as in you and the lieutenant? Isn’t sharing DPD intel kind of illegal?”

“Not exactly. I mean, yeah, but it’s not DPD.” Hank took a breath (UNNECESSARY; temperature nominal) and rocked on his feet. “We got an email from CyberLife this morning about some quack idea to define sentience. They wanted to see what would happen if they threw souls around, human and android alike.”

Markus scoffed. “Sounds a bit pompous. What makes them think they can even do that?”

Hank cocked his head and held open his arms. “They already have.”

Markus raised an eyebrow. He shifted his weight, looking the other over. “Connor…?” he asked slowly.

“Not at the moment. Hank Anderson.”

A half smile completed the look of surprise. “A human in an android body? And Connor is…?”

“Heading to the precinct. They called me in for something and he’s, well, me for the day.”

“Huh. You’re right, this is interesting. Temporary?”

“Yeah—here, Connor suggested I just…show you his memory—our memory—of today.”

“Sure, yeah.” Markus held out his hand. At Hank’s hesitation, he finally let out the chuckle he was holding back. “If you can figure out how to do it, that is?”

“Great, another snarky robot on my hands,” Hank grumbled, grabbing his hand. Markus caught another laugh and shifted his grip to his forearm instead. Their skin shied away from their touch, and the connection pinged his system. [RK200 #684 842 971] connected.

File copy requested: [Visuals; Audio] {-04:00:00.0}:{00:00.0}

Accept             Deny

The notification took up his vision in an instant. It didn’t say anything about a memory transfer like Connor warned, so he figured it would do. Just thinking about accepting the prompt completed the request, and the past four hours from his chassis’ perspective played back at breakneck speed. From Connor petting Sumo and reading a book exactly four hours ago to Hank’s latest quip, it all sped by, too fast to comprehend and yet with every detail intact and evident. He reeled, flinging his arm back.

He blinked rapidly. The only sign of the event was the text (Copy complete) fading from his vision. Markus, on the other hand, dropped his hand to his hip, unfazed. “Mimicking a nexus connection by adjusting and enhancing the brain’s natural electric field to induce a complete data transfer,” he mused. “That is genius! It doesn’t prove anything spiritual, that’ll require much more philosophical debate into the depth and scope of AI, but it certainly doesn’t disprove anything either.”

“How can you understand all that so fast?” Hank asked candidly.

Markus smiled. “Years of practice.” He untied his smock and beckoned him towards the door. “Why don’t we continue this in the den?”

The doors slid open into an absolutely spacious sitting room. As if the zebra pelt on the foyer floor wasn’t excessively extravagant enough, the first thing Hank saw was a giraffe in the corner, probably real, definitely stuffed. (Analysis: TAXIDERMY, est 16yr) He had to stop from rolling his eyes at its ostentatiousness. “Ritzy place ya got here,” he commented, hoping Connor’s voice defaulted to conversationally neutral.

“Yes. Carl doesn’t particularly like it either.” Damn. “However, the media seems to dote on and worry about an elderly millionaire more when they live a modest, humble life than when they look the part.” He gestured to one of the couches in the center of the room. “Please.”

“Y’know, based on news reports and the whole ‘led a revolution’ thing, you’re not exactly what I expected.” The couches were bright cherry red, fitting the theme of the room. He sank into the one closer to the door.

Markus sat across from him, crossing his legs. “Even celebrities need days off,” he pointed out. “I used to be a caretaker. That doesn’t define me anymore, and Carl has a new full-time caretaker anyway, but I still like to come check on him when I can. Get free painting tips while I’m here. But enough about me.” He folded his hands in his lap. “I’m dying to know what your day’s been like.”

“Playing shrink now? What about, just…general exposition?”

“Anything! This is unprecedented!” His eyes shone. Connor was 100% correct that Markus would be ecstatic. “All of our efforts these past months have been towards helping mankind understand androids as people, and now here you are, literally seeing things from our point of view! Walk a mile in the other’s shoes, as the proverb goes.”

“Okay….” Hank drummed his hands on his legs. His first instinct was to think back through the day, but the thought triggered another rapid memory replay. He stopped it and groaned. “It’s fuckin’ fast,” he said. “There’s a shit ton of information even without the router in my head. With it, it’s like I’m every computer at once.”

“That’s an interesting interpretation of it. Maybe a bit of an overstatement.”

He scoffed. “This android brain has involuntarily subjected me to more math in the last three hours than I have had to do in the last thirty years. Like, I don’t need a speedometer at all times, or news updates from Ghana, or access to all the fuckin’ bad memes of my youth. It’s excessive! Maybe not to you,” he added, holding out a hand, “but you’ve grown up with it…figuratively speaking.”

“That’s true.” Markus propped his chin in his palm. “I guess I’d be able to relate more to Connor’s side. I wonder how he likes being disconnected from the network.”

“Yeah, I wonder, too….” Hank pursed his lips. “The kid seemed really shaken up as soon as the whole ‘identity’ question came into play. Seemed like he’s been thinking about it for a while, so I figured…a break from the norm might do him some good. Hell, if I’m getting so overwhelmed by android stuff, maybe he’s finally got some underwhelming peace and quiet.”

“Perhaps. I can ask him later, though; you’re here right now. How about…colors? Does the world look any different? Any sharper, mayhap?”

“Bud, this place would look like a Crayola box to anyone.” Hank took a moment to look around, ignoring the scrolling list of crayon names in his periphery. Sure, it was bright and sharp, but he was fifty-three. If he stole literally anyone’s glasses, it’d improve his vision. “Yeah, I guess it’s all in shiny 4K. Look, Markus, I’m not really a conversationalist; words never were my strong point, so I’m not sure how well I can convey this, ah…ongoing out-of-body experience.”

