we are the stories we live!

She can go to Hell

“3 wishes”, she articulated. “I trust you know the drill? Can’t wish for more wishes, or to be God, etc. That’s about the size of it.”

I nodded. “I understand, but one thing I want to make clear: I don’t want to find out there’s some crazy side effect, or hidden curse for all eternity or some shit. I want the things I wish for to benefit me, NOT to somehow turn around and hurt me. You promise that’s how this works?”

She cocked her head quizzically, as toddlers do when confronted with a conundrum. “Well of course, dear boy. Contrary to what you may think, I’m not out to get you. I have no reason to want to harm you. You have literally no risk in this endeavor.”

My gut tightened nervously.

“Satisfied?” she asked me with an impatient sigh, like a tired old tutor who has been teaching math for decades.

“Ok, I’m sold.” I grasped the pen and signed the contract before I waivered again.

For my first wish, I elected to have a weekly paycheck bigger than anyone else’s on earth. Rather than have a lump sum of cash, and risk spending it on a stupid island or being robbed, now I was guaranteed to be wealthy for the rest of my life.

Next, I took a cultured approach: fine art! I wished for an entire house full of famous pieces. My own showcase of literally priceless paintings.

Finally, I made sure to cover my ass for all eternity. “Heaven! I shouted joyously. I want to spend my afterlife enjoying limitless ecstasy & fulfillment forever.”

Smiling broadly, she signed her portion of the now-completed contract. "You’ve made some marvelous selections, child. You will indeed be satisfied, now & forevermore.”

She tore off my copy, folded it, sealed it with wax, & slipped the document into a stately leather pouch.

Her eyes met mine, for a consummating moment filled with irrevocability, and then she gave final instructions:

“And now, our collections agency will set about obtaining your desires! Unfortunately it’s not like Aladdin, you understand. These things cannot be contrived from thin air,” she winked.

I didn’t hide my worried tone, “Whoa, Collections Agency? What the fuck does that mean? You told me I had nothing to worry about!”

“Of course not, dear boy”, she assured me. “We must simply go about the business of collecting what is rightfully yours.”

“The money, we will procure from various banks around the world, and of course those places can spare it.”

“The art, we will replace what we take from museums, with replicas. Not a soul can tell the difference, behind the security glass.”

“And as for your eternal life in heaven, you will certainly be getting that as well! Though you didn’t earn it with your actions, tisk tisk” she slapped her tongue.

“That’s why we had you list a character reference on the contract; you chose well! Your lovely daughter has lived a very honorable life.”

anonymous asked:

CONGRATS DUDE and give us the proposal story👀👀👀

Okay so let me set the mood: In my hometown I live on a Lake and chilling on the docks was always my get away and release when times got hard. But we are visiting my hometown for Memorial Day weekend and my gf said she wanted to go have breakfast but go sit down by the water for a bit. As I’m driving us to the dock, I FUCKING GET PULLED OVER FOR SPEEDING. Thankful I only got a warning haha! So we get to my favorite dock and we are just looking at the water and I said “I love you” and then she goes, “enough to spend the rest of your life with me?” AND THEN SHE GOT DOWN ON ONE KNEE AND MY BRAIN SHORT CIRCUITED. I actually first said, “are you kidding?!” And then I started crying and I couldn’t talk so I nodded yes and NOW IM ENGAGED AND IM GOING TO HAVE A SUPER GAY WEDDING WITH MY SUPER GAY FIANCÉ! The end.


Last night I would have been seeing Chris for the ninth time. Instead, I celebrated his life with others who hold him dear in their hearts. We shared stories of seeing him and expressed the different ways in which he affected our lives. Every day I am grateful for him. Without him, I would not be alive. Thank you, Chris. I love you. You mean more to me than anyone will ever know.

One of our many Fun Family Stories from when we lived in Scotland was the time we were vacationing in Caerlaverock and decided to walk from the inn on the nature preserve where we were staying to the castle as a nice little day excursion. 

