#jose he's literally just giving you candy
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Continued from x:
@thelostexperiment
“I am fond of chocolates...when they are not bitten off of and perhaps....from the trash. You are truly a man of class!”
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Do you have any headcanons for the Central American countries in hetalia like how they look like and they’re personality’s ( don’t know if your taking requests) I live in Honduras and I hope it becomes Canon
I do have thoughts on what they could look and act like! And before I begin, when I took Spanish classes we discussed culture in South and Central America but we didn’t go into detail so if I get stuff wrong please let me know!! I don’t want to misrepresent anyone’s culture :’)
ALSOOOOOO I finally found my post from a few months ago where I talked about this!!!! Yes!!! I’ll add on so think of this post as part 1!!!
https://www.google.com/amp/s/wherearemyglassesbro.tumblr.com/post/617134414900641792/any-headcanons-for-south-american-countries/amp
^^here I talk about Miss Brazil, Miss Chile, Mr Panama and Mr Bolivia :) (yes I know it’s South American countries not central but I still wanted to attatch this post ;-;)
https://wherearemyglassesbro.tumblr.com/post/617049481701212160/if-you-could-put-any-character-into-hetalia-what
^^And in this post I talk about a handful of other South/central American nations too!!! Jamaica and Mexico uhhhh I think uhhhhh another island, idk I didn’t read the entire thing I saw Jamaica and went THERE WE GOOOO!!! Lmao :)
ANYWAY!!! BACK TO THE ASK!!! (I like to think of a lot of south/Central American nations as women because there are just...so many men...)
Honduras: Miss Honduras is another very strong woman. She lives on her own farm where her neighbors come to work with her. They don’t work FOR her, they work with her. She turns on some music and they all chat while planting veggies or feeding chickens. She’s very proud of her farm!! She plans on giving this farm to her neighbors soon, she loves doing that. She makes a farm successful and passes it on to humans who are nice to her so they can be successful and enjoy the farm themselves :) she thinks that it’s important to treat humans with respect, many nations think they’re better than humans. She thinks humans are better than nations because they have such big hearts :) she’s a woman of few words but she is one hell of a storyteller. She’s written successful books anonymously and she goes to schools to read to kids. She’s just a great role model :)
Belize: Mr Belize is....short man...big temper. He’s the Central American equivalent to Lovino except he’s more stylish than Lovi (shhhh!!!!!). He literally has no reason to be angry all the time but he just finds things and rolls with it. It’s too hot. It’s too cold. His back itches. His eyebrows are uneven. His soup isn’t spicy enough...he’s the one who made it. Other than his temper being a big part of his personality, his musical talent is something to note!! He plays the guitar and drums. All kinds of drums, bongos or rock n roll drums or steel drums or any kind of drum, he’s played it. When he starts to feel disconnected from his people or when modern problems are causing him too much stress, he escapes to visit the ancient temples in his country or to go hang out with elderly people because he feels like he can relate more to the elderly :’) Miss Mexico gets on his nerves cause she’s kinda like an annoying older sister but he puts up with her...cause she often sends him chocolates or candy when he’s in a bad mood. Which is all the time lmao
Nicaragua: Miss Nicaragua is a party girl! She loves modernity because of how parties can happen and music can be so loud. She is a trained stilt dancer! And hella proud of it. She makes her own dresses or costumes and dresses up for every festival, even if it’s a minor one SHES THERE AND SHES READY TO PARTY!!!!!! :) other than her loud, boisterous personality, the public doesn’t know much about her. When she’s not out for fun, her people don’t really see her much. She lives on the west coast by the beach where she lives it up in her small house with her dogs! She fishes for herself and her elderly neighbor. She also travels by bike!! She has a car but prefers to bike when she can. She only really uses her car when she’s doing Government Things...ugh
Costa Rica: Miss Costa Rica is a very tall woman!! She is very laid back and spends a lot of time reading in her home. When she isn’t at home, she’s out and about on the town! She is somewhat a shopoholic so she hangs around markets and shops often so she’s got a lot of buddies!! She lives outside of San Jose, she wants to live in the city but uh...tourists. She isn’t a fan of tourists to be honest. She thinks they’re taking advantage of her country’s beauty but she would never actually say that to anyone. So she lives outside the city in a fancy apartment complex! She could have a house if she wanted but she doesn’t want to have to manage all of that space lol. She enjoys reading, dancing and singing!!! She goes to see traditional dance shows or festivals as often as possible and helps out by singing or dancing with the dancers! She wants to make costumes or traditional clothes but...she’s embarassed to say that she’s not too great at sewing 0-0 she has multiple skirts at home that are shoved under her bed that she tried to make but they just don’t look right!!!! So embarrassing lmao poor girl
#aph South America#aph Central America#aph#hetalia#ask away!#headcanons#hetalia headcanons#asks#always up for hc requests!
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<<PREVIOUS⏺<<CONTENTS>>
1.2.9 HALLOWEEN NIGHT/NOVEMBER 1st 5:13 AM
Warren County, Illinois
While that call did not succeed in waking up Kyndra and Zoey, the aforementioned Diego was woken up, however, by his co-worker Quinn, as he lay napping on a tattered sofa in the SuperFuel Deluxe's break room.
“Diego!”
Diego grunted.
“Diego, get up,” Quinn slapped him with a blue rag.
Diego sat up and rubbed his eye.
“Customers.” Quinn said.
Diego blinked awake. The TV was on. A man with fake looking blonde hair stood in front of a map coated with splotches of reds, oranges, and yellows.
“ Lightning strikes have been reported just about everywhere as this severe cell moves through Warren and Carpenter counties. Listen up if you are in the areas of Russelville, Haddonfield, Langdon, Tuckerville...you are under a Severe Thunderstorm Warning and Tornado Watch until 7:45 am. Check out this picture someone posted on social media, that's softball sized hail folks...this reported by Zeke, a custodian working late night tonight at Smith's Grove High School, so be careful out there folks.”
Thunder struck and the lights in the shop momentarily dimmed. Customers, Diego thought, in this storm?
Diego stood up and stretched and then grabbed his Mountain Dew he had swiped from the coolers a few hours ago. Stepping into the shop, he sure enough saw some guy was talking to Quinn, standing next to an old-ass station wagon. The kind that had the wood panels on the side. The bottom was eaten away with rust. Diego was surprised the thing was even running at all, and one of the first things he noticed were the California plates. The lifeless remains of a tire lay snaked around a severely dented rim on the front passenger side. Must have hit a curb without even braking, he thought.
Quinn pulled a clipboard off the dark blue tool bench next to him and said, “We actually just had one of these die on us last week and it's back there in the yard. We can replace the tire and the rim and fix up those tie rods and struts in a jiff. You got really got lucky, because otherwise you'd be waiting at least two days for parts.”
The man's eyes grew wide, “Are you serious?! That's a miracle if I ever heard one.”
“I'll say,” Diego chimed in, “What year is this?”
“1989 Ford Country Squire” Jack Tate said proudly.
“Wow,” Diego laughed. “Quinn's right, we literally just got one of these in, the drive train fell apart in our hands, literally fell apart. But it was much more beat up than this.”
“You don't say!?” Jack put his hands on his hips.
“I couldn't help but recognize the California plates,” Diego motioned to the back of the car, dropping to one knee to examine the wheel well.
“Yep,” Jack said, rubbing his chin, “We're from a small town in Northern California, between San Jose and Sacramento. It's called Summer Glen.”
“Bet you don't get much snow there,” Diego said from under the car.
“Nope..but I bet you guys do.”
Diego appeared from under the lopsided tire with a smile, “Buckets,” he replied, “And it wreaks havoc on an undercarriage.”
“I bet it does” Jack replied.
Diego stood up and wiped his hands on his coveralls. “Well, not so much the snow,” he said, “it's the salt they salt the roads with. Eats the bottom of the car all up.”
“So what do you do?” Jack asked.
“Heated car wash,” Diego said, reaching out his hand to Quinn for the clipboard.
“I saw signs for those on the way in, all over the place up here,” Jack said, “But I saw signs but then it looked like empty parking lots.”
Quinn smiled and handed Diego the clipboard, “With steam coming up?”
“I didn't see any steam,” Jack replied.
“They're probably turned off right now.” Diego remarked, looking over the paper on the clipboard.
Quinn whistled, “Whew don't I know it. It's been hotter than a hippo with a hernia.”
“Hmmm,” Jack grunted in agreement, “Climate Change.”
Quinn hissed, “Hogwash! I don't believe that bullshit for a second.”
Jack quickly changed the subject, “Anyways—err--how do car washes help your car in the winter?”
Quinn nodded, “You drive over the jets and they hose off your undercarriage with heated water”
“That's fascinating,” Jack smiled.
“Well,” Diego sighed, “We have the parts already so we'll charge you a $90 restocking fee, that's mostly 'cuz Quinn here has to run out in the rain and slip the rim and tie-rods off the old car.”
“Aww man, that's cold,” Quinn exclaimed.
“Good news is,” Diego continued, “You really didn't tear her up all that much besides that, you knocked some things loose but we can tighten her up. The labor will cost you $400 easy,, being on the weekend now, and then $140 for the tire, $126 for the rim, taxes and disposal and you're still under a grand.”
“That's wonderful,” Jack said, placing his hands back on his hips.
“What brings you out here?” Quinn asked, “Especially in this storm.”
“My wife got a job out here, she starts Monday so we wanted to get out here as quick as we could....drove straight through.” Jack remarked.
“Wow,” Quinn breathed.
“I need those parts Quinn,” Diego remarked, opening the top of the tool bench and pulling out a socket wrench.
“Oh right!” Quinn smiled. He walked over to the far wall and grabbed a yellow rain coat which hung on a peg next to a Calendar, still on the month of October. A model in a bikini presided over the tenth month. “What job did your wife get out here?” He called from across the room.
“She's going to be the new Chief of Medicine at the hospital,” Jack replied, his eyes on Diego as Diego crouched back down toward the car.
“Oh she's gonna replace old man Mixter!” Quinn remarked.
Jack shrugged.
“Hurry Quinn, this guy said he's got places to be,” Diego said from under the car.
“Oh right,” Quinn said and stepped through the side door that led into a small foyer and eventually either out to the front parking lot or back into the lot.
“So your wife's a doctor eh,” Diego's voice came from under the car, “so what do you do?”
“Well I'm a doctor too,” Jack replied.
Diego emerged from the car holding a twisted piece of metal, “Really? What kind?”
“Well I'm a psychiatrist,” Jack said.
Diego slid back under the car, “A shrink huh?” He said, “You opening up an office here or something?”
“Well no,” Jack laughed, “I'm actually going to take some time off and write a book.”
Diego re-emerged with more twisted metal, “Cool,” he said, “What about?”
“Hypnosis,” Jack said matter-of-factly.
Diego cocked his head to one side, “Really? You do that shit?”
“Swear by it,” Jack replied.
There was an awkward moment of silence and then they both laughed.
🎃
Meanwhile, Ophelia Tate had purchased a small and incredibly over-priced pack of baby wipes and was giving herself the best attempt at a bath she could muster inside the surprisingly clean restroom of the SuperFuel Deluxe. After she finished, she sat on top of a toilet and took an opportunity to catch up on social media.
While she sat in the stall reading about “11 Celebrities That You Would Never Assume Were Gay”, her son Damon stepped into the Food Mart, and wiped his perfectly white sneakers on the welcome mat. An angry looking Indian man looked up as the door bells jingled and then went back to fiddling with some electronic device behind the counter. Damon's first thought was, Why does he keep all that bullet proof glass open?
He casually turned to his left, starting down an aisle chock full of every imaginable brand of potato chip or chocolate or fruity candy---browsing but not really browsing, more just wasting time. The aisle came to a dead-end at a wall of coolers full of soda and water and fruit juices. Damon stopped and caught himself staring at a row of YooHoos when he heard what sounded like a snickering to his left.