Markus held up his hands in surrender. “Perfectly alright, Lieutenant. With only a few hours of android life, there’s no sense sitting around talking for all of it. Why not look to some action instead?”

“Action? What’s that mean?”

He stood up with a smile. “Have you ever seen The Matrix, Mr. Anderson?”

“Snuck into a theater to see it opening week.” He pushed himself up in suit. His balance had to correct itself when he was on his feet earlier than expected, being lighter, stronger, and without a whisper of joint pain. “And yes, my friends called me that for months after. Why?”

“Well, we could always spar with some newfound kung fu, but painting has always been more my style.”

“What the fuck are you—” He stopped, remembering the scene he was referencing. His computer brain also conveniently played it back for him, too. Thanks, CyberLife. “I can just download painting? Like that?” He snapped.

“The technical skills, yes; the creativity and style, though, you’d still have to practice yourself.” He picked up his smock and held it out. “How about that lesson?”

Hank raised an eyebrow. He had never pictured himself as a painter. Or an artist of any kind. Or an android. He shrugged. “Ah, what the hell. You’re on, Picasso.”

[next >]

[fuzzyanxiouscat]

Considering the fact that I want to use Tumblr as my main author blogging platform, I suppose I should introduce myself.

My name is 'generic name' and I live in Ghana, Africa. What I also know is a have a burning desire to write because of all the really awesome creative media I am exposed to.

For a long time, I thought the creative writing of Africa was dead, considering how it was somewhat easier to get western media than creative African media and the books we studied for literature....the least I say about this, the better.

And then, I got access to the internet and my mind was blown away! So yay, I wasn't crazy...

Much.

Cutting this whole thing short, I've written the first draft of my book. It's based in Ghana and about a secret society of Vodun (magic users) and about how some kids bring the gods back from the dead.

I am still worried a bit about publishing, because I would've loved to use traditional publishing because I wouldn't have to do any form of marketing (because socially anxious duhhh) but right now my lack of dollars and other ways to get my currency (which is kinda shit btw) into dollars is very very daunting. So guess I have to do self publishing, it looks daunting but being in comfort zones never gave people the chance to learn.

So yh that's me and why I'm here.

[humansun]

11/5 MINDBARF AT LAX

LAX, Terminal 48B at American Airlines

Where do I really start? Especially with my brain?

No. It’s not even that I feel whatever about everything. I feel everything about everything. The one thing that I might not feel everything about is Benny. Because he brings me peace. Him and Julie, because they make me happy and relieve me from stress.

I guess we could talk about the car ride to LAX. Getting in the car was a mess. I cried after realizing I didn’t fill up my hydroflask (I had just finished a high sodium, potsticker dinner without any hydration). We were about to leave on a 45+ minute drive to LAX without water. It was another form of defeat. It seems so small! Betty..so dramatic!

It's probably because 1. the menstrual cycle was beginning 2. I don't do well under pressure of any kind, be it anger, frustration, stress, or anticipation. I’ve been feeling defeat more frequently the past few weeks because of my mood fluctuations and adjusting to transitions in my life. Any period of transition for me has always been difficult ever since I started taking them on seriously in 2018. Things were pretty lax when it came to job transitions at the start of college, but there were some things that kept hitting home like being rejected from the RA position and leaving Ghana, that still affect my transitions today.

I can barely get through life transitions without thoughts about suicide or at the minimum, a drop into depression. Am I as resilient as people think? Am I as resilient as I think? It’s hard to really know because I live in my own mind and no one can really tell me what I am. I can’t even tell myself what I am.

All this questioning brings me back to how much I wish I didn’t care. I talk about this all the time with my male friends because patriarchy allows men to not give a fuck without consequences - so why should I? Every time I think about a freak accident or random death happening in my family, I just push the thoughts out my head now instead of feeling sickening worry and dread.

Is that efficient? I don’t know. Should I feel all the emotions and get through them with integrity or pull a toxic masculinity moment and push it to the back of my mind and act like everything is okay? Let me answer my own question – it doesn’t have to be two extremes all the time. It can be a healthy in-between. You can acknowledge that the thoughts aren’t productive, but they are valid worry thoughts. Then, you let them pass and you don’t ruin your day.

See – there’s a pattern for all my posts. I don’t know shit. I don’t know shit about society and especially anything about myself. There’s really no solution for this, it’s just me wanting to be honest about my own mind and what I know. And it’s nothing.

After crying and asking my dad to get me a water bottle because I was tired of walking on my left foot, we got on the 605. The freeway has numbed me. It reminds me of ordinary days, traffic, hating my life, and everything that is not “living my best life”. I had thoughts about how my father is one man out of the seven billion on the planet. My family, in the grand scheme of the entire world and its population, is the tiniest speck of life that is irrelevant to the rest of the universe. And that terrifies me.

Anything can happen at any time. Car accidents, random shootings, life-threatening illnesses, natural disasters, or food getting stuck in someone’s throat that kills them over what was supposed to be a celebratory dinner. My family is four people out of several billion people. We are basically unimportant, but if I were to lose any of them, I would be devastated. It would kill me. And all of this just led to, why do I exist to experience pain and hurt and tears? (Hey Depression! Welcome back.) Why was I born to have to feel all these things? I’m not at a point in my life that I can look back at the pain and smile and be grateful that all of it happened, because I am not grateful. I am not happy it’s all happening. I hate that my dad’s stomach hurts for no reason. I hate that I don’t know when my mom’s ear disease could affect her brain. I hate that my ankle has been unwalkable for the past 4+ months. Most importantly, I hate that I am not doing shit about it, because I can’t and also, because I don’t want to.

