#this is the only school that I can afford

[emiko-matsui]

Okay, I just need to get something out of the way when it comes to the Kipperlilly conversation nobody's brought up yet, which I think is insane. Almost all of The Bad Kids would be more powerful if they didn't have their tragedy porn tragic backstories.

First of all, this doesn't apply to Fig and Gorgug because if Fig wasn't Gorthalax's child she would be a lot like Kipperlilly and not the ruler of hell. I wouldn't say Gorgug has a tragic backstory, he's got a pretty normal growing up experience with ups and downs.

Let's start with her #1 nemesis, Riz Gukgak. She's so jealous that his dad was murdered and that gives him an advantage in the adventuring life. To be crude, no, it doesn't. What would give Riz an advantage in the adventuring life would be living with someone who has a direct contact to all the government's inner workings and conspiracies. Now that would be an advantage. That gives you connections and clues that no one else can get. This is not what happened. What happened was eating cereal with water for breakfast, what happened was not getting an opportunity at college, what happened was a 9 year old who stopped sleeping, what happened was not your secret agent dad giving you an advantage in the school conspiracy because he's dead. Otherwise he fucking would've.

And now Kipperlilly's new #1 nemesis, Kristen Applebees. She was ostracised from her religion for her sexuality, she achieved sainthood, and raised a dead god back to life. None of this would've happened if she hadn't been raised in The Harvestmen. No, it wouldn't, but what would have happened if Kristen had been straight? Disgusting thought, yes, I know, but let's talk about it. A Kristen who never left Helio behind would have so many more fucking advantages than the one with Cassandra has. If she had followed her birthright she would be the only chosen one of one of the world's most powerful gods. Sol is the biggest god in Spyre and Helio is his son. Helio does not have a chosen one anymore because Kristen left. It's not a title that's just given out, it could only have been Kristen. You know what's an advantage? Being the chosen one of one of the world's most powerful gods, being a god's spoken favourite, and deified by all of that god's followers. Now that would be an unfair advantage. You know what's not an advantage? Being homeless at 14 and being at the mercy of your ex-girlfriend's uncle for housing, dying and having absolutely no one there for you so you're only option to survive is to trust your own abilities enough to raise yourself from the dead, and failing school because of biased teachers.

And what of Adaine Abernant? The Elven Oracle? Her tragedy porn tragic backstory is surviving an abusive home. Now I just have to imagine that Adaine would have it a lot easier than most students, an incredible amount of unfair advantages, if her old money parents paid for every wizard whim she wanted, kept her diplomatic immunity so she could do literally anything she wanted without consequences, and gave her a direct contact into the heart of the Fallinell government. Now that is what I would call an insane amount of unfair advantage. I would be furious at this rich kid who's never had to work for anything myself. This is not even close to the case. She's barely passing classes because she can't afford the material you're required, she goes to the guidance counsellor for panic attacks, and she's being hunted by her home government. I'd say that's about every single thing in her life working against her having it easy.

Fabian Aramais Seacaster. He's complicated since he is very privileged already. He gets 5000 gold a month just for existing. He's the captain of the Owlbears because he killed the previous one. He lives alone in a mansion. Yeah, that's pretty privileged. His parents are also so severely fucked up that if they hadn't been filthy rich they would've been absolutely horrible for him. If he had parents who unconditionally supported him and stayed with him through everything, then we could talk about perhaps the most powerful person in Elmville. In Solace possibly. The most feared pirate in history who single-handedly dismantled a monarchy and fights against armies on his own is at your beck and call, does whatever you ask him to, and loves you more than anything. The greatest swordswoman in the world, that bested the most feared pirate in the world, the daughter of one of the most influential elven families and immortal will do anything you ask her, loves you to bits, and would cheat any rules for you. To have that would just be insane. You can argue that Fabian already has unfair advantages because of his social status and inheritance. This is true, but this is also true within his own adventuring party. Now his parents aren't helping him with anything and are determined that he reach his legendary status on his own. Otherwise talk about a fucking advantage.

All this to say is that if Kipperlilly got all of The Bad Kids tragedy porn like she wanted she wouldn't have been better, but she would've made them better. There is an adventuring party out there in the multiverse that has a secret agent at their disposal, the only chosen one of a Sol religion, Bill Seacaster and Hallariel Lomenelda unprompted in their corner, and a seer with unending resources and diplomatic immunity. These would've been people you start a platform about adventuring not being fair for everyone because of. The people you went against was a homeless kid, a kid with an anxiety disorder, a trust fund kid, and someone with PTSD.

I've seen your posts about Kipperlilly being wrong for her validation, but right in the fact that The Bad Kids have been given larger plots and mysteries because of their families and circumstances and I don’t want to fucking see another one. When you make that I want you to think about the adventuring party they would've been without their backstories. The insanely powerful and privileged adventuring party that almost happened. Their life got made worse, not easier because their life could have been so fucking easy. Kipperlilly can take all the tragedy porn she wants and then maybe realise that that's not what makes the adventurer. That the reason she's mad at The Bad Kids is the only reason she can even tangentially compete with them.

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for refusing to do anything to help my roommate's baby?

