#But that came after Facebook ironically

[tiffyfoundsomething]

A review! Wow! I haven't done a review in ages! Because I stopped buying dolls.

...

Anyway MGA is trying to keep the Rainbow/Shadow High franchise alive by releasing Rainbow High Littles, which are younger siblings to the core characters.

I'd seen people on Facebook saying with conviction that the RH Littles dolls have polypropylene hair.

I hate polypropylene hair, and MGA used Kiwi/Qiyue nylon on all the other dolls, so them switching to poly would be really unexpected.

My guess is that younger collectors don't know the difference between poly hair and lower-grade nylon (we've been spoiled by Kiwi).

I ordered Opal Raine.

affiliate link: https://amzn.to/4clVODm

In photos, these dolls look bored. Honestly, none of the official photos made these look good.

But I had to know and in person, they're way cuter and more friendly looking. They ARE actually smiling.

Just looking at the box I could tell that hair is not poly. Polypropylene hair tends to look a bit like 80's/90's Kanekalon doll hair.

She wasn't too difficult to open but there are a ton of plastic tabs, including two in her head.

When she arrived, her hair was saturated with glue. Super crunchy. You can see the gluey segments look more yellow than the clean segments. Even though they put the eyes too low and too far apart, she's kind of cute. This doll is a great size if you're the type that likes to take a doll places.

I'm a little disappointed by the dress having a plastic bodice, but this doll is intended for younger RH fans, and for smaller kids, it makes sense. It does close in the back.

The body is simple but does look like a little kid, and her hair isn't exactly even, but it was partially up. I took it down.

I'm surprised that I like the pet she came with more than I thought I would. It's vinyl so it's kind of heavy, and the glitter is suspended perfectly throughout with little swooshes and swirls where it's more and less dense.

Those eyes need something, though. They just look weird. I may repaint them.

Here she is redressed after having her hair done, and with a MLP just because.

Now about that hair.

Looking at it I could see it wasn't poly and most likely was nylon. Touching it where it wasn't gluey I could feel that it wasn't poly and was most likely nylon. Washing it, conditioning it, flat ironing it, it was obvious this is nylon.

It's just not GOOD nylon. We're used to Kiwi nylon which is slithery-smooth, and this is not. This is stiffer than Kiwi but but it's still nylon, if mid-grade nylon.

I can see why people who'd never encountered anything lower-grade than Kiwi could mistake the slightly more wiry mid-grade nylon for high-end, modern poly hair, but it's still nylon.

I like Opal a LOT more than I thought I would, though this size and style isn't one that I collect.

[solarwonux]

Business Proposal || knj (7/?)

pairing: namjoon x f!reader || ex friends to lovers!au friends to lovers!au

Genre: fluff, angst, smut, slow burn, fwb!au, non idol!au, unrequited love

Warnings: slow burn, angst,

Rating: mature, 18+

w.c: 5.8k

Synopsis: Namjoon is living on borrowed time, and it’s time to cash in. His father is months from taking his last breathe and his life long dream is to watch his oldest son say “I do.”

a/n: hello hello hellooooo, this one is more of a filler one to get everything started. Still, I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. lmk your thoughts and if you want to be added to the tag list!

m.list || series m.list || wattpad

prev || next

10 years ago

The first time you ever met Kim Namjoon, the leaves were just beginning to change in color. The fall season was approaching. The greens of the summer were slowly fading into vibrant autumn hues. Replacing the obnoxious sticky heat, for humid and cooler winds. The leaves still hadn’t fallen, the foliage was at its peak and you were desperately trying to stay afloat. 

Somehow, you had gotten roped into a math class. Well, you weren’t necessarily roped into it. You were forced into it. It was part of the prerequisite requirements and because you had barely passed all of your Algebra exams in high school, you couldn’t plead the advisory board to accept those credits. They would’ve just laughed in your face and sent you away with a list of professors who specialized in the devil made subject. 

Now, you had hoped that college algebra was a bit easier, after three weeks of a summer intensive course you were proven wrong. You weren’t necessarily failing, but you weren’t passing either. Though, in a panic-induced state full of hope you had done the math - ironic, and came to the conclusion that if you didn’t pass the final exam, you wouldn’t be able to move onto part two of the class. 

If you had done things differently, you would’ve taken the classes at the start of your degree, just as your academic advisor had suggested. You didn’t and now you are two semesters away from a beautiful bachelors degree in arts. Achieving an impressive double major in Writing and Rhetoric and Journalism with a minor in International Communications, along with a tasteful three point nine GPA. 

You were almost there. You could savor it as you looked into master degree programs. The looming debt of your student loans was the least of your worries. At least for now. If you didn’t pass the stupid final exam, in one of the easiest math classes you could ever take in college. You would be growing a larger hole in your loan repayment agreement with the prestigious HYBE U. 

At this point you were desperate. Almost to the point in which you considered cheating. A blaspehmous thought that you only ever had in high school during science labs. Those gizmos computer stimulations were a quizlet file away, and the sweet taste of victory was even closer. 

Yet, quizlet wouldn’t work out in this scenario and finally you caved, putting away your pride for a little bit to admit that you needed help. 

A math tutor was the best option for you. Lots of college kids were desperate for another quick buck along with their less than promising part time jobs, while they struggled with juggling school in the process. You only hoped that the ad you posted on the HYBE U facebook group would workout, even if it had been a week ago and still hadn’t gotten any engagement. 

Maybe it was time to accept the truth, what’s one more extra semester. Sure, it interferes with your descriptive five year plan, but you could somehow modify it. Right?

Wrong? So very wrong. 

You needed a tutor quick. Probably in the next hour or so, because you refused to step foot in another math class again. Your life revolved around your rhetorical readings, feminist discoverings in Ancient Greece. You loved research, writing papers on things you found interesting, and developing a new perspective to already made discoveries. It was a rush. Not necessarily the writing part - it was tedious and sometimes you wondered why you even decided to pursue writing in the first place; but the sense of achievement and the ego boost you got when you typed the final sentence and the final period was euphoric. To then scroll through twenty plus pages of times new roman double spaced text that came from your brain, was a thrill. And one you would never achieve when it came to math. 

Ugh!

“You good there?” You knew that voice. It was all too familiar. You had spent countless hours sitting in a lecture hall with him telling you jokes and writing you notes retelling you the rumors he heard about your math professor.

So, maybe, your total inability to see patterns when it came to numbers wasn’t completely your fault. But the fault of the raven haired, toothy smile of the muscle bunny that you had befriended in both your science lab and college algebra courses.

You lift your head up to see Jungkook with his head cocked to the side. His right eye was a bit swollen due to the sty he had developed from scratching his eye too much with his dirty germy hands. So, he had to opt to wear his glasses, his right eye lens was a bit thicker than the left, making his eyes look a bit disproportionate. If you weren’t aware of how successful he was at getting around with both women and men you would’ve thought otherwise, due to his geeky look and fascination with RPG games. 

You groan, messing your hair with your silver ring cladded fingers. “No offense but math is the worst subject in this entire world. Why do we need it? I’m not going to use it to calculate the circumference of the can of beans I’m going to buy at the grocery store. Nor will I use the pythagorean theorem to measure the circumference of my pizza.” You rant, glancing at the time and closing your laptop. 

Your self study session was unsuccessful because all you did was refresh the facebook page hoping someone would take your twenty dollars an hour offer. 

Yes, you were incredibly desperate, even considering upping the price to appeal to more money hungry college students. 

“The fact that you’re using geometry terminology regarding a simple college algebra class tells me everything I need to know.” He grins, partially leaning his body to the side, resting his weight on the umbrella handle he was carrying. 

Fuck, you forgot it was going to rain today. 

Your day couldn’t get any worse. 

“Anyway, I’m guessing the tutor search isn’t working?”

“Bingo,” you snap your fingers at him before proceeding to gather the rest of your stuff. 

This was the part you dreaded the most. The agonizing walk to your math lecture. Honestly, if it weren’t for Jungkook consistently meeting up with you in the cafe that connected to the hallway in the math building to walk to class together. You would’ve probably never turned up after the first class. Hence why you’re not in a sinking boat. Just a partially sinking boat. 

Jungkook sighs, scratching the back of his head, watching you scoot out of the booth. He wishes he could offer you more help other than moral support and a few ‘You can do it,’  air punches. But between his computer science classes, and increasing doubt regarding his degree plaguing his mind, he’s found himself with zero free time.  

That’s when he remembers something. A small passing comment made on his way to bathroom last night as he was getting ready for bed. Maybe he does have a way to help you. His face lights up, alerting you. 