The map said there was a trail, so my parents, my visiting aunt and cousins, me (age 11) and my little brother (age 7), set out. We soon ran into problems such as dead ends, bridges that were half-sunk in the marsh, and mud so deep my brother got stuck and had to be rescued. For whatever reason, the adults decided to press on. It took us hours to wade through the signless fen. We got to the castle right as they were about to close it for the day, but we looked so pathetic that they let us in anyway.

I bring this up now because I just learned that the path we attempted to take is called Flooder’s Trail. 

lives we know nothing of

These lives we know nothing of

people spilling out of church

on a hot Saturday afternoon

after a christening

as the heat reads 35degrees

all in suits & pretty frocks

le midi

france profonde

as we sit sipping Meteor beers

while the swifts wheel the sky

catching bugs mid flight

men in whirling moustaches

offer bonjour

walking into the bar

we will never know of these lives

encounter them

their back stories

cris de coeurs



bebe’s born to etrangers

so we sit & murmur to ourselves

for the beer is good & cold

much like our ignorance

of such existences

neil benbow

anonymous asked:

do they have to always use our invisibility as a weapon against us. lack of research on the subject of discriminatory attitudes towards a-specs doesn't mean it doesn't exist. our experiences should be enough. but they never are. they don't even understand the full extent of discrimination against us, denying that any of it has ever really happened. just goes to show they've never listened to us, to our stories. they've spent no time learning anything abt us. they don't care. 1/2

2/2 as if they believe we magically sprung up in the late 90s/early 2000s, like ppl like us could never exist outside of tumblr. policing our terminology, our symbols, our very lived experiences when they know nothing of our history at all. in my personal experience, i remember watching certain concepts evolve and the “big names” and all that. i was maybe 13/14, figuring things out. almost 22 now. seen the patterns in the shit we’ve faced, story after story. they don’t care, and they never will.

It’s such bullshit like if the “debate” was only about the specific term “oppression” and its implications, that’d be one thing, but you have a ton of ppl literally denying us any language to talk about what we experience (marginalization? nope unacceptable. Talking about being ace at all? Unnecessary and also TMI). There are literally ppl, and not too few of them, acting like the worst we get is an isolated plant joke once in our lives that lacks any context. People will indeed act like a lack of research means what we personally say is irrelevant and just “tumblr links”. They will try to pick everything we say apart and find some reason why it’s not Bad Enough to really matter at all

Like… wtf even

anonymous asked:

Tell us a story

Uh. A story? Lets see… I’m assuming you want something that’s happened to me?

(please note I am bad at telling stories)

So this is the story of about how I got my dear friend @hilow to move to Ohio.

OBVIOUSLY I live in Ohio, and I had been friends with her for a little under a year at this point. But we were on the phone like every night and if we weren’t talking we were texting (back in the day of flip phones and you had to send 10 texts to have a conversation with someone) or talking online.

She was having a rough time between her job, and the living situation with her mum. I won’t go into to much detail on it but… her mum was trying to make her move BUT at the same time was basically taking all her money so she couldn’t actually save money to move out. There was also a huge issue with the heater in her room and Carol being in the main part of the house. That’s all I’ll leave it at and Carol can go into it more later if she wants.

The point is, it was a bad time for her living there.

Well she was trying to get money together to come visit @imperfecteclipse and myself for an anime convention and I tell her she should just stay here. Bring as much as she can up to Ohio with her on the plane and stay.

She thought I was joking, cause I was living with my mum at the time. But I told her no, my mum would have no problems with it. I would often talk to my mum about Carol’s living situation. She knew what was going on. And this was late in the day so my mum was already getting ready for bed.

So I take my phone, and I walk to the stairs to my mums room, and I yell upstairs “HEY MUM WOULD YOU LET CAROL LIVE HERE IF SHE STAYED AFTER THE CONVENTION?” and my mum just yelled back down “YEAH THAT’S FINE SHE CAN LIVE HERE.”