There was a small hallway to the left of the coolers, veering off next to an ATM machine. He stepped in front of the ATM machine and peered down the hallway, at once spotting the cause of the commotion. Three young boys were standing in the corner next to a door marked: UTILITY, NO TRESSPASSING. One was a freckled redheaded kid with shiny braces dressed as batman, another was a blonde haired blue eyed boy dressed like Darth Vader, and the last was a much younger looking kid with brown hair and brown eyes dressed like some kind of zombie. They were huddled together, their masks all hanging limply around their necks, crowded around a magazine featuring a hot blonde titled RED RABBIT. The cover-girl’s name was apparently Misty Dawn, and according to the cover caption, she was “Back and Ready for More Action”.
The boys caught sight of Damon and looked up startled. The freckled redhead kid's smile disappeared and his eyes grew narrow, “Hey!” He called, “What are you looking at?”
Damon was unfazed. “Looks like a couple of pervs to me,” he said, stepping toward them.
This apparently took them aback because they said nothing in retort.
“Seriously,” Damon said, pointing at the cover, “How old are you guys?”
Blonde Vader who held the magazine in his hand pressed it to his chest as if it were the most valuable thing on the earth and looked up at Damon with his mouth open. Little zombie boy took a step back. But BatFreckle was not amused. “Why don't you go Fuck Off!”
Damon frowned, “That's not very nice language. Is everyone in this town pervs like you?”
“Where are you---” little zombie started in but BatFreckle cut him off.
“Don't you know that Warren County is the home of the Rabbit-in-Red? What hole did you crawl out of freak-show?”
“Rabbit-in-what?” Damon asked and with lightning speed, snatched the magazine from Blonde Vader.
“Hey!” The wannabe Sith Lord exclaimed.
“Rabbit-In-Red Productions is the world's third largest manufacturer of pornographic media dipshit, and the company is based here in Warren County.” BatFreckle spat.
“So it is a county full of pervs,” Damon said, opening the magazine and thumbing through the pages.
“My dad said a local bunch of church folks fought Mr. Martini in court over decency laws so much, the legal fees drove the church out of business.” Blonde Vader said.
“Shi-yeah,” BatFreckle said, “That's why old man Taylor's up in his house on the hill crying like a pussy all the time.”
“Mr. Who?” Damon asked, closing the magaize and handing it back to Blonde Vader.
BatFreckle snatched it instead and flipped to the table of contents, pointing to a small black and white picture of a middle-aged overweight man. “Lou Martini. He's the CEO of Rabbit-in-Red nimrod, he owns half the county and is like, the richest man in Illinois outside of Chicago.”
“Where are you from?” Little zombie found his place to ask.
“My parents and I are moving here from California, we just got in tonight, got a flat tire.” Damon replied.
“California! That's cool!” Blonde Vader exclaimed.
BatFreckle rolled his eyes, “Beat it California!” He said, “We were just checking out Spitz' mom in this month's issue.”
He and Blonde Vader started laughing.
“That's not my mom!” Little zombie, who's name was obviously Spitz, whined.
“Don't lie, you know it's her!” BatFreckle teased.
Blonde Vader turned the page, and the centerfold fell out, revealing the cover-girl Misty Dawn laying on a bed of white fur naked except for a silver belly chain and and black stilettos. A paper fell out as well and fluttered almost magestically to the floor. Damon bent down and picked it up. It was a flier that featured another picture of the model. The headline read:
SEE COVER GIRL
MISTY DAWN
TUE-SUN
OCTOBER AND NOVEMBER
AT THE
RABBIT-IN-RED LOUNGE
IN
HADDONFIELD
“Look Spitz” BatFreckle said in jest, “You can see your mom's show tonight if you want.”
“It's not my mom!” Spitz whined again.
“Why don't you leave him alone?” Damon said.
“Why don't you suck my balls?” BatFreckle snapped.
“Chill out Lonnie!” Blonde Vader slapped BatFreckle's shoulder and then looked at Damon “Lonnie can be a douche sometimes, I'm Richie Marshall, this is Lonnie Elamb, and he's Spitz. Welcome to Haddonfield.”
Lonnie groused and leaned back against the wall, opening up the porn.
“Cool, my name is Damon.”
“How old are you?” Richie asked.
“17, you?”
“I just turned 12, Lonnie is 16 but he's still in 8th grade...he has to go to special classes at the Middle School.” Richie and Spitz cackled.
“I have dyslexia fuck face!” Lonnie said, throwing the RED RABBIT at his friend.
“I'm 8,” Spitz said proudly.
“What are you doing out of the house at this time of night?” Damon asked, picking up the magazine from the floor and handing it back to Richie.
“Lonnie has his drivers license now, and I just snuck out of my house.” Richie said.
“What about you?” Damon asked, turning toward Spitz.
“His mom's a whore so she leaves him alone to go out fucking for quarters!” Lonnie called.
“Stop it Lonnie! She is not!” Spitz cried.
Damon ignored him and Spitz continued, “My mom works late nights at Jamie Lee's Diner, she doesn't get home till morning. My grandma watches me but she fell asleep and I...I snuck out too.”
“We just ate there coming in,” Damon said smiling.
“My mom is Taylor,” Spitz said.
“She was our waitress.” Damon replied.
“His mom's a slut!” Lonnie called.
Spitz started to whine but Damon put an arm around him, “Why do you hang out with this asshole? Is there anything else to do in this place than look at naked chicks?”
“There's an arcade in the driver's lounge, but I don't have any quarters.” Spitz said.
“Come on,” Damon said, “Show me where it is.”
Richie tossed Lonnie the magazine to followed Damon and Spitz. Lonnie caught it, rolling his eyes, he was perfectly happy right there looking at boobs.
🎃
Damon stepped into the shop area of the SuperFuel Deluxe and shook off the rain. There he saw his dad sitting on a folding chair listening, as another man held a lamp under their family station wagon from the Jurassic era. A third man was under the car working. The man holding the lamp was droning on and on about baseball. Damon didn't really care for baseball, or any sports for that matter.
“And then the Sox brought in their reliever, that guy Stroop, and he just completely fell apart. He hit two batters and walked another, and before you knew it the bases were loaded.” Quinn was saying.
Damon walked up to his dad. “Is that so---” Jack replied, but was startled when Damon tapped him on the shoulder.
“What is it son? You're not supposed to be back here.” Jack looked up at Damon.
“There's an arcade inside and I was wondering if you had any change on you?” Damon asked.
Jack leaned to one side and pulled his wallet out, withdrawing a 20 dollar bill. “Can they make change?” He asked.
“There's a change machine,” Damon said flatly, taking the money.
“You can play all of that, what the hell, it's been a long few days,” Jack said smiling.
Damon stuffed the twenty in his front pocket and turned, “Thanks,” he said.
“Tell your mom I'm in here,” Jack called after him.
“Haven't seen her,” Damon said as he walked out, without turning.
Quinn started up again, “So you know that big Dominican for the Cubs, Agu...Agu...something.”
“Aguilar,” Diego called from under the car.
“Yeah, Aguilar,” Quinn corrected himself. “Well he steps up to the plate and first pitch...bam!”
NEXT>>
#halloween#halloween franchise#michael myers#horror#horror writing#haddonfield#horror film#fan fiction#fan writing#spooky
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Buss hell
This didn’t post yesterday!
Baños Day 7
I can’t imagine how to tell the story of this day..and basically, it is all a bus trip, so if that doesn’t interest you, look at photos and move on..
All started normal, 7:00 am bus to Baños, a 6-7 hour trip...forced dehydration so I wouldn’t have to go to the bathroom.. what started as a Bad head cold for Caroline has now added stomach aches stomach cramps and diarrhea...she is only eating bread and rice, so I drink and eat alone :(. Although in misery, it has not stopped her. So off we go early in the morning to be sure to have half a day to do great hikes and waterfalls and thermal baths in Baños. All good until halfway through the mountains our bus overheated and we were all literally standing on the side of the road hoping for another bus. The first bus came, but only those headed to Quito could get on...so we waited.... in the meantime, I met a guy named Jose who is a nurse, teacher, firefighter, and masseuse.haha. I swore he said he was from Minnesota, but about 15 minutes later I asked where his accent was from...Venezuela not Minnesota! Haha. His name was Jose, Obama look alike, and thank god we found this Mormon Past missionary present political refugee who explained the bus broke down, etc. we were headed to same place so he really helped navigate the situation. Finally a bus came that would stop in a town close to Baños. Everyone on but the three of us. They told us there wasn’t room for us. caroline was screaming, YOU CANT JUST LEAVE US ON THE ROAD! Which is exactly what they were going to do as bus driver shrugged his shoulders.
Finally they let us on and we rode through the mountains for 1.5 hours standing up holding rail for balance with Kindle in other hand trying to block it all out.finally to town of Anbato to find another bus to take us to Baños. They were screaming at us “this bus this bus”...so we gave ouR luggage and got on. This is where is goes to hell. I give Caroline my seat, the only free seat on bus. They whistle me to front to sit with mom and screaming baby. I have half a seat. Then A chocolate salesman gets on and he is screaming and spitting in my face. And handing out chocolates in some kind of trivia game...but everyone getting chocolates and everyone laughing. An old woman gets on bus...chocolate man still screaming right next to me...and she stands, but sits on my armrest-so now my space is mom and baby on seat and old woman on armrest...I am getting claustrophobic so I gave woman my seat and stand...but screaming man keeps shoving me back towards policeman in front. So going through mountains I am barely balanced and being screamed at and shoved by candyman. Finally a seat opens. Old woman moves to window, I sit beside her. Then her husband and his friend stand beside me. They are both pot bellied. Then vendors board and start shoving way through bus. Pot bellies pressed into my left side..they are being shoved into me b6 vendors. Candyman starts back up and demands $1 from everyone because he gave us candy. I had already given my candy to mom and screaming baby. Candy man yelling at me..everyone laughing at me as he is calling me estupido gringo....mom finally realizes what is happening and gives back candy. Then bus guy comes for trip payment. 1.10, but he is demanding 3.30from me! Yelling at me...I am explaining that I am only paying for me (caroline had told a broke Dutch girl she would buy her fare, but she was way back Of Bus) finally bus guy understands I am only paying for me, but he announces to everyone that I am estupido Gringo....seems to be a theme...and everyone laughs... by now I am out of. My mind. One hour to Banños with wool covered woman on seat by window and two potbellied men whose bellies were against my shoulder and crotches in my elbow the entire trip, I almost lost my shit.
We are 15 minutes from Baños when a woman gets pissed because she is headed to Quito and the bus isn’t making a lunch stop! So.....tiny town, bus stops...we all get out and have full meal lunch! So close and yet so far. Watch Belgium win World Cup game and eat chicken and rice plate for lunch! I finally got off the bus and Caroline said “ oh it is soooo beautiful here and the weather so nice” I just looked at her and said do not speak yet...I can’t process this yet..I don’t think I can bear another bus trip....9 hours
Now, since every time she drinks water or eats, she gets diarrhea, she is dehydrated and now has a migraine coming on. We check into iffy Motel and I leave to walk town while she rests...hotel ends up being great . The view amazing, They bring her medicine and hot tea...we walk to dinner and meet two teachers from Phoenix. Now I am going to sleep. Ten mile hike planned for tomorrow and I need to mentally recover from this hell on earth
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Caught In Your Eyes(Part Five)--Billy Hargrove
Written By @rune-of-a-writer / @hellimagines
Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four
Original Request: “Hi. I love your work. I was wondering if you could do a billy imagine where the female reader is new to town and she’s a bad girl and billy instantly falls for her and tries to get with her. Thank you!!”
Warning: cursing, mentions of abuse and neglect
Pairing: Billy Hargrove x fem!reader
Summary: You find Billy at Gunther’s, and the two of you bond over shakes and a cold night spent in the back of his car.