“What, why do you look like you’ve just seen a cheesecake on sale?” You adjust the strap of your leather bag, against your shoulder and make your way to his side, eyeing his umbrella. 

Would it be weird to ask him to walk you home after class? 

Shaking your head at the thought, a problem for later, you decide.

You shift your gaze to meet his. He’s biting the inside of his cheek and you’ve never been so desperate at knowing what goes on in that questionable head of his. He also never takes this long to say something. Once a thought pops into that head of his head, it's out in seconds because he’s afraid he might lose it. 

You can thank his ADHD for that one. 

“I think I might know someone who’s free on Tuesday and Thursday evenings that can probably help you out.” He squints, nodding his head, and you feel your mood turn right side up. 

You knew befriending Jungkook would end up benefiting you one day. Though, you do feel a little bit irritated, couldn’t he have told you this wonderful news, um, I don’t know a week ago as you two sat in this exact same booth, while he watched you make the stupid facebook post. 

You shove him a little, his umbrella buckling under his weight and he stumbles a bit, shock written all over his face. “What was that for?” He complains, taking a hold of his right arm in mock hurt. 

“You’ve seen me suffer and you’re now just telling me that you magically happen to know someone who can tutor me this entire time.” You huff, shoving past him, glancing at your phone screen for the time. Class was in five minutes, unfortunately.

“That’s not necessarily true.” He speaks from behind you, and you throw him a glare making him buckle under the pressure. The dramatics. He’s only been your friend for almost four weeks, but he’s already gotten used to you and he knows he’s hit a vein, and that you’re so stubborn any explanation wouldn’t work. It is always worth a try. 

“Okay maybe that’s true, but they’re pretty busy and I just assumed he would have a full schedule and no time to tutor you.” He explains, keeping up with your steps. The two of you arrive in front of the lecture hall with a minute to spare, you take it upon yourself to open the door, revealing the room full of stressed induced faces, quietly whispering to each other. 

You shake your head at Jungkook’s explanation, making your way to your usual seats. In the middle but on the outside for a quick escape if ever needed. “How do you even know this person? I thought you only had two friends.” You place your bag gently onto your desk and sit down. 

“Actually, including you, I have three friends.” 

“My friends don’t count either.” 

Jungkook rolls your eyes and slumps down next to you, spreading his legs wide, taking up all his leg room and part of yours. God, he was such a guy. 

“Do you want my help or not?” He says in feigned annoyance. 

You unzip your bag, fishing out your pencil and notebook, while he takes out his laptop. You could never understand how he was able to take math notes on a computer, but he was the self proclaimed computer genius. Well, his straight A’s in all of those freakishly hard classes were also proof, so, there must be a method to his madness. 

You sigh, setting your bag down in the empty seat next to you. “Fine, yes, please, my perfect Jungkook. I’m desperate, put me out of my misery.” You plead, hands clenched in front of you as the hushing of the students dies down, and the greeting of your Spanish accent written professor echoes throughout the class. It’s your cue to shut up and hopefully pay attention. 

“First, don’t ever say things like that.” Jungkook begins, leaning in closer to whisper, “it’s weird.” He says in disgust–the audacity. “Second, do you have plans after class?” He finishes leaning away and opening up a new blank document on his laptop. 

You shake your head at his question and click down on your mechanical pencil. You were determined to at least understand one thing in today’s lesson. Jungkook doesn’t answer, your professors voice booming throughout as he begins the lesson of the day, and you’re distracted in seconds by the light tap on your shoulder. 

You look over at your friend, his laptop screen turned in your direction so you can read the tiny invitation written in cosmic sans font. He’s a child. 

Come with me to Serendipity after class and thank me later :p

You look up at him rolling your eyes at the ending emoji. A child indeed. But you nod in agreement, you don’t know what or who is at Serendipity. Except for a solution. At least that is what you hope for because there’s a reason why you haven’t  stepped foot in there since childhood, despite Jungkook raving about it time and time again. The overpriced vanilla lattes is the main reason why. 

Yet, desperate times come along with desperate measures. And if you need to drop a couple more on your favorite caffeinated drink in order to pass math. Then so be it. 

Serendipity stood in between two worlds. It separated the lively college town from the perfect four person familial neighborhood. On weekday afternoons it was mostly frequented by college students who needed a change in scenery or remote workers with their bangs still in rollers and their eyes puffy from sleep. On Friday nights it was home to young adults grabbing dessert after a fulfilling dinner or a late caffeinated drink for a long night out. Tired office workers, likely forced to attend a company dinner, usually took up the long tables in the back wall of the first floor. 

Sunday’s were a favorite at Serendipity, young families would come from different parts of town to enjoy a late brunch. And morning runners would waltz in for a late caffeine kick before the strenuous work out around the lake that offered the cafe it’s  most famous view. 

Dionysus Lake.

Just as its name implies. The lake was a place for celebration, festivities, and madness. It’s where everything would happen for the first time. Your first fall, your first scrape. The graduation ground from a four wheeled bike to a two one. The first time you saw your crush outside of school. The first time you held hands with someone and the downfall of your first friendship with your childhood best friend—Sabrina. I was the breeding ground of impulsive decisions like getting drunk on the steps that led to the bank. With beer and soju you had gotten because you paid a broke college student scrambling in between odd jobs to buy them for you. The breeding ground of many triple dog dares and the place in which you decided what your future would be like. 

It was a right of passage from childhood to teenagehood and finally adulthood. 

It’s where couples that beat the test of time go to enjoy their last moments of humanity. Both the cafe and the lake are full of nostalgia, and so famous that it now became a must see spot from people all over the city. With inflation and the influx of people both the cafe and the lake were places you and your family had started to frequent less, until eventually it was out of your minds completely and the longing for just a fleeting moment to visit before the chaos was gone.

That is until today. 

Everything had changed so much. The rustic decor was now replaced with a mixture of antiques and plants hanging from every possible surface. The windows were now floor to ceiling and they opened up to a very cooling outside patio, where you could enjoy the view of the famous lake. They had even expanded to a second floor, and added a rooftop with fiery lights and wooden tables. It basically looked nothing like what you had grown up with and more like a pinterest board of garden core had thrown up on it. 

It also had more menu options, and gone was your favorite blueberry and mint tea you and your mom would enjoy whenever your anxiety spiked to levels in which you could not control. Everything had been replaced with something more expensive and trendy. A complaint that had been surrounding the cafe for years by everyone who grew up inside the walls. Though you hadn’t really believed it until now because you were finally working up the courage to see it for yourself. And the one thing you can only really think about—apart from the overpriced vanilla latte you had just paid for—was how could a place so familiar feel so unfamiliar at the same time. 

“Hobi always gives me a discount when I come.” Jungkook throws into the wind while he plays with the white buzzer in his hand. 

Unlike you, Jungkook and his family—from what you have gathered—were regulars. As soon as he arrived every worker greeted him with a warm smile and a simple hand wave. Some had added a mention of seeing his mom earlier. And if you hadn’t been convinced, the barista with the high nose bridge, sporting the floral shirt, a bright yellow beanie and khaki pants had already inputted his order before Jungkook could mutter the words “iced americano with a splash of vanilla syrup please.” 

“I’m sorry who?” You move your head closer, eyeing the way his hands wrapped around the buzzer. Desperately hoping for it to ring because although it was almost three and you probably shouldn’t really be drinking any form of caffeine at this time. Your body desperately needs something to keep you alert. Especially now that you were meeting your classmate's brother for the first time. 

A brother who could possibly save you from failing your college algebra class. He had told you a little about him. Apparently, he wasn’t really his brother, but his mother remarried his father when Jungkook was young, so to make matters easier for everyone involved. He would just introduce him as his older brother. He called him Joon and he was currently working on his masters in philosophy. A real pretentious nerd if someone were to ask you. They lived together in an apartment just outside of the college town, and according to Jungkook, who you have noticed likes to input his opinion where it really doesn’t matter. He was still a virgin, because he lived and breathed philosophy like one of those weird philosophers from ancient times. The only thing he needed was a laurel crown and a toga. 

His words not yours. 

Basically he didn’t really do a very good job at painting a good image of his older brother. And you were already having some negative opinions regarding him because you have dealt with a handful of pretentious boys in many of your classes that you really didn’t feel like adding another one to the mix. But again, you’ll push your preconceived notions aside. This was for your four point zero GPA and your five year plan. One more insult to your psyche and intelligence wouldn’t hurt.