More of a "was I an asshole" rather than "am I an asshole?"

I (21F) am a college student living in an apartment with two roommates, Anna (22F) and Mica (23NB). I've lived with Anna for two years now and Mica for one, and we've all always gotten along great with no major issues apart from the fact that Anna's boyfriend of several years is emotionally manipulative and incredibly insecure and jealous, but that's an issue for another time, except that I don't like him and make no secret of it. I also don't like children, never want children, and crying babies is one of the biggest overload/meltdown triggers I have because it stresses me out and also triggers some violent intrusive thoughts (I have autism and OCD, which both of my roommates know about, but never cause any significant issues and I don't act on those thoughts.) That is to say, I should not and do not want to be around children.

Anna and I live far enough apart over the summer that we only see each other during the school year, and this year I'm a junior and she's a senior. I showed up at the beginning of this school year and lo and behold, Anna is about five months pregnant. Turns out it happened toward the end of last school year, she didn't tell anyone at first, and didn't bother to mention it over the summer (which I'm pissed about). I was NOT expecting one of my closest college friends to be about to have a baby, let alone one that I'm living with.

For the next few months, I helped her out, drove her to doctor appointments, etc, because of course the shitbag boyfriend lives like three hours away (where Anna lives when she's not at college) and refuses to drive over to help her out himself. However, I made it clear that I wanted nothing to do with the baby once it's born. I wouldn't be helping her with diapers, wouldn't babysit, don't want her to put formula bottles on my shelf in the fridge, won't play with the baby or anything. I don't have the patience for that, I don't want the baby in my shit, I work 20 hours a week on top of my classes and homework and do not have time or desire to deal with a tiny human.

Fast forward to when the baby is born, Anna keeps saying she's looking for somewhere else to move, wants to move back full time to live with her shitbag boyfriend, have him help with the baby. Our other roommate Mica helps occasionally with the baby and is willing to do basic stuff and occasionally rocks him to sleep when they're sitting on the couch and stuff, but I refuse. Several months later Anna still hasn't moved out and has barely made the effort she says she will, she talks about the boyfriend a lot but I have literally NEVER seen him in person since the baby was born (he was there for the birth and that's it, drove her to our apartment afterwards since I didn't want to be there, then left again).

If there's ever a time when I'd be the only one home at the apartment and Anna asks me to babysit for a little while, I change plans and always leave so I'm not there even if it just means doing homework at the campus library instead of my room. Anna is exhausted and literally does nothing around the house anymore, never comes grocery shopping with Mica and I because she refuses to leave the baby home alone but doesn't want to take him to the store, I'm doing all of her dishes cause apparently she can't do that either, she asks us to do her laundry and cook dinner and everything for her now and I feel like we're being treated/put into the role of the baby's father.

I cannot stand children, I don't think Anna has any excuse for trying to make us care for her child, she seems to expect us to take care of him while she's in class and she can barely even afford her own share of rent and groceries and stuff let alone a baby (or hiring childcare), and I made it clear even before the baby was born that I wanted nothing to do with him and will not engage with him or do anything for him, and I think my "it's your fault you had a baby, sucks for you, now deal with the consequences" attitude is what might make me an asshole here but I'm so exhausted and my mental energy is always drained from the damn kid screaming and crying and making a mess of the house.

Mica talked to me privately recently and mentioned that they understand that I don't like children and that they're also upset with the fact that Anna can't take care of a child herself when she's a full time college student without a job and a shitty boyfriend who's barely in the picture, but they want me to try to engage more and have a bit of sympathy for Anna and not leave her completely stranded with an infant. I don't want children, I don't want to live with one, and don't want to have to care for one.

It's now April as of writing this and I have since moved out of the apartment (Anna and Mica still live together), I left in January at the start of spring semester when on-campus dorm housing was available and live with another friend whose roommate transferred the prior semester. I still see Anna around campus but I feel like the baby completely ruined our friendship but I still hang out with Mica a lot and occasionally get updates that way. I'm much happier, my mental health is better, and I'm not living constantly stressed and on edge because of the baby, and Anna still hasn't moved in with her boyfriend despite saying she's trying to for months now.

Was I an asshole for refusing to support my roommate and her baby, and essentially giving the ultimatum of "either the baby goes or I do?"

[capybaracorn]

‘Mama we’re dying’: Only able to hear her kids in Gaza in their final days

Hanan and Mazen were stuck in the West Bank. Their kids were in Gaza, where they were killed by Israeli bombs.

Hann and Mazen at Fadi's bedside [Mosab Shawer/Al Jazeera]

(April 16th 2024)

Bethlehem, occupied West Bank – Hanan al-Qeeq sits next to a hospital bed in Beit Jala Hospital, her sad, pale face seconds away from tears at all times, even when she tries to muster up a smile of greeting.

Sitting beside the exhausted woman is her husband, Mazen, 56, a Gaza Ministry of Education employee who left his work to come to the occupied West Bank, where their son Fadi is being treated.

Fifty-year-old Hanan says she carries a heavy burden. As she and Mazen kept their vigil by Fadi’s bedside, praying for his healing, Israel’s war on Gaza took four of their other children from them.

