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quietmtntown · 1 year

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thinking of all my favs of the year most who i rped at some point and im noticing a pattern

my pattern

i like egocentrical assholes

some have homicidal tendencies, parental issues

so my confusion on tumblr citing favs of mines ain't assholes or that they're favs have zero flaws just make go wow ya'll are boring.

#the pattern is #i like assholes #were all a little bit of an asshole #darkwing duck #zim #demona #cartman #oswald cobblepot #bojack horseman #damien wayne #tho i read the comics i never fully saw the movie #zuko #how the atla fandom talks about zuko as either too much of an asshole or too soft in fandom is annoying

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tired-hellowl · 2 months

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here' a comprehensive list as to every problem I have with the current *unecessary characters known as 'Glitz and Glam'

Do they expand the story/worldbuilding in any meaningful way? Do they explore a new hidden dynamic/past conjunction with a differing character and is that explored meaningfully? What was the point of having them animated when Mammon can portray the same level of humiliation/degrading/on stage lack of positive reinforcements. 😐

I'm so sorry but I view these characters as necessary garbage that caused some animators arthritis via too many patterns, not enough screen time to have meat and potatoes worth of dialogue, or really any pretense within the story whatsoever and yes this extends towards every female character on screen but let's not worry about that !!! Even if they are IMPLIED to be from the ring of envy-a color or ring we haven't seen nor meaningfully conveyed to the audience that it even is possible to go in/exists- it isn't conveyed to the audience well enough besides the visual implication of colors???? Instead of having shitty b-plots that go nowhere via Stolas and Blitz goofing off in seeing stars, Moxxie and Millie getting C-plots for no reason, or loona getting a rabies shot- all of that time could have been exploring hell, going to different rings, focusing on other characters besides the main 5, literally I would prefer a quiet episode like BoJack Horsemans 'Fish out of Water'where we can actually see the personalities of the main characters be appreciated and shown to us but that's never gonna happen :/

What I've been worried about is not even the on screen racism/out of touch 'rap/hip-hop parody' leaves a terrible taste in my mouth, if that isn't enough then the sexualization/implication of an incest type dynamic and nothing else besides fetish bait with these characters constantly grabbing one another and not really acting like siblings moreso someone who has never had siblings attempting to write sibling banter and failing terribly :/

Why do you have a problem with 'Klown Bitch' it's so catchy! Uhm, no??? I feel bad for anyone who attempts to defend helluva/hazbin as good modern musicals let me grit my teeth in silence as to the glorification over white people dominating black culture

HERES A HISTORY OF FEMALE HIPHOP ARTISTS: X

Pictured above is very old concept art about twin characters and its the same hairshape viv kept to transfer over to glitz/glam- despite clearly being over designed and way too much going on Alá vivzie style. It just goes to show she recycles even from herself and not every design is always new hot and fresh :/ AND SPEAKING OF CONCEPT ART-

Also also don't forget salems' concept designs thst got passed even though they loon toony, loony, clown enough, and definitely majorly way easier to have animated besides the mess that is the current design meta ???

Love how you can clearly see the silhouettes being so easily identifiable comparably towards the actual amalgamated mess that is their current limbs attempting to hold onto their toothpick body for their head.

All this screams to me is viv using the artists thst try to come onto helluva and they try their best with what their given, viv only picks the best bits SHE thinks is worth her time rather then thinking about the audience or animating anything else besides overglorified white people rap 🤔

Also the episode literally presents its full internalized misogyny/racism within this episode because vivzie herself literally admitted to typing into script with a full chest that

'Women just ain't funny'

. . .

why present misogyny within the series if you as a creator aren't willing to tackle the subject matter? Why write about it or present it as if you're smart over including the joke in your script when it isn't even funny because it just further pushes women out of the entertainment/comedy business which mind you IS ALREADY VERY WELL MALE DOMINATED SO PUTTING OTHER WOMEN DOWN TO PUT YOURSELF UP ISNT HELPING YOUR CASE VIV???

So then what was the point of adding female clowns if all you were going to do with them was make fun of them out of their expense and then profit off of the fact that they are incest coded????????????

?????????Are we watching the same fucking series????????