Right? 

“The one that rang us up. He gave you one too, vanilla lattes are usually seven and you only paid six.” He points out before jumping at the sound of the buzzer going off. “I’ll get it.” He smiles standing up faster than you can protest, and walking off to the pick up counter. 

It’s strange that the two of you became friends or clicked so well. And you like to think that it was mainly because you shared a few classes more than anything else. He was a little energizer bunny, a right arm sprinkled with a few tattoos and a scar right above his eyebrow where a piercing had been. You were not far from the opposite, but you did have a social battery that would often run out before the end of the day. You valued the quiet and apart from the many earrings decorating your ears and the hot pink peekaboo dye job you had your mom do. You were deathly scared of needles and didn’t look nearly as rebellious as Jungkook did, even with his stupid nerdy glasses. 

“Hobi gave us cookies, on the house.” Jungkook says as he sets down the tray in front of you. “I think he might want your number.” He adds with a nonchalant tone before taking up his previous seat and getting a head start at setting the table.  

You tilt your head in confusion as he pushes a plate with a matcha cookie your way. “You’re talking nonsense. I heard you ask for a chocolate chip cookie before you paid.” You roll your eyes, grabbing your tall glass of coffee. 

Jungkook rolls his eyes, pushing the brown tray to the side. “I ordered a cookie but I didn’t order two.” He points to your cookie. “Plus he couldn’t take his eyes off you while you ordered.” He finishes and takes a long sip of his drink. He finishes with a refreshed ah and smacks his lips together in satisfaction. 

The drama. 

That’s probably another thing the two of you did have in common. You’re both dramatic in your own ways. Something the two of you discovered about each other two weeks into knowing one another. It was a long story that involved a stubbed toe and a papercut. One that wasn’t worth reminiscing about now because it added nothing to both of your lives. 

“I doubt that Kook, he’s just doing his job and he knows you.” You raise a finger at him and you take a long awaited sip of your coffee. 

Jungkook crosses his arms in front of you. “Okay then why did he ask me if you were single.” He adds in a matter of fact way. Cocking an eyebrow to prove his point. 

You narrow your eyes at him and kick him under the table. He recoils in pain, whispering explicits to not draw any more attention to the two of you. “You’re lying and I know you’re lying because I saw you order another cookie when you went to pick up our drinks.” You say leaning in closer so he can hear your whispering. 

Here’s the thing. Jungkook has been trying to set you up with every guy he deems is cute. You on the other hand are not interested, mostly because you’re still young with your whole life ahead of you. And right now the only thing that matters is your degree. 

What’s the rush?

He pouts, uncomfortably cradling his shin. “Fine, he didn’t give you a cookie on the house, but he did say you were cute. And he’s a nice guy. My brother is friends with him and he’s really funny.” 

You sigh, breaking a piece from your cookie. “I'm happy to hear that but you know that’s not a priority of mine now.” 

Jungkook rests his elbows onto the table and leans forward. “Have you ever heard of a work- life balance?” Because all you do is work and you should be out and partying. Your twenties are supposed to be full of fun.” 

“I do have fun, Jungkook.” You point out, putting the piece of cookie into your mouth before crossing your arms in annoyance. If you had a coin for every time someone in your life tried having this exact same conversation with you, then you’d probably be able to afford more of these over priced lattes. 

Jungkook sits back with his arms crossed, tonguing the inside of his cheek in suspicion. Sure, he’s only known you for a short amount of time, but every time he sees you around campus or meets up with you. You have your head buried in either a book or your fingers are flying across your laptop keyboard. He’s positive you don’t know how to have fun. 

“Fine name one instance in which you are not doing school work.” He challenges 

“My friends and I have board game nights every Wednesday and Sunday night.” 

Jungkook sits up a bit straighter, a look of shook written all over his face. “Wait, you actually have friends.” He says before lifting a hand to cover his mouth in disbelief. 

Before he can stop you, you kick his shin one more time and this time harder than the first time. This is exactly why you are surprised you’ve chosen to be friends with him. Sometimes he could get under your skin by just existing. 

“You know I have friends, Jungkook. You’ve hung out with them.” 

He doesn’t answer, instead he nods his head while he once again cradles his shin in pain. Maybe he crossed the line this time. He met Taehyung and Jimin more than once. And from what he was able to gather in the few times he’s hung out with the three of you. Is that Jimin might have a huge crush on you and Taehyung’s jokes aren’t nearly as funny as you make them out to be. Still, he thinks they’re cool. 

“Sorry I’m late, I missed my bus.” An unfamiliar voice speaks up and it makes the man in front of you sit up so straight you’re positive he’s going to break his back.

You raise a brow in confusion before turning your head to look towards the person who has the energizer bunny fix his posture and shut his mouth. 

The first thing you see is the flowy khaki pants, then his simple t-shirt topped with a blue and white checkered flannel. And finally your eyes land on his face, and the black framed glasses sitting on the bridge of his nose. His hair hides under a navy beanie and your mouth almost falls open in disbelief. 

Holy fuck, wait a second. This is the man Jungkook was describing. The nerd of a brother who could possibly still be a virgin and has his nose stuck in philosophy textbooks? Out goes your preconceived notions of the man in front of you and now you’re downright confused because this man was hot and reeked of chillaxed energy. He probably owns a few plants, and bike rides on the weekend and visits a few buddhist temples for the experience. 

Nobody says anything as the man—which you perceive is now Joon—slides into the spot next to Jungkook’s. He hasn’t really looked in your direction, except for the short glance he sent your way when he first appeared. 

Jungkook scoffs in annoyance as he scoots over making it a huge show like it’s inconvenient for him to move over. “This is Joon.” 

“Namjoon.” The older one corrects before he extends his hand for you to shake. You hesitate for a second before shaking it and telling him your name. 

He nods, retrieving his hand and sets it down on his lap. There’s a brief silence as he looks in between you and Jungkook probably trying to make sense of the situation himself because if you were being honest you’re still stunned yourself. Though you know Jungkook and his brother aren’t blood related you can’t help but feel like good genes simply run in the family somehow.

Namjoon shrugs once he’s silently done making his assumptions and sets his arms on the table, clasping his hands together. In an instant his face is replaced from a pleasing and welcoming one to one that screams he’s honestly here for business and not to fuck around. 

“Are you the one that Jungkook tells me needs help?” He questions, earning a jab from the younger one. He doesn’t react and instead keeps going. “Have to ask because he’s been trying to set me up on blind dates thanks to our mom, so if this is what this is then I’m sorry but I’m not interested.” He nods before leaning back. Joon, or Namjoon doesn’t let you respond before he stands up and walks towards the order counter. There you see him greet the same barista who you now know is Hobi thanks to Jungkook. 

You don’t linger on his figure before you turn to face Jungkook. Who looks mortified beyond belief and you can’t help but laugh because things are simply just making sense. All of Jungkook’s backhanded praises involving his brother made so much more sense. He did mention he was an asshole but you just assumed that was a simple sibling thing. No, he was most definitely right. And he fit more into the description you had once assumed before even meeting him, minus the typical nerd look you had conjured up with the brief descriptions Jungkook had provided. He was hot, and could probably crack your heart open into two, but he was exactly like those pretentious classmates you’ve had the unfortunate pleasure of encountering all throughout your degree. But for some reason you aren’t as bothered by it, because in a way it was hilarious. 

Jungkook whines, “He can’t even try to be nice for a little bit.” 

You throw your head back laughing even harder, while Jungkook continues to grumble underneath his breath in annoyance. You laugh until your stomach begins to hurt and until someone clears their throat making your giggles die down slowly. 

“Why is Hobi giving out free cookies?” He points out before setting his tray down and taking up the seat next to his brother again. To which Jungkook silently gestures to the cookies and you as if to prove his earlier point. Namjoon rolls his eyes at his brother's actions before turning to face you. 

“He also told me to give you his number but I told him that I didn’t know you and that if he wanted your number he should just ask you himself.” He shrugs, taking a sip of his dark liquid and making the same satisfied noise Jungkook had made earlier. 

Ah, maybe dramatics also run in the family. 

You stir the liquid of your latte with your straw. “Um thanks I guess.” You take a sip of your drink as he nods. 

The atmosphere is so awkward that you want the entire cafe to fall through a hole in the ground. The three of you are silent before Jungkook’s phone lights up and starts buzzing. He quickly grabs it and silences it before standing up. “Sorry, I have to go. I forgot I had this thing to do.” He says inconspicuously before grabbing his book bag and throwing it over his shoulder.