“What can I say beyond what happened?” said Mazen, who did not want to, or perhaps could not, speak more.

The couple had seven children.

Four daughters: Iman, 31, who is married and lives in Canada, Malaka, 24, Nuran, 23, and Tala, 15.

Three sons: Fayez, 33, who is married and lives in the United States, Fadi, 30, and Muhammad Awad, 17.

Now they have three children: Fadi, Fayez, and Iman.

Because Malaka, Nuran, Muhammad Awad and Tala had to stay behind when Hanan and Mazen left Gaza for Fadi’s medical care and they were killed when Israel bombed the shelter they were hiding in.

Remembrance of those lost

Hanan scrolls through photos of her children on her phone, something she does with a sad familiarity as she talks about them.

Hanan shows a photo of Nuran on her phone [Mosab Shawer/Al Jazeera]

“Malaka was sweet and generous, always ready to help out. Nuran loved everyone, loved life, and was loved in return, especially by her fiance in Morocco … they were going to get married after Eid al-Adha.”

As for Tala, their mother said, “I likened her to the Virgin Mary, so calm and soft, a real princess. And Muhammad Awad, he worked so hard. He had a note up by his desk reminding himself: ‘I want to get 97 percent in the high school exams so my dad is happy and I can study engineering overseas.’”

Their bustling, content family life came to a screeching halt last April when Fadi plunged five storeys while at work plastering the exterior of a building. He became quadriplegic.

Mazen initially accompanied Fadi to Haifa for treatment. He has since been moved from hospital to hospital.

It took months before Hanan was able to join them; by then the treatment was taking place at Tel Aviv’s Reuth Hospital. Hanan was meant to stay with Fadi while Mazen returned to Gaza, but she was worried about Fadi and intimidated by dealing with the Israeli hospital system, so she asked him to stay.

Little did she know, she said, that by asking him to stay, she would save his life.

The war begins

When Israel’s war on Gaza began in October, the distraught parents were still trying to find the treatment Fadi needed. He had been transferred from Haifa to Tel HaShomer Hospital in Tel Aviv, where he received some surgeries, but they were thrown out because they could not afford to complete the treatment there.

Hanan spoke to her children as often as she could, listening to them as they trembled on the phone in fear, and listening to their screams whenever a projectile landed nearby.

“They would cry on the phone: ‘Mama, we’re dying,’” she said.

“I would try to reassure them to tell that it would be over in a few days, like the wars before it did. ‘No harm or danger will befall you,’ I told them,” she said, scrubbing tears away from her eyes.

A week after the war started, Hanan’s fear for her children grew and she emailed her sisters to ask them to take care of them, writing: “My daughters’ lives are in your hands. Take care of them.”

Her older sister, who goes by Umm Fadi, sent a car to take the children from Remal in north Gaza to her house in Tal al-Hawa in the southwest.

Hanan wheels Fadi into his hospital room [Mosab Shawer/Al Jazeera]

By then, Hanan’s appeals to Palestinian officials and the community were working and she managed to get the Palestinian Authority to take on Fadi’s treatment expenses and got him admitted to a hospital in Bethlehem by October 20.

The children stayed at their aunt’s house for nearly a month, till the Israeli army stormed the neighbourhood and they fled to az-Zawayda with everyone who was in the house: their aunt, her sons with their wives, her daughters with their husbands, and all their children.

On December 13, Fadi underwent surgery at the Istishari Hospital in Ramallah before being transferred to Beit Jala Hospital in Bethlehem, where he is still being treated.

Throughout, Hanan and Mazen were sleeping in hospital wards and eating whatever the hospital gave them until the people of Bethlehem learned of their plight.

A community member gave them a furnished house, the couple recounted, and told them that the house was theirs for the duration of Fadi’s treatment. “We found safety among our people,” Hanan said.

While Hanan in Bethlehem worried about her children left behind in Gaza, they worried about their parents and asked about their brother Fadi’s health every time they spoke.

Hanan’s sister and the 29 people she was with – including Hanan’s children – were heading back to her home in Tal al-Hawa after hearing the Israeli army had withdrawn. So extensive was the damage they left behind that the group had a hard time finding their way back to the house, the children told her on the phone.

Hanan holds up a photo of Fadi before his accident to compare with how he looks now [Mosab Shawer/Al Jazeera]

Just weeks later, the Israeli army pounced again, sending the family fleeing to Jalaa, then Remal, and back to Jalaa, where they ended up sheltering with 200 people in a school building. But the group continued to move from place to place as they sought safety, until one day Hanan heard that 16 relatives had been killed in an Israeli attack in Jalaa.

Hanan hung on to the other end of the phone, sick with worry. She nearly lost her mind when the children’s phones were off, but she heard from her niece Sahar that all was well and eventually the surviving family was able to leave once again to Tal al-Hawa.

“Imagine what it was like,” Hanan said, scrolling sadly through the photos, “to have Malaka tell me: ‘Mama, we will be martyred. Don’t cry if that happens. I would rather that than us be paralysed or lose our limbs.’”