So after a bit more discussion on the matter, me proving to her that I was serious about her moving in and getting away from her family… she ended up selling her horse and using the money to come to the con and stay. She was already planning on selling the horse to visit for the con, but the money did help her settle in when she first got here.

anonymous asked:

"subtly reminds y'all i got to pour hugh a drink" spill for us newbies?!

Hugh Dancy was a guest at the Starfury Red Dragon 3 con this past February. I was lucky enough to have a gold ticket, which meant I got to go to the Meet and Greet on Friday night. 

I brought a bottle of whiskey from a distillery that’s literally two blocks from where I live. We shared it at our table, and I offered some to each of the guests.

Hugh initially declined, but somehow the opportunity came up to ask him again and he said OK, so I poured him a wee dram (he was far too smart for my TELL ME WHEN TO STOP) and we shared it and that’s the story of how I was able to pour Hugh a drink. 

How We Got Here

We are a garden. Our collective souls, tangled up, in a bouquet of thorns and jagged brambles. I cut my legs on sharp grass, and feel the thorns dragging across my ankles, and alas, I continue forwards.

We are the aurora borealis, blazing and terrifying and celestial. Our collective stories, our lives, more broken than the jagged light that flies across the sky, like our bruises. We could set the world ablaze, we could write our memoirs in the stars and glistening hues that leak out of the sky, like ichor and a million years of tales worth telling.

We are a desert. There is miles and miles, and everywhere you turn, it is the same, all so similar. The same playing field, the same vague appearance, but every inch, every one of us, holds new terrors, and a new destiny.

We are mountains. We have come from explosions and tower above. We graze the sky, because we are larger than life, and why should we bind ourselves to the ground, when it is so obvious that we were meant to touch the stars? To graze the moon. To split open the clouds with snowy mountain tops and jagged fingernails.

We are the galaxy. Bigger than anything you have ever seen, and spelling out legends within our light. Our veins map out constellations, and we set the world on fire and will leave you breathless with our power.

We are the world.

The 2 Elements of an ORIGINAL STORY IDEA

If you’ve been doing this writing thing for more than one day, you’ve likely experienced the following worry: 

“What if my story idea ISN’T ORIGINAL?”

And if my experience is any indication, things spiraled downwards from there: “What if it’s cliche? What if there’s nothing new here?! It IS cliche. It ISN’T original. I’m a failure! ALL MY WRITING NEEDS TO BURN!”

Calm yourself. There’s a way to make sure that your story concept is unique.  

First, what IS a story concept? It’s the initial idea that made you want to write the thing. It’s the “What If” question that starts everything off. Later, it will be the promise that hooks the reader or audience, and makes them want to experience the story. 

So for example: What if Cinderella was a cyborg? What if a rat wanted to be a french chef? What if a fish had to venture across the ocean to find his son who’s captive in a dentist’s office aquarium?   

All great concepts. All of which seem to be comprised of two elements: something that we already know about, a set up that establishes expectations, and then something contrasting and surprising, which creates irony or surprise.  
So the first element of a successful story concept is FAMILIARITY. 

Establishing expectations? Something we already know about? Familiarity?! That sounds like the definition of UNorginal. 

Hear me out. 

What do readers do when foraging for a new novel at the bookstore? Certain readers gravitate to certain shelves. Some go to mysteries, some to crime, a whole lot to romance, and the rest to the other genres that are too numerous to list.

 Why is this? Because genres give them a pretty good idea about what they’re going to get. Readers already know the conventions of the genre. They’ve already put in the work of learning, accepting, and enjoying these conventions. 

Genres give both reader and writer something to go on right away. For the reader, genres are expectations for story events, setting, character, and more, which are automatically enjoyable to them. For a writer, it’s a set of expectations which can be flipped to create something remarkable and unique.  

It’s like telling a joke. Without a setup, there can’t be a punchline. 

The genres are the setup, the individual twist the author puts on that genre is the punchline. Or in other words, readers truly do want the same thing –only different.  

To illustrate this, let’s take a look at one of the most successful stories of all time.