You scramble eyes going wide as he adjusts the straps and straightens his black long sleeve. “Wait where are you going? I thought we had plans after this.” 

Jungkook bites his lip, silencing his buzzing phone again when it goes off a second time. “Sorry Bun, I have to really go, it's important. I’ll see you at home Joon.” He salutes before basically running out of the cafe. 

“Typical.” Namjoon catches your attention and rolls his eyes. “I knew he had something planned when he asked me to meet him here last minute. I’m really sorry about him but I’m really not interested in dating right now.” He says before grabbing hold of his bag and going to stand up. 

Your body is filled with panic as you watch him. You do have a few choice words for the person that just ditched you with his brother. But this could be your last resort and you weren’t going to let him walk away. “Wait.” You extend your arm in his direction. He stops slipping on his bag and raises a brow at you in curiosity. 

“I actually do need help. I’m close to failing my college algebra course…well I will fail it if I don’t pass the final exam.” You begin to explain, finally grabbing his full attention as he stuffs his hands into the pocket of his pants. “Jungkook mentioned you could probably help out.” You bring down your hand, circling both of them around your watered down latte. “That’s why I’m here. I promise this isn’t a blind date or anything.” 

Namjoon nods, looking at the entrance before sitting down again, sighing, his shoulders relaxing instantly. And you’re once again met with the same nonchalant demeanor he had approached you and Jungkook. Once again things started to make sense, why he had made the switch so quickly. It was something he was probably so used to by now, but now as he adjusts himself in the seat in front of you. You can see that maybe he could not really be that bad. 

“In that case I can stay.” He grins, pushing his iced coffee to the side. “I should warn you I’m not the best when it comes to math but college algebra is easy so I can help you out.”

You let out a big sigh of relief and nod your head. “Thank you so much you don’t understand how much you’re already helping me out by agreeing.” 

Namjoon chuckles lightly before reaching into his side bag and taking out a plain black notebook with a pen. “In that case we should figure out our schedules.” He opens the notebook to a blank page and uncaps the pen. “Does Tuesday and Thursday at seven work for you?” He tilts his head in question. 

You nod rapidly. “That’s perfect for me.” 

He hums and writes down your name with the agreed days and times next to it. He closes it quickly and puts it in his bag. “Great, I'll see you next Tuesday.” 

That’s it? It was that easy? Then why the heck did it take such a long time for someone to respond to your Facebook post. Especially when you had increased the payment. 

Payment. Oh you had forgotten about it, and from

What it seems like so did Namjoon because he was already getting ready to go again. 

“Wait.” 

He stops, eyeing you in confusion but you decide to continue. “How much do you charge?” 

Namjoon opens his mouth and closes it quickly. He puts a pensive hand on his chin before snapping his fingers in front of him. “I think you’re the one Jungkook mentioned about studying writing.” 

“Writing and Rhetoric.” You correct before he can continue going. He nods in acknowledgment.

“Yeah, that’s what he said. I’m sure he mentioned what I was studying and if I’m being honest I hate revising my own writing. So, instead of paying me in money you can just revise my work in exchange for tutoring lessons.” He offers with a shrug. 

You would be a fool to not take up this magnificent offer, so quickly you agree, extending your hand for him to shake. He takes it and for a second you swear you feel your heart drop down to your belly from just his touch. But you brush it off quickly when he retrieves his hand. It’s probably just the caffeine anyway. 

“Great, it’s a pleasure doing business with you.” He smiles, and this time it is wide enough in which you can see his cute little dimples. “See you on Tuesday.” 

Before you can respond with the same statement he’s already rushing out of the cafe. Leaving you alone in the booth, with three unfinished iced coffees and cookies. 

You can’t really make out anything, just that this was probably the longest day of your life. And that unbeknownst to you, you can slightly feel the light crack in the corner of your heart. One that you will later on learn was the moment Namjoon had started to infiltrate it.

hope you liked it!

[hiswordsarekisses]

“This is what the actual death of Jesus would have looked like if we are to be realistic. His death is not depicted in the movies as to what most likely would have actually happened in the days of Roman Crucifixion. This article is realistically more of what took place that infamous day.

(The physical Death Of Jesus )

“In 1986, The American Medical Association published an article titled "The Physical Death of Jesus Christ". It details the entire process of Jesus' trial to His death on the cross. In Luke 22, before Jesus is arrested, it is written that He was in great distress & sweating blood. Although rare, it is recognized as Hematidrosis, caused by high amounts of stress.

At the time, the crucifixion was considered the worst death for the worst of criminals. But this is not all Jesus faced. He endured whipping so severe that it tore the flesh from His body. He was beaten so horrific that His face was torn & His beard ripped. A crown of thorns, 2-3 inches long cut deeply into His scalp. The leather whip used to flog Him had tiny iron balls & sharp bones. The balls caused internal injuries while the sharp bones ripped open His flesh. His skeletal muscles, veins, & bowels we're exposed, causing major blood loss. Most men do not survive this kind of torture. After Jesus was severely flogged, He was forced to carry His own cross while people mocked & spat on Him.

Crucifixion was a process meant to instill excruciating pain, creating a slow & agonizing death. Nails as long as 8 inches were driven into Jesus' wrists & feet. The Roman soldiers knew the tendon in the wrists would tear & break, forcing Jesus to use His back muscles to support Himself to breathe. Imagine the struggle, the pain, the courage..Jesus endured this reality for 3 hours!

The Gospel of John writes that after Jesus' death, a Roman soldier pierced His side with a spear & blood & water came out. Scientists explain that from hypovolemic shock, the rapid heartrate causes fluid to gather in the sac

(Posted by a friend on Facebook)

[blueiscoool]

A 2,600-Year-Old Unopened Etruscan Tomb Discovered in Italy

Community leaders and archeologists in central Italy recently gathered in the municipality of Montalto di Castro for the opening of a tomb that dates back more than 2 1/2 millennia, the municipality announced in a social media post last week.

"Today … we witnessed the opening of an ancient Etruscan tomb buried at the Osteria Necropolis in Vulci," the municipality of Montalto di Castro, which sits along the Mediterranean Sea about 100 miles northwest of Rome, wrote Oct. 27 on Facebook, calling the grand unveiling "a day of culture and history" in a translated statement.

Historians say the Etruscans built their civilization on a portion of the land that is now modern-day Italy, beginning as early as 900 B.C., and operated as a network of city-states not completely unlike the Roman Republic that came after it. The Etruscans dominated Italy until falling, as a result of the Roman-Etruscan wars, to the then-expanding Roman empire around the 4th century B.C.

Vulci, an archaeological site in the northern Lazio region not far from Montalto di Castro, was once a rich Etruscan city. Its ruins have become a popular spot for tourist visits and as well as a place of interest for archaeological excavations.

The tomb discovered there earlier this year was found remarkably intact when it was officially opened at the end of October, for the first time in about 2,600 years, according to the Italian online magazine Finestre sull'Arte, which focuses on ancient and contemporary art. It was opened and explored following the opening of a similar tomb in the area this past April, the magazine reported. Montalto di Castro Mayor Emanuela Socciarelli attended the opening along with Simona Baldassarre, the councilor of culture for the Lazio region, Simona Carosi, the manager of the Superintendency of Archaeology for the province of Viterbo and southern Etruria, and Carlos Casi, the director of the Vulci Foundation, which helped lead the excavation alongside archeologists.

Archaeologists found a collection of long-lost treasures inside the ancient tomb, including a collection of pottery and amphorae, which are tall jars with two handles and a narrow neck typically associated with ancient Greek or Roman cultures. The jars contained wine from Greece, likely from the island of Chios, Finestre sull'Arte reported. It could be a relic of the wine trade happening at that time in history.

Utensils, cups, iron objects, and a variety of ceramics and decorative accessories were also found inside the tomb in perfect condition, as was a tablecloth that may have been used for a funerary ritual offering called "the last meal" or "meal of the dead." A bronze cauldron was also found.

The stockpile of personal belongings found inside the tomb suggests the family for whom it was constructed was probably quite wealthy in their day.

The complex structure and layout of the burial site is also important to archeologists and historians, Casi told the Italian news outlet Il Messaggero, noting that the tomb "appears to be characterized by a partition saved in the rock which creates a passage arch between the dromos, i.e. the short corridor with steps, and the vestibule, from which the two rooms were accessed, the front one and the one on the left: the usual one on the right is missing, evidently because the space had already been occupied by other tombs."

By EMILY MAE CZACHOR.