#vivziepop critical #i'll add more later #helluva critique #helluva critical #helluva boss criticism #helluva boss is homophobic #helluva boss critical #i hate it here #anti hazbin hotel #anti spindlehorse #anti helluva boss #anti vivziepop #cw inc*st #I hate glitz and glam so much

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almacambiondaughterofsaleos · 4 months

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Octavia Gives Stolas The " It's You" Speech

I use Octavia is because the narrative uses as her a prop to make Stolas seem not that bad and a "good" father. However, as I have seen time and before he's put Blitzo over his own daughter so many times that it has become an informed attribute. And I know the next time she appears she s going to be demonized as being a cockblock to his relationship and do something "unforgivable". However, she already has gone through twice with her father's bs and I have the feeling if there is a third time she would notice a pattern and finally stop giving him chances.

Seriously, Octavia would be fed up with her father's self-pitying and selfishness and how he puts Blitzo over her own interests. And again it doesn't help the narrative coddles him so that he is absolved of anything bad. But if again this was Bojack this would be rich if his daughter just put his foot down and stop tolerating his bs. The daughter he supposedly loves and cares finally sees him as a self-centered asshole who has a victim complex.

#helluva boss #helluva boss critical #helluva boss criticism #helluva boss critique #vivziepop critical #vivziepop criticism #vivziepop #anti-vivziepop #octavia #stolas #anti-stolas #stolas critical #stolas criticism #pro-octavia #bojack horseman #todd #bojack

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cozycraftzbl · 2 years

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Off of your TV screens and into your shitty lives, is Bojack Horseman. Pattern available on my shop at https://www.etsy.com/shop/CozyCraftsByLexi

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dougielombax · 6 months

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Parallels

Seeing Patterns in Things that Aren’t There.

Part 22

Thrones of Drones

1. BoJack Horseman (2014-2020).

“Why can’t it be called a drone throne.” - Todd Chavez.

2. Inside Job (2021-?) (FUCK Netflix!!!)

“So, in conclusion. By duct taping a bunch of drones together. You get THE DRONE THRONE!!!!!” - Brett Hand.

I’m not the only one who’s noticed this coincidence.

I don’t think these episodes had the same writers.

So it’s most likely a baffling coincidence.

Interesting.

Feel free to reblog

#dougie rambles #personal stuff #parallels #shitpost #or is it #inside job #fuck netflix #bojack horseman #brett hand #todd chavez #drones #drone #UAV #drone throne #coincidence #possibly #maybe #idk

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somediyprojects · 10 months

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Bojack Horseman stitched and designed by teranaked.

“It did get easier.

185.000 stitches, 60 colours, 1 year, and 1 quote eternally burned into my brain.

The concept and execution is mine, the universe pattern is inspired by StitchXCrossStitch on Etsy, horse is made on EasyCross App.”

#cross stitch #inspo #x #self drafted #etsy #pop culture

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danganronpa96 · 5 months

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Ahhh, my question actually got answered, thank you! I'll make sure keep the rest of my questions here from then on, hehe.

As for my next one: How would the deceased participants of DR69 react to the executions of DR96 (especially Bojack's relatively short but gut-punching one), and vice versa (as in the deceased DR96 participants reacting to DR69's executions)?

These afterlife mfers cannot catch a break can they haha

DR69 deceased -> DR96 executions

Hiroshi — Most were confused, and a little freaked out, when a hoard of giant purple monsters were chasing down Hiroshi. Dedede was very peeved when Monotora tripped up Hiroshi, essentially sending him to his death. Ashley supposes executions are never fair like that (although was a little interested in the Onis).

Kaidou — Cue Fluttershy crying for at least 15 minutes after watching his execution (the final scene only made it worse). Miku found it interesting Nesos used Kaidou's weaknesses against him (poor gym skills, tendency to fantasize etc.). Mario felt a bit of nostalgia when he saw Kaidou smile at Saiki before he gave into his injury.

Mai — Although she didn't react outwardly, Teto found it pretty heartbreaking how Kurumada and Latte tried to help Mai by banging on the glass (because she would've done the same for someone she liked too). Fluttershy and 2D could relate to Hayasaka more who was too shocked and afraid to move. Mr. Krabs thought the ginger-Mais were in poor taste (and was happy to at least see everyone refuse them after the execution).

Bojack — Brian could relate to Bojack's morale to ends things as soon as possible despite exploring all the possibilities the execution had to offer. Peter was confused when the pill bottle floated atop the pool, so Brian had to begrudgingly explain what happened to him. Sans thought it was pretty scummy of Nesos to use a location very connected to Bojack (similar to his own execution).

DR96 deceased -> DR69 executions

Mario — Kaidou kept cheering at the screen in hope for Mario's survival, but what really got him was when he faced death head-on as he was cornered by Mono-bowser. Hiroshi thinks Kaidou must be upset at that, but Kaidou sees it as very admirable (as it was similar to what he said about trying to be strong before dying).