Word Count: 4,053
Listen To: Stay Alive by Jose Gonzalez
A/N: So I had no intention of bringing a song into this (because I’m horrible with them). BUT THEN! I had my Pandora station on shuffle and this song came on while I was writing and I was like !!!!!!!!! that is literally (Y/N) and Billy’s theme song?? Like?? The hell. Perfection.
As you walked up to the illuminated lights of Gunther Tooty’s, you noticed a familiar blue Camaro recklessly parked out front. You couldn’t understand what Billy was doing here, after all, you had never known him to come here unless he was with the group. Pushing your (h/c) hair out of your face, you headed inside. The double doors opened, and you looked around for the familiar curly blond hair. You spotted him in the very back of the restaurant, his back facing the door. You could see his fingers mindlessly playing with the small jukebox on the booth’s table, his denim jacket tight around his shoulders. Giving Gunther a quick wave, you signaled your usual shake and headed over to Billy.
“Hey there, asshole,” you grinned, ruffling his hair as you passed to sit across from him. Billy’s entire body jolted when your hand landed in his hair, his head snapping up to look at you. Underneath his eye was bright red and slightly swollen, a scabbed cut on the bridge of his nose, and a dark bruise on the hollow of his cheek.
“Shit,” he breathed out, realizing it was only you. “Hey, princess,” you raised an eyebrow at how restless he was. “What are you doing out here so late dressed like that?”
“Nothing much,” you sighed, pulling your knee onto the booth’s bench and wrapping your arms around it, “just decided to go for a stroll. How about you, Hargrove? Didn’t know you were into the solo act anymore,” you smirked, flashing him a wink. Billy laughed, leaning back into the booth.
“Got me there. You and the Goon Squad managed to rope me in,” Billy joked, “But I just had a rough night, I suppose,” he admitted, casting his eyes back to the tiny juke box. You nodded in understanding, tracing one of the skulls on your pajama pants.
Gunther walked over, two shakes in his hand. He handed you your chocolate shake, no cherry, and Billy his vanilla shake with two cherries. Billy’s hand reached into his pocket to pull out the 3$, but Gunther stopped him.
“It’s on the house, son. You five kids have given this place it’s revenue. Two shakes won’t put me in the ground,” Gunther spoke, flashing the two of you a soft smile before walking back to the diner bar.
“That man is too good for Hawkins,” you complained, shoving your straw around in your shake, staring down into it. “Thanks for trying to pay for mine by the way. I just realized I don’t have any money on me.”
“Yeah, no problem. I kind of figured you weren’t hiding a wallet in those pants of yours,” Billy laughed, motioning his knuckle towards your knee.
“Yeah, didn’t have time to grab much, let alone a wallet,” you chuckled, a puff of air leaving your nose. Billy looked up at what you said, and so did you, your eyes widening.
“Yeah? Why’s that?” Billy probed, biting his straw and taking a sip. Staring at him, you eyed him slowly.
“Alright, let’s make a deal,” you proposed, taking your straw out of your shake and sucking the whip cream off. “If I tell you about my ‘rough night’, you’re gonna tell me why your face is beat up while your knuckles aren’t bruised. If you had gotten jumped, you would’ve fought back. That is a damn fact, Hargrove.”
“Fine,” Billy sighed after a minute, crossing his arms and leaning away from you and his shake. He had one of the candy cherries in his mouth now, rolling it around. Nodding, you let out a jagged breath.
“For starters, my uncle’s a dick. Let’s just get that straight,” you began, “I had to move here with him because my dad couldn’t handle me anymore, not after what happened at my old school. I used to bounce living between him and my uncle, neither one being ideal. My uncle is a sex addict and my dad a drug addict. Run’s in the family, guess that’s why I’m addicted to fighting,” you laughed, trying to lighten the conversation a little. “But anyways, my uncle kicks me out a lot so that his girls can have places to stay if tricks go bad, or their rent is past due, or he’s lonely. Those things. He hasn’t done it since we moved here, I figured he wouldn’t since he still has his own place back home. But I was wrong,” you growled, flicking the glass of your shake, “While I was sleeping at the apartment, he barged in and pretty much shoved me out. Didn’t give me a chance to put on shoes or my jacket. Didn’t give me my keys, nothing. Survival of the fittest I suppose,” you finished, finally taking a sip of your chocolate shake to clear your dry throat, and avoid Billy’s stare.
--
Billy’s tongue pressed along the inside of his cheek, rolling his cherry underneath. He watched you carefully and silently for a while, not wanting to say anything yet. Your (e/c) eyes were cast out the window, the blue luminescent lighting of Gunther’s shop clashing with their natural color. You had whip cream on your bottom lip from rolling your straw along it, and your hair was down for once. Billy hadn’t really seen your hair down before, you usually had it in a ponytail with strands in your face. It was nice, he had to admit, subtle waves going through it and little pieces sticking out; most likely from being rushed out of your apartment. You were still wearing your Mickey Mouse shirt from this morning, and Billy knew you weren’t wearing a bra-he’d seen enough tits to know. He didn’t say anything of course, but god did he know. The only thing that took him by total shock, were your mismatched socks. One was bright pink, and the other was bright green.
“Ya gonna say something, Hargrove, or keep givin’ that cherry a good time?” you finally spoke up, moving your eyes to look at him. Billy grinned, showing off the cherry between his teeth and making a show of rolling it along the top of his mouth before finally eating it.
“I’ve got a lot to say, (Y/L/N),” he spoke up, after swallowing, “First of all, your uncle is indeed a dick. Throwing a teenage girl out at the end of winter without a jacket or pair of shoes is fucked up. You deserve better than that, princess,” Billy murmured, leaning forward.
“Thanks, asshole,” you said sincerely, no malice attached to the nickname. “Now, what about your face?” Billy sighed, now taking his turn to look at his shake.
“Coach ended up telling my dad about everything that’s happened between Tim and I when we almost went at it again today. We didn’t get in a fight, but we screamed and cussed each other out. My dad got really pissed off when I came home. He’s been losing his temper a lot more easily now, ever since my mom died I’ve noticed. There’s not a whole lot I can do to please him anymore. This didn’t help,” Billy explained simply, sparing you of the details. You nodded, resting your chin on your knee.
“Yeah… I sort of figured something was going on. When you came in after the game Hawkins lost with that busted lip and bruise on your shoulder and clear knuckles? Something wasn’t up. You can’t just confront someone about that shit though. It’s not easy to deal with, let alone talk about. Plus, we’re basically always with the other three,” you huffed, fishing out more whipped cream with your straw. Billy’s face paled at your analysis, looking up at you with his mouth around his straw.
“I-I… I uh…” Billy spluttered, not knowing how to react to being caught in his various lies.
“It’s fine, Billy, I get it. Some of the fights I pick at school are just because I get bruises from my uncle. Do you really think I actually wanted to get in a fight with Jacob when he tipped over my water bottle in Environmental class? I’m not that psycho, but I had to find some way to cover up the bruises,” you passed, waving your hand in the air. Billy let out the panicked breath he was holding in, relaxing again. He ran a hand through his hair, pushing it away from his eyes.
--
“So where are you gonna go tonight? Gunther’s closes in an hour,” Billy questioned, after a while, tilting his head in the vague direction of where he thought the old man would be. You shrugged, having no idea. You didn’t know it was already 2 a.m, you thought it was only midnight, possibly 1 a.m.
“Not sure. I’ll most likely head to a park again, the tunnel slides are oddly comfortable,” you snickered, winking at him. “What about you? Does your dad cool down quick?”
“Yeah, he’s asleep. I can sneak back in if I need to, but I most likely won’t. I let him cool down until the next day. You can sleep in my car with me if you want? That’s what I usually do. I park it down at Golden Ponds and then head to school whenever I wake up.”
“I’ll have to hit you up on that offer. But I need you to drop me off at my house in the morning so I can change. Gotta keep up that reputation,” you smirked, pulling at your pajama pants.
“I don’t know, princess. Skull pajamas? Pretty badass if you ask me,” Billy retorted, flashing a wink back at you and you shook your head.
“Yeah, right,” you scoffed, scooting out of the booth. Billy followed after you, your finished shakes abandoned on the table. “Thanks for the shakes, Gunther. We’ll probably see you tomorrow!” you called out to the back of the diner, hearing a ‘have a good night, kids!’ before the two of you left the store.
Billy unlocked the car for you guys, ducking into the driver’s side, you following into the passenger side. You shivered at the temperature drop, Gunther’s diner having been much warmer than the inside of Billy’s car. Starting the car, Billy was quick to get the heater going as he drove off.
“Sorry, it usually takes a minute or two for it to get going,” Billy apologized.
“It’s fine, it’s better than being outside,” you assured, grinning up at him. He gave you a soft smile before turning on the radio, his rock music instantly streaming through. He kept the music quiet, so that it was more of a buzz than anything. When the car came to a stop at a red light, Billy began taking off the denim jacket he was wearing.
“Here, I’m wearing a long sleeve under this,” Billy said, handing the jacket over to you as the light turned green.
“You sure?” you questioned, hesitantly taking it from him. The last time you had worn the jacket was when you were high, out in the middle of a road. It didn’t bring back great memories, but the jacket was still warm from him wearing it, and it was comfortable.
“Yeah, don’t make me change my mind, princess,” he warned, but his tone was teasing. Huffing, you pulled the jacket on, relishing in the way your freezing arms were finally able to escape the bitter cold.
A comfortable silence fell over the car, Billy’s music barely being heard over the car’s engine. He was driving slow, taking his time to get to the ponds. Your eyes were starting to close, your head leaning against the cold window. The occasional bump or turn would jolt you awake, and you’d rub your eyes, trying not to fall asleep. In about 20 minutes, you guys had made it to Golden Ponds, and the area was completely vacant. Billy parked the car under a large tree, it’s bare branches brushing against the hood. His headlights shined over one of the ponds, illuminating the ice.
“It’s nice,” you murmured, looking at the ice intently.
“Yeah, it’s even better in the morning. Nobody comes here in the winter I’ve found out. In the fall this place was swarmed with people all the time. I always had to make sure I was gone before 6,” he said, “But now, I can sleep in as late as I need to, and nobody is ever here. The ice is way too thin, and the ponds too small, to ice skate, so there’s not too many reasons to come out here.”
“Except for people like us,” you joked, giving him a toothy grin, which he returned.
“Yeah, except for our kind,” he said. Our kind. Billy hadn’t found someone to relate to before, mainly because he never opened up. It was a strange feeling, but it wasn’t one he wanted to go away. Not this time. Billy shut the car off, the pond losing it’s light and the car it’s heat. “I can’t keep it running. But there’s a blanket in the back.”
“Alright, that’ll work. Come on, I know you’re tired as hell,” you ordered, beginning to climb into the back. Billy watched you, biting his lip as you squeezed yourself between the seats and finally into the back. “Fuck, that was harder than I thought. Why is your car so small, Hargrove? You trying to match your dick or something?” you asked, barely able to duck in time as his hand came flying to hit your shoulder. Once you were settled in the back, Billy climbed over.
“It’s not that small,” he grunted, falling into the corner of the car, letting out a huff. He kicked his shoes off, tossing them into the front and began unbuckling his belt.
“The car or your dick? Because the answer is ‘yes, it is’ to both,” you grinned, but stopped when he started unbuckling his belt. “Alright, asshole. Just because you’re hot and I’m sleeping in your car, doesn’t mean we’re sleeping together,” you snapped, narrowing your eyes at him suspiciously. Billy stopped, giving you an incredulous look.
“In your dreams, princess. Who the hell sleeps in a belt? I know your cute ass isn’t wearing a bra right now, your nipples are ripe as day. Doesn’t mean I’m gonna start fondling them,” he scoffed and continued pulling the belt out of its loops.