I don’t want to do research to find more surgeons that have bedside manners.

This would mean I would have to take more time off work and also walk, which I shouldn’t be doing right now.

Taking time off work as a corporate employee would affect my work ethic (at least in my head it would) and potentially jeopardize my income which I need to survive.

I wouldn’t be able to support myself, my family, my friends, my community, achieve all the goals I want to, and overall live my best life.

The worst part of this is that it all sounds so fucking selfish!

Does it? Am I not that worn out in relativity to other traumatized folks and I’m still crying over it? Am I weak? (Sounds like invalidation to me.)

I’m tired of working my fucking ass off so I could be decent in comparison to all these people who I feel like have had several legs up with their parents already knowing English and how everything works in this country. There are people who don’t have to do shit to support their parents because they can already do everything by themselves. I would prefer that my parents don’t get sick and can speak English well and don’t need me to do things for them sometimes. That way, I can make them proud for having to displace themselves from their home country, move all the way over here, born me and sacrifice every single part of their lives for me. I hate that. I hate that my parents gave everything up for me. I wish they get to live their lives. I wish they could have their dream jobs, their dream lives, eat whatever they want, and live happily. I wish they didn’t dedicate everything to me, because it’s all on my shoulders to be good for them. To save enough money for them. To continue on, be strong, and to be great when I didn't want to be great.

I don’t want to complain. I want to do something about it, which is why I’m moving out. I have to think about another stream of income at this point because I can’t do it all on my own without struggling a little.

At this point in my life – and I’ve said this to everyone – I cannot practice gratitude genuinely. It’s difficult to, and I never thought I could say this as the gratitude queen. Everything in my life right now is: I can’t and also I don’t want to. I don’t want to do these self-care tactics because they are not improving things.

Anyways, yeah. My family and me are a tiny little speck of humans in the scheme of the rest of the world which means if anything happens, it wouldn’t matter to anyone but our little tribe of folks. And that hurts me because my family and friends are my world and I don’t want anything to ever happen to them.

That was my first realization and I fell into sadness because it all comes back to, what do I do about it and I don’t want to do anything right now. And you know what? It’s o-fucking-kay that I don’t want to do anything about it. I want to sulk and feel like shit and to hate my life for a while. I want to see red and not talk to anyone and to be angry because I can. All by myself.

We moved through traffic and I was thinking okay, well I feel like shit. This is not new. I’ve known this for the past 3 or 4 weeks at least. Don’t cry. This voice came from Little Betty, the iconic 8-year-old me who is the best form of chubby and has a bright, joyful heart who likes to play. I met her in my mind, but of course, older me is always with the blonde bob and beat face with the perfect lashes. Older me in my mind is crying and Little Betty is comforting her. Older me is visiting little me in our living room and hanging out. We’re dancing together. Older me is in awe at this creature who has so much light in her soul and prays that she stays this beautiful in and out for the rest of her life.

And it all will happen. It all is happening. But my light is dim and I must recharge it. So that’s when the action plan was formulating. What is the highest form of Betty look like? For some reason, she’s wearing baseball caps all the time and she is always on set as a director. Maybe that’s a dream and a wish and not something that actually could happen and maybe it’s something I dream about only and never execute - who fucking knows. But I’m on set and I’m wearing a baseball cap and I’m appreciated and celebrated because I’m with an incredible film crew. You know? That’s the form I’m reaching for. It’s the highest form of me. Not that I don’t feel my emotions, but I take over the "okay well let’s keep this moving". How do we keep this moving?

I want to change my life. I want to change the way I think. I want to go through a transformation. I want to be next level Betty and I’m not trying to expedite that process, but I want to feel it growing. I want to manifest its effects now, for me to get there and witness it all come to be. You know? Maybe it means going baseball cap mode and getting behind a camera with a few friends and doing what looks good. Crossing my arms a lot. And just doing what feels good to me, my instincts, while being encouraged and appreciated and celebrated for being myself, all while I celebrate and appreciate and encourage everybody else around me. All leading to the gala.

The quote that flashed in my mind as we merged onto the 105 was to show up as her. Exactly who I want to be, I will be her. I will be decisive. I will be choosy. Choosy for my work, who I’m surrounded by, and do everything I can to always live my best life. The reason why I’m struggling right now is because everything I was doing was not "living my best life". The next chapter of my life might not necessarily be the solution and the answer, but it will give me the space to live my best life in a way.

Let me go back to the other paragraph and say that it’s not all a dream. Everything that I am going through in this moment is leading me to have these realizations that will lead me to change my life. If I do not go through the worst times and want to jump off a bridge half the time, perhaps I will never hit this wall over and over again and realize it’s all the same thing every single time. I’m always just sad. And I don’t do anything. But this shit I’m going through is me getting through the super tight cannonball launcher before I take off.

My dad and I didn’t speak until we hit the exit to Sepulveda. I thanked him. At this point, I had no excitement in my blood. To a certain extent I still don’t, because it doesn’t feel like this is very eventful. Which is sad, but that’s okay. I walked through LAX, checked in, and sat down.

My last realization before typing all of this up is that the destination is sweet. It's fucking sweet.. As a taurus (and I could be speaking only on my own behalf, which is fine), I fucking love the destination.

I love sitting my ass down so my left foot doesn’t have to bear weight.

I love taking out my avocado sandwich I made for myself the hour and a half before so I could eat it when I was at the airport.

I love enjoying my meal and listening to good music at the same time.

