#pay attention in english class... it may help you on tumblr... /silly

[way2manyusernamez]

clear communication in "callout posts"

I see a lot of posts starting with something like, "this person is an [evil label], don't support them." It bothers me because of two reasons:

What does their political label mean in this context?

What do they mean by this labeling - are they seriously pro-abuse or do they interpret their label differently?

And possibly more importantly - what are they actively doing? What specific actions are they taking? Clear evidence is good to include too.

2. What actions are you asking your audience to take?

Reporting? Blocking? Avoiding this person until they change their behavior?

More clarity and a clear call-to-action can make your post more effective. For example: "Ew, this person is a basedqueer, don't support them" -> "This user is using their platform to encourage their followers to hurt others. This is not a consensual or roleplay thing, and they know what they're doing - they identify as being "pro nonconsensual abuse." [include archived links as evidence for all claims.] We should report this person when they encourage others to be abusive. This is so that they can stop negatively influencing people on Tumblr."

I find it useful to ask questions to gain clarity on someone's ideology. "These people are xenosatanists, I bet they're pro rape" -> "I asked them what they meant with their label, and they said they only agreed with some of the parts of the ideology. I don't understand why they would continue to identify with the label, but I am relieved that they do not share the same extremely anti-consent views as the creator. I will have to ask them further questions if I want to understand more."

Research and nuance can be critical in avoiding false or misleading allegations. "I heard this person dated a minor when they were an adult! They must have been using that vast power imbalance to abuse their partner." -> "Oh, they were 17 and 18, the situation was not as I assumed..."

[freespiritdani]

Forgive the anonymous AMA, but my mom won't let me set up a Tumblr account. I wanted to ask you a question that comes from you going over what the word epicaricacy means. Have you ever gotten pleasure out of someone else's misfortunes or discomfort? -- Tony S.

Before I answer this, let me begin with our school is closed over the coronavirus kerfuffle and we are doing classes via online methods. One of our teachers had to make a doctor’s appointment, so I agreed to fill in her AP English class as the teacher. Tony is one of her brighter students, even if his mind does latch onto some things most people miss or otherwise wouldn’t see. And, knowing him, this is an innocuous question.

Hey, Tony! I figured a question like this would cross your mind. TBH, I would have been surprised if it hadn’t.

But to answer your question, yes I have. One time, and you may remember my girls and your dad laughing themselves silly over it. It was a few days after Dr. C got promoted to superintendent and I got picked to replace her as principal. That meant I had to interview people to replace me as your English teacher.

Well, Miss A and I went grocery shopping and you know how lovey-dovey we can be. A stranger walked up to us and started giving us all sorts of grief over being 2 women who were “practicing an abomination in the eyes of God” and setting a very bad example for the people and the children of the community by committing such a horrid sin in front of everyone. He said he was in town to interview for a teaching position that had just opened up, and how he hoped that his “Christian life” would be a positive example for all the students and how he hoped it would help the community grow stronger and closer to God, eschewing such acts of depravity (meaning same-sex relationships beyond being just mere friends).

Next morning was his interview. He was totally floored when he realized that one of the lesbians he was giving such a hard time to the afternoon before was the one doing his interview and, if he passed the interview, would be his future boss. Maybe I shouldn’t have, but I did get a bit of joy out of watching that homophobe squirm over what he said.

(Considering who you have for a teacher now, I guess it’s kinda obvious he didn’t get the job, BTW)

Side note: I wish some of you fellow classmates would pay as much attention in class as you do. :)

[twelvesignsrp]

congratulations nicky, pisces is now cleo fairchild with the faceclaim ashley moore

APPLICATION

  Character Sign: Pisces

  Character name: Cleo Fairchild

  Birthday: 1st of March 1997

  Sexuality: Asexual, Panromantic

  Gender: Female

  Moon Sign: Virgo

  Faceclaim: I’m going to stick with the suggested face claim of Ashley Moore.

  Power: Invisibility. In short, Cleo loves to escape. Although she is very tuned in to what’s going on in the real world, that doesn’t mean she always wants to be. Sometimes there’s too much chaos, too much drama. It’s exhausting. She likes to escape to her own world - to dream. Unfortunately in this case, she can hide but she can’t run. Though she can vanish into the shadows, she can never physically enter the realm that exists in her mind.

  What do they study? English Literature. She has a soft spot for old- and middle-English texts. The ones that read less like the English of today and more like they come from a whole other world. The ones that sing with the sound of scratching quills and the smell of old parchment leaves even when read aloud. The ones that make her shiver under the imaginary fall of misty evening air and the soft blush of an open fire on her skin. Dark days in an unknown universe, when anything was possible, and yet it seemed like so little was possible. What a small, strange way to live, and yet even then, stories were told. The evolution of language and storytelling lives in the very heart of humanity, reflecting our capacity to change and adapt, and all the while never lose our ability to dream.

  Biography:

For as long as Cleo can remember, she’s been a reader. She knows that she hasn’t always been a reader (she was, after all, a baby once), but she may as well have been. As a small child she would read anything she could get her hands on in the London flat in which she lived with her mother and father. It didn’t matter what it was. She’d read books, instruction manuals, old greetings cards… you name it, if she was able to get a hold of it, she’d read it whether she understood it or not. Her primary school teachers saw potential in her and encouraged her love of books and learning. She had a happy, albeit modest childhood, at least for the first eleven years.

Then came the summer before she was due to start secondary school. Her mother and father, recognising that they had an exceedingly bright child on their hands, had worked tirelessly with her so that she’d get the grades she needed to gain admission to a good grammar school, and she’d done it. Uniforms had been bought, tube routes had been studied meticulously, and Cleo was already dreaming about her new classes and her new friends.