[ralfmaximus]

the truth came out when McCarty shared the Hugo nominating statistics on Facebook: Someone had stolen nominations from The Sandman legend Neil Gaiman, Babel author R. F. Kuang, Iron Widow novelist Xiran Jay Zhao, and fan writer Paul Weimer. All four of them earned enough votes to be finalists—and therefore eventually winners—but for unknown reasons, someone had secretly marked their works as “ineligible” after the first rounds of voting.

In case you've heard rumblings about the 2023 Hugo awards scandal and wondered what the heck happened, finally here is a good, concise explanation.

Not the how, or why... just what happened.

And it's fuckin ugly.

[distilled-prose]

From Facebook 12/17

Dr. Frank Mayfield was touring Tewksbury Institute when, on his way out, he accidentally collided with an elderly floor maid. To cover the awkward moment Dr. Mayfield started asking questions.

"How long have you worked here?"

"I've worked here almost since the place opened," the maid replied.

"What can you tell me about the history of this place?" he asked.

"I don't think I can tell you anything, but I could show you something."

With that, she took his hand and led him down to the basement under the oldest section of the building. She pointed to one of what looked like small prison cells, their iron bars rusted with age, and said, "That's the cage where they used to keep Annie Sullivan."

"Who's Annie?" the doctor asked.

Annie was a young girl who was brought in here because she was incorrigible—nobody could do anything with her. She'd bite and scream and throw her food at people. The doctors and nurses couldn't even examine her or anything. I'd see them trying with her spitting and scratching at them.

"I was only a few years younger than her myself and I used to think, 'I sure would hate to be locked up in a cage like that.' I wanted to help her, but I didn't have any idea what I could do. I mean, if the doctors and nurses couldn't help her, what could someone like me do?

"I didn't know what else to do, so I just baked her some brownies one night after work. The next day I brought them in. I walked carefully to her cage and said, 'Annie, I baked these brownies just for you. I'll put them right here on the floor and you can come and get them if you want.'

"Then I got out of there just as fast as I could because I was afraid she might throw them at me. But she didn't. She actually took the brownies and ate them. After that, she was just a little bit nicer to me when I was around. And sometimes I'd talk to her. Once, I even got her laughing.

One of the nurses noticed this and she told the doctor. They asked me if I'd help them with Annie. I said I would if I could. So that's how it came about that. Every time they wanted to see Annie or examine her, I went into the cage first and explained and calmed her down and held her hand.

This is how they discovered that Annie was almost blind."

After they'd been working with her for about a year—and it was tough sledding with Annie—the Perkins institute for the Blind opened its doors. They were able to help her and she went on to study and she became a teacher herself.

Annie came back to the Tewksbury Institute to visit, and to see what she could do to help out. At first, the Director didn't say anything and then he thought about a letter he'd just received. A man had written to him about his daughter. She was absolutely unruly—almost like an animal. She was blind and deaf as well as 'deranged.'

He was at his wit's end, but he didn't want to put her in an asylum. So he wrote the Institute to ask if they knew of anyone who would come to his house and work with his daughter.

And that is how Annie Sullivan became the lifelong companion of Helen Keller.

When Helen Keller received the Nobel Prize, she was asked who had the greatest impact on her life and she said, "Annie Sullivan."

But Annie said, "No Helen. The woman who had the greatest influence on both our lives was a floor maid at the Tewksbury Institute."

[is-the-owl-video-cute]

When did you start the original owl vid blog and what was it like? Was it more focused on reviewing owl videos? I’m just curious as to how you ended up involved in a bunch of discourse* about not-owls.

*lets just call it that for simplicity’s sake ahah

I made the original in either January or February 2020 after being frustrated to a breaking point seeing another video of an owl in an obviously bad situation being shared uncritically because the OP had mislead their followers about what was going on. “Oh this owl LOVES his kitten and duck friends!” “Oh look at this owl having SO much fun in the bubble bath!” It was endless. At the time there was genuinely no one questioning anything going on in any of them. My only outlet was to vent it to some of my friends in group chats and such. We would pass around different videos that ended up on our dashes and discuss the issues amongst ourselves just to be in a space where people actually said something because outside of those chats we were going mad seeing it time and time again.

I made the blog while scrolling tumblr aimlessly during a particularly long winded seminar I was sitting in on, I had reblogged a photo of a wild owl and tumblr began recommending various owl abuse videos mislabeled as cute. I had enough. I made a blog name and used large bold letters and emphasizing colors so my posts would be seen by people scrolling the reblogs. I scoured the entire owl tag and rated every single video I came across, typing paragraph upon paragraph detailing everything wrong with those photos and videos and it didn’t take more than a day or two before I had amassed a few thousand followers, people were interested. People were listening, there were a few “okay Karen” types here and there, but the large majority were willing to listen in a way I had never seen before. I had made posts like this on Facebook (not under an alias) and my posts were always immediately met with “who cares if the owl dies it’s just a fun video it’s not that deep let people enjoy things” and threats of lawsuits for “defamation” from the online personalities and “sanctuaries” i critiqued. To say tumblr was a breath of fresh air was an understatement, I have been on this website since ~2013-2015 (not on a themed blog, just various personal blogs I deleted and remade a few times, and a discourse blog or two mixed alongside a few admin slots making pride icons with cartoon characters for people), and I can honestly say this initial experience was the last thing I expected from this hellsite.

For the first few months, I wanted to hang onto that. I didn’t want to bring politics into it, this was just about owls and wildlife, I didn’t want to detract from the goal of educating people on how to spot animal abuse. And for a time that worked well. I was happy. The followers were happy. Until I started paying attention to the people following me and interacting with my posts. Usernames like “radical-clit” or “jake1488” would start to pop up more often. More icons would have kekistan pride flags, or just iron crosses outright. Some icons proudly just said “TERF is a slur” while others were naked white women in wheat fields. I had what I asked for, a truly “apolitical” space where everyone, even Nazis and TERFs felt very welcome.

And I took exception to that.

I made the first real post using my voice and my stances. I said trans women are women. I said Black Lives Matter. I said ACAB and I said wear a mask when COVID started to hit. I started blocking the ones that didn’t scatter from my blog like roaches, I went through my follower list manually and blocked every TERF, Nazi, and any other type of sleazeball I could find. I manually vetted a few thousand people.

This resonated with people. I expected backlash, and there was a fair shake of it, but I received more asks than I had before. Hundreds of strangers thanking me for making my stance clear and letting them know they were welcome. And that stuck with me.

I had made this blog to educate, and that is what I was going to do. So when I started getting asks from those opposed to my open sharing of political subjects, I responded to their hate mail as though it was a debate. I wasn’t trying to change their minds, I’m not that naive, it was to further educate anyone else reading about it, to tell the full story and to arm them with tools to fight back against bad faith talking points the right weaponizes. From that point on, I would get off topic asks questioning my political stances, and I continued to answer them. I wanted it to be clear where I stood because I did not want marginalized people to ever question if I was secretly a bigot.

I never stopped actually reviewing owl videos, however I did stop using the flashy long format responses to avoid annoying people. I had a following by then, I didn’t need to shout to be heard over scores of people fawning over animal abuse. I still rate videos today, but if it’s one that I’ve rated at all within the past year or especially one I’ve rated multiple times, I tend to ignore the message. I don’t go looking for them anymore for the same reason I’d imagine you probably don’t go out of your way to find videos of dogs and cats being abused. It’s upsetting, it’s emotionally tolling. There’s also only so many ways I can say “owls cannot safely cohabit with other species or more than one other owl”, “owls cannot swim well and don’t like being fully submerged in water for a viral tiktok”, or “owl cafes and pet keeping of owls are inherently abusive”.

If I’ve already rated three videos of people letting their toddlers or other pets manhandle large owls, do I really need to be sent six more? My point is Education, not sending as many upsetting videos of animal abuse as I can find to place on your dash and say things you already know if you’ve seen my other posts.

Anyway, for a shorter answer to your question: I get non-owl discourse consistently because I don’t shy away from addressing it. I don’t want my stances to be vague, I don’t want good people wondering if I support trump or genocide. I am a firm believer that silence is violence. I’m not going to do what white culture favors and simply look away and avoid the topic of injustices simply to make white users more comfortable.

This blog was never meant to be comfortable.

This is the “animal abuse is bad stop that” blog.

It would be weird of me to oppose animal abuse and them remain silent on abuses and injustices faced by human beings.