Ashley — Ena would've probably gotten attached to Red in 0.1 seconds after seeing him save Ashley from falling, and then subsequently go onto sob ugly tears once Red was unfairly killed as well. Kaidou and Mai both pat their shoulder to console them.

Teto — The more metaphorical approach to the torture Teto suffered would've left a mark, even if the execution was faked at the end. Being forced to live her greatest fear (rejection of someone she loves) really resonated with Mai, and Yuri.

Sans — There were definitely a few gasps when Nagito stepped in to try and save Sans, only for him to receive an injury too. Mai thought it was really bittersweet as she could tell how much the two cared for each other. Hiroshi, on the other hand, kept wondering how it was possible for Monokuma to keep respawning like that (hidden copies?).

Brian — The moment when he pulls out the gun was definitely a shock to some. Bojack probably thought "just like me fr" and then Retsuko stopped letting him watch any more executions.

Final — Walter was still coming to terms about how a holographic teenager managed to take over the world. Most were quick to pick up on the pattern of executions everyone received. When Teto pinned down Miku last minute so the others could escape, Yuri found it very interesting how selfless Teto had become to go against someone she loved.

#also np for answering your ask (months ago)#you see this ask and all before it were sent in early September #and boy has some time passed since then

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korranguyen · 2 years

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Let's talk about Azula & Ozai’s psychological abuse for a second. (Part 1)

Quick recap: I recently had the opportunity to visit the Writer's Guild of America (WGA). It was so fascinating to see how scripts are written, better understand the explicit motivations of certain characters and scenes, and the way the quality of an episode translates from pre-production to air time. I already have a lot of thoughts on the scripts I got my hands on (mostly Avatar) that I'll be unrolling, and I'm hoping to return to gather some thoughts on BoJack Horseman (I ran out of time within the opening times of the library because apparently 7 hours is not enough).

There was a lot of work on the ATLA writing team’s part that I found admirable and a lot that I found... less so. I will address both in time (as this post will)—but I want to start with the worst thing I found.

(S3E20, Sozin’s Comet: Avatar Aang, written by Mike DiMartino & Bryan Konietzko)

The ensnared Azula thrashes like a feral animal, breathing fire in desperation. Katara helps Zuko stand and they walk over to where Azula is tethered.

As Katara and Zuko watch with pained faces, Azula finally snaps, going from feral animal to bumbling crazy person.

AZULA: (WILD SCREAMS INTO PATHETIC BUMBLING AND CRYING)

(Emphasis is mine)

There’s a lot to unpack here—the way Bryke never sympathize with Azula’s pain and trauma here or even attempt to POV her internal dialogue for a sentence, the way their comparisons dehumanize her tragically human emotions, how the descriptions “feral animal” and “bumbling crazy person” are misogynistic, ableist, and horrific as fuck. But keep this all on hold as we take a step back and talk about Ozai.

One of the effects of reading Avatar scripts vs. watching the show was getting to read Zuko's confrontation with Ozai in DOBS line-by-line and recognize the psychological abuse patterns Ozai exhibits. For the most part, the audience sees Ozai’s physical abuse through the lens of Zuko's most traumatic experience—getting dueled, burned, and banished at thirteen for speaking out of turn—but we seldom get to see the ways Ozai works at Zuko psychologically because of how little the two directly interact during the runtime of the show.

We get a hint of it here:

And can fill in the blanks based on how abysmal Zuko's self-image is. But, with the help of the direct script, Zuko’s confrontation with his father alone can tell us a lot about Ozai’s psychology—and the psychology of the environment Zuko and Azula were raised in.

Because of how it applies to The Abuse Event™, we already know that Ozai tends to threaten Zuko into submission. Ozai’s actions assert that “respect” is “do exactly what I say, no questions asked”, that Ozai (as their father) must be given “respect” or dangerous consequences lie on the horizon, and that any semblance of approval or positive affirmation can only be earned by being “respectful” and being “good enough” to live up to his exceeding expectations (more on this later):

“You will learn respect, and suffering will be your teacher.”

We see him employ the same style of direct intimidation at the start of Zuko’s confrontation:

ZUKO: In fact, he’s probably leading this very invasion — he could be on his way here right now.

FIRELORD OZAI: (ENRAGED SCREAM) Get out! Get out of my sight right now if you know what’s good for you.

Zuko doesn’t flinch.

ZUKO: That’s another thing — I’m not taking orders from you anymore.

Ozai gets up and moves toward Zuko aggressively.