I love reaching the destination. I fucking love it. Don’t let people fool you with all that “the journey is the best part” shit, because the destination is fucking wonderful and I’m going to bathe in this shit as much as I can. (I guess maybe me sitting down and eating the sandwich is part of the journey though because I technically didn’t even make it to Philly yet. BUT ALSO maybe I didn’t even make it make it make it yet, you know? Whatever).

Kay, this shit is super long (and in re-reading is getting significantly more informal by the sentence), but I’m so happy I took the time to pour out the feels. I love my human sun blog. It’s like the best thing I’ve made for myself other than food. I love it because none of my friends or family give a shit about this blog. I love that no one knows about it either. Thank you, Betty for taking the time out of your day, even though it matched up perfectly during your wait for your flight, to write all of this up. It was cathartic. But the truth is, there is no doubt in my mind that you will get through this dip in depression. You will bounce back harder than you know. Because I SAID SO.

I just want to plant in your heart and your spirit and your human existence that you’re going to be wearing that baseball cap one day and you’re going to be crossing your arms and calling the shots in the most inclusive, kindest, encouragingest, badass bitch way in the whole entire world.

That’s it. That is what it is. All that you dream of is forever in reach. Keep your head up, because after this week in Philly, you are going to move out, there’s going to be a new start and you’re going to make decisions that move you towards living your best life. I’m so proud of you for getting past the shit hump, and it’s okay if you get shockwaves. You are the most capable. I love you, Betty! You are the best human being that I have ever lived in and through and your life is truly a work of art!

[kookie-vith-suga]

Suit and tie(d)

Word count: 2210

Warnings: none

Author’s note: Okay I know I was gone for soo long and I actually did not really wrote a lot but I did finished this request! Hope whoever requested this gets to read it and hopefully even like it!

By the way I was still checking on notifications and I am overwhelmed that many people still read my stuff even though I was not around and posted :)

Anyway thank you and if you are interested my trip to Ghana was awesome! We visited a lot of old friends and seen some places which was kinda exhausting every now and then but overall totally worth it :)

So about this: I am really brought about the title and I actually quiet enjoy writing this and I could see myself adding it to the list of MUST BE CONTINUED which is terribly long I know I am trash but yeah if you like it leave me some feedback and with that I am off ♥

Last: Ordniary XII

Request: Hello! When you have time could you do a Yoongi CEO au? And the reader is a confident sassy girl with a savage mouth, and she is new and somehow, he takes a liking in her?

Apparently, there are some people in this world who are born sloths. I looked at my wristwatch for the hundredth time certainly and rolled my eyes as I glanced back at the girl who was pouring the coffee into the cup in slow motion. How the hell is that even possible?!? I rubbed over my forehead with the back of my hand which granted me another look at my watch. Fuck it I only have twenty minutes left. Congratulations Y/N. Already late at your first day. And why? Because of your fucking coffee addiction. Seriously I will stop from tomorrow on.

Finally, the girl managed to hand the cup to the woman in front of me which meant I was the next in line. I let out an annoyed groan and wanted to step forward when suddenly out of nowhere a tall, light blond-haired man appeared, walked right passed me and leaned onto the counter. He started making a huge order. For at least 8 different coffees. This will take forever. I was fuming.

I set up a bittersweet smile and tapped the shoulder of the man, but I did not wait till he turned around but already started talking: “Excuse me, Sir. Are you dense? Did your mother not teach you any manners? There is a line here for a reason. And it is clearly not for you to just ignore it and be the huge dick you must be since you just thought it would be alright to skip the line”, I ended my rant perfectly.

The man slowly turned around and for a second I held my breath. He. Was. Handsome. And when I say that I mean like above average handsome. He wore a white fitting dress shirt with a trench coat draped casually over his shoulders. Immediately I caught myself regretting my words and bit down on my lip.

“What is your name?”, a deep voice asked. Till I had the voice connected to him and realized the question was for me it took me some seconds in which I was left staring at him.

“Y-Y-Y/N. Y/L/N Y/N.” I stuttered out after the too long pause.

“I see Y/LN Y/N. I am very sorry for my rude behavior. I hope I can make it up to you somehow?”

What is he saying? “N-n-no it is fine. Just don’t do it again.”

He had turned back to the counter handing the woman a bill alongside a pristine smile and a nod towards me. She seemed to understand and just started shaking her head up and down while grinning like an idiot.

With a satisfied look he faced me again. “Fair enough. Thank you for being so generous and I promise not to”, he sounded serious although he was smiling brightly for some reason. I nodded afraid to stutter again and make an even bigger fool out of myself.

He picked two bags of the counter which the girl must have managed to finish in record time. How did she even work that fast all the sudden?! “Thank you, Kati. I wish you a nice day and we see us tomorrow.”

He walked past me but not without winking at me.

“What a strange guy”, I murmured to myself.

“So I would like to have a blac-“ She slid a cup towards me which made me stop midways. I picked up the cup and opened the lid. It was a black coffee with a little cream and cinnamon on top. 

“B-b-but how did you know?!” Now I must look like an idiot since my mouth gaped open. I pointed to the coffee and then to her and then at the cup again.

“Lady, we are all waiting here too. Can you just pay and go?” Not that it was my fault that this girl was a sloth. I rolled my eyes.

“Okay, okay”, I grumbled and fiddled my purse out of my bag.

“It has already been taken care of”, the barista put off.

“By whom?”, I questioned startled.

“Well I guess you are really lucky today”, she shrugged, and all her attention went to the woman behind me who shoved me aside ungently. I stumbled a little before catching myself.

Did he..? Still wondering I hurried out of the store still with a little hope left I could be on time clutching to my coffee cup.