Then she lost touch with them for days, maybe a week. Hanan lost count as she desperately tried to get through to anyone who might know what was happening. On the last night of her search, she did not sleep, up all night sending message after message to Malaka.

Hanan and Mazen had reached out to the ICRC and the Palestine Red Crescent Society, begging them to go to the house and check on the children. But Hanan did not realise that they had an answer until she walked into Fadi’s hospital room one day and saw a group of doctors and staff waiting for her.

One of the women in the group started gently asking her questions, but something told her there was another reason for their presence.

“I asked: ‘Have you received anything? My children, has something happened to them? Were they martyred?’

“I saw tears in their eyes, and one of them answered, she was wearing a Red Crescent uniform: ‘I would have loved to tell you that they weren’t martyred, but this is God’s will.’

The emergency services had finally gotten to the house on December 21, 2023, to find that everyone there had been killed about three days prior.

“I stood there in the middle of the room, begging them: ‘OK, tell me, who was martyred? Who’s still alive? Malaka? Tutu [Tala]? Muhammad?’

“She replied that everyone had been martyred, that they had been found under the rubble.

“I started screaming, just screaming, until I collapsed in their midst.”

Hanan had been working on getting the family out of Gaza before Fadi’s accident. Painstakingly, she got the children’s passports and was waiting for the war to stop so they could travel, but it was all in vain now.

“My children … my children! They were waiting for their brother Fadi to recover and for us to return,” she wept.

Now, she does not want to return to Gaza at all.

“No, I have neither people nor stones left there. The house has collapsed and my children have been martyred. To whom will I return?

“Everyone has gone and my children [and] my sister have been martyred, so many of my relatives.”

[scaly-freaks]

cherry wine stains 8.0

playing it a little differently and rewinding back to their school years but with an Aegon POV this time.

all previous parts in pinned.

"I like your knee-high socks."

"I like the chain you wear like a crucifix."

"Strange way to describe it."

"I don't know. It just - it hangs around your neck like the absence of something."

Her words dissolve like sugar into the cup of his mind.

Clever people don't realise the riptide of their soul is not being fed until they meet another clever person. Aegon's currents slow to a whispered crawl as his eyes trace Amara's profile, creating images in the tangle of her windswept curls.

She's left a lipstick print on his mother's favourite mug. When he sees it, his soul unhooks from where he keeps it folded away, right there at the base of his neck where the silver chain fastens.

Later, he'll kiss that print, see if the measure of his mouth is enough.

Helaena told him in private: You can't! You can't, you can't, you can't! You ruin everything!

The frantic protests of a younger sister who thinks - knows - that her older brother getting involved with one of her friends is going to end up in a loss for her. He's dated one of Helaena's friends before (it ended in the kind of operatic disaster you only ever see on Eastenders).

He does not want to date Amara as much as he wants to pry her open like a game of cat's cradle and weave apart the strings that keep her mobile. Half the time, Aegon suspects she isn't truly awake. Some part of her is drowning in slumber, deep as Briar Rose. He catches that moment sometimes, as she blinks at him with those sleepy eyes.

The texture of her thoughts - when she gives them up - slips like satin over his fingers.

"Do you want a smoke?" He flips the mint-green box in his palm and grins.

Her gaze is longing. "I told my mother I'd quit. Besides, aren't menthol cigarettes banned here?"

He shrugs, slipping one between his pinched lips to hold it steady. "Nothing's banned if you squint."

"Flawed logic," she laughs.

"She said to a drug dealer."

That makes her laugh harder. He likes making her laugh. Feels worthwhile somehow. Not much in his life feels that way these days.

The younger siblings are all growing up, leaving school, moving onto greener pastures, where the chaotic drudgery of the council estate turns into a crystalline vision in the rearview, something to put into personal statements and add what rich tossers would call flavour.

They don't need him like they used to. He and his mother have raised them to become self-sufficient and now Aegon has to figure out what he wants to do with himself because where the kids are going, they won't want to admit what their brother does - has done - for a living to ensure their survival. He predicts he'll be the family embarrassment every Christmas, the uncle that shows up drunk, with a sliver of something in his eyes that suggests he could have been something once.

He knows he won't end up that way. His need to be someone, get somewhere, is far too aggressive. But he does fear no longer being needed by the people who have relied on him so long he can no longer extricate himself from the identity of protector.

Maybe it's why he likes making Amara laugh.

She doesn't have siblings. Her eyes still dart around, nervous, as if aware her protection in this world is lacking compared to that of others. Her parents won't always be around. When they are gone, there won't be siblings to divide her grief up with. It'll just be her.

If his subconscious is turning her into his new surrogate sister, it doesn't reconcile well with the instinct that stirs when her skirt rides up an inch.

Alicent's stained glass lamp flickers, bulb on the brink of permanent death. Aegon reaches over to ensure it is screwed on properly and it affords them a last burst of weak light. Amara reaches out her hand under the dappled glow of its illumination, slipping her fingers under the violets, yellows and greens, as the crook of her elbow turns rose pink.

"I've always liked your mother's taste in furniture."

"Yeah? Take it. She wants to throw it out."