OZAI: You will obey me, or this defiant breath will be your last…

Quick tangent; can I mention how gratifying that three-word stage direction is? Zuko doesn’t flinch. After his father’s enraged scream. And it’s equally gratifying to see Ozai’s temper rise for the first time as he realizes his threats have lost their grip.

After all, what abusers hate most is losing their control.

Anyway—let’s see what else we pick apart about Ozai’s behavior from this conversation. He cuts down on Zuko’s character in an effort to diminish him into doing exactly he wants:

FIRELORD OZAI: Coward! You think you’re brave enough to face me, but you’ll only do it during the eclipse. If you have any real courage you’ll stick around until the Sun comes out.”

And he sneers at Zuko’s sentiment about “peace and kindness” by deriding his brother:

FIRELORD OZAI: (LAUGHS DERISIVELY) Your uncle has gotten to you, hasn’t he?

ZUKO: Yes.

Zuko smiles.

ZUKO (cont’d): He has.

FIRELORD OZAI: (SCOWLS)

FIRELORD OZAI: Oh, that’s just beautiful, maybe he can pass down to you the ways of tea and failure.

So, Ozai does a couple of significant things in this last bit. For one, we see that he freely throws negative shade at other people and generally looks down upon others; these are tendencies we have seen both his children parrot at different times in the show. But he’s employing another narcissistic abuse tactic here—by speaking ill of Iroh and cutting down on his character, Ozai is trying to degrade Zuko’s trust in his uncle and thereby isolate Zuko from his support system. We can presume he’s done this countless times before because we have already seen his tactic work its magic. Earlier in the series, Zuko has little respect for Iroh despite being highly esteemed, and calls his uncle shallow, mistrustful, fat, and lazy countless times. He especially denigrates Iroh when he is trying to justify upholding his father’s demands over Iroh’s genuine advice. However, Zuko knows better now than to listen to his father’s persuasion, and we see Ozai’s true intentions when he scowls wordlessly at Zuko.

I don’t doubt that he has ridiculed others in his childrens’ lives in the exact same way—particularly Ursa. Perhaps this is why Azula’s relationship with her mother was as complicated as it was, or why she gravitated towards Ozai’s parenting and adopted her father’s views of their family well before her mother’s disappearance. And we know he speaks of Zuko in this way, because we have direct evidence of Ozai telling his other child that Zuko is a failure (and also commanding her on a task in the same breath—there is no mistaking the underlying threat behind this introductory scene).

And then finally, when all of these tactics cease to work—when he feels his control slipping—he jabs at Zuko’s deepest attachments to regain control over him via emotional blackmail. And relishes in getting to do so.

Zuko doesn’t turn around, he starts WALKING AWAY. The Firelord EASES back into his chair — he is confident in his next tactic.

FIRELORD OZAI: Don’t you want to know what happened to your mother?

I don’t doubt that Ozai has used these same tactics on his other child, Azula, to get her exactly where he wants her to be. Even if he was more prone to flattering Azula or she was more capable of living to his demands, she still lives under the exact same danger of conditional love that her brother had earlier in the season, and is likely terrified of the consequences of losing that approval (which is why she throws her “Avatar-slayer” title onto Zuko). And even if Azula never “had it as bad”, kids pick up on things and even if it isn’t you, there is always the fear that it could be.

Now, about Azula. (Click here)

#zuko #azula #atla #atla azula #tw: childhood trauma #atla ozai #avatar #atla meta #writing/criticism #anti bryke

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self-winding · 3 months

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There's this famous speech that Todd gives to BoJack: "You can't keep doing this! You can't keep doing shitty things and then feel bad about yourself like that makes it okay! You need to be better! BoJack, just stop. You are all the things that are wrong with you. It's not the alcohol, or the drugs, or any of the shitty things that happened to you in your career, or when you were a kid. It's you. Okay? It's you."

Emotionally, I'm very much in Todd's corner here because BoJack has been a shitty friend to him, and I've been in Todd's shoes more than once; I've had to distance myself from people because they kept repeating the same dysfunctional patterns and I saw no evidence that they were going to change or that they were even capable of change.

Philosophically, though, I think agent causation is a naive doctrine and not even a particularly coherent concept. There is no "you" independent of the components that make you up. There is no homunculus in the driver's seat of your brain acting independently of the various influences that shape your choices.

