#The opposite of poetry is math

[willcodehtmlforfood]

Nice

Wrong: Ada Lovelace invented computer science and immediately tried to use it to cheat at gambling because she was Lord Byron's daughter.

Right: Ada Lovelace invented computer science and immediately tried to use it to cheat at gambling because that was the closest you could get in 1850 to being a Super Mario 64 speedrunner.

[daenerysstormreborn]

The whole concept of left brain/right brain isn’t super solid but I think it’s the most accurate way to describe the difference between Arya and Sansa’s skill sets. I think with training either girl could be a politician or a warrior. I think they both could’ve survived if their roles were swapped. Both have demonstrated the ability to adapt.

Arya specializes in the concrete and logical, in immediate observations and perceptions, and intuitive reactions to those. Arya is quick on her toes and great at making on-the spot assessments and reacting appropriately. She’s extremely observant and perceptive and these things come very naturally to her. She’s great at learning language, but isn’t said to write poetry and doesn’t take marked interest in story or songs. Her focus is typically on her immediate environment and current situation. She doesn’t spend time ruminating or crafting distant future lives for herself. She is alert and attuned to the facts and the present.

Sansa is more abstract and artistic, focusing on the qualitative aspects of life, engaging in creative pursuits. She loves the romantic and fantastical and is more attuned to ideas and concepts than the facts of her immediate surroundings. She absorbs history and heraldry and has a knack for aesthetics and mastery of her native language (i.e., writing poetry and being an eloquent speaker. Learning new language is “left brain” whereas mastery of your native language is “right brain.”), but isn’t said to be very good at math and her romanticized lens inhibits her perception of fact at times. She has a vivid imagination and spends a lot of time ruminating on her past and conjuring fantasies of idealized futures, comparing her own life to familiar narratives instead of being 100% present in her surroundings.

Which isn’t to say these skill sets are mutually exclusive to the girls. Arya can be very creative (she is excellent with performing and getting into roles as a faceless man) and Sansa can be quick on her toes (like when she saved Dontos). These skill sets also are not opposites and the girls do not “complete” each other. Both are full complete people on their own who are learning to apply their natural strengths to navigate their worlds.

What’s interesting to me is that they’re both a little aimless right now for different reasons relating to what I described above. Arya is great at taking action but doesn’t have a vision of her ideal future (at least not that we’ve seen) so she doesn’t know where to go next. Her biggest desires are “go home” and “go to the wall to see Jon” but those aren’t options to her so she ends up a bit directionless, traveling across the ocean and becoming a faceless man because she has to do SOMETHING because she’s a doer, but doesn’t know what to do. Meanwhile Sansa has goals for her future of being a lady with a loving husband and a family, but she is not a doer and doesn’t know what steps to take to escape her current situation, so she goes along with Littlefinger’s plan. Arya has inertia but no direction and Sansa has direction but no inertia

Of course, for both girls, age and and trauma are factors in them going down the paths they’re on and I expect that we’ll see them both grow!

[asymphonyofstarlight]

rilla, ch 10

currently spending too much time reading theses abt Rilla and thinking if I had actually been an english major I could've done that. unfortunate

hey this chapter is . A lot happening! The title intimates as much but it's especially the growing opposition of Jem and Walter that's always been stark but is so incredibly diametric here. a lot of Walter brooding and a lot of Rilla both going through it on very different levels while Jem's suffering on Salisbury Plain but still cheerful

the white feather -- "sometimes I wish I had never been born" + giving up on life. Yowch! + I have always and will continue to read special importance in the direct mention of Una's friendship here. I also am sitting here thinking about the emphasis of enlisting for a Greater Cause which is Walter's driving force later on (i.e. Una making him want to enlist despite her not saying anything to the effect). It is not cowardice to not want to kill others (!!) but there's a Cause(tm)

all the mentioned poetry I want to read!!

"Our enemies, not King George's enemies" is a really funny line. The offhanded violence of some of the things said in this book yell. It is, however, justifiable in this context in the sense of relieving your feelings

OH WORD it's the velvet hat google is distinctly unhelpful with how much the price could've been. Like a) how big was Rilla's allowance and b) how much was it to justify such a reaction -- Anne's looking LOL. Three years or the duration of the war! Only the sheer stubbornness of a 15 year old!!

doing some silly side math based on googling: if you were spending $8 on 3 hats on average--around $254 today--that would avg out to $85/hat so Rilla's hat must've cost upward of $100 in today's money ($5+ in 1915) but who knows man. I don't buy hats so I don't know what's considered a high price, but $100+ for an item of clothing as extravagant as she makes it sound as a 15 year old is STEEP no matter how you look at it. Especially in wartime and Rilla knows it

And the Irene disillusion! Every Morgan mention makes me laugh sorry this is just such a funny running bit. it's not like I know much abt babies but some of the things said here make me want to find and pick up a book on babies from that time out of sheer curiosity. (I also may have missed this--was Morgan such a Bible for Anne raising her children or was it just sitting around for Rilla LOL)

self edit I went hunting zero mentions of Morgan before Jims

I wonder WHAT it was that was said abt Walter -- there are many potential options, but Rilla's protectiveness also means it could have been less serious than it looks but Who Knows

all the Polish names just remind me of the history classes where I was absolutely flummoxed by the names in my readings vs hearing them said out loud by professors. STILL an issue btw it's so bad (I am… not good at pronouncing Polish)

[stellaluna33]

Sorry to be a hater- look away if you must- but I just have to vent once again about how much I hate that stupid "Rory Gilmore learns about sexting to spice up her lagging long-distance relationship!" storyline in Season 7. 🙄 Like, FIRST OF ALL, I'm supposed to believe that Rory Gilmore, who was reading (and recommending!) Ginsberg at the age of 16, is somehow shocked and scandalized and uncomfortable with the idea of reading or writing about sex?? That whole babyish, fluttery, "Oh, I couldn't possibly!" personality transplant she undergoes in that season really throws me off! But ALSO, like... Rory and Logan have only been apart for like THREE EPISODES? By this point? And she's already feeling like their relationship is going to fall apart without sexual intimacy? Like, honey, the point I'm getting from this is not "long distance relationships are hard!" It's "this relationship seems to be based on nothing but sex." And if you're already running out of things to say because you're not in the same room anymore? Yikes. "But long distance relationships are hard!" Yeah! I KNOW. Want to know HOW I know? Because by the time we got married, my Husband and I did the math and figured out that from the beginning of our relationship to our wedding day we'd spent more time APART than TOGETHER. The longest stretch of time where we were on opposite sides of the earth and didn't see each other at all was ten months. And yes! It was hard! But we never felt like we were running out of things to SAY to each other or had no emotional intimacy! How am I supposed to think this Rory/Logan storyline is "romantic" when my own memories involve writing handwritten letters that were pages and pages long, and long emails on top of that? Sensual poetry that ached with so much longing that it made my breath catch in my throat when I read it? Do you know how it feels to talk on the phone for hours and hours until your arm gets tired from holding the phone up and you have to keep switching it from side to side because your ear is getting that horrible warm and sweaty feeling from the plastic being pressed against it for so long, and you STILL don't want to say goodbye because it's never enough? Anyway, I can't get into this storyline. It feels shallow and cheap and boring to me! Like, is this it? And maybe part of the reason my soul recoils from the idea of Rory ending up with Logan is that it's just so DISAPPOINTING! Like, that's it? That's the "great love" she gets? I love Rory and she has such a lively, eager mind! And it just makes me sad to think of her ending up with some guy she doesn't even have anything to talk about with after the thrill of sex has faded. 😕 Boring, boring, boring!

[imsparky2002]

Diane Baako and Aglae Charlotte

Ok so I love the new character designs for Diane and Agale so screw it, I'm making the headcanon that they're a couple (opposites attract vibes) and here's my hcs.

Aglae comes from a Wiccan family and believes in herbal remedies and alternate medicine. She still accepts modern medicine, tho.

Diane is the co-leader of the Spirit Club with Ayesha. She's chipper like Ayesha, but a bit calmer in that regard. She's more pumped up rather than gleeful. Loves helping the community through working on charities with Mylene and her girlfriend.

Many at school nickname Diane "Pinkie Pie" due to her cotton-candy dyed hair, happy personality and having a sweet tooth. Helps that she's a huge pegasister (female term for brony).