“Wha- how did you?” it was now your turn to be shocked, looking down at your chest to see that he was right. “Why the hell were you lookin’, Hargrove?” you yelled, trying to hide your chest.
“It’s hard not to. When a hot girl is in front of me and her boobs are right there? My eyes are gonna go down for a second,” Billy said, rolling his eyes and tossing the belt in the front of the car as well. “Now would you quit arguing about your nipples and lay down? It’s cold, I’m tired, and I’m gonna get angry really quick.”
“Really? My bad, I thought you were already angry,” you snapped, but did as you were told, laying your head down and spreading your legs out. They hit Billy’s thighs, and he reached over you, grabbing the blanket from under the seats. It was a giant, dark blue fleece blanket that would be sure to keep the both of you warm. After throwing the blanket over you, Billy moved behind you and laid down, covering himself as well.
“I know it’s not ideal, but it’s better than freezing to death,” he said, his voice coming from above your ear. The warmth of his breath was nice compared to the cold air, and it relaxed your neck.
“Yeah, it’s alright. But if I wake up with your boner against my back, you’re walking into school with two black eyes,” you informed him, turning your head to give him a glare. Your faces came eerily close, but you kept the glare, wanting him to get the message.
“I’ll try my hardest,” he smirked, licking his lips. Your eyes rolled so far back, you thought you were going to see your IQ level.
“I swear to god…” you grumbled, turning forward again, and pulling the blanket up to your nose, trying to get warm. Billy’s arm wrapped around your waist, keeping you from falling off the back seat. Both of your hips were digging into the seat belt clicks, and it was not comfortable, but you would most definitely take this over your usual slide tunnel any day.
“Thanks, Billy,” you sighed out, beginning to drift off.
“‘Course, (Y/N/N). You’re here forever and you’re by my side,” was the last thing you heard before you fell asleep, your head rested between his elbow and his leg thrown over your hip.
I will stay with you tonight
Hold you close ‘til the morning light
In the morning watch a new day rise
We’ll do whatever just to stay alive
We’ll do whatever just to stay alive
Light had been streaming in through the windows for the past few hours, bringing you in and out of consciousness. Your body was warm, and even though it was cramped and incredibly uncomfortable, each time you felt yourself beginning to wake up, you’d force yourself to fall back asleep. But when fingertips began gliding along your cheekbones, over your lips and into your hair, you couldn’t push it off any longer. Your head was no longer in the crook of Billy’s arm, but on the seat, and your legs were sandwiched between is, keeping them warm. He had his own head propped up on his hand, the other one running along your face and through your hair. Letting out a soft groan, you scrunched your eyes open, Billy ceasing his movements immediately.
“You don’t have to stop playing with my hair,” you couldn’t help but whine, admitting that the feeling was nice. “But I can’t feel my arm,” you groaned, slowly pushing yourself up from the seat so you wouldn’t knock your head against his. Once you had successfully sat up, you stretched your arms and your neck, working the kinks out of them.
“You sleep okay? At least better than in a plastic slide?” Billy questioned, sitting up and cracking his neck as well, leaning his back against the door.
“Yeah, decently. Kept waking up, but that’s to be expected. Do you know what time it is?”
“9:24,” Billy answered, propping his foot on the divider, leaning his knee against the driver’s seat. “Do you wanna stop and get something to eat, or head straight to your place?” you yawned, and gave him a shrug. You were never all that hungry in the mornings, and you knew James was gonna pissed at you for not being at school that morning.
“If you’re hungry we can stop, but I’m not really. So it’s up to you,” you told him, stretching your feet out along his on the divider. Looking through the window, you could see the ponds vividly. The morning light was shining over the ice, making you understand why the area was called Golden Ponds.
“Nice, huh?” Billy asked, noticing what you were looking at. You simply nodded, not wanting to look away. It was beautiful compared to the majority of Hawkins, and you didn’t want to stop staring. “I don’t want to leave just yet. I’m not awake enough to drive,” Billy informed you, trying to use his fatigue as a justifiable excuse.
“That’s fine. Third period doesn’t start until 11:15 anyways,” you hummed. Looking over at Billy, you saw him looking through the gap of the driver’s seat and the window to look at the ponds as well. His eye was bruised now, and the cut was a red irritation mark. The bruise on the hollow of his cheek was more prominent, but despite all the marks, he looked at peace. With the light bouncing off the ice and through the Camaro’s windows, his blond hair looked shinier, and his blue eyes brighter-almost like the ocean he was always talking about. The feather earring he wore dangled just above his shoulder, and you couldn’t stop yourself from reaching out to flick at it.
“It was my mom’s,” he said, not even flinching from your touch. The feather was soft, the small beads on it bumping together. You dragged your nail through the fibers, tilting your head to see how it looked in the sun. The reds and oranges resembled a fire, or a phoenix even, the way it moved so peacefully along your finger.
“It’s pretty. It matches the thing on the back of your door. I noticed it when you brought me back after the party… Was that hers too?” you asked lightly, knowing he usually became guarded and angry whenever anyone’s mom was brought up, let alone his. He nodded quietly, the earring moving with him and out of your grasp. “Bet she liked you a lot.”
“Yeah… we were close,” he smiled softly, and so did you. Billy rarely smiled without his teeth or tongue, and when he did it was nice. It was hard not to do it yourself. “This was her car. She’d take me down to the beach all the time, we’d get seashells, all of that. One time I found a starfish, it was the best day of my damn life, princess. Let me tell you,” he laughed, tilting his head back and looking up at the roof of his car. “It was a dark grey, I almost thought it was fake. I didn’t think they came in colors other than pink. My mom was real happy too, but she made me keep it against the rock. Taught me how to touch it with the back of my knuckle. The whole deal,” he explained to you, his fingers twitching against the denim of his jeans. The story came so easily, unlike all his others. It flowed so smoothly, as if it happened yesterday. This had to be something he thought about a lot. “That was the day I decided starfishes were gonna be my favorite animal, my favorite thing. Whenever we would go back, I’d spend the whole time looking for them. Fuck the shells, I wanted to see another starfish.”
“Did you?” you asked, pulling your knee to your chest and looking up at him.
“Yeah, quite a bit. I never noticed how many there were until that day. But each time I found a new one, it was like the first day all over again. She was the only one who understood that feeling…” he trailed off, casting his eyes towards his jeans before looking back at you.
“Starfish are fucking awesome,” you agreed, giving him the best grin you could after just waking up, “I’ve never seen one in person. I haven’t been to an aquarium or a beach before, but from what I’ve seen in the books, they look cool as hell,” you said, and Billy gave you a look of pure horror.
“You’ve never been to a beach? An aquarium?” he asked in astonishment. You shook your head, rolling your eyes slightly.
“Not all of us are blessed with California genes, Hargrove,” you laughed, shoving his shoulder.
“Tell you what,” he began, mocking you from earlier.
“Oh my god, another deal?”
“You bet your ass. If you go as my crash-date to the dance, I’ll take you to the aquarium. If they don’t have any starfish, we can sue them. Sound like a deal?” he offered, running his tongue along his lips. Even though it was an offer, you knew he wasn’t planning on taking a ‘no’.
“Yeah, alright, asshole. You’re paying though,” you snickered and Billy grinned.
“Fine by me, princess. Looks like it’s just James and Vance who have to find a date now,” he sighed, looking back out the window. Your eyes widened, not realizing that none of you had told Billy yet. You leaned against him, resting your head against chest and your arm on top of his knee.
“Won’t be necessary. They’ve been eye-fucking each other for years, and now they’re gonna be actually fucking each other for the rest of time.”
“What the fuck.”
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"crazy detention stories"...go
They’re really not that crazy I don’t think but fine- but as I had detention at least once a week for 3 years you’re only getting the highlights here:
So again, I only ever got detentions because I was late to school basically every day. Every single day, the office wrote me a late slip with my name spelled horrendously wrong. Different spelling every day. The most famous butchering was writing my name as “Millie Hoagie”. On my very last day of high school, I was predictably late, and they spelled my name perfectly correctly.
So listen my ‘reputation’ in school was basically “quiet good girl who’s never done anything wrong, ever, in her life” and “teacher’s pet” and the like. And despite the fact I was there every time all the ‘Bad Kids™’ who were also always in detention were always incredibly surprised to see me??? Like they never got over it. Every time I walked into the damn room at least half the class would be like “MOLLY YOU DON’T BELONG HERE YOU’RE INNOCENT!!” 😂
Also despite the fact I was basically invisible in the school as a whole all the trouble makers knew me by name because, and I quote a kid from my 10th grade Spanish class who was trying to hook up with me at the time here, “Guys like me are afraid of you, Girl, we’re just plain out scared that we gonna corrupt you!” and I still don’t know what he actually meant by that???
Bu anyway, this apparent rep usually gave me an upper hand with the teachers monitoring the detentions. Because, you know, some were fine, some were bitchy, some were insane. But all of them were pissed about the fact they had to be there instead of heading home.
The rules of detention were literally just ‘stare at the wall and don’t talk’, depending on which teacher they might let the students do homework. But since I was apparently a great person and always had the class’ incredulous response to me being in the room, they usually let me get away with sleeping or reading a book lol.
Of course…no one said any of the other kids were inclined to following the rules lmao. These were like, all the class clowns™ shoved into one room. Things always got real funny real fast.
It would always start off with the coughing game. If you’ve ever stepped into a school you should know what that is.
It would then escalate to everyone in the room playing catch whenever the teacher looked away for a brief moment
Detention was always in the health classroom so someone always tried to steal a limb off the skeleton without being to obvious
Some teachers would let people talk ‘quietly’ so jokes were fucking abound
One time I was minding my own damn business and a kid slides me a note saying ‘in like five minutes ask to go to the bathroom but head downstairs to the English wing’ before he snuck out without the teacher noticing. I get down there and he’s at one end of the hallway and another boy is at the other end. Upon seeing me, these boys run full speed down the hall at each other, leap up in the air when they get to the direct center, high five with full force, both scream in pain, and then hit the floor, clutching their hands. I was cracking the fuck up and trying to convince them to go to the nurse but they wouldn’t listen. I asked the guy why the hell they did that. He told me ‘because we wanted a witness and no one will ever believe you’ 😂😂
One time my sorta-neighbor Mike comes in and the teacher asked why he had detention and apparently, the principal had asked him where to find his friend Jose, and Mike responded “he’s out picking cotton” and the principal flipped out at what he perceived to be a racist joke and gave him a month detention. But the thing was, Jose was in an agriculture class and he was literally outside picking cotton that they had planted there earlier. Jose found it fucking hilarious and refused to tell the principal to get his friend out of trouble.
As I haven’t been inside a school building for quite some time now I don’t know if turtling is still a thing but it was…quite an epidemic for my senior class.
It’s when you turn someone’s backpack inside out right? But it was a full blown war with these kids. Trust no one. Never leave the room. Never look away. Holy shit. One of the best moments of this occurred in detention, when a boy reached to get a book out of his backpack to find it was gone. After 15 minutes of searching the room, he found it, turtled, hidden in a filing cabinet in the front of the room. Everyone, including the teacher, was loosing their shit, because how did someone pull that off so quietly and invisibly without someone noticing??? No one fessed up. The class was in fear of the turtle ninja for the rest of the month, but they never struck again. No one ever discovered who it was.
Guys: It was me.
One time it was raining and the teacher was in a bad mood so he insisted all the windows stay open. He left for a bathroom break or something and this one poor kid, who was now completely soaked as he was stuck with a window seat, just said “fucking bye” and just…climbed out the damn window. Left his backpack and everything. Didn’t see him again for at least a month.
There was one guy who always sold ice cream out of his bag when the teachers weren’t looking. Where he was getting it from and how it stayed frozen is beyond me.