There is, however, evidence to suggest that when people don't believe in free will, they are more inclined to act unethically. There was a study (I wish I could find it now) in which people were more inclined to engage in little acts of sadism like giving another person too much hot sauce on a thing they were obligated to eat after they read a passage arguing against free will. So we could say that whether there's any validity to agent causation or not, Todd is doing the pragmatic thing; by maintaining the illusion that people are causal agents, he's heightening the odds that BoJack's behavior will improve at some point. Though how much of this effect is the intellectual belief in free will versus plain old social pressure is another question. It's possible that the people in the study, when reading the passage about how free will didn't exist, were primed to think on some subconscious level, "Hmm...whatever I do next, I'm probably not going to be punished for it" and thus the psychic restraints were released from their chaotic gremlin ids.

Todd, as evidenced by this speech, is a metaphysical libertarian. A determinist Todd might say something like, "BoJack, I know that you had no choice but to do the shitty things you did. But, since trying to change your behavior with positive motivations hasn't worked, I now have equally no choice but to withdraw from you as a matter of self-protection. I can only hope that the emotional pain of me saying this to you, now, will act as a form of aversive conditioning, like a shock to a laboratory rat, and the accumulated impact of many such rejections will eventually reshape your neural pathways to the point where your behavior changes. But regardless, I now lack the emotional resources for any other course of action. Fuck, man. I don't know what else to say."

I guess that's less punchy.

#bojack horseman

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skinnypaleangryperson · 9 months

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BOJACK AND HIS WIFE: A X READER NARRATIVE

Summary: When Bojack leaves his house after a hangover moments before driving to a bridge to see the end of his long and sickly life, he sees you across the street. After some muddling of consideration in his impulsive mind, he takes interest in something he never would bother; to take a chance at letting an impossibly small nothing in.

A/N: Will be posted in small chunks over time, tumblr breaks otherwise.

Dry. Awake. Dirty and grim.

The day was polluted. The headspace of being forced back into perception of reality met the gradual understanding of the senses around you. The black feeling that came along with the shock of being in the kind of circumstances you were for this long were starting to come back. It lasted only for a moment, replacing the stagance of detachment that came along with never fully processing your situation due to the bittersweet benefit of the protection of vague sense of denial.

Your hand grasped onto the ten dollar bill you had crumpled into your pocket before you properly opened your eyes. The dirt that was caked on your cheek complimented the shakiness of your hand as you felt yourself give a hitch of a breath; one that came from whatever you had inhaled lying flat on behind the grit of the sidewalk earlier that day. The mundanity of the spot you had found yourself in was one settlement practiced as exactly as the routine you had long since become used to in order to survive.

You had seen the grim of the sidewalk and the splat of the dirt that sat on the back wall countlesDry. Awake. Dirty and grim.

You had seen the grim of the sidewalk and the splat of the dirt that sat on the back wall countless times previously on the same empty days, where the only pattern of meeting the fogginess of your detached eyes was the constant ongoing aimlessness that came along of the complex feeling of the analysis of an unwell mind and a body without a home.

Your eyes opened as you felt the burning of your cheek meet against the side of the hard pattern of the sidewalk. Your lips cracked opened, and you could feel the physical dryness there in your throat as you felt yourself coming back from the disorientation that came along from the deep detachment of lack of consciousness, and the abrupt wake that came along with all the small minute challenges that you weren’t even aware you were always fighting until you had such a natural bleak break from them temporarily.

Your palms began to ease onto the grim of the sidewalk as your skin pressed against it momentarily, your chin raising up, and for the countless time in your life did you feel yourself easing into the animalistic rhythm of the chaos of existence as the back of your headspace fell into a black acceptance of the ache of your body and the usual weary patterns of your mind that came to the pinnacle of just how exhausted they truly were for that minute moment they were forced to come from the bleak backdrop of sleep.

You were aware of the aching of your throat as you turned your head up, and with your body curling in on itself with the tattered dress you had been wearing the past few weeks; the tailor that you met with the kind eyes who had come to guess your story if only from the pathetic tattered ways you carried yourself with your hands gripped against the dirtiness of your skin and the pathetic nothing of your constant timid energy that caused her to have sympathy for her donation to you; a kindness that could only be met in small minute real life intimate scenarios such as that one that you knew was rare, even in that scenario.

Your lips pressed together, the bottom of your lip raising up onto the top of your other one in that undignified and delusional way that came from the disorientation that you had from the constant strain of your mental and physical streatching of your body. Your eyes fluttered up into a blink as you gave a breath, this time the tone sounding especially scratched against your throat, causing you to wince as you gave a heaved breath; the air of Los Angeles has been especially dry lately, and even more with a smog that was dressing and pollutining into the ease of the already defaulted grey clouded sky that normally sat above the buildings.