Aglae wears baggy clothing and a hoodie because it feels extremely satisfying sensory wise. She doesn't feel comfortable showing off her body and it takes a lot of convincing from her parents and girlfriend to wear lighter clothing during the summertime.

Diane is surprisingly a huge fan of Barry Manilow. She actually serenaded Aglae with "Can't Smile Without You" as a way of asking her out. She also loves anything from the Y2K era. Aglae's a big fan of The Sisters of Mercy and Billie Eilish.

The two often go on double dates with Aurore and Mireille. They do the same with Juleka and Rose.

Juleka, Eri and Aglae form a "Gothic Girl Group" together.

Diane has a big social media prescence and often shouts out various charities, shoots the shit with her followers and simps for her GF.

I would LOVE to hear your hcs for these two, as I'm thinking of putting them alongside Sublime in a future post. Maybe as a Poetry class or Math class? IDK yet. Also I'll admit I'm projecting as a newly indoctrinated member of the Stanilow Squad (Barry Manilow fandom) @booksrbetterthanpeople @msweebyness @nerdy-chocomallow

[jewish-space-laser]

one thing about the life of chuck that’s really stuck with me is the idea that math and art are intertwined. I feel like math is always viewed as opposite to creative arts, but when I really think about it, I use math the most when I’m being creative. Dancing, 1-2-3-4… visual arts use angles and measurements… some poetry and writing uses specific algorithms to create a rhythm… even something as far out as dungeons and dragons, where you are literally creating and playing a character, involves addition/multiplication and probability and units of space… what a cool perspective!!!

[its-elioo]

Incorrect quotes (RnM fanfic related)

Part 2, Part 3, part 4

Rainbow: When I get murdered, can you make sure I become an unsolved case?

Sideswipe: What?

Rainbow: I want to be on Buzzfeed Unsolved.

Sideswipe: Can we go back to the part where you said ��when I get murdered”?

-

Sunset: I want to be a caterpillar.

Optimus: Explain?

Sunset: Eat a lot, sleep for a while, wake up beautiful.

Optimus: You are aware that they have a lifespan of two to five weeks, correct?

Sunset: That’s another highlight.

Optimus: Sunset, no—

-

Bumblebee: I’m not mad, I just want to know why you need a fake ID.

Fluttershy: *mumbles*

Bumblebee: What was that?

Fluttershy: …You need to be over 18 at Petco to hold the puppies.

-

Optimus: You are very mature for your age, Sunset.

Sunset: Thanks, it’s the trauma.

-

Rainbow: Sibling relationships are weird.

Rainbow: Like, I’d give Sideswipe my life on a dangerous mission without a second thought but there’s no way in hell that I’d give him a single fry from my McDonald’s meal.

-

Rarity: *hurts herself*

Rarity: SH-oot!

*Knock Out and Sideswipe look at each other in confusion*

Sideswipe: What was that?

Rarity: I don’t swear.

Knock Out: Why not?

Rarity: It’s not ladylike. No well-mannered woman does it.

Rainbow: *walks by in the background and stubs her toe*

Rainbow: FUCK!

Rarity: …most of us anyway.

-

Twilight: Excuse me, who’s in charge here?

Ratchet: Well, usually whoever yells the loudest.

-

Rarity: We can’t kill him!

Knock Out: Not with that attitude, we can’t.

-

Fixit, gesturing to Twilight: Sir, that’s my emotional support human.

-

Pinkie: You call it a near death experience-

Rainbow: We call it a vibe check from God!

Ratchet: *optic twitches*

-

Sunset: When I asked if my day could get any worse it was rhetorical question. NOT A CHALLENGE!

-

Sunset: I stopped a murder today.

Optimus: Good job, Sunset. I’m proud of you. How did you do it?

Sunset, staring seriously and ominously at Optimus: Self-Control.

-

Bulkhead: What are your superpowers again?

Applejack: Super-strength, agility and stamina, yo mamma jokes-

Bulkhead: Yo mamma jokes?

Applejack: Well Bulk, I’m an orphan so they can’t say anything back.

Bulkhead: Kid—

-

Ratchet: How would you rate your pain?

Twilight: Zero stars, would not recommend.

-

Rainbow: Hey, Ratch.

Ratchet: *sighs* Yes?

Rainbow: If you say the words “control alt delete” do you just, like, straight up die?

Ratchet:

Ratchet: Every day I convince myself humans are intelligent life forms and every day I am proven wrong.

-

Sunset: I’m willing to do a lot of things.

Sunset: But admitting to Optimus that I’m cold after he told me to bring a jacket is not one of them.

-

Everyone else: Knock Out, no!

Knock Out: Knock Out, yes!

Rarity: Knock Out, no.

Knock Out: Knock Out, no.

-

Fluttershy: *staring blankly at a wall*

Bumblebee: Fluttershy? What’s wrong?

Fluttershy: Did you know that rap stands for ‘rhyme and poetry’?

Bumblebee:

Bumblebee: *sits down and joins Fluttershy in staring at the wall*

-

Arcee: You’re okay, right? You’re not hurt?

Twilight: No, no, no, I’m fine! Totally fine, no, no, I’m fine.

Arcee: Really? Because you’re repeating your words you look pale and you look like you’re about to topple over.

Twilight: Yeah, you might wanna catch me.

-

Twilight: [holds up a cauliflower in front of Ratchet] What is this?

Ratchet: … a cauliflower?

Twilight: [turns to Pinkie and Smokescreen] Okay, now tell him what you think it is.

Both: Ghost broccoli!

-

Rainbow: I’m ten times funnier than you.

Sideswipe: Ten times zero is still zero.

Rainbow: Well, jokes on you, I can’t do math.

-

Arcee: You’re up early this morning.

Twilight: …

Arcee: You never went to sleep, did you?

-

Rainbow: You’re an attention-seeker.

Sideswipe: What?! I’m the total opposite of an attention-seeker. I’m the best there ever is, I do not- hey, don’t look away when I’m talking here!

-

Knock Out: Do you think I don’t like you? I do. I would kill for you!

Knock Out: Please ask me to kill for you.

Rarity: …First of all, calm down.

[yanara126-writing]

a royal protector - kindness (1/6)

In the first six years of knowing him, Jessamine learns five things about Corvo: He is kind, he is skilled, he is unfairly attractive, he respects not only her fears but also her wants, and, most terrifyingly, he is as human as she is.

Or: 5 times Corvo protected Jessamine and 1 time she returned the favour.

-

Read here or on Ao3 (4132 words)

Have fun! Comments always welcome! :)

--

Jessamine Acacia Saxa Kaldwin, heiress to the Empire of the Isles, was 11 years old and very scared. Not that she'd ever have admitted that to anybody. And really being scared was very silly and she was taking entirely reasonable steps to resolve this issue. The fact that she was hiding in the most remote corner of the Tower gardens behind a row of hedges was entirely incidental and could not be used as proof of any awareness of misdeeds or weakness. She was just... Cautious. That was all.  As long as she couldn't hear anyone shouting her name she truly had no way of knowing that she was technically supposed to be in her math lessons right now. Yes.

So steeled with resolve by her completely foolproof defence should her tutor indeed come shouting Jessamine finally unpacked her precious package that she had carefully tucked away in her skirts on her way here. One of her mother's shawls (she'd known that no one would comment on it if they should see her, and in a tiny corner of her mind, the one not preoccupied with sobbing every time she thought of her mother, thought surely there was some poetry in her mother still protecting her.) wrapped around one of the butcher knives from the kitchen. Carefully she wrapped the shawl around her wrist and picked up the knife, the sharp edge pointing away from her of course, she wasn't a child anymore.

And then for a moment she simply stood there, in the tiny clearing between the bushes, uncertain what to do next. When she'd come up with the plan to steal the knife she'd assumed it would just come naturally. The guards always made it look so easy when she saw them train, swinging around their swords, making them clank against each other. Surely a knife couldn't be harder than that, right?

Experimentally she stuck out her arm, both hands on the knife and glared at the bush opposite her. Yes, a good start, after all, intimidation was a good way to stop a fight from happening in the first place. That's what Captain Griffith had said anyway, and with his missing eye and scar crossing his jaw he definitely looked like he knew what he was talking about.

But intimidation wasn't always enough, was it.

Tongue between her teeth she she swung the knife once. The branches she hit cracked under the force. A second swing had even more leaves drop to the ground.

She squared her jaw and steeled her posture. Yes, that's how it had to work. She'd just have to keep doing it, had to practice, like the guards.