And surprisingly I really did arrive punctual. As a panting mess who had to catch its breath for nearly two minutes but then I was good to go. I entered the huge skyscraper and rode the elevator to the 14th floor. There I was greeted by a woman in her mid-thirties. She had a reserved face and granted me only a small smile which vanished short after. We shook hands and immediately she started walking and talking. I was a little overwhelmed since I never had a talent for multitasking. So I did my best to not stumble over my feet and fall while trying to listen. To my unfortune she was talking fast. Really fast. She pointed towards a room which looked like a copy room and then to the next one with a small kitchen. She told me what my tasks would be and what I surely should not do.

My eyes wandered around. A lot of tables with a lot of computers with a lot of people hanging over them. That was basically it. I looked back at her giving her a whole-body scan. She was wearing a tight black skirt which showed off her curves perfectly and a loose white blouse. I got to say I was kind of amazed by that for a second which led to me not listening to what she just explained me. Screw it! It is not a hard job anyway. Just copying and filing stuff should not be the problem.

“This is your place to sit. If you have any questions, try to answer them yourself. We are all busy”, she finished off. Wow not exactly the nicest person I have encountered. I forced a smile and nodded alongside a small “thank you”. She left, and I looked at the spot which was declared as mine. A simple table and a simple chair. I could not expect much as a temp I guess. Well the payment was really good for what I have heard, and I did need that money.

I plopped down on the chair, examined all the folders, papers and sticky notes with remarks on my table. I let out a loud sigh. Let’s get to work!

I did my best to fulfill all the requests and wishes on the sticky notes although it already took me 15 minutes to figure out how that hell of a copier worked. I just exited the copy room for the twenties time to get the next five folders I had to replicate when my eyes fell on a more or less familiar face. The guy from earlier was standing in a doorframe casually leaning against it while talking to the scold who broke me in.

My eyes were lingering on him a few seconds longer before I decided I wanted to say what I had to say. So without thinking further, I approached him. At first, he did not recognize me I guess he was so deeply involved in their conversation. But when I stopped right in front of him his face lit up in surprise.

  “Well hello th-“, he started but I was determined to talk first: “You did not have to pay for my coffee”; I paused and checked his face for a reaction. And yes, there was indeed one. The corner of his lips curled upwards.

That grin made something stir in me and I added: “As nice as that gesture supposed to be I want to make sure you know my forgiveness is not for sell.”

“Noted”, he simply responded with that shit of a grin on his face. He is making fun of me!

“Moreover you know it is pretty creepy that you know how I take my coffee. Just saying. I hope you are not some kind of stalker who I happen to work with now.”

“Oh, you are working here now?”, he completely ignored what I just said.

“Just temporary.”

He cocked an eyebrow like he just realized something. “I see you are the temp….That means we will see us more often from now on.” On his face a mysterious look.

“I guess so”, I mumbled not really understanding his point of saying this.

“Great.” He clapped his hands once which startled me enough to stumble back.

“I am afraid you did not really understand what I said before. I don’t want th-“

“I did understand you and you have nothing to worry about. I am not interested in you.” He interrupted me and shrugged.

I blew up my cheeks. “You are all the same. Arrogant suit asses.”

“As much as I liked to stay with you and listen to your nice words I just got a call. But I make sure we will see us, Miss Y/L/N.” He gave me a small nod and closed the door right in front of my nose.

My eyes wandered to the silver plate attached to the door and surveyed the engraving. “Chief Executive Officer Min Yoongi”, I read out loud and instantly I threw my hands over my mouth. Please tell me this is not true. I did not just call the CEO of the company, I barely worked for a day, an asshole?!

Fuck, fuck, fuck. What do I do know? I gotta apologize! When I lose this job I have to start the whole search again. And I won’t find one which is paid that well and I would maybe have to move again when I cannot pay the rent and oh my god. I was hyperventilating. Calm down, Y/N. Just go to him and tell him you have a rare disease. Something with your brain that lets to you offending people by accident. Bullshit. He will never believe that. I felt so stupid I could rip out my hair. This can only ever happen to me. Typical me. Really.

The rest of my working hours I passed rather unproductive while trying to come up with another excuse for my behavior. But I guess there were none.

6 pm. I sighed. It is home time. And probably the last one for me at this job. I gathered my things and looked around if I could spot someone familiar. Most of the work stations were cleared already. The people went home pretty early for such a big company. I would have guessed they work all night. The room at the very end of the office which was separated through a glass front I saw important looking women and men gathered for a meeting. They started quiet some time ago. I knew he had to be among them so I decided I should wait if I really wanted to come back tomorrow. I sank down in my chair again and closed my eyes.

I startled up as I felt a heavy hand on my shoulder shaking me lightly. I rubbed my eyes and yawned before I looked at the person who woke me.

“Miss Y/L/N if I remember it right your shift was over two hours ago.”

Immediately I stood up on my feet and bowed small. “Yes, Sir. You are right. B-b-ut”, I stopped to collect myself. I really did not want to apologize since I still think I am right. I took a deep breath. “I wanted to apologize for my inappropriate words from earlier. I had no right to say such disrespectful things to you since you only tried to be nice. I hope you can forgive me somehow. I know there is no reason for you to excuse such rude behavior, but I really truly sorry. Also, I need this job. If I lose it, I must move to another apartment and maybe even another city and I don’t want to do that.” I felt my heart pace increasing as soon as I only thought about it again. “I know it was wrong and I will make sure it will never happen again when you allow me to stay. I will show you my best side. Every. Day. I will work harder than everyone else here. I will make sure to stay extra hours if it is needed. Please just let me stay. I would really do anything.

“Anything?”, he cocked an eyebrow.

A little perplexed by his question I started nodding slowly but then more vigorously.