Oh my God sometimes all the indie singer kids would just come and sit on the floor outside the classroom and talk loudly to annoy us??? The hell were they trying to accomplish??? Your singing ain’t special and you won’t be famous, please let us die in peace.
One kid had detention because when we were running laps in gym class he jumped up to hit the arch of the ceiling and accidentally set off the fire alarm. The teacher that day insisted on continuously referring to him as ‘the delinquent’, as if no one else in the room had broken the rules or something
One time one of the gym teachers was in charge of it and long story short he started doing the jersey turnpike. True horror.
One time the teacher got a call and she had to go down to the office and the second she was gone this one kid’s friend runs in with a huge tray going “Y’ALL I STOLE THE LASAGNE CUPCAKES FROM THE FOOD AND NUTRITION CLASSROOM” and we dined like kings.
Everyone would sometimes just break out in song for no God damn reason
One time one of the guys in charge of the detention was A) Not someone anyone recognized as a teacher and B) Potentially Stanley Tucci. Like…I was about 80% certain that this guy was Stanley Tucci.
He refused to confirm or deny or even give a name
One time I was really absorbed in my book when all the sudden a letter flew onto my desk, an anonymous sender that just said “You have a soft, sexy voice.” Neither of which is true, I’m pretty sure, and I could not for the life of me figure out who sent it omfg
One time a teacher was freaking out because he went to a psychic over the weekend and was told there was a lot of activity around him so I looked him straight in the eyes and told him I’m a medium and I can see that the devil had marked his soul and he threw me out of the room and refused to take that class for detention ever again😂
It was a hot summers day. The ceiling fans were on their highest setting. A boy nudges me, with a small carton of ice cream in his hands under his desk. “What do you think would happen if I scooped out a huge chunk of this and threw it at the fan?” he whispered. “Jamil, no.” I pleaded, but it fell on deaf ears. Soon, the room was filled with confused screams.
Apparently all the other regulars™ had bought me candy grams around Christmas time so they were confused when I showed up to detention with no candy and apparently the student council member sent them all to the other Molly in the grade because she was the popular one and this lead to about 12 boys grumbling for two and a half hours like “The one damn time I attempt to be a gentleman” and “I know where she lives” and “Gonna gingerbread her fucking locker” I could not stop laughing
Oh God okay one time the teacher we had was literally. Off the charts.
Like there’s the chill teachers, and then the bitchy teachers. And then this lady. She literally reminded me of Stubel
So I didn’t even know who she was but I walk in and do my shy smile/quiet ‘hello’ thing and take out my book so she immediately zeros in on me as ‘the good kid’ as usual
But she literally seemed to think every other person in this class was a hardened criminal holy shit. She was all over the place barking orders and yelling. And of course, you’ve got a room full of class clowns, like they feed off teachers like this. So the madder she got the more ridiculous they got. I was literally almost in tears trying to force myself not to laugh because I didn’t want to risk her turning on me omfg
So she yelled and flailed about the room and they kept going with jokes and paper wasps and lying about their names and just doing literally every thing they could possibly do so this woman wouldn’t have the chance to rest
This escalated with every minute and came to a resounding end when the teacher decided the Australian Kid™ was chewing gum and picked up the trashcan and shoved his face in it, screaming at him to spit it out as he yelled back “YOU’RE ONLY DOING THIS BECAUSE IM AN IMMIGRANT”
he was in charge of all the bullshit that day and it was hysterical but he wasn’t the one chewing gum loudly that was me
The vp came in to see what all the yelling was about to find a teacher shoving a boy’s head in the trash, one boy shirtless as another drew tattoos on him, the phone off the line with it’s cord wrapped around a kid’s neck, two boys dueling with skeleton arms, one kid with her leg out the window, a kid tying a skeleton foot to the ceiling fan, rubber bands and paper wasps flying from every angle, three people turtling backpacks, someone brandishing an epi-pen, sexual hangman being played on the chalkboard, someone eating ice cream and fanning himself with money, and me, crying into my book with my hand literally bleeding from all my efforts to not laugh at what I was witnessing
We never saw her in detention again😂
My one younger friend got a detention for being late and was really shaken up about it and I tried to tell her she’d be fine but then she got caught sliding me chocolate animal crackers during it, and subsequently got another detention because of this; somehow I was not viewed as an equally guilty party and didn’t get in trouble
This one guy came in complaining “You guys all told me to get a twitter and I get thrown in twitter jail my first day!” “That’s like a thousand tweets in one day, how the fuck did you mange that?” “Bitch I had a lot to say about McDonalds!”
One teacher came in and was like “I don’t feel like helping with homework but does anyone wanna learn how to hack a computer?”
Someone got caught pouring water out the window but when the teacher looked to see why she saw the youngest of the goats™ standing under the window with it’s mouth open waiting for more
One time the teacher wouldn’t let me go to the bathroom and after I asked for like the 5th time he said “It can’t be that important!” so I just pulled a pad out of my backpack and silently sat it on my desk while glaring at him and this 40 year old man looked like he was about to pass out and he finally let me go
I remember our final detention of senior year we were told that if we skip it we can’t graduate so everyone went into that room with a ridiculously nostalgic attitude and one guy finally stole the skull off the skeleton and we fucking tossed it around the entire time while singing and blatantly ignoring the teacher’s complaining lmao
I know there’s more but it’s 7am and this is long so all in all like…I do not miss high school but some memories are bearable lmao
#true story#lol#high school#detention#again I'm sorry I don't think these are actually that 'crazy' or anything but hey it was a request#asks#molly mumbles
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I wake up to a white world in Araku Valley. It is not snowing but the curtain of fog has descended on the landscape wrapping everything in its fold. The birds however are still singing from the trees although I can neither see the trees nor the birds. Sipping a cup of ginger tea, I watch as the sea of white veils the luxury tents in my camp. This is my first experience of glamping in Araku Valley and it feels like a dream. There are several places to visit in Araku Valley but am content to just experience the Araku Balloon Festival for now. As I wonder if the skies are going to clear any moment soon, a thin fragile layer of mist blows right in front of my face. And just then, the star pilot, Captain Karimulla Syed walked in and looking at the fog said, ” Not to worry, we will fly today. ”
Araku Valley in Andhra Pradesh is a secret tucked away in the Eastern Ghats of India and am excited as this is my first Araku Balloon Festival. The fog slowly lifts, uplifting my spirits as well while I sip my second cup of tea. The camp site is now swarming from pilots and their crews who have flown in from fifteen countries – from Malaysia to Brazil, Japan to Australia, Thailand to Netherlands, Slovakia to Germany, United Kingdom to Belgium and the animated chatter continues. Hot air balloons in different sizes and shapes will soon took over the skies once the fog clears.
I get a few moments from Captain Karim before he heads out to test his hot air balloon. Captain Karim who represents E Factor Entertainment as a pilot was once working in an event management company before he got fascinated by the world of hot air ballons. The hot air balloon festival in Dubai made him change the very course of his career as he went on to become a pilot. Hailing from Guntur, he now divides his time between Dubai, India and the rest of the world, where he flies in different festivals. “Every day is an adventure, ” he says. And echoing his thoughts is our pilot for the day , Captain Wout Bakker, a Dutch who has over 28 years of flying experience.
And so we join them on the plains in Araku Valley where the hot air balloons are all ready to fly high. The entire village is gathered here, filled with awe and excitement . They are all dressed in their best clothes, with adding to the colour arouund. The sun is now out, having banished the fog and the entire arena is a riot of hues. The paragliders from Italy are also here as they fly low. But I am like the kids in a candy store, lost in the array of balloons. Two little girls look shyly at us as we photograph them, with their own balloons soaring high.
Organised by Andhra Pradesh Tourism and E Factor, the Araku Balloon Festival has over twenty pilots and their crew from fifteen countries. For me however it is the fascinating shapes that beckon me. As I potter around, there is the cute Baby Car, painted in hues of pink, with a little bottle in its hand, getting ready to fly. Baby Car is a hot air balloon from Brazil and the pilot is Captain Jose Eduardo Alves De Souza. He tells me that he calls it Sophie and the idea came to him when his sister was pregnant.
The beautiful baby is my favourite but standing close by is the Flying Honey Bee, dipped in bright yellow and the pilot is Captain Francisco Naccaratio, also from Brazil. I cant have enough of the fluffy Happy Chicken who has flown all the way from Netherlands. But the guy who is grinning from ear to ear and is standing tall is Bruno the Clown from Slovakia.
While these special balloons are additional attractions, the others were no less spectacular. Our balloon helmed by Captain Bakker is the largest among the lot and is painted in psychadellic colours of yellow, red, white and green and orange.
As we take off, the valley reveals itself to us, even as a thin layer of fog remains over the mountains surrounding us. The fields are barren but it is good in a way, if we land says our Captain as we soar over 1500 feet into the sky. Slowly we are surrounded by the other hot air balloons floating around us.
The landscape comes alive as the Clown grins while the Baby Car enjoys a joy ride in the sky. The Happy Chicken is happier in the skies while the Honey Bee is buzzing away happily. The other balloons painted in all the rainbow shades takes off as the winds carry us away, giving us a glimpse of the valley.
The kids scream excitedly as they wave to us. The cattle is however running away a bit helter skelter. The winds carry us away according to their whim as we fly over rivers and hills, fields and forests and land in the middle of nowhere, literally. I realize that there are so many places to visit in Araku Valley and all that I have had is a mere glimpse of its scenic beauty.
The Araku ballon festival is not just about a joy ride though. There are excursions galore that take us into the heart of the Araku Valley. Some of the places to visit in Araku Valley include pottery villages and hamlets with craftsmen. Bambu chicken is the favourite here. But the speciality is Araku Coffee, which was introduced initially by the British in the Eastern Ghats, but it later became an initiative to rehabilitate tribals in the area. While I sip the coffee, its the Araku chocolates that add flavour. I am told that there are strawberry farms as well but I plan to come back later to see the other places to visit in Araku Valley, which can be accessed by rail or road from Visakhapatnam or Vizag, which is the closest city. I am told that the train journey is rather spectacular as well. But if you are driving down from Vizag, which takes around three hours, you can also stop at th spectacular Borra Caves along the way.
The festival comes to life in the nights as the balloons are all lit up. The atmoshere is vibrant and there is so much energy around. Music and dance fill the air as we warm ourselves by the bonfire. Animated conversations echo in the night sky. As dinner is served, we down the tasty food with some drinks and lose ourselves in the lively atmosphere. As sleep beckons, I am back in my luxury tent, curled up with a warm blanket, dreaming of flying in the skies . I hope to be back at the next Araku Balloon Festival.
The post Soaring High at Araku Hot Air Balloon Festival appeared first on Lakshmi Sharath.
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Sketchy Behavior | Hellen Jo
Never afraid to speak and/or draw her mind, Los Angeles based artist and illustrator, Hellen Jo and her characters can be described as rough, vulgar, tough, jaded, powerful, bratty and bad-ass - AKA her own brand of femininity. Known for her comic Jin & Jam, and her work as an illustrator and storyboard artist for shows such as Steven Universe and Regular Show, Hellen’s rebellious, and sometimes grotesque artwork and illustrations are redefining Asian American women and women of color in comics. In fact, that’s why Hellen Jo was a must-interviewee for our latest Sketchy Behavior where we talk to her about her love of comics and zines, her antiheroines, and redefining what Asian American women identity is or can be; and what her ultimate dream project realized would be.
Tell folks a little about yourself. So is it Helllen with three “l”’s? Mainly because your IG handle and website has a whole lot of extra “l”’s?
Haha my actual name is Hellen with two L’s. All my emails and urls contain a different number of L’s to confuse everyone. My grandfather took my American name from the Catholic saint, but he spelled it wrong, and now I share the same name as the mythological progenitor of the Greek people. But I like it better than my Korean name, which literally means, “graceful water lily” HAHAHA. I am an illustrator-slash-painter-slash-I-don’t-know-what living and working in Los Angeles.