Again and again she swung her makeshift weapon, focus entirely on the bush she was assaulting until her arms quivered and she'd sweat through her chemise. But it wasn't enough. She had to keep practicing, who knew when she'd get another opportunity? She had to-

"Y- your majesty?" With a start Jessamine screamed. She whirled around, but in her panic the knife slipped from her grasp, hurling directly at the intruder-

Who caught it. Right above the ground. Where it would have harmlessly dropped anyway.

Jessamine's eyes watered but she refused to let the tears fall. A sniffle escaped her anyway.

Almost unbiddingly came the voice of her mother to her head. Remember darling, always composed. With some effort she pulled herself together, head held high.

Finally she also recognized the intruder who had so rudely interrupted her training session. It was one of the new guards, the boy from Serkonos. She remembered him mainly because of the way he'd been introduced, not in the normal boring ceremony her father had to do every year, but by the Duke's envoy. The ambassador had called him a gift, and when her father had looked sceptical he'd ordered the boy to a demonstration of his skill. To Jessamine it had all looked rather the same truthfully, but her father had been impressed, so it must have been something at least.

And now he was in front of her, squatting low to the ground, her knife in his hand, blinking up at her with wide grey eyes through his unfashionably long hair. While she herself was hiding in a cluster of bushes, her dress wrinkled and stained, her hair surely a complete mess, and hacked off branches scattered all around her feet.

Always composed. Yes, she was the crown princess and he was a lowly Tower Guard, she had a right to be here and he had no right to question her. She simply had to convince him of that.

Jessamine squared her shoulders and put on her best impression of her father's 'I am displeased and you better excuse yourself' face.

"It's Your Highness. Return my knife," She hesitated, hopefully only for a moment. What had his name been again? Ah yes. "Guard Attano."

The boy just blinked at her again, for so long Jessamine nearly started twitching. Only nearly though.

Finally he pulled himself up from the ground again, slowly awkwardly. Continuing to glare at him proved a lot more difficult when he was a good two heads taller than her. He glanced from the knife to her. She glared harder.

"Ahm... My apologies, Your Highness." Another hesitation. Wouldn't he just give the damn knife back??

Eventually, after what felt like an absolute eternity, he reluctantly reached out with the knife and Jessamine- did not snatch it from his hand but gracefully accepted it like a proper princess. Like her mother would have told her to.

Jessamine's eyes watered again and she angrily turned away from the boy opposite her to blink the tears away.

But the boy didn't go away. Just continued to stand there, uninvited and awkwardly. Couldn't he see he was in the way?? Why wouldn't he go away??

"Are you- are you alright, Your Highness? What are doing here?"

"That is none of your business, Guard!" she snapped at him and he flinched like she'd hit him. That was- not nice. That didn't feel nice. And Jessamine paused to properly look at the boy in front of her.

She couldn't quite remember how old he was, not much older than her though, she thought. A few years maybe. He was dressed in his uniform, but it was almost as wrinkled as her own dress and his hair, thought not tangled, seemed decidedly ungroomed. And his eyes, even as downcast as they were, had a red rim to them.

"Ahm..." it was her turn to stutter. "I mean... It doesn't matter. It's fine. I- have it under control. Are- are you alright?" She didn't like how that felt either, that insecurity in asking. If she should ask. If he would even want to answer. If she wanted him to, or if she would rather he simply disappear back to from where he'd come so she could continue her training until someone important inevitably noticed she was gone.

For a moment he seemed as indecisive as her. He looked around the small clearing, at her, then back to the ground, something strangely pensive in his eyes. Until it seemed he came to a decision and he took a deep breath, looking back up at her.

"My mother just died."

"Oh." How insufficient of a reaction. Like lightning all the things people had said to her just a few weeks ago ran through her head, one less helpful than the last. She'd hated all of them. "I'm sorry," she mumbled lamely in the end, her eyes dropping to the tips of her shoes. And then, like an absolute idiot she added: "So did mine."

She wanted to kick herself for it all the while biting back tears again. Of course he knew that, how could he not know it. Why did she think that would be okay to say? He'd probably come here to be alone as well, to- to grief, and now she'd put this on him. He didn't want to hear a stupid child's insecurities.

This time she couldn't stop the hot tears from rolling down her cheeks.

"Yes, I- I heard. I'm sorry as well." He did sound sorry at least, but it didn't help. It never did. It wouldn't bring her mother back, it wouldn't fix anything, and it wouldn't stop the tears.

"Would you mind if I joined you for a while?" he asked softly, and she hated him for that too. She wanted him to leave, to take it back what he'd said, she wanted her mother back, she wanted to not be scared, but she couldn't have any of that. Stupid child that she was she couldn't even be sure she could talk now without hiccuping and sobbing even louder, so instead she just shrugged and fought to choke down her tears.

There was some rustling as he moved and sat down on the ground, with as much space between them as the tiny clearing allowed. Which wasn't much. For a while he simply sat there in silence. A covert peek through her eyelashes let Jessamine know he was fiddling with some grass, rolling it between his fingertips, distinctly not looking at her.

Eventually the tears at last abated to a sniffle, replaced with an uncomfortable awareness that she was still standing next to the sitting guard, the kitchen knife clutched tightly in her hand. With him there more practice wasn't an option, even if she had been willing to stomach the embarrassment of having him watch. Besides, with the adrenaline of the situation finally winding down she could feel the ache in her limbs.

Reluctantly she also lowered herself to the ground, as elegantly as she could manage with her ruffled dress and shaking limbs. He did her the favour of not acknowledging her horrible posture. Or the fact that she was still clutching the knife to herself like a lifeline.

He kept his gaze averted when he started speaking, didn't look up from the grass he was plucking at.

"I like this spot. It's quiet. F- few people ever come past here." Part of Jessamine, the one the rest of her was hiding behind, reared up to admonish him for his way of speaking. Proper people didn't look away when talking to someone, didn't stumble over their words either, and he had to be a proper person to be talking to her. That part quickly shut up though when she remembered the way he'd flinched at her words before. And the way that had felt. But with her only defence fizzling away, all that was left were the tears and she didn't want that either, so instead she scrambled for anything else and her mouth opened before she could stop it.

"My tutors never find me here." Oh she could hit herself, what a stupid thing to say! Now he would know she was hiding and he'd tell Mrs Clarke and she'd get the cane again or he would tell father who would just look at her with that dissapproving gaze or he would tell m-

Her next sob was covered by his low chuckle. As if what she'd said had been funny rather than a complete embarrassment.

"Yeah, I bet." When he turned to look at her again his eyes were still red, but there was a small, almost cheeky, smile on his lips. "You know, back in Karnaca I'd also sneak out to train. My sister was always the more curious one." She flinched, her hands on the knife tightening.

"I wasn't-!" Jessamine froze. This boy wasn't her father. Wasn't Mrs. Clarke. Wasn't- wasn't mother. He hadn't been dismissive or scolded her. So maybe... Maybe that was alright? And anyway, if he tried to tell on her she would simply deny it. He couldn't prove anything anyway. "Alright, I was practicing. As I'm allowed to do. Entitled, even. Supposed to."

He hummed, clearly unconvinced, an eyebrow raised. "With a butcher knife. In the bushes."

She bristled, ready to square her shoulders and drag out all her rethoric training until her eyes met his, wide and- and concerned. And everything in her deflated. The world seemed so cold suddenly, the tiny clearing impossibly vast, and all she could do was pull her knees close and bury her face in them to hide.

"I just don't want to be another Empress." She didn't cry again, didn't have enough tears left for that maybe, but even she could tell she sounded congested and sniffly. So much for composure. Mother truly would be ashamed.

But once the floodgates were open they couldn't be closed again.

"I don't want to be like mother, I don't want to be like Larisa Olaskir, I don't want to die like an Empress!" Her throat and eyes burnt and still there were no tears. She hadn't spoken her fears to anyone before, had carefully shut her mouth to her father who was busy grieving himself and had to run the Empire besides, and it simply wasn't appropriate for her to burden others with this. She didn't want to die but she would have to have heirs eventually and she would only get a Royal Protector next year, and so she had stolen a knife from the kitchen to teach herself how to fight in the furthest corner of the gardens where no one would see.

Maybe, if she just pretended hard enough, the boy beside her also wouldn't see.

Unfortunately her wishes were not heard. "Well," he murmured, slowly and almost casually, if his voice hadn't been just as rough as hers. "Some practice is good. Not sure a butcher knife is the wisest starting point though, unless you mean to start carrying it around permanently. I heard some ladies use sharpened hat pins to defend themselves. Maybe that'd be something to try out."