"No. If she's decided it's dead, it should go. I'll just be keeping the corpse if I took it."

Aegon's eyes wrinkle at the corners, smile disguised by the inhale of the cigarette. "It's not organic material. There's no corpse."

She glances at him, as if aware of his mockery despite the affection he delivers it with. "I think some inanimate objects come alive if they are loved enough. Alicent's had this lamp since I've known her. It's lived with her, and now it'll die. We shouldn't interrupt the process."

No wonder Helaena adores her.

They are both odd creatures, his little sister, and this intense, doll-eyed mirage that turned up at their doorstep one day, hungry for oven chips and love. She reached out her cold hands to Alicent, and found herself overwhelmed with the warmth and affection given in return.

He's known her so long, she should feel like a sibling.

What does it say about him if he can't stop wondering what it must feel like to graze his lips over her stomach and tongue that bellybutton ring she got in a short-lived fit of rebellion?

Aegon flicks aside the cigarette, mouth acidic with guilt.

He isn't the kind of person who wants. Other people want. Aegon goes out and gets. There isn't enough time to submerge in the feeling of want and understand the true depth of craving the human soul can achieve.

But he sees the whorl of soft hair at the nape of her neck and the feeling crawls up the rungs of his ribcage like a creature possessed. He pictures being small enough to curl up in the soft folds of her clothing, to soak in the scent of her until he passes out from exhaustion.

That feels like enough wanting for today.

"I'll see you downstairs, yeah?"

If she looks disappointed, it's just wishful thinking on his part. She knows he's not going anywhere. He'll be in the living room with the rest of the family who've put on Shrek and are split into two groups - the half that sings along, and the half that won't.

"I'll be down in a bit."

"Cool."

A sudden gust of wind lifts her hair, and the flimsy ribbon comes loose. He catches it before it finds freedom. She turns, expectant, waiting for the inevitable return of her almost-lost property. He pulls it between his fingers, wonders if it also carries life inside the woven thread, the way she claimed his mother's lamp does.

The weight of her hair rivals Isolde's.

Irish myths were a rooted part of his childhood, laced into Alicent's quiet voice every bed time. She swears the Hightowers are mostly, if not fully, Irish. But she could never be sure of how far back, or of the intricacies of any bloodlines. Rich people have the luxury of unfurling a family tree across the polished mahogany of their dining room table. They get to find their eyes, noses and mouths in the faces of people who lived too long ago to care what has become of their DNA.

Poor people make do with maybes and perhaps because most of the time, the lives of their ancestors are of no interest to anyone but themselves. Unless a mining forefather was crushed in a collapse and the resulting riots tore down a political establishment.

So, his mother pulled them back to times so ancient, the ancestors became common for all, their bloodlines too distant to maintain individuality.

If Tristan and Isolde are in Aegon's ancestry, that past life becomes tangible when he runs his fingers through Amara's hair and tames it into a braid he's practiced on Helaena a hundred times.

"There's something mythical about your hair," he says, and then cuts himself short because he deals drugs for a living, and whatever fancy thought this was about to be would make more sense from someone more booksmart.

She cranes her neck back and gives him the brightest upside-down smile. "That's the best compliment anyone's ever given me."

Aegon bites the inner corner of his lip and nudges her to look straight so he can keep braiding.

Once her eyes are off his face, it splits into a smile. Warmth drains down his spine like gold egg yolk poured from its shell. Once the braid is done, he rests his chin on the top of her head, and passes it off as brotherly with a goldfish-squeeze of her cheeks.

He lingers, inhales deep, smells her, turns her scent into binary code that he will decipher in isolation later.

"Don't be too long. You'll catch your death out here."

[homoquartz]

ok excuse me putting on my emotional educator voice here

there is an effort nationwide to return higher education to its original status as an exclusive club for wealthy white kids. refusing to reduce student loan debt is a way to create access only for those who can afford it. cracking down on freedom of speech and DEI programs on college campuses is intended to silence marginalized voices. there's also a strong media campaign to tell young people that college isn't worth it, despite all of the statistics indicating that people with college degrees are doing better than those without.

i work here, and i am party to the conversations happening amongst administrators that students don't get to hear. there are a lot of complaints about how much students "have changed" (read: become poorer and browner than generations past), there's even more disdainful talk behind closed doors about how ungrateful, needy, and ignorant today's kids are (read: poorer and browner, again).

they know that unless they close the doors on higher education, it will continue to serve as one of the ONLY accessible pathways to upward economic and social mobility for marginalized groups. with upward mobility, these groups become more powerful.

DO NOT let them convince you that an education is worthless. that it's a waste of time and money.

once you have it, knowledge is one of the only things they can't take from you. once you have it, it's one of the few barriers they can't deny you. knowledge is power.

and there are more resources than ever to get you through college - hybrid coursework, scholarships, fee waivers, on-campus food banks, etc. It's especially worthwhile to look into community colleges in your area if time and money are very tight. some schools will even pay to support low-income students, though the admissions requirements can be pretty steep. (and there are definitely resources that will pay for your application cost!)

that's not to say it will be easy! but if you can go to school, you might have to fight tooth and nail for it, just like our relatives did at the start of desegregation. but it's worth that fight. you've GOT to get an education, maybe now more than ever.