With space ships, interplanetary travel, sentient robots, and aliens running amok, Star Wars LOOKS to be the kind of story that requires the audience to expend lots of mental energy to comprehend and believe. At first glance, it seems that imaginations are going to have to stretch a great deal, and there won’t be anything familiar to ground us – this SEEMS like an uncomfortably new, unwelcoming world. But I doubt if anyone has ever felt uncomfortable or unwelcome while watching Star Wars. And the reason for this can be summed up with one ellipsis-ended sentence:

Suddenly, all is clear. This isn’t the hard-to-imagine future, this is the PAST. We’re not being asked to imagine and believe a totally new world; we’re being taken to the realm of “far, far away”, a place we’ve known since childhood. Isn’t “a long time ago” just another way of saying “once upon a time”? Yes, it is, so we know where we are now. We are in a fairy tale, a myth.  

The familiarity of fairy tales sets us at ease and sets our expectations in place. Expectations which Star Wars meets with flying colors: A farmboy who must become a knight. A princess imploring for aide. A mystical wise-old-man mentor. Sword fights between good and evil. A magic that operates like religion. A dark lord and a dark side. Star Wars was built upon something we already know, something timeless, something we’ve always enjoyed. 

And once those well-known expectations were set, Star Wars was free to add the unexpected and create one of those most memorable story worlds ever.
Think of a story you love, and you’ll probably be able to identify the something-already-known aspect of it.  

How about Harry Potter? 

When we hear “boarding school”, mental images and probabilities are instantly conjured in our minds. We picture classrooms, dormitories, a campus with very old buildings, kids in uniforms, a giant place for meals, living through a schoolyear with a bunch of kids your age, etc. Even if we don’t know much about boarding school, we all know what regular school is like (even us homeschoolers over here *waves*) and our expectations for that are nearly identical from person to person.  

So what does this prove?

It proves that one half of your story’s concept must be grounded in something we already know, and know well. These are the expectations you are going to establish for your reader, before the second element of your concept upends everything and creates something wholly unique. 

You need FAMILIARITY. You need to ground your concept in something WELL-KNOWN. Only then will you be able to create something ORIGINAL. 

Where can familiarity be found?  

1. Genre Conventions 

2. Occupations 

3. Well-known stories  

The possibilities are not limited to these categories, of course. Familiar subjects can be found within many other areas. However, Familiar elements seem to share certain qualities … 

Provides a rough timeline

⦁ Conjures imagery

⦁ Sets expectations for events, characters, opposition, etc

⦁ Has natural potential for conflict 

⦁ Serves as a goal-oriented backdrop for the plot

To see how this works, let’s look at Harry Potter again: 

Familiarity: Going to boarding school. (An occupation)

Timeline: A school year (which Voldy always lets Harry complete before trying to kill him again, bless him.)

Story Expectations: When we hear “school”, we know what we’re going to get.

Imagery: Boarding school conjures tons of possibilities. 

Conflict Potential: It’s a thousand kids living in one castle with a handful of adults – there’s going to be conflict. 

Goal-Oriented: School is inherently goal directed. You want to graduate. And in the case of boarding school, you want to win the house cup. 

But of course, this familiar environment is only HALF of the concept for Harry Potter. The other half, of course, is WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY. Which brings us to the 2nd element of a successful story concept, which will be the subject of the next post.

10 girls I keep in my heart

1. Beauty was never your goal. Your eyeliner is sharp, a blade, war paint. Your laugh is deep and unwavering, open mouthed to bear fangs. I remember when you cut your long hair off and streaked it with pink. Not like a fairy but like a fire. Yet water runs through your veins. You love your mother so.

2. Oh girl of the earth, you never liked poetry. I think you were carved from the mountains that you’ve never seen. The strongest winds cannot move you. Your hands never rub raw. Yet your edges are soft for stone.

3. Your house is full of beautiful things but you don’t see any of it. Nothing ever feels like home. Storms blow through you so often I think you gave up on rebuilding. And now you live among the rubble. Your anger broke my windows and cut at my cheeks. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.