Let’s talk about your early childhood / background. I read you’re from San Jose, CA and both your folks were professors, which is really cool!! How did you end up making art instead of teaching a room full of students about Hotel Management or Medieval History? Just curious where you got your “creative bug” and what early comics, arts, and/or influences led you down the road to becoming an artist?
I grew up in South San Jose, and yes, both of my parents are professors, of finance and of applied linguistics. A lot of my extended family are professors too, so I grew up parroting their desire for academia, but really, I started drawing when I was a wee babe, and I’ve always wanted to be a cartoonist. When I was really young, my parents drew for fun, really rarely; my dad could draw the shit out of fish and dogs, and my mom painted these really beautiful watercolor still lifes. I was fascinated, and I’d spend all my time drawing on stacks and stacks of dot matrix paper by myself. My parents also had a few art books around the house, and I remember staring so hard at a book of Modigliani nudes that my eyes burned holes through the pages.
What was the first comics you came across?
The first comics I ever got were translated mangas that were given to me by relatives when we’d visit Korea. I remember getting Candy Candy, a flowery glittery shojo manga for girls, and I was mesmerized by all the sparkly romance and starry huge eyes. I was also enthralled by Ranma ½, a gender bending teen manga that was equal parts cute art, cuss words, and shit too sexy for a kid my age. However, I was mostly thrilled that I could understand the stories with really minimal Korean reading skills, thus cementing a forever love of comics. In junior high and high school, I read a mix of newspaper strips and some limited manga, and I was enthralled with MTV cartoons “Daria” and “Aeon Flux”, but I wasn’t exposed to zines or graphic novels until I moved to Berkeley for college.
Did you have a first comic shop you haunted? What did you fill your comic art hunger with?
Being a super sheltered teen with not-great social skills, I was lonely my first semester, so I would lurk at Cody’s Books and Comic Relief every single day after classes. I read the entirety of Xaime Hernandez’s Love & Rockets volume, The Death of Speedy one afternoon at Cody’s, and it literally made me high; I was so hooked. I amassed some massive credit card debt buying and reading as many amazing comics as I could those first (and only) couple years of school: all of Los Bros Hernandez’s Love & Rockets, Dan Clowes’ Eightball, Julie Doucet’s Dirty Plotte comics, Peter Bagge’s Hate series, Chris Ware’s Jimmy Corrigan, Charles Burns’ Black Hole, Taiyo Matsumoto’s Black and White, Junji Ito’s Tomie and Uzumaki volumes… I could not believe the scope and breadth of the alternative comics genre, and the stories were so insanely good; they literally mesmerized me. I was so obsessed; I even skulked around the tiny comics section at UC Berkeley’s Moffitt Library in search of books I hadn’t read, and amid the fifty volumes of Doonesbury strips, some sick university librarian had included an early English translation of the Suehiro Maruo collection, Ultra Gash Inferno. That book blew my tiny mind about a hundred times; it’s totally fucked up erotic-grotesque horror porn, but the art is unbelievably beautiful. I read that entire thing sitting on the floor in the aisle, feverishly praying to God to forgive my sins after I finished the book, because I was way too ashamed to check it out of the library.
How about zines? I imagine a comic devouring ….
I devoured zines at a nearly equally fervent pace, including those by Aaron Cometbus, Al Burian (Burn Collector), Doris, John Pham, Jason Shiga, Lark Pien, Mimi Thi Nguyen, etc. I had never seen a zine before in my life, and suddenly, I was living in a town full of zinesters. I was drowning in inspiration. I tried to copy the art and writing of everything I read, and I spent a lot of my time making band flyers, trying to pass off zines as suitable replacements for term papers (this worked just once), and making monthly auto-bio comics for a few student publications. Eventually, I dropped out of school, then dropped out of school again, and I made my first published comic, Jin & Jam; then it all became real.
What was your early works like? and how did these become fodder for your self-published stuff later? What about your own experiences did you feel needed to be expressed in your own comics and artwork?
As a kid I was mostly copying sparkly girl manga and Sailor Moon stickers, and I don’t think I’ve really strayed all that far from that. My first few zines were cutesy autobiographical comics about crushes and falling asleep at the library; incredibly dull stuff. I made a super fun split comic/ep with this band I loved, The Clarendon Hills, but after that point, I was tired of drawing cute, goofy shit.
I had also really been obsessed with Korean ghost horror movies in high school, and I wanted to make comics that reflected more of that kind of coming-of-age violence and rage, so I made a couple standalone horror comics, Paralysis and Blister. These were longer than anything I’d ever done (forty to fifty pages each), and I felt like I was finally figuring out how to write interesting stories. I eventually dropped out of school and made Jin & Jam, based a bit on growing up in San Jose and on other kids I had grown up with.
At the time, there were still relatively few Asian American women in comics, and I was tired of whatever hyper-cute, yellow-fever, Japanified shit we were being pigeon-holed into, so I reacted by writing and drawing vulgar girls who started fights and didn’t give a fuck. I went to art school for a few semesters, got better at drawing people, and went on to draw nothing but mean bad girl ne'erdowells. I’d never been a very strong or defiant personality outwardly, but I’ve always been a pretty big fuckin bitch on the inside, and I just wanted to draw how I feel, in the most sincere way possible. And naturally, over the years, as I continued to develop this attitude in my art, I was able to express it better in person as well. Self-actualization through making comics!
For folks who don’t read comics, can you explain why they are SO AMAZING and moving to you! What about the format, art and overall genre makes them so great and not just your typical “funnies.”
I truly believe that comics are the greatest narrative format and art medium of all time! They are completely full of potential; you can draw and write whatever the hell you can think of, there are no real rules, and you as author and artist can create a deep and intimate experience for your reader. You can bare your vulnerabilities or yell at the world or create a visual masterpiece or inform people, visually and narratively. I don’t even believe that good art makes good comics; writing is king, and the art should really serve to further the story. Some of the worst comics I’ve ever seen had the most amazing art, and some of the greatest comics I’ve loved have the plainest, most naive, even ugly visuals, but those authors were able to finesse a symbiotic relationship between the text and the images to tell a compelling story. People are already so drawn to images, so it makes sense to me that they can enhance a reader’s literary experience so much.
I read that Taiyo Matsumoto is one of your all time inspirations. Most folks probably don’t know much about this master of comics, heck my knowledge is limited, so what makes his work speak to you so much? Perhaps it’ll encourage folks to venture into a new world of art exploration through visual comics.
Taiyo Matsumoto is the all time master of coming-of-age comics. I worship at his altar, for real. He is a Japanese artist, so technically his work is manga, but his masterful storytelling and singular visuals are so different from most manga, beyond categorization. He writes quiet, powerful stories about boys, girls, and teens who live in uncaring worlds surrounded by unfeeling adults, but they rise to these challenges and thrive in spite of themselves. The characters feel deeply, and the reader can’t help but ache and rage and celebrate just as fully. The drawings are beautiful and sensitive, with rough, loose artwork consisting of scratchy lines and cinematically composed shots.
What were some of your first memories with his work?
I remember buying the first two Pulp volumes of Black and White (also published as Tekkonkinkreet) at Comic Relief, reading them both at home that day, and then, covered in tears, literally *running* back that evening to buy the last volume before the store closed. I probably cried a dozen times while reading it; it’s a story about two orphan boys who protect each other in a neo-Vegas-like city of vice, but the characters were so brutal and brilliant and poignant. I had never read anything like that before, and it literally made me sick that, at the time, none of his other works were available in English. Eventually, I figured out that he was more widely published in Korea, so on every family trip, I’d run away from my folks for a day and buy as many of his books as I could carry back to the US. I made my way, slowly, through the Korean translations of Hana-otoko, Ping Pong (another incredible favorite!), and Zero. A beautiful collection of short stories, Blue Spring, was published in English, and then VIZ began translating the series No. 5, but they abruptly stopped mid-series due to low book sales. I was so starved for his work that at that point, I’d ebay his art books and comics only available in Japanese and just stare at them. Eventually, Black and White was made into the anime film, Tekkonkinkreet, and Ping Pong was made into an anime mini-series, and his rise in popularity ensured a wider English availability of his work. His current series, Sunny, is being translated and published here, and every volume breaks my heart a million times.
I’m sorry, this just turned into a gushy, gross fan fest, but Matsumoto’s books really changed my entire perspective on how comics can be written and paced, how characters can be developed fully, and how important comics really are to me. I love them so much!!!!!
You’ve worked in so many cool fields such as a storyboard artist and designer, and on various cartoons, such as Steven Universe. For folks who are interested in those fields, what can you tell folks about that? I’m sure like most artists, you’d rather be spending those long hours working on your own personal art, so how do you balance them? How did you move from a comic artist to working as a storyboarding artist?
I stopped working in animation about a year and a half ago, but the transition from indie comics to storyboarding was rough one, for me. I got into storyboarding at a time when a lot of kids’ animation networks were starting to hire outside the pool of animation school graduates and reach into the scummy ponds of comics. In my case, the creator of Regular Show, JG Quintel, had bought some of my comics at San Diego Comic-Con from my publisher, and he offered me a storyboard revisionist test.
Some cartoonists, like my partner Calvin Wong, were able to transition wonderfully; cartoonists and board artists are both visual storytellers, and once they’d learn the ropes, many of them thrived and succeeded. I can’t say the same for myself; I have major time management issues, I draw and write incredibly slowly, and going from working completely alone to pitching and revising stories with directors and showrunners was just a real shock to my system. For most of my time at Cartoon Network and FOX ADHD, I wasn’t able to do much personal work, but I crammed it in where I could.
Storyboarding also requires a lot of late nights and crazy work hours, to meet pitch deadlines and to rewrite and redraw large portions of your board. I just couldn’t deal. I lost a lot of weight, more of my hair fell out, and the extreme stress of the job put my undiagnosed diabetes into overdrive (stress makes your liver pump out sugar like crazy, look it up, people!) I realized that this industry was not meant for lard lads like me, and when the opportunity came to stop, I did. I could never figure out the balance between my job and my personal work, and I finally chose the latter. Now I’m trying to figure out the balance between making personal work and surviving, but I’ve yet to crack that nut either!
From your art I get a sense of rebellion and angst, how did this morph into an outlet through comics, cartoons, and illustration? Some aspects of your work that are so cool is the fact that your characters are female and women of color and in a completely new way. Asian characters definitely get stereotype in art and comics, so when did you consciously start to create these awesome antiheroines and redefine what Asian/Asian American women/girl identity is or can be?
A lot of the seething rage bubbling behind my eyes has been simmering there since childhood, and a very large portion of that anger comes directly from all the racism and sexism I’ve experienced as a child and adult. I’ve been treated patronizingly by boys and men who expect an Asian girl to be frail, demure, receptive, and soft-spoken. I’ve experienced yellow fever from dudes who are clearly more interested in my slanted eyes and sideways cunt than in whatever it is I have to say. Even in comics and illustration, people constantly tell me I must be influenced by Japanese woodblock print (pray tell, where in the holy fuck does that come from???), or they’ll look at a painting I’ve done of a girl bleeding from her mouth and dismiss my work as “cute”. I despise this complete lack of respect, for me and for Asian American women in general, and I’ve made it my life mission to depict my girls as I would prefer to be seen: fucking angry, violent, mean, dirty and gross, unapproachable, tough, jaded, ugly, powerful, and completely apathetic to you and your shit. Any rebellion and angst in my work comes directly from my own anger, and in my opinion, it makes that shit way better. Girls and women of color get so little respect in real life, so why not “be the change I want to see” in my drawings?
I think I was always aware of this lack of respect, and the “othering” of Asian American women, but once I got to college and learned to put a name to the racism and xenophobia and sexism and fetishism that we experience, my heart burst into angry flames, and it exploded into all of my art. I’ve never been able to hold that back, and I’m not interested in doing so, ever.