Your hands were cracked and cacked with dirt as you turned your head down, your body curling forward as you gave another dry heave while your body shook; that feeling of being inhuman wasn’t one that had become foreign to you at this point in your life where being inhuman and being treated as such from casual passagers didn’t lessen their loathing in looking down at the dirty cake of trembling lost people that the majority who had never fallen into the cracks were even capable of processing. Your neck turned up as your lips cracked and pressed against one another again as your kneeled your body back onto your thighs, your other palm coming to grip onto the white tatter of your dress. The tailor swan who had made the rags for you had been one of someone who gave you that special extra time to make you one of something special;

“You can’t go around and try to be naked and a woman without the world coming to your feet in the most detrimental way possible, honey.” The tone that left her beak was one of someone who had a thick intention of a pushy judgment, but underneath it from the start you had been aware of the warmth of her ultimate intention.

The walk was about two hours away by foot; as of late, your various methods for being able to own even half of a bill of twenty dollars had been becoming increasingly less possible. Your legs were beginning to ache from the amount of time they spent by the edge of the sidewalk and the grim that caked into your clothes and how it made every movement feel like an unwarranted chore; your body had become less able to give the passing by man what he wanted enough for a quick meal or for anything to add on to anything to do with your existence except for the constant emotional disorientation and mental foggy headedness that came along with the life of always being far from comfortable or even tolerable, mentally or emotionally from others, or the constant reminder on various media that the level you were on in life was of someone who was of a cheap punchline; or worse, a person who was at the hand of any vindictive person passing by, knowing your name, or lack of it, and your life was one easily thrown away that it was far from controversial as to whether anyone would notice.

Your bones ached as you leaned your torso back on your thighs underneath the trembling of your hand, trying to come back to the sense of focus you needed in order to make the walk. Your hands gripped on the deteriorating white fabric that had ripped through the sex of the random whiskey laden men with maddening eyes who thrusted their bodies onto you; some homeless, a mirror reflection of your situation, others simply someone of a richer high power who wanted to enjoy the fruits of their labor with a cheap body of nothing for quick minute fix in the back corner of a dirty wall to pleasure themselves for as long as they needed the serotonin without any significance beyond that.

You would take whatever they granted you with the material that crumpled in their hand; the trail of a spiral that you found yourself in now was part from their increased understanding that you took what you could, and left it at that, and the amount they handed you began to decrease along with their gradual realization that they could give or not give what they liked. Even in the grim of your caked and dirty skin that was the definition of someone who had a roll of the low status beyond recall of anything other than constant inward battlement, they couldn;t quite fathom just how low you were, just how much you would take from them of what they would give, and just how much they could get away with once they became aware of how powerless you truly weres times previously on the same empty days, where the only pattern of meeting the fogginess of your detached eyes was the constant ongoing aimlessness that came along of the complex feeling of the analysis of an unwell mind and a body without a home.

Ten dollars had become five dollars, and five dollars had started to become cents. It wasn’t until one of the men, a man who had had interocurse with you enough times behind a dirty splattered wall with especially sharp features of cheekbones and pale skin that gave away someone who was well off enough, that handed you fifty cents for the entirely of the hour and forty five minutes of your head being cracked against the pavement, your back burning from the asphalt of the road as your eyes turned up while you felt the pain of him entering and thrusting into you that you that it began to sink into your understanding of what it truly meant to be nothing; of the amount of people and their whims they could thrust onto you without punishment.

“Enough for one meal.” Your words had come out shaken, uncertain and with something that would have only confirmed their beliefs, lips pressed against one another as your hand pressed across your cheek in an undignified apology of desperation. Your eyes fluttered down as you felt yourself giving an awkward breath of a hitch from the ache of your body from the night that had occurred a couple of afternoons ago. Your eyes snapped up to the cents; seventy five. The man’s pale lips had raised into a vague smirk on his lips that looked as if he as rich enough that he got work done on his face as his eyes eased across yours, and then crumpled his hands on the cents while he turned it back into his pocket, dug through his coat, and then pulled out another few crumpled bits of dollars. Your hand had snatched for it, crumping it by your cest where your breasts were hanging out and open from your white tattered rags. The man had taken to raising up his eyebrows as his eyes traced across your body as yu tried to fumble your hands onto your rags, pulling up the white of the tattered and stretched folds of the dress while you eased the dress up onto your torso; the same rags that were now coming undone from the strings. Whether or not you would be able to make it over to the proper tailor store where the swan woman would take her usual empathy on you to offer you help for the dress was still up for debate, and even still, you had to figure out the process of getting there.