I don’t wake up in the morning saying “okay today will be 80% international politics, 12% discourse about the causes and ethics of pedophilia as a mental disorder, and 8% birds with 1% of that being owls. If someone asks me if I support trans rights I will answer them. If someone attacks me for that then I will respond to their attack.

If some days I don’t feel like looking for upsetting animal abuse and formulating an entire essay on why abusing said animal for entertainment is wrong, I do something else.

[artemis-73]

Suptober Day 8: Witch's Brew

All Charlie wanted was for the big finale of the Moondoor season to be epic. It was starting to get colder, and with the chill came a hiatus. No one wanted to freeze their butts off in a field, after all. Dean had assured her that what she already had in mind was perfect, but she wanted an extra something to make the season stand out from all the ones that had come before it.

When she researched possible special effects, beyond the fireworks and smoke machines, she'd found a single message board post with a handful of replies of someone talking about their final LARP session before they had to move across the country, where they'd paid a pretty penny for a transfiguration potion from a local apothecary. They'd done the entire session as an actual orc.

That was where the maybe-probably witch came into the picture.

In a local Facebook group for gamers, someone had mentioned in passing getting a tincture for their carpal tunnel five years before. Apparently the witch had been surly but fairly priced, and the cure had worked.

Charlie had messaged them for an address and hoped that it was still accurate.

The shack--really, it couldn't be called anything more--was crammed into the back alley of a butcher shop. It looked abandoned except for the freshly-painted "Meg's" in swooping letters on the door and the tiny neon sign in the window that declared the shop open.

Charlie was surprised the door didn't shriek like something out of an old horror movie. Instead, it swung open easily to reveal a cozy room with burgundy walls and rows of rough wood shelves covered in vials, jars, and flasks.

There was a bar-height counter on the far side of the room, upon which sat an old timey cast iron cash register and a flickering candle that smelled like tobacco and cinnamon.

"Hello?" Charlie called into the empty room, hesitant to step in.

"Do you need a hand-written invitation?" a muffled voice drawled from somewhere behind the counter. There was the distinct sound of glasses clinking together. "I'm a little busy!"

"Sorry! I'll just take a look around."

"You do that."

Even though she had no idea what she was really looking for and would much rather have asked the witch, she forced herself to start perusing the shelves in silence. All of the containers were clearly labeled, but they were small potatoes: arthritis, chapped lips, dry eyes, indigestion.

A muffled curse came from behind the counter.

"Um, do you--" Charlie started then stopped herself. She didn't want to be a bother, but... "Do you need some help?"

A frustrated huff then "Fine."

More hesitantly than was warranted for someone who had offered to help, she rounded the counter and was surprised to find a hole into some sort of cellar.

"Here," the familiar voice said before a box of potions was lifted high enough for her to reach.

It was heavier than it looked, but she managed to get it up onto the counter. She turned around, not sure if there'd be another box, but was met instead with a woman--Meg, presumably--darting up the ladder. Charlie nearly leapt out of her skin.

"Hello," she said a little breathlessly.

Meg arched one unimpressed brow at her. "Hi. Can you--" She gestured to the customer side of the counter.

"Right. Totally. Sorry." Charlie backed away.

She'd expected an old crone, but Meg was, well, not that. She looked to be about Charlie's age, and she was wearing leather and had mischievous, dark eyes that gave Charlie butterflies like she was teenager again.

"Did you find what you need?" the witch asked as she swung the door over the hole and locked it.

"Actually, I was wondering if you could help me with something more...custom?"

Meg visibly perked up at that, though she tried to hide it. "Maybe. If the price is right."

"It will be."

"Well, why didn't you lead with that?"

"You're, like, really intimidating," Charlie word-vomited like an idiot. "And hot. Oh my god. I'm so sorry. That's weird. That's so weird. I can leave."

Meg smiled, sharp and amused, and tilted her head like she was looking at Charlie for the first time. "I'll take the compliment if you're serious about forking out some cash."

Three hours later, Charlie left the shop with a potion that would make her sprout wings and levitate--which was totally fucking awesome--and Meg's number. To report on how the session went and in case she ever wanted another potion, of course.

[tomorrowusa]

Discovering that another prominent Trump supporter has racist inclinations is not exactly news. But this guy is running for a Democratic-held Senate seat in a tight race in Montana and deserves special attention.

A Republican candidate in a race that could decide control of the US Senate made disparaging comments about Native Americans at campaign fundraising events, according to recordings disclosed in local media. Tim Sheehy, a wealthy cattle rancher who has been endorsed by Donald Trump in his bid to become senator for Montana, made the remarks repeatedly at a series of gatherings where he boasted of cultivating ties and bonding with members of the Crow Reservation, the official home of the Indigenous Crow tribe. In one clip, Sheehy says he ropes and brands cattle with Crow members and calls it “a great way to bond with all the Indians while they’re drunk at 8am”. In another recording, he says: “ I was actually at the Crow Res and if you want a tough crowd … you miss that double heel shot, there’s a Coors Light can on the side of your head.” The references to a Coors Light can being thrown were recorded at three different gatherings, according to the Char-Koosta News, which covers the Flathead Indian Reservation in Montana. On one occasion, Sheehy says the flying cans are a sign of whether Crow members “like you or not”.

If Sheehy made a racist comment once he might get away with saying he "misspoke" – or that he may (ironically) have been drunk. But when you repeatedly make the same comment, there's no excuse. Sheehy is a racist at heart.

Sheehy, like Montana Gov. Greg Gianforte, is just another Republican carpetbagger from another state.

Sheehy, 37, a former Navy Seal who moved to Montana 10 years ago, is trying to unseat the Democratic Senate incumbent Jon Tester.

Sheehy's comments are standard fare for MAGA.

The GOP candidate’s comments about Crow members are seen as particularly embarrassing because the tribe has been seen as vociferously pro-Trump. Native Americans have been a key voter bloc for Tester in his three previous successful campaigns but he has been warned that their support is not guaranteed. Calvin Lime, who lives on another Indigenous reservation in the state, called Sheehy’s comments “a slap in the face” to Crow members.

If you get a "slap in the face" then the best thing is to slap back even harder

Sheehy is a typical Republican who preaches family values but is far different in reality.

News of Sheehy’s comments is not the first potentially damaging episode of his campaign. Last year, he was forced on the defensive after sexist and racist Facebook posts allegedly written by him came to light. Insiders said the posts – made between 2006 and 2008 and since taken down – were “full of questionable photos” and featured “lewd photos of women, a caricature of Middle Eastern people and homoerotic jokes”.

It's just a matter of time before we learn of even more repulsive behavior by Tim Sheehy.

Montanans who don't want to be represented by a hypocritical, carpetbagging, racist slimeball should re-elect Jon Tester as their US senator.

Montanans for Jon Tester Defending our Montana way of life

EDIT: More Montana reaction to Sheehy's racist comments...

Tribal leaders, legislators respond to Sheehy recordings Lawmakers: Sheehy’s comments 'wrong, derogatory, hurtful'

[emberfrostlovesloki]

Specer Reid + Poetry

All photo credits at the end

Content warnings for the poem below: Suicidal ideation and mention of a burn in childhood. (You can read the poem below the banner)

"14 Lines for Love Letters or Suicide Notes" by Doc Luben

1. Don't freak out.

2. We both know this have been coming for a long time.

3. I've been staying awake at night wondering if i should tell you.

4. I bought the kind of crackers you can eat. They are in the hall cupboard.

5. Now that we have watched all the episodes of True Blood, I do not know what else to do next.

6. I always imagined this would happen without warning, like suddenly on an ocean cliff side but this is the kind of thing where waiting for the time to be right would just mean waiting forever.

7. I've just been too afraid for too long.

8. I came home on Tuesday and found all of the chairs that I own stacked in a tower in the center of my kitchen. I don't know how long they had been like that but it can only be me that did it. It's the kind of thing a ghost might do to prove to the living that he is still there. I am haunting my own apartment.

9. My grandmother was still alive when I was 5 years old and she asked me to check and see if the iron was hot enough yet so I pressed my hand against it and it was red and screaming for hours. 25 years later, she would still sometimes apologize in the middle of conversations, "I feel so bad about making you touch the iron" she'd say, as though it had just happened. I cannot imagine how we forgive ourselves for all the things we didn't say until it was too late. But how else do you tell if something is hot but to touch it?