4. How does your smile always manage to reach your ears? So wide you have to close your eyes to make room. Your hugs nearly suffocate me but I don’t mind at all. You play nirvana on your guitar and you don’t understand the lyrics. I hope you never do.

5. I miss you everyday. The gentlest soul on earth. The world hasn’t given you half as much as you deserve. I can’t believe how many people don’t even know your name. Your heart is full of tulips and an angel sent you my way.

6. My first love. You opened my eyes. We spoke our own language and danced like no one was watching. I kept every drawing you made for me. I wonder if you remember me from time to time.

7. My oldest friend. We are holding hands underwater. We are hiding in bushes. We are spinning elaborate stories and pretending not to notice how they unravel. You used to fall asleep on my shoulder. I hope our paths cross soon.

8. You are so much made from so little. You radiate with the force of the sun your body can barely contain you. How you saw me through your own light I do not know. Your name is from the moon and Jupiter is in the art you make. Oh girl born to live.

9. I’ve seen 7000 sides of you. Multidimensional and deep as an ocean. And what lives under the surface bites. I’ve mastered the art of walking on water. I was never good enough to reach you. But someone will be. Someone is coming. I promise.

10. How is it that every song is about you? I wonder if you realize that I look for you everywhere. Your soul is in splinters they’ve flown up to space. They’re tangled in trees. You’ve sent them my way. Oh I’ve felt you exploding not in anger but in creation. Galaxy after galaxy. Oh nebulas light my way home. You are dandelions spilling over rolling hills. You are grass stained jeans. You are Ferris wheels at sunset


It’s a very modern telling of this story. It’s beautifully rendered, and it has a pretty wonderfully, beautifully transparent message of that — no matter how ugly this world that we live in gets, no matter how much death we encounter, no matter how many homicidal dictators are out there, no matter how much genocide happens, how many wars happen, there is still hope in the best parts of ourselves to be good, and to protect one another, and to do right by one another. That’s what we should hold onto. And that’s what [Wonder Woman] represents.

I never asked about your girlfriends because they didn’t worry me.
Breakups bring closure, you button them up like old shirts and stow them away. I was interested in the girls you never dated, never broke up with. The ones who came with loose ends and what-ifs. The ones with mystery and unfinished endings, stories that could write back into yours, into ours. Stories that could write me out. I called them the Almosts.

The Almosts have a way of hanging around, like loose shirts draped over chairs or stuffed in the backs of drawers. Just because they aren’t part of your everyday routine doesn’t mean they couldn’t be.

So as sad as I am that we are parting ways, I can only hope that this is temporary, that we will be written back into each other’s lives at a different time. Maybe I am just another almost, but at least that means that I haven’t been packed away for good. Maybe I’m just a shirt that still fits, but just got lost under the bed. Maybe you’ll realize you still love me when you try me on again in a few years.

Its a lot easier to grab a shirt draped over a chair than one that’s been packed away. But then again, you were never very tidy.

I’m sure you have shirts lying everywhere.

—  Almosts // Mt
If I’m murdered

I want to share this in English because I think this is very relevant to every women out there.

On May 3rd, the body of Lesvy Berlin Rivera Osorio was found inside one of UNAM’s campus on Mexico city. She was left propped on a phone booth, strangled with the cord of the public phone around her neck. She was 22 years old.

The PGJ (not sure how to translate but it’s something like the General Court of Justice prosecutor) recently released a statement that was brought up based on several interviews with people that were close to Lesvy, including her boyfriend.

They were very good at mentioning that Lesvy had not been attending classes as she had dropped out of school recently.

They were very good at mentioning that she drank.

They were very good at mentioning that she lived with her boyfriend outside of marriage.

They were very good at mentioning that the night she was murdered she had been out with friends probably either drinking or doing drugs.

They were very good at mentioning that she dared to be outside, alone, at night.