[residual-fortitude]

Well that's the last nail in the fucking coffin. Today marks the day Utah officially becomes a Christo-facism, with bills passed prohibiting use of bathrooms aligned with gender, and reversing the anti-discrimination laws. I, and countless others in this state, now have been marked by the State. Queer people, people of color, my Jewish roommate. No longer protected.

Thousands throughout the state protested, and almost 50 actively spoke against the bill in the session, but the senate still listened to their gods damned cult before their people.

We are no longer safe.

[inkskinned]

the thing about art is that it was always supposed to be about us, about the human-ness of us, the impossible and beautiful reality that we (for centuries) have stood still, transfixed by music. that we can close our eyes and cry about the same book passage; the events of which aren't real and never happened. theatre in shakespeare's time was as real as it is now; we all laugh at the same cue (pursued by bear), separated hundreds of years apart.

three years ago my housemates were jamming outdoors, just messing around with their instruments, mostly just making noise. our neighbors - shy, cautious, a little sheepish - sat down and started playing. i don't really know how it happened; i was somehow in charge of dancing, barefoot and laughing - but i looked up, and our yard was full of people. kids stacked on the shoulders of parents. old couples holding hands. someone had brought sidewalk chalk; our front walk became a riot of color. someone ran in with a flute and played the most astounding solo i've ever heard in my life, upright and wiggling, skipping as she did so. she only paused because the violin player was kicking his heels up and she was laughing too hard to continue.

two weeks ago my friend and i met in the basement of her apartment complex so she could work out a piece of choreography. we have a language barrier - i'm not as good at ASL as i'd like to be (i'm still learning!) so we communicate mostly through the notes app and this strange secret language of dancers - we have the same movement vocabulary. the two of us cracking jokes at each other, giggling. there were kids in the basement too, who had been playing soccer until we took up the far corner of the room. one by one they made their slow way over like feral cats - they laid down, belly-flat against the floor, just watching. my friend and i were not in tutus - we were in slouchy shirts and leggings and socks. nothing fancy. but when i asked the kids would you like to dance too? they were immediately on their feet and spinning. i love when people dance with abandon, the wild and leggy fervor of childhood. i think it is gorgeous.

their adults showed up eventually, and a few of them said hey, let's not bother the nice ladies. but they weren't bothering us, they were just having fun - so. a few of the adults started dancing awkwardly along, and then most of the adults. someone brought down a better sound system. someone opened a watermelon and started handing out slices. it was 8 PM on a tuesday and nothing about that day was particularly special; we might as well party.

one time i hosted a free "paint along party" and about 20 adults worked quietly while i taught them how to paint nessie. one time i taught community dance classes and so many people showed up we had to move the whole thing outside. we used chairs and coatracks to balance. one time i showed up to a random band playing in a random location, and the whole thing got packed so quickly we had to open every door and window in the place.

i don't think i can tell you how much people want to be making art and engaging with art. they want to, desperately. so many people would be stunning artists, but they are lied to and told from a very young age that art only matters if it is planned, purposeful, beautiful. that if you have an idea, you need to be able to express it perfectly. this is not true. you don't get only 1 chance to communicate. you can spend a lifetime trying to display exactly 1 thing you can never quite language. you can just express the "!!??!!!"-ing-ness of being alive; that is something none of us really have a full grasp on creating. and even when we can't make what we want - god, it feels fucking good to try. and even just enjoying other artists - art inherently rewards the act of participating.

i wasn't raised wealthy. whenever i make a post about art, someone inevitably says something along the lines of well some of us aren't that lucky. i am not lucky; i am dedicated. i have a chronic condition, my hands are constantly in pain. i am not neurotypical, nor was i raised safe. i worked 5-7 jobs while some of these memories happened. i chose art because it mattered to me more than anything on this fucking planet - i would work 80 hours a week just so i could afford to write in 3 of them.

and i am still telling you - if you are called to make art, you are called to the part of you that is human. you do not have to be good at it. you do not have to have enormous amounts of privilege. you can just... give yourself permission. you can just say i'm going to make something now and then - go out and make it. raquel it won't be good though that is okay, i don't make good things every time either. besides. who decides what good even is?

you weren't called to make something because you wanted it to be good, you were called to make something because it is a basic instinct. you were taught to judge its worth and over-value perfection. you are doing something impossible. a god's ability: from nothing springs creation.

a few months ago i found a piece of sidewalk chalk and started drawing. within an hour i had somehow collected a small classroom of young children. their adults often brought their own chalk. i looked up and about fifteen families had joined me from around the block. we drew scrangly unicorns and messed up flowers and one girl asked me to draw charizard. i am not good at drawing. i basically drew an orb with wings. you would have thought i drew her the mona lisa. she dragged her mother over and pointed and said look! look what she drew for me and, in the moment, i admit i flinched (sorry, i don't -). but the mother just grinned at me. he's beautiful. and then she sat down and started drawing.

someone took a picture of it. it was in the local newspaper. the summary underneath said joyful and spontaneous artwork from local artists springs up in public gallery. in the picture, a little girl covered in chalk dust has her head thrown back, delighted. laughing.