“That is good to know. For future plans you know”, that fucking smirk appeared again.

What is he talking about? Can I stay now!?! I tried not to roll my eyes over him always ignoring my actual question.

“So I am not fired?”, I blurted out not able to hold it in anymore.

“No, it is fine. Just don’t do again”, he used some very familiar words while leaning closer. His mouth was right next to my ear when he added in a breathy voice: “Or else I have to punish you.”

I had not noticed that I held my breath till he pulled back and smiled mischievously.

“I will see you tomorrow, Miss Y/L/N. Have a goodnight.”

He walked away and I stood there frozen to the ground.

I think I was just sexually harassed by my boss.

That is it! I like it since it is funny and it can be funny even more if you like!

[plantohead]

I just rant about how terrible my “mother” was so yeah that’s all. Basically, I legitimately hope she dies soon because right now she’s lashing out about her beef with me and hurting my sisters and I’m not cool with that, but I’m also in no position to put myself between them because I really can’t handle going back into that situation. So yah, this terrible person should just drop dead, preferably soon, like tomorrow maybe.

Sue thinks I would be giving myself a bad image if I aired our dirty laundry but joke's on her because she's the only one that looks bad. She also thinks I'm telling lies, but joke's on her the only liar is her because anyone who knows me knows I am a terrible liar. I can't even play the card game BS. Middle-school me was more hardened than I am now.

Sue was a toxic af person and I can’t believe it took me so long to realize it. She planted the seeds at an early age and undermine my confidence, agency, ability to stand up for myself and enforce boundaries, and my happiness and wellbeing. She would say terrible things, gaslight me, and was all around just horribly emotionally abusive. She made Dan into a toxic person, too. She made me toxic. She plays family members against each other. You had to side with her on everything, and everyone else was wrong about something, and usually something big. Dan was not a good husband. Her oldest child was ungrateful. Her middle child was too shallow and didn't love her. Her youngest child couldn't learn anything right. Oh, but she was never in the wrong. How dare you insinuate such a thing. The mere suggestion could send her flying into a rage. I'd say she was a screaming banshee or a screaming harpy, but the truth is she outscreams them both. Simultaneously. As in, if both were screaming, she'd still win. Distance doesn’t help, either. If she can’t scream at you in person, she’ll just send you more than 300 texts in one day (I let them accumulate one day and literally my notifications were over 300) telling you that you’re a terrible person and the worst child ever and you’re such a loser, you won’t amount to anything, oh and your boyfriend doesn’t actually love because only a mother could. Rinse and repeat for the next 5 days.

I have grown up being told I was lazy. I believed that for the longest time, and I'm still unlearning it. I was lazy despite having learned to play piano, flute, and guitar and having a brief stint with the violin and piccolo. I was lazy despite maintaining high grades while being in marching band in high school and joining the jazz band in my last year (I was terrible by the way, I'm through and through a Classical/Romantic period pianist). I was lazy in uni when I earned top grades while going to concerts, attending ballroom classes, training in wushu, taking additional credits, reading books outside of school, sketching, studying for the LSAT, rehearsing in a band, writing songs, and writing a thesis. She never believed I studied because all she ever saw were photos of when I was having fun. No shit sherlock, I take like 100+ photos and 50 videos of just one concert, and I'm not going to take pictures of my calculus notebooks, please... But so be it, I was lazy, and now every time my work ethic comes into question, I spiral out of control and become exactly what I'm supposed to be: lazy.

I was told that I was ungrateful, hateful, and oversensitive. Never mind that being told you are ungrateful and hateful would lead to some sensitive feelings. Never mind that you are supposed to raise the child you so graciously decided to give life to because it's your goddamn responsibility. Never mind that said child might occasionally hate you when you slam your hands on the table and scream at the top of your lungs at them and call them names, maybe hit them across the face a couple times. Never mind that I might have been ungrateful because you always said you owed me nothing when yeah, you did. Parenting. Love. Some emotional stability. Maybe you should actually try it out. Oh wait, you blew it, go rot in hell.

I was raised such that my talents and accomplishments were turned into an extension of Sue, while all my perceived faults were because I wasn't good enough. I have been made to doubt myself with guilt-tripping, manipulation, and gaslighting. Get this: after I came out about my sexual abuse, at some point I asked to log into my Facebook account on Sue's tablet. I forgot to log out when I returned to uni, but I didn't think it would be a problem. No, I was wrong, BIG PROBLEM. Without my knowledge or consent, Sue monitored all my Facebook activity and messages. She was "worried" because of my abuser. You know, the one that had fled to Japan 7 years ago and who I had blocked on Facebook. That one. When I found out what she was doing, she had the gall to tell me she was doing it for my own good. Not only that, but then this August, I brought it up again because it unfortunately became relevant AGAIN, and she had the audacity to first deny she ever did such a thing. I told her I still had records of it somewhere in my email archive because those things never die. I KNEW I had them, but I hated how I doubted myself for just a second because I was so used to this type of gaslighting. After she realized she couldn't get away with the lie, she played the guilt card again. It was in my best interests. It was because she loved me and was worried. BULL.SHIT. You just fucking lied to my face! You're just trying to cover your ass. What she did was complete disrespect for my boundaries and agency. And that's just one example out of my entire frickin LIFE.