“Know your worth, strip dress.” The man had said it quickly, and even as he had taken a piece of the tattered white rag that had been attached to your dress while he had made love to you and had pressed it across te dirt on his face with a smudge while he titled his head to the side and turned his eyes away from you as he got himself up, the intention of the words had been clear.

“What?” You had crumpled the dollars against your palm as the red edge of your eyes had snapped up and looked at him, though the dread of the experience you had with human nature told you all you needed to. The man raised up his eyebrows as he gave a cocked and askew look of his lip with he cracked his head to the side, and with a kick of his boot did he turn a dim that sat by his shoe over to you. Playing along with the undignified role that you knew now he had been using to confirm as to weather or not you were worth anything even as a quick and cheap fix to subdue his desires did your body lean forward in front of him as you gripped for the dim. The man chuckled as he finished pressing the coat around his shoulders, and as he hoisted it up and began to walk away casually, he called over his shoulder in a casualty that spoke of all the void you knew it meant to;

“Good luck out there.”

To no surprise, you had never seen him again. And to an even lesser surprise, the tattering of the spin of your dress and the strings of it were already starting to fall apart further as you got yourself up; your head turned down as you gripped your hands onto the folds of the dress before the rags fell off your thighs entirely just as you managed to get enough feeling in your body to get yourself upward. Your head titled down as your fingertips gripped on your rags while you tousled the cloth into a large swab of your palms, then turned your head upward as you craned your head back and rolled your shoulders.

The ache in your body was enough as it was that it made you want to invest in the next twenty that you could get in the next area with a new gritty reputation as much as you were able to away from the quick mumbled passing of the one you had evidently built up here from the men that must have strung together their own form of mocking for your situation like an entangled cobweb of gossip for a bottle of vodka; the calores weren’t much, but it was enough to both detach you from reality into a detached leadway of the usual lack of virtue and control robbed from you otherwise, and along with that, the simple feeling of making your body just sick enough that for the time you had the bottle, food was not only something of a lack of concern, but also something not of want.

You leaned your body backward as a final crack of your body until you finally felt yourself standing up into an upright position, though it was clear that the ache in your body would be present for the next few days. Your eyes had that edge of a burning feeling as you turned your head over your shoulder to the small convenience store you had collapsed in front of a few hours before your exhaustion from making the walk towards the last public are you had slept in front of had caused you to leave; there had been too many rumors of people obtaining and increased disdain for the clearly unhoused who lived there, and it wouldn’t have been the first time you had seen another peer of yoru stature go to sleep nearby, and to wake up with their foggy docile eyes and mouth open with a metal piece stuck into their back; a passengers quick amusement of what they knew they could get away with when it comes to people with that amount of lack of power.

Your head wasn’t clear, but you had been in that place of foggy detachment of identity, of which you now had almost none, and of that lack of making clear sense of reality such as you did now. Your head turned up as the burning of your eyes, still muggy from the unnatural feeling of resting on the hard ground, turned as you looked over at the front convenience store on the other side of the road.

Fifty cents for an entire container of sweets of your choice-A Great Deal, Offered Today Only!

There was a vintage theme to it, the words marked in blocked and large blue letters as they were dressed across the fairly unkempt and unimpressive windows that sat around the store. All of the typical American candy was lied out under the blocks; Sour Patch, Reeces, Dots, Hereshys, Swedish Fish, abd the other assorted bright colors that rested under the blare of the sign in a stoic indifference as the the business of the city passed by in its detachment, not unlike you had long since started feeling yourself in relation to anyone surrounding you, and very little to be done to lessen the abrasive suffering that came from the lack of connection or anything to be done to even understand it. You blinked as you tried to come back to any reasoning you could find in your headspace as you stretched your body further upward, rolling your shoulders in an attempt to dull the ache, cramping your fingertips in an an attempt to soothe how cramped they felt. Reason felt far from reachable, but you tried to fight through the muggy headedness that came with despair and the feeling of hopeless meaningless; the pattern was the same level every day, and it never got harder or easier, just the same stagance of the same challenge and, eventually, recovery once you churned through the muddiness that made up your headspace.

The man inside was a heavyset mole man, the wear of the emptiness of his mundane time throughout the years of his life filled in visibility through the broad and large compass of the physicality of his body. He bore nothing but a blue shirt that wrapped around his plush and broad shoulders, the glasses resting on his snout as he busied himself with the cashier beyond the see through tint of the blue windows.