That was... Not what she'd expected. Reluctantly she glanced up from her knees over to him, only to find no mockery, no derision, not even pity in his gaze. Almost like- almost like he'd meant it. Like he was really trying to make a useful suggestion and not making fun of her or merely trying to appease the pathetic child. Looking away again to the hacked off branches on the ground she found herself slowly nodding, not quite sure how to respond.

"Aside from that, there's always Lord Protector Camden. Maybe you could ask her for pointers?" Jessamine shook her head.

"Leopoldine is father's Royal Protector, she is busy enough. And I will not get one until next year." Aside from that, embarrassed as she was to admit it even to herself, Jessamine was intimidated by the older woman. Older even than her father, the Lord Protector was never seen without a sword or with a smile. Her default expression was a disapproving frown that left permanent creases between her eyebrows, anything somewhat resembling neutrality was a rarer honor than a good word from her father. It wasn't that Jessamine was scared of her, Leopoldine was excellent at her job and nothing but a consummate professional, she would never do something to hurt her, but the idea of disappointing her made something shrivel up inside Jessamine's chest.

The boy, and Jessamine should really stop referring to him as that, he'd probably find it insulting, nodded thoughtfully.

"I see." He pondered for a moment, drumming his fingers on his knee. For a moment something passed over his face, too quickly for Jessamine to make sense of it, before it was replaced by almost bashful hesitance. "Well... If it would help, maybe I could be your protector. Just until you get a real one, I mean." Jessamine couldn't help but stare at him. Really it was a ludicrous suggestion, he was a new Tower Guard, he had his own duties, he was a foreigner and he was low-born. Even their associating now was an affront to all good morals. And he had to know that. That doing this, even as little as would be actually possible would at best get him admonished and at worst dismissed. But still he offered like... Like he meant it. It was... Nice.

"Okay," she mumbled. It was an entirely insufficient response and delivered not worthy of her position to boot, but still he offered her a small, warm smile. It made something in her itch, but in a nice way. She hadn't had a friend since-

"You can show me how to use that hat pin," she hurried, eager to drown out her train of thought. It wouldn't help anyway.

"I don't know much about hat pins specifically, but I can show you how to defend yourself with long pointy objects," he agreed, and it made Jessamine think, even though she really shouldn't and father would scold her for it eventually no doubt, that perhaps this would be okay. It was a nice feeling, even with her fear and grief still buried in her heart.

"Perhaps we should return that knife first though, don't you think?" She sighed.

"I suppose so." Mrs Clarke would have scolded her for sulking, but he only smiled softly.

"Don't worry, I'll go with you. I'm a good sneak." He winked and Jessamine couldn't help a very unprincesslike giggle.

He picked himself up and after wiping off the dirt and leaves on his pants he held out his hand for her. Both of them ungloved. For a moment she considered telling him of the fauxpas he was committing, but eventually decided she liked this better. And after all, it would be harder to teach her how to stab people if she had to wear gloves all the time. Surely it would be fine.

His hand was warm when he helped her up, calloused in a way hers were not and would never be allowed to be. Jessamine decided she liked the texture. They felt kind. Or perhaps that was only because of him.

Their way back towards the Tower was largely uneventful with no one being out in the gardens at this time. The gardeners were done with the daily caretaking and had no particular event to prepare for, the servants were busy with serving dinner and father never came out here with his guests. That had been... That had been mother's space.

They'd almost reached the backdoor, a servants entrance close to the kitchens which was usually only used during garden parties, when-

"Hey, Attano!" Jessamine cringed. The name was hollered so loudly surely the entire Tower must have heard. "Hey Attano, the fuck have you be-" The young man in Tower Guard uniform dashing towards them nearly stumbled over his own feet in his haste to drop into a bow. "Your Highness!"

Her new friend took the encounter in stride, but Jessamine was mortified. Her dress and hair were an absolute mess, Mrs Clarke would have her hide for being seen like this public. Who could have known that training was such a dirty business?

"My apologies, your Highness, I didn't see you there!" The guard snapped to attention as soon as he caught his balance again. Well, at least if he pallor was any indication he too wasn't very comfortable in the situation. "I was just- well that is- I was looking for Attano and- ahm... Excuse me but why do you have a knife?" Jessamine nearly flinched at the reminder, even as the guard owlishly blinked at her. She'd never packed the knife back up, hadn't she? In her talk with her new friend she'd entirely forgotten to hide it again and now someone had seen. Oh father was going to be so angry.

"Ah, sorry, Hayward, that was my mistake. I took it earlier today, since I meant to go fishing tonight but I lost it. I was out here searching. Her highness found it and was kind enough to offer to return it with me." Jessamine only barely caught her eyes from growing as wide as saucers, though she could not help turning to look at her companion. (She really had to do something about name, but calling him Attano just felt odd and guard too impersonal. And calling him by his given name was so inappropriate she'd rather run away to become an Oracular Sister. Attano would have to do.) He was rubbing the back of his neck, an apologetic smile on his face.

"Attano, you really are such a choffer." The guard, Hayward, Jessamine supposed, shook his head. Jessamine bit the inside of her lip to keep from talking, her eyes tightening just a touch. She didn't like the way this man was talking to her friend, a lightness in his tone that didn't imply humour but habit in the insult.

But her companion took it in stride, so Jessamine remained silent.

"Anyway, your fishing trip's gonna have to wait. Captain Terrell's denied your request for leave, your shift starts in 10 minutes, so you better get your as-" he glanced over at Jessamine. "-self over there quick." Something crinkled quietly next to her. Paper, now bunched up in Attano's hand. It looked like a letter. With a painful pang in her chest Jessamine remembered why he'd been here in the gardens in the first place. Because his mother was dead. And not only had she taken up his time with her own issues, she hadn't bothered at all to ask for his needs.

And now this man was forcing him back to work! Even Jessamine had been excused from her duties for the next two days after- after mother had died. Surely there were enough guards at the Tower to give him one evening at least!

Jessamine squared her shoulders, about to give an indignant reply, demanding to speak with this Captain Terrell-

"Of course. Thank you for informing me." The words got stuck in her throat as she saw his face, entirely neutral to a painful degree, as if all the life had been drained from him. Blank and dull. When he stepped away from her she could do nothing but watch.

He turned and bowed to her, back perfectly straight, his soft brown hair a curtain obscuring any expression that might be on his face.

"Thank you for your assistance, your Highness. I'm afraid I will have to leave now. Please give the cook my regards and my apologies for the trouble if you see her." He peered up, and for just a moment his grey eyes seemed to sparkle again. A permission, Jessamine thought. To blame him if anyone else asked.

There was that warm feeling in her chest again. And Jessamine knew she wouldn't. Not in a million years. She wouldn't risk that, not even knowing that it wouldn't- it wouldn't be as bad. No one would kick him out for a borrowed knife. (For associating with the crown princess on the other hand... But that was a different risk. One that she was quite desperate to take if she dared being honest with herself.)

Almost belatedly she noticed that he was waiting for her permission to leave, and hurriedly she nodded, hoping nothing showed on her face. He accepted her nod, straightened, face once again schooled into careful neutrality that wasn't quite enough to hide the red rims around his eyes, and turned to leave.

"Wait!" she blurted out and immediately felt herself flush. No, composure, Jessamine, composure. She cleared her throat. "I will. tomorrow." She threw what she hoped was a covert glance into direction of the guard. In front of him she couldn't just tell Attano go meet her again for her promised lessons, even if she trusted him it would have been a step too far, and she most certainly didn't. Thankfully he seemed mostly disinterested in her addition, an impatient tension in his body. She only hoped Attano understood.

For a moment he simply peered back at her, his face unreadable. Then he bowed again, shallow this time, more of a full body nod than anything. It would have to do, she supposed, as she watched him leave, the other guard practically herding him away.

Well, she steeled herself, she had something more to do today. First return the knife, and then acquire a hat, complete with needle. Her own were too small for it, and hats in general had gone out of fashion for a while, but well. Certainly as crown princess she could stir the fashions a bit, right? Right.

Filled with determination she marched towards the kitchens on her own, trying not to think of just how angry Mrs Clarke was going to be at the state of her dress and her missed lectures. It proved much easier than usual, with the undercurrent of excitement at seeing her new friend tomorrow.