Sue also always made everything about herself. When my flight to Albany for the bar exam was canceled, I panicked, had a meltdown, and cried. Of course, later, Sue would keep saying she was so distraught for me that she also cried. Cool?? Okay??? What, you want a cookie for that or something? Why are you telling me this five times? (I’m not kidding, I counted, it was at least five times.) Or whenever I was having a depressive episode about my abuse, she made it about herself. Oh, she couldn't get up for three days when she first found out, she was so distraught. It was so hard for her to work on my case. Coolcoolcool, okay, well, it was MY BODY HE TOUCHED SO IMAGINE THAT. I used to feel so terrible, and seeing how much it upset her was the one thing that made my sexual abuse really feel intolerable. Now I just want to light Sue on fire every time I think about it. Or any time I was depressed at all, she turned it into a competition. No support, no love. Just, "You don't have a reason to be depressed, if anyone it's ME." OKAY BRO, MORE THAN ONE PERSON CAN BE DEPRESSED, IT'S NOT IDEAL AND IT SUCKS BUT IT'S POSSIBLE!!!!

God and she was so HYPOCRITICAL. One year, I forgot Mother’s Day because first, I think these stupid consumerist holidays are a hollow scam, and second because I was writing a brief for the immigration judge on an asylum case. It was a big case that was very important and could change the landscape. I wasn’t going to slack and throw it. Of course, Sue gets extremely upset despite seeing me work on this nonstop since I got home a week prior or whenever, and later goes into complete screaming neurosis again. Yet, on my birthday, she picked a fight with Dan and turned into an army of screaming banshees and I hid in my room all day to avoid the chaos and her wrath, yet I never complained. And then after she drove out and came back, I played therapist. Did I hold it against her? No, no I didn’t, and the fight really was over something trivial. Yet if I forget Mother’s Day because I’m working on a pressing case, she must once again unleash the army of banshees. I’m really not exaggerating, I cannot begin to describe how she screams, not even my two toddler cousins can match her in volume, harshness, or intensity.

Sue made me play marriage counselor, mediator, and therapist for her. It was the worst. First of all, if you have marriage problems, maybe don’t turn to your child when they’re like 12. Go find a marriage counselor. And stop coming to me every time you have a tantrum (I can’t say fight because it’s always just a one-sided screaming match). Stop unloading on me one-sidedly all the time, it’s not even a conversation anymore when you don’t listen to anything I have to say and just talk about whatever the fuck you want. And stop dragging your husband in front of your children, go get a neutral party for that and stop manipulating us to turn against him. It was always so uncomfortable when she did that. We’d separately tell him in private that we didn’t agree, but any time we tried to really stand up to Sue, she’d start the crazies. Screaming, hitting people, slamming doors, dangerous driving, you name it. I should’ve let her kill herself in a car crash, but that would endanger someone else who doesn’t deserve that.

And there was just the general lack of support for my chosen career path. She always said she never pushed me in any direction and let me choose, but she fails to recognize that "barely tolerating" does not equal actual support. Actually, you can't even say she was tolerating. She didn't like that I wanted to go into public interest. She kept telling me people were going to lie and cheat me, even though there isn't really a way for my clients to cheat me out of anything, just as a practical and logistical matter. She encouraged Dan to join her in speaking about my path like it was some gross fly that had been smeared onto their windshield. I never broke confidentiality, but they would act like they knew my clients and would make disparaging remarks about them simply based on stereotypes and assumptions. When I first got the offer to go to Ghana, I didn't tell her for a week because I knew it would not go over well. When I did finally break the news to her, she pulled out ALL the stops. Crying, guilt-tripping, making it about herself. "Why do my children do this to me?????" she bemoaned. Jesus hell, lady, it's not about you, I’m not doing anything to you I’m just moving to Accra for work. Even if I die in this line of work (which I WON’T??) it’s like, I’m an adult who can make decisions about the direction of my life, sucks. And then she encouraged Dan to disparage Ghana based on stereotypes about the entire continent of Africa. I was going to a "wasteland," and they always said it with such vehemence and force behind their words. That was the truly ugly part, their tone of voice. I corrected them multiple times, saying Ghana was actually quite green, there were beaches, forests, and waterfalls, and that there is actually a sizable Chinese expat community and that I have contacts in Accra and the city is very friendly. My words always fell on deaf ears because they - especially Sue - insisted on their narrow world view. And the irony is Sue always told me I have no life experience, but it honestly seems like the other way around. She told me to buy travel insurance when I need expat insurance. Those two are indeed different things, and it definitely matters which one I get. Don't be stupid, you don't have any life experience.

Oh and she keeps asking for money, like 30k, for costs of raising me and sending me to school. Lmao that bitch can go fuck herself, if anything the ho owes me for IIED.

In conclusion, Sue is a crazy bitch who never should have had children and needs to be contained.

[netunleashed-blog]