Talk about your process and mediums and process. Are you a night owl or an early bird artist? Do you have stacks of in-progress works or are you a one and down drawing person? Do you jot down notes or are you a sketch book person.
I am a paper and pencil artist all the way; I do work digitally sometimes, to make gifs or to storyboard, but I hate drawing and coloring on the computer. I’m terrible at it! I draw everything in pencil first, erasing a hundred thousand times along the way toward a good drawing. For my paintings, I’ll then ink with brush pen and paint with watercolor, all on coldpress Arches. For comics, I ink with whatever, brush pen or fountain pen, or leave the pencil, usually on bristol board. I’ve also been keeping sketchbooks more recently (never really maintained the habit before), where I like to doodle fountain pen and color with Copic markers. In sketchbooks, I’ll slap post-its on mistakes, a trick I learned from paper storyboarding on Regular Show.
I am a total night owl and a hermit; I have to be really isolated to get anything done, but at the same time, being so alone makes me crave social interaction in quick, fiery bursts. I’ll go on social rampages for a week at a time, and then jump back into my hidey hole and stay hidden for months, avoiding everyone. It’s not a very productive or healthy way to be, but it’s how I’ve always been.
I have great difficulty trying to juggle multiple tasks; I tend to devote all my mental energy and focus into whatever I’m working on at the time, so I need to complete each piece before I can do anything else. It’s an incredibly inefficient, time-wasting way of making art, but it’s also the only way I can produce drawings that I am satisfied with.
If we were to bust into your workspace or studio, what would we find? and what would you not want us to find?
You’d find an unshowered me, drawing in my underwear, which coincidentally is also what I do not want you to find!
You’d also find a room half made into workspace (more below), and half taken over by boxes of t-shirts and sweatshirts (I do all my own mailorder fulfillment, like an idiot!) I also like to surround myself with junk I find inspiring, so the walls are covered in prints and originals by some of my favorite artists, a bookshelf along the back wall is filled with about a third of my favorite comics and books and zines, and every available non-work surface (including desk, wall shelves, and bulletin boards) are covered in vintage toys, dice, tchotchkes, bottles, lighters and folding knives, weird dolls and figurines, a variety of fake cigarettes (I have a collection…)
Work-space wise, I have two long desks placed along a wall; the left desk has my computer and Cintiq, as well as my ancient laptop. Underneath and to the side of this desk are my large-format Epson scanner, fancy-ass Epson giclee printer, and a Brother double-sided laser printer. The right desk has a cutting mat, an adjustable drawing surface, and a hundred million pens and half my supplies/crafts hoard. I have a giant guillotine paper cutter for zines underneath this desk. I’ve got two closets filled with button making supplies, additional supplies/crafts hoard, and all kinds of watercolor paper, bristol paper, and mailing envelopes are crammed into every shelf, alcove, gap. This room has five lamps because I need my eyes to burn when I’m working. Also, everything is covered in stickers because I am obsessed with stickers.
What is something you’d like to see happen more often if at all in the contemporary art world? How’s the LA art scene holding up? Whaddya think?
As an artist who adores comics, I have a deep affection for low-brow mediums getting high-art and high-literary respect. Not that a comic needs to be shown in a gallery to be a valid art form, but I am so excited that comics that used to be considered fringe or underground are gaining traction as important works of art and literature. I wish this upward trajectory would continue forever, until everyone understands the love I feel for comics, but who knows what the future holds: the New York Times just recently stopped publishing their Graphic Novel Best Seller lists, and I think it’s a damn shame.
The LA art scene is really interesting to me, because it embraces both hi and lo brow work so readily; fancy pants galleries that make catalogues and sell to art dealers have openings right alongside pop-art stores that sell zines and comics, and I enjoy having access to both. I will say that I think LA galleries are a bit oversaturated with art shows devoted to television and pop culture fan art; yeah, I get that you loooooooove that crazy 70s cult classic sci-fi series and you want to draw Mulder and Scully and Boba Fett in sexual repose for the rest of your life, but I’m more excited about seeing new and original work from everyone. I know you have something to say, and I want to see it.
Mostly, I’d obviously love to see more women of color making art and making comics; we’ve come a long way since I started making zines in 2002, and there are some incredible WOC cartoonists making amazing work right now, but we need more more MORE!
What would be your ultimate dream project? What is something you haven’t tried and would love to give it a go at? Dream collaborations?
My ultimate dream project is the Great American Graphic Novel, but I am so shit at finishing anything that I have not been able to even approach this terrifying prospect. But I figure I have until the day of my death to make something, so … one step at a time?
As far as something I’ve never tried, I’ve been recently interested in site-specific installation; I’ve always been a drawer for print, confined to the desk, and I’m in awe of cartoonists and illustrators who have transitioned to other forms of visual media, whether it be video, sculpture, performance, whatever. I know my personality tends toward repeating the same motions forever and ever, and I hope I can break out of that and make something really different and challenging for myself. I also secretly want to make music but I am the shittiest guitarist ever so maybe it’s better for the world that I don’t!
The dreamiest collaboration I can think of is to illustrate a skate deck for any sick-ass teen girl or woman skater. Seriously, if any board companies wanna make this happen, EMAIL ME
Give us your top 5 of your current favorite comic artists as well as your top 5 artists in general.
Top 5 Current Favorite Comic Artists:
1. Jonny Negron
2. Jillian Tamaki
3. Michael DeForge
4. Ines Estrada
5. Anna Haifisch
Top 5 Artists of All Time
1. Taiyo Matsumoto
2. Xaime Hernandez
3. David Shrigley
4. Julie Doucet
5. Daniel Clowes
What are your favorite style of VANS? And how would you describe your own personal style?
My favorite VANS are the all-black Authentic Lo Pros, although I have a soft spot for my first pair of Cara Beth Burnsides in high school (they were so ugly and I never skated, but I loved them).
My personal style can be described as aging colorblind tomboy who dresses herself in the dark; my favorite outfit is a black hoodie with black denim shorts and black socks and black sneakers.
What do you have planned for this 2017? New shows? New published works?
I’ve got two group shows with some of my favorite artists in the works; I’m so excited but I can’t share any details yet. I’ve also been writing a new comic, but don’t believe it til ya see it!
Best bit of advice and worse advice in regards to art?
Best Advice: Never be satisfied; always challenge yourself to make your art better than everything you’ve done previously.
Worst Advice: Make comics as a stepping stone towards getting a job in animation. When people do this, you can smell the stink of insincerity a mile away. Fuck you, comics are a beautiful medium, and every shitty asshole who does this, I hate your guts!
Follow Hellen Jo
Website: http://helllllen.org
Shop: http://helllllen.bigcartel.com
Instagram: @helllllenjjjjjo
Images courtesy of the artist
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Gluten Free Holiday Beers
It’s colder out, spirits are high, and it’s so freaking DARK out! Things are getting spiced out the wazoo, there’s pie everywhere, turkeys ducks and chickens are getting bird-centipede-ed, it’s bedlam- and on top of that, the in-laws… Got anything for me?
YOU BETCHA! There are so many ways to envision holiday brewing, from flavors to themes to gift basket ideas- the list goes on. This is the one true season where is really is worth saying FU to the Reinheitsgebot- forgive me Beer gods. Not only do people give you the benefit of the doubt with your flavors, but they’re down to try something they would likely poo-poo in other seasons- so seize your moment.
Spices and Styles for Holiday Beers
Pumpkin Spice Holiday Beers: I might lose some of the audience here. It happens I get it… but it’s worth a try once. The methodology would include adding ground spices to the boil, typically under 15 minutes, very similar to the way you add coriander to a wit style beer. Where some differ in opinion here is how to treat secondary with these beers, and what delivery method is better. Some say whole spice, others say ground or crushed… in my experience the crushed or ground version falls out too quickly. On the other hand, I’ve had tremendous success adding whole spices in secondary like cinnamon sticks and star anise.
Pairing your spices is important: Orange is paired with coriander for a reason, you could add ginger, nutmeg, and paradise seeds in varying quantities to all types of styles. Typically choosing an estery yeast can help compliment the spices, but there is a balance as you don’t want to drown the flavor out. Saison, Trappist, and Thames Valley yeasts are all great choices, as they take spices well, and still speak for themselves, creating a complex flavor profile for the drinker. Cleaner yeasts like WLP 001 (Wyeast 1056) are good choices too, but can cause the spice to speak for the rest of the beer, and cause them to over-power things. But remember, there really aren’t any hard and fast rules governing holiday beers.
Stouts letting it all hang out: Imperial Stout, Breakfast Stout, Chocolate Stout, Maple Stout—doesn’t matter—they’re bolder and brasher without a doubt during this season. People are putting on their winter coat, so don’t feel too bad about finishing your stout at 1.025 or even 1.040. I’m not that huge of a fan of lactose, but that’ll make it easier to finish at a higher gravity. Although many don’t think it’s worth the risk—I’m a fan of adding syrups and sugars at high krausen, and even racking to more syrup or fruit in secondary. This allows you to focus on a solid grain bill, and add additional complexity to the brew. It also helps with that thick finish that many stouts are known for. Another thing is that they’re also a great option for gluten-free brewers like me, who tend to have average finishing gravities around 1.002 consistently. To help with that problem, take gravity samples more often, rack and crash when you reach the gravity you want, think about mashing at higher temps to convert starches to dextrose, and think about adding up to 1.5 lbs of maltodextrin if you’re worried about the finishing gravity.
Bring on the Pine: “C” hops anyone? Great time of year to go crazy. I’m personally going to be brewing with spruce tips this year, I want my party guests to feel like they’re literally drinking a Christmas tree. Additional hops that help with that resiny note are Centennial, Chinook, Citra, and Columbus (don’t forget about simCOE and southern CROSS). Feel free to pour on crystal malts as well. In some cases it might be necessary if you’re going for a resin bomb. Remember that balance that we talked with spice? Depending on the style of IPA, I might add up to Crystal 60/80, but I much prefer sweet to roast in my holiday IPAs. Even though session-ability isn’t as important during the holidays, some of the most successful recipes I’ve done to-date have featured a boiling hop under 10% AA and incorporated massive late hopping (15 minutes and under) to pull out those dank and resiny notes. This is also a great way to avoid the astringent or acrid experience for the drinker that can happen in a heavy hopping scenario. In my opinion, it’s also a great way to not have so much of that “cat urine” aroma that many people are put-off by.
Get Rustic and think Local: Ever think of what they used before hops? Many of these other options give a holiday vibe anyway. I made a feast saison for Thanksgiving this year that incorporated no hops and used an ancient herb called “yarrow” (available at spruceontap.com)- it lent a wonderful herbal note with the meal, however I wanted more sage, and I would definitely buy more than 2 oz next time. Many beers in old America were made with corn, molasses, pumpkin, sweet potato, and rice, so feel free to go literally off the deep end with local adjuncts and ingredients. Just try to make sure it doesn’t mess up the base beer too much. Lavender and chamomile are incredible herbs that go great with Saison and other farmhouse varietals. Choke cherries, cranberries and other tart berries like black currants are all great choices to add in secondary or primary depending on the style you’re going for.
Go Ahead… Make ‘em Call a LYFT: Although I’ve gone away from brewing as much high ABV beer recently, feel free to brew that “winter warmer” you’ve been afraid to tackle, your guests will drunkenly thank you during their second beer, if they’re not put down by the first round. It’s regular for most holiday beers to be above 6% ABV, but feel free to push the boundary. For notes on brewing high gravity, check out my previously published article. One thing that I’ll say here is that a starter is highly important, and I have become religious about oxygenating my cooled wort on anything that has a starting gravity of 1.055 or higher. Temperature is also an important factor here in addition to yeast health, as fusel alcohols in high enough quantities can create a “gasoline” or “diesel” taste and aroma in your beer. Fusel alcohols are the result of your yeast being under stress and creating alcohol compounds with more than two carbon atoms. The higher you work a yeast towards it’s threshold, the more you risk creating fusel alcohols. In addition, you also run the risk of your yeast crapping out before it finishes. For a large scale example of this, watch Sam Calagione’s Discovery Channel show “Brew Masters”—there’s two shows (out of 6) where he has to dump entire tanks of flagship beers because the yeast couldn’t handle the high gravity, so just make sure you do your homework on your yeast, and always pitch the right cell count for the gravity.