10. I keep imagining my furniture in your apartment.

11. I wonder how many likes this will get on Facebook.

12. My dad always used to tell the same joke but I can't remember the punchline.

13. I was 8 years old and it took 3 weeks (3 8 yr old weeks, imagine) to gather everything that I would need to be Batman. Rope, boomerang, a Mardi Gras mask with the beads cut off. I couldn't find a cave near my house, so I buried them all in a bundle under the ivy. For years after, I tried to find that spot again. The ivy grew too fast. I searched in so many spots. It seemed impossible that I had missed one. But I never found it. How can something be there, and then not be there? How do we forgive ourselves for all the things we did not become?

14. I never had the courage to buy bright green sheets. I wanted them, but thought they were too brash, even with no one but me to see them. I bought a set yesterday and put them on the bed. I knew that you would like them.

I feel like Spencer must have felt so many of these things in his life. I know these are all kind of sad, but I think they fit with a character who has been othered almost his whole life. I hope Spencer where ever he is now is happy. I hope all are happy. We deserve to be happy. If you ever feel like some of these things hit a little too close, please reach out for help. You are valued and loved. My messages are always open. I love you and I hope you're having a good week so far! Love Levi - ❤️

Text Break Banners are from @cafekitsune

Tag List: @tgskitten @geminitapestry

Want to be added to my tag list? Please see this post, CM Tag List (linked)

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Photo credits

Top: Left and Right (@nikswonderland) Center (@the-mourning-sun)

Middle: Right (@shakespearesdaughters) Center (@foxy-eva) Left (@knowtheplacemag)

Center: Left and Right (@thyme-in-a-bubble) Center (@meditando-en-paris)

[doberbutts]

“israel as a state doesn’t have the right to exist” does not mean “every israeli needs to go back where they came from”; it means israel’s entire foundation and current existence is perpetuating settler colonialism — they are active settlers removing palestinians from their land and houses in the present. living people who have violently ousted palestinians from their homes and land. that state doesn’t have the “”right”” to exist (no state has an inherent “right” to exist…) and saying so is not… a call for genocide lol. giving the land and homes back to palestinians isn’t a call for genocide lmao or do you think landback movements in the US are also calls for genocide?

there are also recent analyses / forensics (including from western sources and from palestinian or SWANA sources) of the hospital air strike saying that it WAS israel who did it; of course there is media claiming all sorts of things. CNN and other western sources have uncritically repeated israeli lies for literal decades—that’s not claiming “jews are controlling the media;” that’s a fact that the west has a vested interest in maintaining Israel as a settler colonial state, and the West — mainly evangelical christians & other christians ! — will regurgitate anything to further that agenda. see: fabricating fake “hamas battle plans” that were pristine and uncrumpled and full of google translated arabic, lying in 2022 abt the US citizen /they killed/ and blaming it on palestinians etc… and western media, like CNN has been uncritically regurgitating everything the IDF has said for the past two weeks, regurgitating racist ideas — including things that they later had to retract BECAUSE even their sources couldn’t confirm them as true! but we’re supposed to trust them? no fucking rocket or shrapnel that we have EVER seen from hamas is capable of leveling a building and causing so much death/destruction.

hananya naftali’s (israel’s “official influencer”) stated that israel did the hospital strike lmao, deleted the tweet, and said it was an islamic jihad. israel’s arabic idf facebook page said they bombed the hospital. THEN they decided to change the story and used old videos with the wrong time stamp to “prove” it was a rocket. then edited that video out of their posts claiming it was hamas. but yeah sure it wasn’t them who did it.

like. israel spent days saying “we’re going to bomb a hospital. if you’re in there get out. we’re going to do it. well bomb more of them.” the director of the hospital said that israel told them multiple times they were going to do it. WHO confirmed the hospital was ordered by the IDF to evacuate.

i don’t know about you, but if somebody changes their story about bombing a hospital multiple times, edits their social media posts, brags about doing it on other accounts in different languages, after saying they’ll do it over and over again, i think that they actually did it.

but yeah, they didn’t do it.

My anon in Christ, even pro-Palestinian sources are saying it probably wasn't intentional and it probably was a missile that originated in Gaza. Which is what CNN was directly quoting in the article I mentioned.

CNN also mentioned that both Israel and PIJ were firing missiles and rockets nearby and that it was probably either a misfire or from Israel's Iron Dome shooting down a PIJ rocket (which then landed at the hospital and caught fuel on fire and detonated) (which is what the linked article says). That is what Palestine has been saying probably happened. It's not being reported as an intentional bombing because both sides are saying it probably wasn't an intentional bombing.

[scamanderishredmayniac]

I have just had to block and report 2 new profiles claiming to be Eddie on facebook, then ironically I got a notification for another report I sent them on the 20th of July. Apparently facebook decided not to remove or do anything of the scam page that I reported on the 20th. Honestly how can they think these pages are safe? Especially when it’s obvious it isn’t the actual celebrities profile or page. And you can clearly see on profile that they say dumb shizer like, I love all my fans, and will respond to all messages.

In the last few days I wanted I wanted to post an article I came across of the late Sinead o’conner in one or two Eddie related groups on Facebook; about how sex offenders, stalkers etc were pretending to be her on social media. How she had warned people to be careful and not communicate with any celebrity page, without checking with and writing to their managers first and doing proper research, not long before she passed away. This was something I read yesterday. But decided against it in the end because it wasn’t Eddie related.

Then today Guz Khan posted earlier today on his instagram that a numpty posing as him, messaged him asking for money. And yet facebook and other platforms have no way of checking and finding out if these dodgy profiles are real or not. This is becoming very common with many celebrity type pages and profiles on social media enticing fans through private messaging etc. it’s scary because there are some fans who, no matter what you tell them, will not listen and will still communicate with these profiles. Which is really worrying and not safe. I don’t know how facebook can ignore these profiles being reported, that are obviously fake and posing as Eddie or any other celebrity.

Anyways just frustrated and letting off steam. I’ll calm down later. I’m just frustrated after getting that notification saying they won’t be doing anything about the profile I reported a few weeks ago, and feeling like they will also ignore the two I had to report in the last few days.

Edit: here’s the article I mentioned she had warned fans;

“Please never engage with anyone claiming to be any celeb, without confirming they are who they say. This can be achieved by contact with their management.”

Lastly I want to remind you all

Eddie Redmayne does not have any social media.

Anyone claiming to be Eddie and asking you to send messages, or tries engaging through personal messages is lying, and pretending to be Eddie. He will not ask you to message him, nor will he message you pretending to be your friend. Please be careful!!

[hannahssimblr]

Chapter Fourteen

The storm rages on until Friday and is so bad that it takes six trees down in Fitzwilliam Square. One of them collapses the iron railings around the outside, and when I wake up to calm sunshine on Saturday morning the first thing I hear is workmen repairing it. The news says that a woman was killed inside her car when another tree went down on her out west, and a river in the south east burst its banks and flooded the ground floor of the buildings that face it. 

It’s hard to imagine the chaos that roared through the country mere hours before as I peer through the gossamer curtains in my bedroom, and the sun streams down from a sky so cloudless and blue that it looks like stretched silk. I push the window open, still with beads of rain clinging to the PVC and breathe in the shockingly fresh air, the petrichor smell of the roads, and the hint of sweet spring blossoms just about to burst from the trees along the street. Birds chirp and a bicycle bell rings as a woman with flowers in her wicker basket passes an elderly couple taking a morning stroll along the edge of the park. It’s like nothing ever happened.

I shower and dress quickly, and then, as planned, I head out to get a bus to Clontarf. I don’t usually get up before nine on weekends, but Jude told me, in one of his hasty texts, that he intended to be back in the hospital with Jen by eleven, so an early morning breakfast conversation to iron things out between us will have to do.

I’m nervous to see him, that much is not new, but this time it feels different. And worse. Usually, I feel nervous in the way that a thirteen-year-old girl feels about seeing the boy she fancies after school, but this, this feeling inside me feels less like butterflies and more like plain nausea, seeing as the last time we spoke he refused to look me in the face. Still, today will be different, and I’m certain that we can work out a way to get things back to the way they were before Berlin. Normal. Safe. Easy, without any of our complicated and unresolved feelings getting in the way of our friendship. It’s not too late to go back to the way it used to be, I’m certain of it, and all I’ll have to do is shove down this enormous part of me that begs me to be brave, to take a chance, and get on with whatever conversation we’re about to have.

It takes the bus so long to get across town with all of the fallen branches and obstructions, that by the time my feet touch the pavement again it’s already half past nine. I think to myself that surely an hour is enough for such a conversation as I turn up Vernon Avenue and through the gates of the Turner’s Georgian home. I knock on the door. 