Name and shame - six great bands who hate their own crappy name

http://www.internetunleashed.co.uk/?p=24952 Name and shame - six great bands who hate their own crappy name - http://www.internetunleashed.co.uk/?p=24952 Jimmy Eat World aren't the only ones with a dodgy moniker What’s in a name? Well, quite a lot, really. A band name is one of the first decisions any budding young group has to come to and – as some very famous musicians will gladly tell you – there’s a whole load of fuck-up potential. Take Jimmy Eat World, for example, who spent this past weekend lamenting their decidedly dodgy choice of band name. “Advice for new bands: When coming up with a band name, make sure it’s acronym displayed really large on your artwork or t shirts won’t be complicating matters. You’re welcome,” tweeted the band whose acronym is… right, yep. Probably worth a bit of a re-think, that one. The Twitter explanation went on to describe how, in February 1994, the band spent a grand total of “less than 5 min, no shit,” hastily coming up with a band name “so we could play this dumb ass party.” Shocker, mates. Hope you at least got a party bag. “So moral of the story: even seemingly small and insignificant decisions can be much bigger than you could imagine. Slow down sometimes and make sure it’s right,” they offered, wisely – advice that a bunch of other big-hitters would do well to heed. Below, we’ve rounded up a bunch of other bands who regret their choice of name. Learn from their mistakes, dear reader. Arctic Monkeys Arctic Monkeys’ Alex Turner (Picture: AFP/Getty Images) It’s a name that’s so ingrained into the top billings at festivals across the globe that we rarely give it more than a cursory nod, but take a step back for a second. Arctic Monkeys. What does that even mean? Was it a prescient nod to the IKEA Monkey and his big fluffy parka? Probably not, but it’s nice to pretend, isn’t it? As it turns out, even iconic, recently shorn frontman Alex Turner doesn’t card much for the name, blaming it on their youthful naïvety. “This is the first band I’ve been in,” he offered by way of explanation in 2011. A lot of people in bands have a few goes at it before they find the one that works but with us, we all started playing guitar and everything at the same time.” He continued: “There might have been other ideas for offshoots at the time, but the Monkeys was the first one. It sound like a first band name, doesn’t it? It’s so bad that the tribute bands don’t sound worse. I saw there’s an Aertex Monkeys, that’s pretty clever.” What’s more, he passed the buck on their dodgy moniker over to guitarist Jamie Cook, adding: “I’ve no idea where it came from. It was Jamie’s fault, he came up with it and he’s never even told us why. If he even knows, he’s keeping it a secret from me.” Probably not the IKEA Monkey then, we’ll admit. Foo Fighters Dave Grohl of the Foo Fighters at Glastonbury 2017 (Picture: Matt Cardy/Getty Images) ‘Foo Fighters‘, you may or may not know, was the term used by US pilots during World War 2 to report UFOs. Pretty cool but of pub quiz trivia, that – not a particularly bad band name, either. Nice bit of alliteration. Rolls off the tongue. Could be worse. Could be Arctic Monkeys. Don’t try saying that to Dave Grohl, though – he’s not a fan of the name at all. He’s laid into the title on more than one occasion – in 2010, he admitted that he was obsessed with UFOs at the time of writing the first Foo Fighters tape, leading to him plucking the name out of a book on aliens. “Had I actually considered this to be a career, I probably would have called it something else, because it’s the stupidest fucking band name in the world,” he added – harsh words, which he backed up in 2014.  “Had I imagined that it would last more than a month-and-a-half, I might have named it something else,” Grohl said in a CBS interview. “It’s the dumbest band name ever.” Mumford and Sons Mumford and Sons at Latitude 2017 (Picture: Bella Howard/NME) Some more pub trivia for you now – did you know the other members of Mumford and Sons aren’t actually the offspring of dear Marcus? Seriously. Not to get all ‘birther’, but trust us – look up their birth certificates, if you dare. It’s all a big fat fraud. Still, we won’t get too shitty with the ol’ banjo stringer – turns out he thinks it’s a dumb name too. He dubbed it a ‘ballache’, and admitted that he’s even thought about changing it. “I definitely regret the band name,” he said back in 2015. “If I’d known it was going to go this way I would have wanted to call it anything other than my last name.” Poor sausage. Japandroids Japandroids at SXSW 2013 (Picture: Pooneh Ghana/NME) This one’s a bit weird, really, isn’t it? What does Japandroids even mean? Well, it’s a portmanteau of two other suggestions – Japanese Scream (from drummer David Prowse) and Pleasure Droids (from guitarist Brian King). Both kinda crap, sorry lads. Not that Japandroids is much better. A democratic solution, though, we’ll admit. “Yeah, maybe we would have taken it a little more seriously if we knew what was going to happen,” King admitted in a 2010 interview. “But for a band like us, when you name your band, you’re looking for a name to just put on a flyer to play a show. You’re not thinking that anybody is going to know who you are.” He also admitted that it’s here to stay, and doesn’t think they’re alone in thinking their choice of moniker is a bit stinky. “I think there are a lot of bands that have become quite famous that wish they would have changed their name if they had just realised they would reach that level,” he added. “I mean, Radiohead. That’s a stupid band name – it’s not cool, it sounds terrible. If those guys had a chance to go back, what would they think? But it’s sort of like the band is bigger than the name now.” Fair point, Radiohead is a pretty dumb name too. We’ll let you off, Kingy! Smashing Pumpkins D’Arcy Wretsky and Billy Corgan with Smashing Pumpkins on SNL (Picture: Getty) Immortalised in a top-10-of-all-time Simpsons joke, Smashing Pumpkins is, regardless of punability, a properly crap name. Don’t worry, though – the band are more than aware of it. Former bassist-turned-Corgan’s-#1-scapegoat D’Arcy Wretzky admitted as much in a Washington Post interview, dubbing the phrase “a stupid name, a dumb bad joke and a bad idea.” Go on, D’arcy – tell us what you really think. Mogwai Mogwai (Picture: Brian Sweeney) Scottish post-rock titans Mogwai took their name from classic 80s horror Gremlins’ titular character. Don’t feed ’em after midnight, etc. What they didn’t realise at the time, was that Mogwai’s own name was adapted from the Chinese word mogui (魔鬼) – meaning demon. Fitting, really, for a band name they’ve been haunted by for a fair while. “The first time we got together and played properly as a band was June 1995,” Braithwaite said in a 2015 Irish Times interview. “We rehearsed just after Glastonbury in my parents living room. We always wanted to get a better name than Mogwai but, like a lot of things, we never really got around to it.” Not the most exciting excuse, really, considering the spooky connotations of the name. Make something up, Stu! Say you’re being haunted! Say it’s a curse and if you change it you’ll have to bring in a vocalist! Say something! Anything! Oh, whatever. Source link