[evangel108]

aquarius

7th page of The Wandering Wayfinder, aquarius:

A jar of water washed Away my past regrets Afflictions put to rest Ashamed no more am I And when the clock strikes twelve Awake, my soul, to greet Another birth of me

This poetry was my attempt to write in the "pleiades" poem form. Invented in 1999 by Craig Tigerman, this poem form uses a one-word title, followed by a seven-lined six-syllable stanza, with each line beginning with the same letter as the title.

I was introduced to this poem form in a New Year's Poetry prompt, and Aquarius was one of the suggested theme options, alongside other New Year-related topics, such as: Resolution, Champagne, January, Cold, Garnet, Capricorn, etc.

I mainly picked Aquarius because "A" seemed like the easiest starting letter to work on, but also because water is my favourite element (I enjoy swimming & playing in the rain), and its symbolic role in representing the concept of renewal & rebirth is very appropriate. While writing this, I also found out that Aquarius is the opposite/complementary sign to my own (Leo), so that's a plus I guess--even if I don't believe in horoscope-based astrology.

And, yes, the choice to put this poem as the 7th entry of my collection is also deliberate one.

Math teachers always say that "math/numbers are everywhere", so the use of numerology (i.e. numbers as symbols) had always fascinated me. Diving into the arts of music and poetry has only deepened my love for the concept, because the use of poetic and musical meter, the theory of transposition and harmonization, etc. are ingrained in the mathematic principles.

I think integrating the meta numbers (in this case, the order of the book's poem entries) to the form and/or theme, of the poem itself adds another dimension to the poetry, and adds more structure & cohesion to the collection as a whole.

Not all of the poems I include in The Wandering Wayfinder will necessarily be tied into their chapter release order, but I will try to include that connection whenever possible.

[loredroppingwthecorpses]

Things That People With Kiddos Should Know As Someone With Kiddos

This is by no means an extensive list of things parents/guardians/caretakers should know and take into account when raising and taking care of kids, nor is this telling you how to run a household or parent, however, from my experience, these things can make your life SO MUCH EASIER and make the relationship with your kiddos and you much smoother. I'm mostly going to be focusing on more adolescent-specific topics, but a lot of this advice can be applied to kids of all ages. Some of these things that I mention might work perfectly for you and your kiddos, and some of them might not. Some of them you might have to practice working on or modify them to fit your situation. Not everything on here is golden for everyone, and not everything on here is trash either. What works for one situation might not work for another.

With that being said, let's get to it.

Take your kids clothes shopping in person as much as possible. Make them try everything that they pick on. Kid's measurements are weird and are going to be changing drastically throughout their lives. Find the clothes they like and fit into in person and buy them online for cheaper (or in person. Whatever floats your boat)

Do not waste money on surprises unless you know FOR A FACT that they're going to like it! What does for a fact mean? Well, they've either explicitly stated that they want the item, or dropped some obvious as hell hints! Do not go guessing and buying based on what you think they'll like, or what you like. That's setting you, and your kid up for failure.

Be interested in things they're interested in. Your kid likes Taylor Swift? Cool! Your reaction should be "awesome, you wanna listen to the Era's Tour setlist in the car?" or, "what's your favorite album, let's listen to it together!"

Similarly, if your kiddo creates (art, music, poetry, stories, crafts, woodwork, videos, coding, etc,.) BE INTERESTED IN THAT. Consume their work! Show interest in it! Ask to read their writing, ask to see their art, ask to listen to their compositions. They might not say yes, but make it clear that you want to, and that's something that excites you. This will bring your kiddo joy.

DO NOT. AND I REPEAT. DO NOT. BELITTLE THEIR INTERESTS. Remember: You were once a kid with wacky interests, too. Kids are always searching for validation, whether they exhibit it or not. And even if they aren't? It's just a dick move to make fun of them for something they like.

buy pencils, pens, and notebooks in bulk. You'll need them.

Oh, and sticky notes.

If your kiddo comes to you for help of any kind, academic or otherwise, you damn well help them. "I need help studying for my math test tomorrow," ok, whaddya struggling with? How can I help? Do you just need a body double here, or should I do some problems with you?

give them notes. In their lunches, on their desks, in presents, on the fridge- hell, stick it on their doors! It doesn't have to be anything long- just a simple "morning!" or, "have a great day!" works, too.

Tell them you love them and that you're proud of them. Regularly. I know there are some people who think that makes their kids soft but I assure you, you're doing the exact opposite. By building your kids up, and regularly telling them that you love them and are proud of them, they know that they are valued and worthy and loved. This will set them up for success later in life and make them emotionally intelligent and flexible. Also, kids don't hear it enough these days.

They're going to see some scary shit. You can't avoid it. This past year I had to report three attempted suicides and many more cases of self-harm that came from other peers and people I was very close to. I initially was not processing the fact that someone so close to me was hurting themselves or trying to kill themselves, and the reporting process (sometimes even involving police) was extremely traumatizing. When I finally did cry, it came days later, and even today someone might say the name of one of these people and I will immediately shut down and change my whole demeanor. And I know our kiddos are experiencing these things, so please, be there for your kids and always tell them that telling adults when someone they know is hurting themselves or trying to end their life is important and could save their friends and loved ones.

Be prepared for your kids to have some kind of mental illness or learning disability. Do not try and gaslight them by saying that it's "all in their heads" (no shit?) or that they're "making things up." take everything seriously. "Mom, I think I have adhd," alright, let's see a doctor and do some research. "Tia, I'm so tired all the time and I just want to disappear," darling, that's not healthy, that's a sign of depression- you're important and loved, how about we set up a session with a therapist so you can talk to someone about these feelings who can help you better than I can?

Always be prepared to help your kiddos and reach out to licensed professionals who can help them.

carry snacks with you everywhere. And not that healthy shit, either. Within your kid's eating restrictions, get something like a chocolate chip granola bar or a Reese's cup and stick it in your going-out bag. It will save your life when hungry time comes around.

Don't be surprised if your kids are queer in some shape or form. Support them, love them unconditionally, make sexuality puns as needed ("if you're not dating anyone rn, does that mean you're on stand-bi?") and do your own research in regard to sexuality and gender.

help them get ready for school dances and stuff. Makeup, hair, clothes, pickup lines, the whole ordeal. I promise you they're going to love you for it.

Make the puberty/sex talk a casual yet thorough thing. You want to cover all the information, but you don't want to make it so uptight that they never want to talk about it again or ask any questions. Pull up diagrams, do the whole shebang, but make it clear that they don't have to memorize everything in that very moment. Questions are ok, even after the fact.

Take them to the library.

For all your menstruating kiddos out there, stock up on pads and tampons and anything else they use every month/every other month depending on how much they use. Don't make it seem like a hassle, don't make difficult, just do it without question. If they tell you they like a certain brand or type/size/etc, adhere to that and respect it. Menstruating is uncomfortable as is, don't make it worse by not listening to your kid's needs.

Give them this thing I like to call Cuddle Days (or sensory overload days, or Overstimulated, Get Me Outta Here days). These are the kinda days that can show up on weekends after a long week and basically it's a ton of movies, pillow forts, blankets, and comfort food. And lots of cuddles, of course.

Don't guilt trip them for existing having needs. Your kids are going to need a lot and do a lot and they are grateful, but it just feels weird to express that feeling of gratitude as a teenager.

And, most importantly, let them be kids. Let them have pillow fights, and roll on the grass. Hang fairy lights up and tell them stories. Giggle about their crushes with them, and paint your nails together. Play Mario Cart and eat takeout together. Kids are so complex and amazing and it would be a shame if we took away the part about being kids in the process of them growing up, because one day they're not gonna be our babies anymore.

[rena657]

Sorry for asking so many questions

How would you describe kid Dante personality before the fire

Same with Vergil

how you describe kid Vergil personality before the fire

Oh hello, I have given much thought before replying this

Kid Dante: typical younger sibling, wanting to play with Vergil, Eva's favorite child, very playful. If they were home schooled, he is a kind of student that prefers to play than learning. Its clear that he's not a bookworm nor good at Math since he prefers magazines to read than an actual book. Books for him is for research or just him associate it to how to learn things. He is that kind of kid who want to play a rubik's cube and do crossword puzzle, because that is what he really likes puzzles and investigation.