[canisalbus]

What do your boys smell like?

I talked about this a bit on this earlier post and I don't think I have anything significant to add to it at this time. But I could tell you which perfumes they might wear in modern times? (Scents are hard to describe but I included some of their main notes to give you a vaguest idea of what they're like).

Vasco

État libre d'Orange - Tom of Finland (iris, leather, tonka bean) Dior - Homme Parfum (leather, iris, rose) Tom Ford - Tuscan leather (leather, woody, amber)

Machete

Heeley - Cardinal (linen, myrrh, frankincense) État libre d'Orange - Rien Intense Incense (frankincense, amber) Lalique - Encre Noire (cypress, vetiver)

[cinnaminsvga]

actual conversation i had with my dental hygienist

hygienist: so what did you study at university?

me: chemistry...

hygienist: damn, no wonder you look so sad!

[nihongoseito]

How do you stay motivated in self-study?

メッセージありがとうございます！ thank you for asking!

this is an interesting question for me because i've been self-studying for so long...almost 12 years at this point(?!?!). i decided to learn japanese for fun and for no other reason than because i wanted to (i'm a big proponent of "if it sucks, hit da bricks" lol). i was just a kid, so i had no idea at all how much time and effort it would entail, and sometimes i think that back then, if i had known at the time how much studying and studying and more studying it would take for me to become conversationally proficient, i wouldn't have even started. and i'm really, really glad i don't live in that world, where i never decided to self-study because i thought too far into the future and tried to quantify my studying.

so i guess that's my biggest piece of advice, even though it sounds counterintuitive: try not to plan where you're going next or any specific long-term goals, because if you're anything like me, you'll scare yourself off. if you focus just on what's right in front of you—today's kanji, your current textbook, etc.—then you'll have a much easier time remembering why you like japanese (or whatever target language you're working on!). that kind of viewpoint on learning a language makes it really clear that you are building a beautiful structure out of many discrete pieces, not just out of thin air or sheer linguistic osmosis. not only has that attitude kept me motivated, since making decisions as i go always keeps things fresh, but i also genuinely think it's helped me learn better and remember what i've studied.

also, don't be afraid to give up on something, a book or a grammar point or even a whole routine/study plan, and try something else instead. you can always come back to it later, and in my opinion there's no point trying to quantify or quantitatively evaluate your learning in that way. there's absolutely no shame in admitting something is too hard right now. plus, letting yourself feel confident in what you do know is a great boost to motivation—every single little piece is an accomplishment!

does any of that make sense?? this is how i've handled it anyway! ofc, the nature of self-study is that it's different for everyone, but hopefully the things i've said here resonate with some people :) みんな、頑張ってね！！

[mcdannowave]

Incorrect Quotes - We all know that he knows, Danny. He just loves to bicker with you.

[offantasiesandreams]

OK. Hear me out: The reader making cute little plushies for the Elsens.

That's it. Go crazy. Go stupid

Ahhhh I envy reader in this one, I really wish I was capable of making plushies as well! That idea is so cute, the Elsen deserve to have a nice and warm, cuddly friend with them at all times! I wrote this a few months ago, in June or July, while I was still at school, so I don't remember if I've proofread this or not! And, in all honesty, I have too much commuting to do today to be able to properly do so either, so, sorry about that ^^'

Reader Making Cute Plushies for the Elsen

As someone who has always had a passion for creating and bringing smiles upon others, it pained you to see those poor inhabitants of such a bleak world, wishing to give them something to make them happy, to bring them joy and glee in this dreadful place. So, you’ve decided to make some plushies for them, a passion of yours for quite some time now. Anything and everything that came to mind, things, that those poor creatures have likely never seen before.

From armadillos to zebras, you’ve made it all as cute as possible, not wanting to scare away the shy and anxious Elsen. And some of them took a liking to your work as you went on with it, watching you with interest from the corners of their eyes, some even going as far as watching you over your shoulders as you oh so masterfully sewed together the ears of a panda. Once you’ve finished the animal and gave it to the first Elsen in your vicinity, the one observing your work and asking you about it, his eyes growing wide in surprise.

Cautiously, he took it from you, scrutinising it from every angle, trying to find the danger or harm in it. What if there was a bomb in it? What if meat was going to ooze from it? But no matter how much he poked and squeezed the plushie, nothing happened. In fact, the worst it did was give him the impression it was going to make a squeaky noise at any opportunity, but it never did. For a second, it seemed as though he was shaking with excitement, his tired smile turning genuine. Turning around, he showed off the gift he had received, with the other Elsen immediately taking to it.

As soon as the others had each taken their turn touching the felt, petting and squeezing it, the original Elsen took back its newly prized possession, thanking you and bowing low to you, wishing to show his gratitude. Soon after he had left, the others would flock to you, watching you intently, hoping to each receive a small gift from you, which you happily obliged with, giving each of them a small friend to call their own.