You felt your throat rasp again, the scratchiness of it easing against your throat as it met the dry air of what surrounded you. You blinked as you turned your eyes down to where your hands were still kept cramped onto your palms as you heard the unhealthy whistle noise of your throat while you turned your eyes down and to the crumple of the rags on your hands. Despondently did your thumbs caress against your dress for a moment, and in that muggy way the best that someone could, as someone who was coming to accept the narrative of their lack of worthwhile presence in life at all hours, the back of your head began to go through the different small components that you had rested in your rags that you had managed to manipulate into pockets for the times when you did have money.

With the attempt of the ability to try to fight through the constant emptiness and baggage of a life of someone who was now nearing their mid thirties and being at the status and on the brink of an easy death that your mind had become accustomed to did you began to think over if there was a way you could get anything from the other side of the road-not because you wanted to or because you had the time or the energy with the limited stigma that you barely possessed enough as it was, but more so from the literal need you felt that made it a robotic requirement; much like your force of moving your body and pretending to feel functional, despite having long since had your body and your immediate perception of reality long since gone from the understanding that you still existed.

Your head turned up just as your palm snapped over to your breast; you felt a quick pace of your heart as you felt the familiar end of the crumple that made up a dollar. Your fingers began to crumple against the feeling of the dollar underneath the cloth of the white dress, the material cheap enough that it gave away to plenty of feeling of the fabric meeting on your fingertips as you felt the material underneath it. You felt a shaky breath go through your lips as your fingertips gripped on the dollar through the cheap fabric, and your other hand went to grip the fabric on your dress as you crumpled it forward and furher onto your palm while the other grasp of your hand began to turn frnacitally into the fabric of the dress, turning over the material as your fingers came to grip on the paper of the money. Your eyes snapped down as you took the paper dollar and gripped it against your fingertips, turning the money over into your hand as your eyes passed over the bill; the number five was crossed on it with block letters.

The night before began to pass by your mind with the foggy and detached memory that came along with the feeling of the grittiness of the man’s hand on your thighs last night; you hadn’t chosen the place by the sidewalk with your cheek rested on the grim of the cement for nothing. Your body ached awhile he had thrusted himself into you; a man with cacked wrinkles and grim and dirt on his feuatres as the maddening black and crossed his eyes while he had looked over your expression until your exhaustion, or one of the countless patterns of fading in and out of consciousness for whatever reason that came along with processing your existence caused you to open your eyes in and out from the feeling of his body by your torso and thighs.

He must have been especially generous; for the amount of interaction you had had with men in the area lately that had led to begging on top of begging. Through foggy and unpleasant memories did you begin to pierce together the memory of him beginning to ease himself off of your body with a crumpled cigarette and yellow tainted grim on the dollar as he had taken it over the white tear of the dress around your body that had previously dressed under your beast, his hand coming to grip on the dress as he took the dollar bill and placed it into a small satin pocket that he then took to press against your breast. Your own nature of being present had faded in and out by then, but you could remember the grittness of his amusement as he had started to ease his body up, cackled laughter and his body dressed in heavy packaging of the tan of his coat dressed heavily around his body as he had gotten his weight off of you.

Your hands tore off the layer of the satin and gripped onto the dollar bill on your palms, and with your head turning up to the eggshell blue of the sky did you feel a whisper breath leave your lips as you sent up a inward thank you to the lightness of relief that came over you momentarily. There was a strength and an odd beauty to those that had found themselves in the department of life of being less than nothing, and you felt that brief ethernal purity of being someone with desperate and pathetic but ultimately pure and simple intentions as your hand gripped on the bill.

Your head snapped over to the road; it was broken and cracked from its lack of care, such as it could be with certain areas of Los Angeles. Your head snapped to the side as your eyes turned over the passing cars that were beside the busier street that already had its suggested of a busier crowd of a day that stood in front of the end of the street that gave away to the further busy nature of the loud crowd of downtown Los Angeles later on. For the amount of inspiration and strength you felt for a moment, you were also reminded just by the passing by of people of the constant reminder that all inner life and complexity about you was only relevant to you, a fire only to carry you into this long day and onto the next. Your fingertips crumpled against the paper dollar, looking down at the dirty grim of the yellow stained of the dollar bill; and somehow even your pain had a layer of pain to it that came along with a punishment that for reasons beyond your understanding you felt you deserved.

#bojack #bojack x reader #bojack x you #bojack x oc #bojack fanfiction #bojack horseman x reader #bojack horseman

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