Have Fun… But Plan Ahead
My Holiday brewing schedule can be staggering. I turn from a weekend brewer to a week night brewer once late September hits, but it pays off. People don’t scrutinize homemade gifts as much, and I hate standing in lines. Strategize your parties in advance. Remember that your keg should be filled and under carbonation by at least Tuesday so that it is ready for a Saturday afternoon party. If you want your family and friends to actually enjoy the gift bag you give them on the big day, you should be bottle conditioning your beer by at least December 10th, Black Friday is a great day to bottle condition for those celebrating Chanukah, so it has the full two weeks to carb up. It allows them to toss your beer in the freezer and enjoy it in front of you. In my experience that also guarantees that they actually drink it, instead of finding it in their wine cellar or hallway closet years later (great for certain styles… but not spiced holiday beers or holiday IPAs). Spacing brew days out so that you aren’t bottling all your beers at once could be a helpful tip, just remember to brew the styles that benefit from more aging first.
Mix it up This Holiday Season, and Wow Your Family and Friends!
Christmas Tree IPA: Holiday Ale
Grains Hop Schedule Yeast
7.5 lbs Pale Millet Malt
3 lbs Buckwheat Malt
1.5 lbs Goldfinch Millet Malt
1 lb Cara Millet Malt
12 oz Crystal Millet Malt
1.5 lbs Rice Hulls
1 tsp Amylase Enzyme
.25oz Chinook @75
.25oz Centennial @75
.25oz Chinook @50
.25oz Centennial @50
.25oz Chinook @25
.25oz Centennial @25
.25oz Chinook @10
.25oz Centennial @10
4 oz Spruce Tips (Whirlpool 15 min)
1 pkg WY1968 (ESB)
Notes: Use hop bags so they can be removed prior to whirlpooling.
OG: 1.065 FG: 1.015 ABV: 6.56%
Heat 7 gal of Strike Water to 152⁰F, add in 2 tsp Calcium Chloride and 1 tsp gypsum, mix in milled grains, let sit for an hour then ramp to 163⁰F for 30 Minutes, ramp to 170⁰F and Sparge out with 2.5 gal of 170⁰F hot liquor (with 1 tsp of calcium chloride added back in; you will want to stir your grains a couple times during the sparge). If you have a pre-boil gravity lower than 1.035, add either 2 lbs of 1 SRM Candi Syrup or 3-4 cups of Raw Sugar at 15 minutes left in the boil.
Add yeast nutrient and Whirlfoc. At 0 minutes you can remove hop bags.
Chill Wort to 68⁰F, oxygenate for 30-45 seconds, then pitch yeast- I went with Wyeast 1968 London ESB, subs: WLP 001, WLP 007, Wyeast 1056, etc. I pitched a 1500 ml starter. This is a highly flocculant yeast, but I’ll typically pitch Clarity ferm at the same time as the yeast so that I can ferment and crash in the same vessel (brew jacket has trouble getting down below 35⁰F). I typically will let the inoculated wort free rise to 72, but typically I’ll keep it at 68⁰F.
I always dry hop (helps greatly with head-retention in gf beers), but you don’t have to.
1 oz Chinook & 1 oz Centennial (3 days before transfer). (optional)
by Robert Keifer
Originally born and raised in San Jose, CA, I moved down to SOCAL for college at UC Irvine (Business Economics class of 2011), and decided to stick around after graduating. I’ve been gluten free since 2010, and was tired of never having any beer to drink. A mutual friend was into homebrewing, and had me come over to hang at a keg tasting, and once I mentioned Ghostfish in Seattle (GF brewery), they got the idea to help me brew a gluten-free beer. From there, I’ve been fully immersed in learning everything I can about brewing beer and brewing as many beers as I can. I currently work as the Talent Acquisition Specialist for a growing Cyber Security Consulting firm, Tevora, and I have aspirations of putting my beers on the map at the Pro-AM GABF, and bringing them to a wider audience by opening my own Brewery one day.
Learn more about gluten free brews with this cider article »
First off, if you aren’t already making hard cider, you should be. It really is a no brainer, which I will explain briefly here. Cider is cheap to make, easily sourced, hardly any work, and great for those friends who can’t do gluten! Your only materials are Apple cider/juice, yeast, and maybe a few optional adjuncts, so cost can be as low as $20 a batch depending on your juice source. There isn’t an actual brew process, so it cuts a couple hours out of your normal brew day requirement. Just clean, sanitize, mix ingredients and profit! Since you aren’t using grain in this, it becomes a convenient brew to have on hand for friends(or in my case, SWMBO) who don’t/can’t do gluten…
Gluten Free Holiday Beers was originally published on HomeBrewTalk.com
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Charlotte Kruk is a San Jose-based artist who crafts wearable sculptures from repurposed objects.
Tell us about your artwork, medium, style, subject matter, etc.
I’m a maker of all things “object”: utilitarian, aesthetic, and primarily sculpture-related. The most recognizable of my artworks are “wearable sculpture” made predominantly through the transformation of post-consumer trash into sculptures that appear as garments. Assumptions are frequently made about my work, incorrectly assigning me the title “fashion designer”; my intentions have never been such. I consider what I’m fabricating as sculpture, a form of anti-fashion social commentary, within which I slyly wink at our cultural castaways and repurpose detritus to create fresh narratives, often referencing history. (“Consumer couture; the politics of having.”)
For years I have worked predominantly with candy trash. Partly as a means of confessing my own sweet tooth sins, and partly to awaken the concept of the “goods” vs. the “package.” As a child I was taught to be sweet, and in early college felt a [yen] to package myself literally into the recycled candy wrappers, thereby encouraging others to recognize the “recycling, upcycling, repurposing.” Since 1994, I have indulged in a playful conversation with my garbage, carefully unwrapping, collecting, and cleaning the waste from most everything I personally purchased, ate, and shared. My interests in the way we “package” ourselves for visual consumption to create a sense of “belonging” pair with the relationship to the contents of our own personal character. Who in fact is “pretty on the inside,” as opposed to purely polished or privileged externally? My issues with weight, sugary flirtations, conversations about brand association, caste system/money identity, packaging, consumption, and repurposing are all funneled into this sculptural work.
My ceramic work and jewelry work are equally visually sweet with undertones of conceptual commentary for those willing to endeavor to go beyond the surface value of the materials being explored.
What are your biggest challenges in creating art?
Time for me is always an issue and becomes a challenge for accomplishing as much work as I have on “to-do” lists. My artwork is intricate, rich in details, and generally labored over with embellishment. Often I stitch multiple times around the graphics within the packaging to create focal emphasis in the work. I balance teaching high school sculpture and moonlight/weekend/summer-vacation as a professional artist.
The biggest hurdle I face in creating wearable sculpture is that I am not formally trained as a seamstress. I find that it likely takes me five times longer than it might had I a structured background in this media. I first invented my process by deconstructing garments to understand how they were built, then began learning to read patterns with the support of my mom and my grandma in order to understand how more complicated garments are built. It is typically impossible to find a pattern for what I’m visioning…and I create chaos by trying to put sleeves from one pattern with the bodice of another and the collars from yet another.
What is a day of working like in your studio/creative space? Do you have any rituals that help you get motivated or in “the zone”?
Coffee is ritualistic in my world. I created a body of work around the concept of “Caffeine-Nation”. I wake at 5am with two cups of coffee and arrive at Lynbrook High School campus by 6:45am. My students begin arriving shortly after 7am, and class begins promptly at 7:30am. If I don’t keep the lab open for students after school to continue their works in progress, I am immediately home in my own studio by 3:30 in the afternoon with yet a second dose of coffee. I’m fairly religious about going to bed before 10pm unless a deadline is imminent. Those precious afternoon hours from 3ish to 10ish are focused on baby steps of production towards end goals. I typically have a multitude of projects going simultaneously…this way, when I reach a sticking point, a tough decision, a crossroads that I’m reluctant about…I can avert disaster by giving the work some breathing room and push a different project a few steps further. In the summer months and weekend days when I’m afforded all studio, all day, I pretty much keep to that timeline and routine schedule of waking and sleeping…and can be greedy with my time. Sometimes starving myself socially…. My life as the resident sculptor at Lynbrook helps to provide social balance.
When you are in need of inspiration, are there particular things you read, listen to, look at, or do to help find that idea or fuel your work?
Traditionally I have more ideas than time, so it’s rather a matter of discipline and continuing with one major work until it’s finished. Deadlines are helpful for this maintenance of focus. I begin to unravel if I don’t witness projects come to completion on a regular basis, which is another reason I prefer to have multiple artworks and diverse media happening simultaneously. When I struggle to gain focus, I walk the neighborhood for “change”—literally and figuratively. My sister and I are in a constant competition to find the most street coin, or what I call “street charm.” I pick up every penny and beyond, plus a lot of random shiny objects and candy wrapper trash.
The hardwood floors in my house/studio double as a danceable surface, and I take consistent breaks to allow my uncomfortable sewing machine posture to shake itself out and get my spine back into alignment. I also seem to have acquired a taste for Pinterest…a fun diversion where I can dig through amazing imagery. This “craft porn” offers oodles of opportunities for liberation from the days of laboriously pouring through books at the library.
What would people be surprised to learn about you?
I have no formal training in sewing. The truth is I fell into sewing purely by accident. Rather a natural accident, as I come from a long line of seamstresses, or shall I say terrific homemakers. Until the age of 23, I had avoided sewing as it felt like “women’s work,” and I was on a trajectory to avoid just that. My dad died in a hang-gliding accident when I was almost 4; my sister and I were raised single-handedly by my mom. Thankfully, she is a dedicated, motivated, determined woman who was/is a terrific role model.
It was important for me to be a bit “tomboy-ish” growing up. I distinctly remember pitching fits when my grandma tried forcing me into a dress for school. I yearned to develop skills that my mom didn’t possess as a way to balance the lack of male influence in my life. I was grateful to have the dynamic mentorship of metalsmith Rand Schiltz in the jewelry lab at San Jose State University. He nurtured me as a kind of adopted “daddy”…and didn’t mind that I called him that. He was extremely kind to me at a time when I needed it the most. Under his tutelage, I was able to master torches and saws; eventually I came all the way around to developing my distinct style and turned his macho, yet elegant, jewelry lab into a boudoir for my thesis show.
What advice would you give others just beginning their creative careers?
Create because you must. Create because you love the process and eventually the outcome. Invest in yourself, challenge yourself, and keep learning every day with a growth mindset that you will improve if you keep working at your craft. Strive to find the uniqueness in your ideating. I love the balance that my day job provides. I have the privilege of helping others find their value and the means to honor their distinctive path. Because of the steady income, I never feel compelled to make what the market dictates is popular creatively, instead I can honor what my inner voice insists, allowing the pureness of my voice to reign true. It is splendid when someone thinks your work is worth owning…but so much more precious if your soul is satisfied and the work is completed because you needed to see it, and only in making the work is that possible.
Charlotte Kruk
instagram: charlotte.kruk
facebook: kruktart
Interview by My Art Resources
Photography by Daniel Garcia
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Charlotte Kruk Charlotte Kruk is a San Jose-based artist who crafts wearable sculptures from repurposed objects. Tell us about your artwork, medium, style, subject matter, etc.
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