Kid Vergil: very opposite, eldest sibling vibe, the responsible one, Sparda's favorite child, very quiet and introverted child unlike his brother who is extroverted, a bookworm who like poetry, he's like to do research so its ok for him to learn everything and buy books

I say who is who favorite child is because unbeknowst to people who are only child. Having a sibling shows how parents do have their own favorite child, despite saying all "siblings are equal" to them. It shows how the eldest is like a training for them, but any younger sibling it's very loose and know how to handle like they mastered it already

Both are able to read and write btw

[kjwongsbrain]

A successful creative is almost an oxymoron. Not because it does not exist, but simply because it is such a rarity that the idea of intentionally setting out to be a successful creative could be considered a fool’s endeavor. Despite the fact that the status of mild significance has been democratized thanks to the emergence of digital social platforms and the lowering of the barrier of entry for content production and distribution, the statistics still reflect that the number of creatives that achieve a level of notoriety or fame to be considered significant is but a miniscule reflection of the sum total of all the individuals attempting to be those creatives. I would posit that the statistic actually hasn’t changed and what we are seeing isn’t necessarily an increase in the percentage of success due to the democratisation of the process, but rather a result of pure brute force quantity. Even if the success rate of something is a thousandth of a percent, when you have a billion people attempting it, the result is going to be a hundred thousand success stories. That’s just math for you.

I am not, however, in the business of discussing the actual rise of the social celebrity thanks to the proliferation of public internet platforms, but rather the thing that I wish to discuss is the way in which these successful individuals seem to achieve their levels of success, the ideas to which they attribute their ability to rise to the top, their preached methods of replicating that success, and also why I believe the vast majority of it is but a sea of worthless platitudes. I do also believe that much of it is either wrong, or bad, or both. 

In order to afford this rather long and unnecessary rant some level of structure, I’m going to attempt to weave my thoughts around three central points. The first being my thoughts on the concept of quiet excellence, then how the world is constantly proving me wrong, and lastly why I believe I’m right nonetheless. 

First, some background. All sound arguments require a competent amount of context, a standard to which I shall comply.

I have been a lifelong creative. My credentials as a professional creative may lend weight to that statement, but I truly do believe that the core of my very being was to harness and process the creative energy that resides within my brain. Still, it is quite a bold proclamation especially when the stuff I was creating when I was a young child can hardly be distinguished from any other nonsense from any other random children. I would counter by saying that creativity should never only be judged by its output, but rather its process. And I think my processes were mostly creative, at least as far as I can remember. I’ve dabbled in creative endeavors in multiple disciplines. I was a professional musician for a significant portion of my adult career, and I have dabbled in the fields of writing, poetry, filmmaking, and, most recently, woodworking. But beyond those disciplines traditionally regarded as being creative disciplines, I have also applied much of that same creative energy into much more regular tasks like cooking, home repair, storage solutions - the limits of the applications of creativity are only bound by your, well, creativity. A creative exponent if you will, creative squared. I’ve recently started challenging the traditional interpretation of the right brain versus left brain theory of creative and artistic tendencies or thought processes versus analytical or mathematical tendencies or thought processes. For as long as I can remember, I have been in possession of both. And as far as I can tell, they are not in opposition with one another, but instead find their roots in similar soil. The largest perpetrators of this idea come in the form of management trainers, or any other profession of that same ilk. Their concept of splitting the movers and the shakers into fields of either creative thought or analytical thought serve only to sell the opportunity to tell anyone or any corporation that they have one but lack the other. It’s a smart business strategy if you think about it. Divide the world into two very vague groups of individuals, arbitrarily determine the strengths and weaknesses of each, then actively tell willing paying clients which ones they are and which ones they need to hire immediately. I can assure you that history and science are on my side if you try your best to research the topic any further than a basic ‘left brian vs right brain’ google search. Maybe perhaps the idea that there are hemispheres in the brian that are decidedly involved in different types of thought is sound, but the idea that one is largely dominant in all individuals is demonstrably bogus.

To take things further, the reason I mention this is because I genuinely do think that the analytical, logical, and systematic mind is in fact the same thought factory as the creative, innovative, and artistic one. Some scientific studies have demonstrated that logical puzzle solving triggers the same pleasure centers of the brain as different creative expressions. I’ve also delved before into discussions regarding the nature of where creativity even comes from, and there can be very little room for nurturing creativity without the existence of systems to begin with. So one has to process the understanding of these systems in a logical and analytical way in order to then use them to harness the concept of creativity. I won’t rehash my statements here because I’ve already made another video discussing these ideas in the past, but I will summarize that I do believe that the nature of creativity is nestled between the traditionally understood dichotomy of the left and right brain. 

I am getting distracted.

Creativity is very often a personal journey. It can also prove incredibly fruitful in a much more collaborative environment, but its development and growth and eventual application is often the responsibility of the individual alone. A creative subjects themselves willingly to the rigorous and often unglamorous, repetitive ritual of practice and honing of their skills with close to no external motivating factors other than the simple desire to be better at it. One does not, for instance, practice painting the waves of foam on a sandy beach because it leads to better digestion, or a growth in pectoral muscles. One does not refine their ability to play Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata because it magically summons comfortable beds into existence, or McDonalds Happy Meals. One masters their craft simply to master it, for no other validation other than the validation of self. Or at least it begins that way. 

This natural introversion is often what stifles the ability of a creative to find any level of social success. We spend far too much time in our own little caves, whittling away at the spear points of our desired craft, spending lengthy periods of time away from the people that we then show up in front of with our sharpest pointy points seeking some kind of approval or recognition of just how pointy our pointy points are. The only problem here being that while we were doing this, the people who we are trying very hard to convince that this in itself is an achievement have been taking their own not so pointy points and using them to actually generate resources and wellbeing for the entire community. Sure, ours is way pointier, but has yet to find a purpose in the thick of it all. 

What often goes unmentioned is that no matter how ridiculous the endeavor is, no matter how unnecessary or impractical our chosen spear point is, no matter how much time might seem wasted whittling away at it while other clearly more productive activities could have been achieved, there lies the instinctive desire to share the products of creativity.

The saying goes, if a tree falls in the forest and none hears it, does it still make a sound? A silly philosophical pursuit, but only because the tree isn’t afforded any agency in the example. The tree does not exhibit any desire to tell anyone else of the noise it has made. 

But if a jazz musician plays the greatest solo in the world in the middle of that forest and nobody is there to hear it, is music still made? Whatever the answer is, you can be sure the musician will refuse to stop telling everyone about it. The strong and human desire to share the creative craft is embedded deep into their natural being. Even in the extreme cases where the creation process ends in the destruction of the final piece, the creative will still call witnesses to the destruction and demise of the piece because that was the whole point of the entire effort. And at the same time, a regular creative with a regular personality and a regular participant in a regular community will quickly note that they should not immediately behave as though whatever they have achieved is in fact the greatest achievement in the history of humanity. That would be bragging, and nobody likes that. The creative also can understand the sheer redundancy of the result when compared with the pragmatism of the rest of the world. So one must ingratiate their creative accomplishments to the rest of the community in order to foster a proper understanding of why the creative thinks the achievement is noteworthy to begin with. I believe the very first attempts to do this were modest. My flailing understanding of history and anthropology suggests that early endeavors such as these were often met with sticks and stones instead of praise. Or at the very least, public scorn. And at the very worst, maybe being burnt at the stake.

Present day climates will prove that the creatives did in fact, very slowly perhaps, successfully ingratiate themselves and their endeavors to the rest of the purely pragmatic crowd, which is very much a reflection of where we find ourselves today. 

At some point in history, the scales do tip in the opposite direction. I suppose it happens as society progresses to higher and higher levels of public health and safety, economic wealth and prosperity, political stability, and all other forms of human progress. Once the hunger meter is kept down, the walls put up to defend against the zombies or whatever, and the fever kept at bay by technology and nutrition, the appreciation for the pointiest of points becomes something not quite so unfathomable as it once was. I believe this is what gives rise to the growth in excellence of leisurely activities like sports, art, cuisine, music, literature, and all other mediums of creative expression. When society no longer has to worry about the things that will quite efficiently bring about its demise, then there is time and space to appreciate the finer things. I do say all of this with no real reason to have any authority on the topic whatsoever, save for the fact that it makes a whole lot of sense in my own brain. 