Soon enough, after a few days of preparation and weeks worth of work, every one of them had a small plushie with them at all times, cuddling them, making them have tea parties, yes, even living out their dreams through them together.

It didn’t take too long for all of them to plot and scheme together, knowing fully well that they would have a newfound guardian with them along with their original one. And yet, as much love as they have found within their novel toys, they were going to pay that exact same love back to you. They may not have had much, but they were willing to share what they did have with you. And thus, one day, you would find yourself getting dragged around by those small creatures into the library, the central part of zone 2. For as much as they looked down upon noise and intruders, they would hold a small “party” for you there. Even if calling it such was nothing short of a severe exaggeration, it was sweet nevertheless. And thus, they gifted you a cake, shaped in the likes of many a creatures you gifted them. Crocodiles, ostriches, turtles, everything you could think of was there. It was quite the small spectacle, but one of love, adoration and gratitude for you.

[rig-a-rendal]

basically big time rush is the monkees if the monkees had been made within the confines of Respectable Television. BTR (the show) has four young people who are a band. The Monkees The Show has four young people who are in a band. However. The Monkees The Show has more intrigue because:

a) they're pretty much self-reliant within the television show story ("the product"). They have one authority figure (their landlord Mr. Babbitt) who they only answer to when it's funny OR if they want to (see also: my whole Thing about Millie from s1 e27 and how the monkee characters' whims can influence the plot) AND

b) they're pretty much doing Whatever the Fuck the creative team ("the production") can come up with.

In BTR there are not one, not two, but at least 3 or 4 authority figures limiting the main four characters when it comes to what they can do, when, where, and what the consequences for any of their actions will be (Kendall's mom (aka the fourth confirmed "jennifer" in the show for some reason?? literally everyone and their mother??? is named jennifer????), their boss Gustavo, their boss's assistant Kelly, their boss's boss Griffin, their landlord Mr. Bitters, and what the hell, may as well throw Katie Knight in there too. fuck it.).

Meanwhile, day-to-day, The Monkees The Show Characters have................. mike. And mike is a six-foot-tall anthropomorphized teacup chihuahua experiencing costco wholesale for the first time at rush hour.

The production style in BTR is also extremely inorganic compared to The Monkees' more improvisational style. Every shot, every reaction, every expression any character makes is VERY tightly directed and stylistic. Each frame is carefully formulated to fit the style of what A Nickelodeon Sitcom is. Which, yes, is Interesting. But that's not what this post is about.

basically what I'm saying is, the monkees worked because the characters were fucking around and finding out (while still being at least somewhat-omnipotent forces within the narratives they were experiencing, regardless of whether or not they were aware of it), and BTR is a milk-warm xerox copy of the general idea with WAY more restrictions placed on the characters.

[milkweedman]

forcing myself to "eat protein" and "be responsible" after once again encountering a week long period of all my muscles hurt so bad and are so weak despite doing the same thing they always do assuming without checking that it was probably because im eating mostly coffee and plain untoasted bread in small quantities. and its not even a whey bread or 100% whole wheat, ive been trying to use up my bread flour/whole wheat blend (i dumped them in the bucket together, maybe on accident ? unclear) so its just that with whatever else i threw in. spent $6 on the only yogurt in the store that had at least 5 grams of protein per 1/4 cup, which is still very little, only to get home and finally google what the symptoms of protein deficiency are. they are not that. those are the symptoms of Who Fucking Knows, As Always

[kindaeccentric]

feeling constantly tired will make you google shit like 'can chronically ill people become writers', 'chronically exhausted film director' 'adhd and work in media'

[because-its-eurovision]

I fully get the anxiety of feeling like you don’t deserve to go to a show. It comes with the whole competetive fandom stuff.

Honestly, as someone who has performed on a lot of stages with varying kinds of crowds, the most important thing isn’t if you’re the biggest fan or if you know the lyrics or some choreography or bring gifts. The thing that is the most valuable is that you go to the show to have a good time. That’s all the artists are generally looking for. That people enjoy their music, enjoy the show, are excited to be there.

Some people may be disappointed that they don’t get a ticket, sure. But it’s not you taking that ticket away from them. Not everyone can have everything. Sometime people don’t get concert tickets. That is not your fault for buying. It is a thing that happens when everyone has the right to buy concert tickets instead of them being raffeled off or gifted. If the show was just for the biggest fans, tickets would be give out as competition prices, not to the person who buys them.

And there is no right way to enjoy the show. Some superfans never learn lyrics because they don’t particularly care. Some people buy tickets to go see random artists just for the experience. Some people just love to give gifts and find that to be the best way of interacting. Your way of doing it is just as valid as all that. You don’t have to earn any right to be there, that is what the tickets are for.

And honestly, you’d be surprised by the number of people who have never even heard of an artist or band who just show up for the show because they had a day off and it could be fun. It’s not about deserving to be there. It’s about wanting to go and getting the chance to actually do that.

I don’t know if this little pep talk eases your mind at all, but I hope it does. Learning to let go of the competetive mindset and attitude when it comes to regular life stuff is a chore and a half. I just want you to know that I would love for you to go to the show.

Thank you for reaching out. I really appreciate it ❤