Then her mother disappeared. Gone. Just like that. One fresh, warm 4am in July, she was spotted leaving her night shift at the hospital on CCTV, and then never came home. Cleo remembers waking up the following morning to the sound of voices in her living room, and her father sobbing, an untouched cup of tea in his shaking hands. A police lady took her into the kitchen and made her some cereal, and explained that they were all looking very hard to try and find her mum. They never found her.

Cleo wanted to disappear, too. She wanted to dissolve into thin air and leave behind the chaos and uncertainty. And, as it turned out, so did her father. Two years into her secondary school education, something changed in Cleo’s dad. His tears dried. A stony determination set in his eyes. He worked more and was home less. One day, she came home from school and he finally said it. He’d gotten a better job, and they were leaving London. It turned out that Cleo hadn’t been the only one who wanted to escape. The problem was, her dad’s solution felt more to Cleo like giving up than anything. Cleo had always secretly maintained that her mother would come home. She still twitched with every knock on the door and every soft sigh of a car pulling up below their living room window. If they left, she wouldn’t find them. Her father didn’t believe she was coming back.

Exeter was fine. It was an old city full of beautiful old buildings, and Cleo liked that. But she still half-existed in her old flat, imagining her mother’s face as she arrived home to find that they were gone. Four weeks after moving, Cleo missed the bus to her new school and ran away back to London by train. She didn’t spend long there. Her form teacher called her father and he knew exactly where she’d be. When Cleo arrived at her old block of flat, the police were already there waiting for her and they took her home.

Cleo grew older and, slowly, she had to start moving forward again or she was sure she would rot. She made friends, buried herself in school work, and even made Head Girl in her final year at school. With top A-Level grades in English Literature, Spanish, History and ICT, she was accepted into Durham university to study English Literature with the hopes of one day becoming a university lecturer herself. But still, she has never had closure, and her mind often wanders back to that balmy early morning on the steps outside St. Thomas’ Hospital. She knows she may never find out what happened, but she holds out hope.

  Five interesting facts about your character:

Cleo’s favourite book is her battered old copy of the Pearl Manuscript.

Cleo is a cat person through and through. Though she doesn’t own one, she’s the kind of person who will joyfully try to coax random cats on the street to come over to her. It gets her some odd looks from passers-by, but usually she’s too absorbed in trying to get the cat to pay attention to her to care.

She can’t play a musical instrument or sing to save her life, but she loves listening to music. Not a fan of pounding club anthems or guitar-heavy rock, she likes the simpler, more calming sounds of acoustic instruments, classical outfits, and soft, dreamy synths.

Sometimes, when she’s heading back to her room late at night and she doesn’t want to disturb people by turning on the lights in the hallway, she uses the function on her phone that allows her to flick it upwards to turn on the flashlight. If nobody else is with her, she likes to whisper “Lumos” before she does it so that she can feel like a wizard.

Cleo isn’t really into the party scene that seems to go hand in hand with university life. She can sometimes act a little high and mighty about it, as though she thinks she has ‘better things to do’, but in reality she feels desperately awkward among the huge crowds and loud music, and worries that this has isolated her from a lot of people who might find her dull.

  Character Quote:

And all these truths are sold With foundations below them that were dug in winter’s cold, When the world stole our young and prayed on the old. Well hope deals the hardest blows, Yet I cannot help myself but hope.

   -Foye Vance, “Two Shades of Hope”

  If your character had a patronus what would it be? and why?

A dove. Nothing dispels fear quite like a promise of coming renewal.

WRITING SAMPLE

It was half past six, and the low September sun cast a soft, golden light over the busy quadrangle, warming the immaculately-kept grass and the top of Cleo’s head.

Normally, around this time of the day, Cleo would be putting dinner on, knowing that her dad would be on his way home from work. That was how they did things at home. She got home from school before he finished work, so she started the dinner. He cleared up and did the dishes afterwards. Then they’d both have time in the evening, whether it was spent together or doing their own thing. They did everything like that - as a team.

Except now they were both on their own. He’d started the drive back down to Exeter the evening before, leaving Cleo to face Freshers’ Week - and her first lectures - alone. Obviously, it had to be that way. She couldn’t very well drag her dad to events and classes with her.

“But still,” she had joked as he climbed into his car and she planted a kiss on his cheek. “Who’ll make your dinner for you now?”

“And who’ll do your dishes?” he’d shot back, his warm, twinkly smile sending a small shock through her when it occurred to her that she wouldn’t see it again for a while. “I’ll ring you when I get home, okay? I love you.”

And then he was gone. And now it was half past six and soon her father would be getting in from work and starting to cook his first dinner alone, all the way down by the southern coast. She felt stupid for welling up at the thought of him coming home to their house by himself, of them both eating alone tonight with nobody to grill about their day, or tease with some silly inside joke, or-

She jumped slightly as her phone vibrated in her pocket. She pulled it out and unlocked it, and couldn’t help but smile at the picture of the McDonald’s bag sitting in the passenger seat of her dad’s car.

I promise I’ll start cooking tomorrow night! - Dad x

ANYTHING ELSE?

My favourite colour is lavender.

Also I haven’t done a tumblr RP before, so I might seem a little bit lost at first and might float for a day or two trying to get my bearings and figure out how this all works. I’ve obviously familiarised myself with the material for this RP in particular, but I'm very clever with the format yet. If you’re looking for people with a bit more experience RPing on this platform, I totally understand and I will absolutely not be offended at my application being rejected. Thank you for your time!