And so now, instead of being at the bottom end of the societal hierarchy, the creative rises to the top. It is indeed marvelous how pointy the pointy point is. The fact that the creative did in fact spend a ridiculous number of hours refining and honing that previously almost unproductive skill has now become a heralded achievement, an exemplar of hard work and dedication to be followed by all in whatever they do. Suddenly, the achievements of the creative outweigh that which was once of the utmost importance. Where once society perhaps made famous the person who brought home the largest animal of the hunt, now it makes famous the person that makes the largest and most beautiful animal out of clay.

From anonymity to notoriety. From notoriety to glory. There is still a caveat. As I mentioned, the idea of a successful or glorified creative is a statistical super minority. So while it may seem as though the world would be bursting at the seams with all varieties of pointy point whittlers, the reality is that few ever become them. 

I am, however, getting ahead of myself. I’d like to cycle back to the earlier discussion about the introversion that accompanies the creative activity. As mentioned, much of this journey is done in silence, in private, and sometimes in secret. Before the widespread acceptance of creative undertakings, one would not survive the slightest bit of boasting about it. No one would dare proclaim ‘come watch me whittle the pointy point to the pointiest of points!’. Maybe some did, but I would imagine it never went well for them. 

This is where I think the concept of quiet excellence comes from. Because of how bespoke the skill is, and because of how little of its progression is ultimately on display, or because of how little people care generally, the results have to speak for themselves. I will not shout about what I am doing and why I think you should be paying attention, but I will win you over with pure competence. You may not understand why I am painting the ceiling when it is already holding itself up and stopping the weather from coming in, and I will not ask you to pay attention while I am doing it. When I am done with my chapel ceiling, however, you will come to understand the years I poured into this and it will all have made perfect sense.

Quiet excellence is perhaps the biggest weapon in the arsenal of the creative, but it is a razor sharp double edged sword. On the one hand, it effectively validates all the work the creative puts into their craft, all the hours spent doing something that at the time felt completely worthless. On the other, the level of excellence that must be achieved is completely unforgiving. If the chapel ceiling was anything less than Sistine, they would’ve hung dear Michael at the first glance upwards.

And perhaps there is one more layer to this. As a creative individual myself, I have to hold true to the idea that excellence does in fact speak for itself. It must. It does not require advocacy because it is inherently beautiful and valuable and desirable. That has to be true because that is the only thing that drives us to pursue it in the first place. It does not bring nor sustain life in any real tangible manner, but yet it does. It must. And so both components of quiet excellence complement each other because the quiet allows the excellence room to speak, and the excellence doing all the talking enables the quiet. It seems so foundational to almost any creative endeavor.

Even as we progress through the turn of the societal perception of creative undertakings towards acceptance and then marvel, the ideas of quiet excellence seem to continue to ring true. There are countless creatives in all fields pursuing and perfecting their craft, releasing their completed works into the public with little to no pomp and circumstance with the understanding that the excellence will in fact draw in the attention from those who understand it and appreciate it. Excellence will find its audience. Make it amazing, and the masses will know.

If you’re an aspiring creative, this sounds painfully familiar to you. 

With this idea firmly established, we can now return to the idea of success. One of the many trappings of fame and success, especially the kind of widespread success that often accompanies creatives in our current society, is its ability to inspire. Creatives often celebrate the fact that their excellence in any craft inspires another generation of creatives to pursue that same path, to strive for even higher levels of excellence never before seen or achieved by any person. In the present climate of creative acclaim that can potentially be achieved, more and more harbor the aspirations to reach that same acclaim. 

And creatives, at least those that have a belief and understanding in the value of the created work itself instead of value solely in the creator, are more than happy to share their philosophy of how to achieve that success and acclaim. And most of them, based on their own personal experience with the journey towards creative success, share the same story - quiet excellence. There are many reasons to want to preach this philosophy, not just the simple fact that it is true. One of them is the fact that loudness doesn’t play very well with projected excellence. Most of the time, loudness is the compensation for the lack of excellence, much like loud cars and small dicks. Another is simply because of the amount of time spent in the honing and refining period, the ecosystem of the creative universe greatly benefits from the relative quiet. While I would dare say that most activities in life would certainly benefit from an overall atmosphere of quiet no matter what, the need to be unbothered by circumstances and surroundings in order to focus on the creative task at hand is particularly intertwined with this quiet nature. To foster this quiet atmosphere is not only in the interest of the end results of that quiet, but it is also for the sake of the other creatives in the ecosystem. Yet another reason to perpetuate this mantra of quiet excellence would be the fact that the perception of a particular creative endeavor is often formed around the perception of the people involved in that endeavor. And loudness tends to also be associated with a lack of seriousness, or a lack of respect. No creative would wish for the presence of loud individuals in their creative community after having spent a significant amount of time trying to legitimize the quality of the creative work through quiet excellence. We must pause here and ask a very obvious question - is there not such a thing as loud excellence? 

Yes, there is, but think of how exactly you perceive an individual who is both loud and excellent. You almost begrudgingly accept whatever accomplishments come from that individual. You might even brush them off as lady luck’s inebriated patronage due to the sheer size of the ego in question. You’d be looking for every fault in their work to be able to call the achievements into question. You’d be waiting and watching to see the moment of their supposedly inevitable collapse. And even if they continue to prove you wrong with their success, you don’t accept it. Not willingly anyway, and certainly not with the same level of respect. This is why it is so important to preserve this notion of quiet excellence.

And of course the other end of the spectrum would be quiet mediocrity, which is more commonly known as just being ordinary. And the last of the four quadrants would be loud mediocrity, which is associated with buffoonery. Or politicians.

To take this concept and apply it to the most current arena of creatives and aspiring creatives, we can look to the world of social platforms and content creators. We will have to gloss over many of the talking points with regards to older distribution media and gatekeeping and the debate surrounding the democratisation of internet media and whether or not it is a net positive or negative for the world. We will instead accept our reality and focus instead on the pathway to this new level of creative success as demonstrated by its largest contributors. This will, however, not be our single example in part two of where I’m taking this train of thought because the exploration of how the philosophy of quiet excellence has seemingly been abandoned by the population at large does not only demonstrate itself within the arena of internet media but in all creative fields. 

Before we get there, I will conclude this first section with the note that most creators with any level of recognition on the newest of these platforms, especially those who were early into the space and brought with them traditional practices and values associated with their creative fields, when asked about the path to their success often cited the philosophy of quiet excellence, or at the very least some variation of it. Make something good and it will find its audience. Like a Monty Oum that released a Dead Fantasy into the world without also skywriting the URL across the Rhode Island sky, or a Roosterteeth for that matter that released a RvB without any real means of making sure people watched it other than by the reputation of its quality alone. But even beyond the confines of the internet, you will hear this story repeated again and again as aspiring creatives seek out the advice of their heroes who have achieved a level of success they’d like to replicate. That one burger stall that just made the best burgers they ever could instead of splashing their advertisements across every possible square inch of New York subway hallways. The musician that spent their years quietly honing their skills in front of smaller audiences right before getting their big break in the industry. The comedian that slogged away night after night refining and honing that simple ten minute set till it was absolute perfection finally receiving critical acclaim for their Netflix special. It’s the same story over and over. Head down, nose to the grindstone, get good at what you do, and the success will follow. 

But how true is this really? 

My position is biased. I must admit to this fact and the context I provided for my own creative endeavors is to confirm this in your opinion of me, not to hide it. But I am also abjectly aware of the existence of confirmation bias and echo chambers which allows me to openly observe and welcome the opposing opinion. I invite it into my cage of belief and I wrestle with it to see if my opinions are as robust as I claim them to be. This is no different.

Where do we even begin to chart the steady decline of the foundational principle of quiet excellence? I might be tempted to throw the blame at the rise of the advertising industry. And yes it is very much an industry in every sense of the word. I view it as a great machine of a thousand moving parts with terrifyingly dangerous appendages, clothed in billows of nefarious poison smoke with a heart of glowing uranium at its center sending shades of comically green radiation through its evil eyes or whatever a machine’s interpretation of a face would be. A machine that has dug its tendrils into so many facets of our lives and integrated itself into the very living structure of the world that it is nigh impossible to be rid of it no matter how much we may despise it. My language might suggest that I do indeed blame this machine. Fine, I’ll admit it. I do blame it. It is somewhat hilarious to me that some of the earliest discovered examples of any kind of advertising were tied to political undertakings. Advertisements for political campaigns were found in the ruins of Pompeii and Arabia. As already sardonically alluded to, politics is perhaps in the exact opposite quadrant of the quiet excellence of the creatives. And so it would be in fact the poison of the industry associated with politics that subverted that once highly regarded philosophy. Even if we will not blame politics for once, the great machine of advertising served only one master - capitalism. The growth of wealth quickly became the pursuit to end all pursuits. You can rationalise the necessity of this great evil by demonstrating how population growth and increase in demand needed a facilitator to connect them to the supply. The one thing about quiet excellence is that it requires patience because while the excellence does speak for itself, the quietness makes the process a lot slower. And a slow pace is not exactly the recipe for the expedited growth of wealth. So what was recommended instead was a high pitched shriek that would spread far and wide, piercing through the opacity of the masses and signalling to all to ‘buy this shit right here because the money you give me will undoubtedly make your life that much better’. 