“Yes?” It’s Ivy. She’s tall and gangly now, with limbs that look too long for her and features that look too big in that endearing, awkward teenage way. She was always nine in my head. How is she suddenly this big? How has time just slipped by like that?

“Is your brother in?”

“Yeah.” She says. “He’s in his room you can go on up.”

I head up the stairs, trying to ignore the weird, retroactive feelings I get at the memory of the last time I came thundering down this same staircase with tears in my eyes, and I knock gingerly on the first door on the left. 

“What?” He says from within. I hesitate. “Um. It’s Evie.”

He opens the door. “Evie? What are you doing here?”

“You wanted to meet for breakfast.”

“Yeah, but I messaged you to cancel.”

“You did?”

“On facebook.”

“Oh, God. I’m so sorry, our internet went out in the storm, I haven’t been able to check any of my socials. I shouldn’t have come.”

“It’s alright.” He stands aside and allows me into his room, his childhood room, for the very first time. And it’s plain and barren, and I’m just beginning to wonder why it’s so void of all personality before I realise that he must have taken almost everything he owns with him to Berlin. This is just a blue-painted box with a bed, wardrobe and desk. He has unpacked suitcases open on the floor, one spilling over with t-shirts, which brings me a sense of camaraderie and comfort. He’s messy. 

I perch on the edge of his unmade bed. “Is everything alright? How come you cancelled?”

“There was flooding in Wexford. My dad wants me to go down and check that everything is alright with the house.”

“The beach house?”

“Yeah. Just in case something got damaged in the storm.” He’s moving around jerkily, agitated, grabbing keys and wallet and phone. Rifling through the wardrobe for a waterproof jacket. “I planned to visit Jen this morning, but I suppose this can’t really wait, but I suppose if I make it a quick enough journey I might be back before visiting hours end. Sorry that you came all the way over only for me to be on the way out.”

“Me too, but it’s alright, really. Maybe I can go and get breakfast on my own…?”

“Yeah. Pigeon House is good.” He’s doing his best to avoid looking at me.

“Still, I was really hoping that you and I could talk, you know? I don’t really feel good about putting it off.”

“Okay well if you want to talk about it now I can spare about four minutes before I have to hit the road.”

I chew on my lip. He leans back against his desk with his arms folded, eyebrows raised, waiting for me to say something. He’s so mad at me. Discomfort prickles a path down my spine. “Well we might need more than four minutes, Jude.”

“Another day then.”

I start picking the hangnail on my thumb. “Well, maybe, you know, if you’re not going to be too long at the beach, I could come along and we can talk then?”

“You want to come to the beach. With me.”

“Yeah, I think that I do.”

His sigh is hassled and resigned, and he wrestles his arms into his jacket. “Fine, yeah. If you want to then come. I’m leaving now though.”

I start seriously questioning whether this is a normal thing to want to do. To be trapped for hours with someone who is actively furious with me, hanging around on the beach where we first met, but perhaps it’s the very best place for us to talk, perhaps it’s worth revisiting this place that holds so much cosmic energy again, if not to re-experience some of the magic of it, then at least to sever my connection to it, and put all of those old memories and feelings to bed once and for all. It’ll be like visiting a museum dedicated to the final weeks of my childhood. 

“Okay, I’m ready if you are,” I say.

Beginning // Prev // Next

[beardedmrbean]

The Georgian Orthodox Church has called for changes to an icon depicting Soviet dictator Joseph Stalin hung in a cathedral in the capital, Tbilisi.

The icon depicts scenes from the life of St Matrona of Moscow, a 20th Century Russian visionary and healer.

In one, the Russian Orthodox saint can be seen blessing Stalin.

The Patriarchate of Georgia said there was "insufficient evidence" the saint and Stalin ever met and that changes therefore needed to be made.

"The donors of the icon are called upon to make the appropriate changes to the image themselves - or we can do it ourselves," the statement said.

The Alliance of Patriots, a pro-Russian political party, said it gifted the icon to the cathedral several months ago.

But it only came to prominence this year, after an opposition former politician Giorgi Kandelaki highlighted its presence in protest at what he said was an attempt to present "one of the biggest mass murderers in history" in a "positive light".

The icon has been courting controversy since Mr Kandelaki drew attention to it. Earlier this week, an activist sprayed it with paint in protest.

Nata Peradze published a video of her throwing paint on the icon and said she was protesting against what she saw as the glorification of a tyrant.

"Stalin killed my whole family, he instilled terror and fear, he was not a hero," she told Politico, adding that she has been receiving death threats since posting the video on Facebook.

She also said her house has been targeted by mobs since the incident.

In its statement, the Patriarchate of Georgia said that an icon could depict "real stories related to the life of the saint, including rulers and ordinary people, heretics and persecutors of the Christian faith".

"However," it added, "this does not mean at all that the image glorifies these figures or attributes any dignity to them."

Stalin has a complex legacy in Georgia.

He was born Iosif Dzhugashvili in the town of Gori, in the east of the country, in 1878. A key figure in the Russian revolution which brought the Bolsheviks to power, he ruled the USSR from 1924 until his death in 1953.

Millions died as Stalin imposed iron discipline and state terror to root out "enemies of the people" and build a communist state.

Many people in the small South Caucasian country reject the legacy of the Soviet Union.

But some still view Stalin with some pride because he emerged from a humble background in Georgia to rule a superpower and defeat Nazi Germany.

[mylyy]

14 lines from Love Letters or suicide notes.

(by David "Doc" Luben)

One. Don't freak out .

Two. We both know this has been coming for a long time.

Three. I've been staying awake at night, wondering if I should tell you.

Four. I bought the kind of crackers you can eat, they are in the hall cupboard.

Five. Now that we have watched all the episodes of True Blood, I do not know what else to do next.

Six. I always imagine this would happen without warning and like suddenly on an ocean cliff side... But this is the kind of thing where waiting for the time to be right, would just mean waiting forever.

Seven. I've just been too afraid for too long.

Eight. I came home on Tuesday and found all of the chairs I owned stacked in a tower in the center of my kitchen... I don't know how long they have been like that, but it can only be me that did it... It's the kind of thing a ghost would do to prove to the living that he is still there... I am haunting my own apartment.

Nine. My grandmother was still alive when I was five years old and she asked me to check and see if the iron was hot enough yet. So I pressed my hand against it and it was Red and screaming for hours... Twenty-five years later and she would still sometimes apologize, in the middle of conversations, "I feel so bad about making you touch the iron" she'd say, as tough it had just happened... I cannot imagine how do we forgive ourselves for all the things we didn't say until it was too late... But how else do you tell if something is hot but to touch it?.

Ten. I keep imagining my furniture in your apartment.

Eleven. I wonder how many likes this will get on Facebook.

Twelve. My dad always used to tell me the same joke, but I can't remember the punchline.

Thirteen. I was eight years old and it took three weeks, three eight-year-old-weeks, imagine! To gather everything that I would need to be batman. Rope. Boomerangs. A Mardi gras mask with the beads cut off. I couldn't find a cave near my house, so I buried them all in a bundle under the ivy... For years after, I tried to find that spot again.The ivy grew too fast. I searched in so many spots it seemed impossible that I had missed one, but I never found it.... How can something be there and then not be there?... How do we forgive ourselves for all the things we did not become?.

Fourteen. I never had the courage to buy bright green sheets. I wanted them but thought they were too brash, even with no one but me to see them. I bought a set yesterday and put them on the bed. I knew that you would like them.

[just-jess-78]

I’ve never been open to discussing my relationships on ANY social media. Not even Facebook. I’ve been around here for years and years and I’ve never talked about it. For a lot of reasons. So it’s hard to explain 15 years in one post. I’m not even going to try. I’ll just start with today.

5:30 this morning and I’m standing in the living room ironing a shirt for my 16 year olds wrestling banquet tonight and my husband of 15 years says that he just wanted to let me know that he has reconnected with someone from his past and wants to see where it goes. Then he said “well this is awkward text me if you need anything” on his way out the door to work. Time froze. I didn’t move for what felt like hours but I also don’t remember breathing but obviously I did.

Then he came home after work and made work calls and laughed and laughed with the guy he works with. Time marched right on for him.

There is a part of me that is relieved but it’s buried under what feels like a million tons of fear and uncertainty. And uncomfortableness. It feels so weird to be uncomfortable in my own home. Ugh.

Fortunately the universe works in the weirdest way so there’s also a lot of good, exciting stuff going on but this is the stuff I need to say out loud right now.

I know everything will be ok but I need a place to be fragile for a while so that I have the space to be what I need to be for my kids.