They were very good at pinning the blame of a murder case on the victim herself, but they were no closer to finding the actual perpetrator. (You know, the person who ACTUALLY STRANGLED HER WITH A PHONE CORD?)

They used the phrase “found dead” instead of calling it what it really was: MURDER.

They made no mention whatsoever of her boyfriend being a suspect, despite the fact that he was the last person to see her alive, that they had attended the same party that night, and that they had a fight right before her murder after which (according to him) they parted ways angrily.

I’m not saying he is guilty, but perhaps if she had been a “good girl, grade A student” she would deserve justice and a proper investigation of her death instead of the PGJ violating the confidentiality of a still ongoing investigation by releasing these personal facts Lesvy in the media, as if that justified her murder?

I am tired of this and I’ve been holding back tears all day.


Violence against women happens everywhere, not just in distant places. Lesvy was killed in the middle of a college campus.

If you were killed, what facts about your imperfect life do you think they would bring up on the statements, on the news media?

This is how the hashtag #SiMeMatan (If I’m murdered) began. Because it seems to be always our fault, for being at the wrong place, with the wrong clothes, or at the wrong time (things not fit for “proper ladies”) and never the fault of the person perpetrating the crime.

Back when I saw Kelly Oxford’s hashtag about sharing our stories of harassment I remembered a similar movement that was made in Latin America a bit earlier called #MiPrimerAcoso (my first harassment) I realized that we face the same struggles, regardless of what language we speak.

This is why I’m writing this now, because I think you should know about Lesvy’s story and we should all be heard.

So here goes mine:

If I’m murdered:

It would be because I lived by myself in my apartment.
It would be because I confront people that catcall me on the street.
It would be because I like wearing knee high boots and stockings.
It would be because I dyed my hair a lot in whacky colors.
It would be because I hang out more with men than women.
It would be because I go out alone at night without the company of a man.
It would be because I drink when I go out.
It would be because I was flirty and friendly to everyone.
It would be because choose to have sex without being married.

You know what the worst part is about this?

That every woman who is tweeting this hashtag is very well aware that they could be next, and that the official responses might not be too different from Lesvy’s case.

Heck, even women that have marched in outrage at UNAM and women that have tweeted disgust at what happened have started receiving threats online.

Please stay together, and stay strong.

Street dwellers 

Growing up in France we had a lot of those little cobble stone streets. They were nice but at 2 or 3 Am after a fun night out they were magical! With the little bistro lights hanging out and no one in site and the big shadows..

I know it’s just a sketch but sometimes, sketches like this make me happier than full blown illustrations.
It’s funny what motivates us as  artists in general. It’s usually not money although being paid a lot of money is nice and most of us dream about making a lot of it with our art…. when we think about it.. but mostly, motivation comes by doing a GREAT piece of art. Further more.. the piece of art has to be great in OUR eyes. We love being able to deal with a difficult problem and find a solution we had not yet thought of, or doing happy accidents and getting a  fantastic balance between the technical and the intuitive aspect of our work.. When we feel we’ve done something better than what we’ve ever done before.. we feel good.It breaks our heart when other people don’t see that and we tend to seek other people’s approval of our art because it’s a way for us to know that the intense stories that we live in our head actually have a connection and make an impact on the outside world.BT.. public approbation does NOT make an artist happy.. IF this artist doesn’t think his work is worth it. That’s a funny thing…. you can praise heaps and heaps of compliments on someone’s work and it will feel….nice… most of the time, but it will definitely not take precedence over the feeling the artist has of his /her own work. This is where the feeling of being a hack comes from.
We always hear “no pain no gain”.. we tend to think that you have to work hard at something if you want to get  better… and when we do a piece that takes us NO effort and people LOVE it, we feel like we’ve cheated. This feeling is reinforced when we actually work HARD at a piece and people barely take notice at all.
The best though… is when as an artist you feel like you’ve worked hard, HAVE learned something AND the public recognizes your work AND you make a million bucksThen… yeah…. that’s awesome.But money alone is not a great motivator for artists.

As usual..this is just my opinion and you are free to disagree!