As you can tell, this runs counter to the idea of quiet excellence just as much as our political advertising example. The concept of making something so good that it warranted someone else’s attention was quickly replaced by the idea that you could grab their attention first, then use whatever means you could to convince them that what you had was good, whether it was or not. The rise of the industrial machine of advertising was further fueled by the rise of industry itself. The printing press turbocharged the ability for advertising to shriek louder than it had ever done before. And radio and television transmission gave the shrieking beast a microphone hooked up to that comically large speaker in Back to the Future. Then good old Ronald Reagan shoved it speedingly down a hill before it soared off the ramp that is the internet. 

What makes the story ever more tragic is the fact that this worked. The advertising industry won. They successfully convinced not just the general public, but every single industry out there including the creative ones, that they held the keys to success and they could bring upon all of us the wealth of kings. They turned the creators into vendors and hawkers, the creations into products, and the public into consumers, all beholden to the singular power of money. 

Businesses became popular not on the strength of their excellent products, but by the loudness of their advertising campaigns. Food chains drummed up success by engaging the efforts of the parasitical influencers that plague our society instead of simply making the best cuisine they could. Film production companies spent equal amounts of resources on making the actual artistic work as they did marketing said artistic work, shouting it to the entire world and plastering their teal and orange posters on every available inch of public real estate. Offer your sacrifices to the great mechanical beast called advertising and it will reward you with riches beyond your wildest imagination. Such was the new message preached.

This toxicity might have found its place among the fight for the consumers’ attention, but its perforation into the world of creativity is where it manifests its ugliest head. Where sales of food and clothing and other more regular products might not have necessarily needed to embrace the philosophy of quiet excellence due to their nature of being fundamental necessities, the non-essential creative endeavor almost certainly did. Quiet excellence was the creative’s way to win over those unfamiliar with the practice in question. It was exactly because it was not shrieked that it was accepted and eventually revered. The beast of advertising would disagree. The all consuming machine added creative work to its menu and reduced it to a mere product, another thing that can simply be sold. 

The larger problem with this is that it is a tantalising proposition. Creative endeavors require resources, not just in the form of personal sacrifices by the creative individual. While the pursuit of the creative endeavor is rewarding in of itself and is often the main motivating factor to the creative, the reality is that sustenance still comes in the material form and the creative is still housed in a squishy human body which rather unfortunately does not run on grass. The more money made, the more creative endeavors can be undertaken. Unfortunately this isn’t even the end of it. It is already beguiling enough given the fact that most creatives are often so deeply engrossed in the process of being creative that they often forget or forsake their own personal requirements, sometimes as plain as forgetting to shove calories into their bodies. No, the poisonous words of the advertising machine go far deeper than that. They whisper into the ear of the creative much like Wormtongue does into the ear of Theoden, telling them that if they’ve worked so hard on something and spent all that time and energy and money taking it to the highest levels of excellence that they can achieve, then people ought to know. It would be a shame if nobody knew of this delicious bowl of ramen that you’ve perfected over the last 10 years. It would be a waste if your months of work on that chainsaw carving went unseen by the public. Your creative accomplishments deserve to be noticed by as many people as possible. We can help you with that. 

So the contract is completed, the unholy marriage of creativity and business conducted and consummated. Sell your upheld values of quiet excellence and in return receive all the validation and praise and glory and wealth that you truly deserve. And more, perhaps.

The ecosystem of creativity has been invaded by successful harbingers of loud mediocrity. Maybe that’s a little harsh, but there is definitely now a departure from the corner of quiet excellence and a significant representation of the entire spectrum from quiet to loud. The noise level increases exponentially, and the only way to fight it is with equivalent noise. Where once the preachers of quiet excellence cultivated a community of modesty and quality, the esteemed halls of creativity have now been turned into shouting matches, all vying for attention whether deserved or not. Consumerism falls victim to these shouting matches, believing that the loudest voices are the ones to be paid the most attention. The discerning individual is still able to appreciate the practitioners of quiet excellence but it requires a dedicated level of seeking in order to find them buried under the sea of noise. 

The creatives are told to maintain a social media profile, to post regularly and capitalise on the most recent of trends. They are told to learn how to market themselves because it is the only way to gain any level of success in the modern world. They are told that it is now of equal importance to both learn the art of the craft and learn the art of selling the craft. The creatives are told to document the process as the consumer seeks for some notion of authenticity in the sea of noise, not realising that the notion of authenticity has already become part of noise. The creatives are shown metrics to convince them to participate in the many algorithmically driven advertisement campaigns on multiple platforms. The creatives are told that if you do not do these things, it does not matter how excellent you are.

The ironic thing is that the more the creatives embrace this loudness, the more the excellent part of it also goes away. What we find is that not only are the practitioners of quiet excellence consistently being outnumbered, but those that abandon their notion of quiet also forgo their excellence and become one of the enemies. Just like zombies. Every death is not just a reduction in our numbers, but an increase in theirs. 

And this is where we find ourselves today. In a world of celebrated mediocrity. The Noodle House that is perfectly average generating queues of hundreds of people each day because some self declared Key Opinion Leader said that it was the best that they ever had. The musician who plays covers of songs that anyone could with a moderate amount of practice getting millions more views than some of the most established artists in the world simply by throwing on a metric ton of makeup and showing a little bit more skin in their constant Instagram flooding. The 5 minute craft ideas that objectively contain more lies than truth outshining genuine craftspeople because they have an army of robots promoting their garbage across hundreds of channels. The plastering of celebrity over every conceivable consumer product just so it can outsell everything around it regardless of quality.

If ever there was a nightmare universe for creatives, this would be it.

The temptation to succumb to the noise and participate in it is all too palpable. There is no other way. Fuck it, I’ll make an Instagram page. 

I am tempted to end this here because my love of bleak narratives and my genuine enjoyment of any kind of subversion of a happy ending makes this the perfect point to end this already unnecessarily long and nearly incoherent ramble. But I cannot. Because there is another way. It has been staring at us the entire time. Quiet excellence. 

It has to still be true. It must. I have to believe it. I must believe it. I do believe it. The world is wrong. Despite how often it seems to be right.

If you’re a struggling creative, then I shall attempt to be your balm in this nonsensical world you find yourself in. I shall be a guardian of the beacon of hope for those of you who despise how necessary it seems to immerse yourself in the commerce of your creativity. I shall be your refuge from the endless social media platforms accosting you and demanding your presence there. Together we shall hold our middle fingers high and wave them at fucking Tik Tok. 

I choose to believe that excellence still does speak for itself and those that will listen to it are the only people that I really should care about. Even if those people are solely my wife and my mom, then so be it. The great Bill Waterson wrote that his endeavors were always for the amusement of his wife, Melissa, and himself. I choose not to prostitute myself on the streets of consumerism. I will hide within the walls that keep me safe while I whittle away at my pointy point. Those that hear the sound of my tinkering, smell the dust from my tools, and see the sparks of joy firing out from the space under my door, they shall be my audience and them alone. Our pledge to quiet excellence is ultimately an exploration of how we determine our own success, and whether we finally choose to conform to how the world defines it. As long as the success of creativity and the arts is in how pointy the pointiest of points is, then quiet excellence will forever be your sacred home. The success of a creative endeavor should never be defined by how many people perceive it to be so. Many will say that the excellence of something as ephemeral as creativity and art is far too subjective to have any kind of quantifiable metric. These are the same people trying to uphold the unholy marriage of business and creativity, of commerce and art. 

But that is not my only retort. I believe that creative excellence can be quantified. And it can be quantified in very similar metrics. The only danger is that they may sometimes seem so similar to those opposed to quiet excellence that one is tempted to argue that they might as well be the same thing. But it is not. Where one uses the simple metric of eyeballs and popularity and clothe it in the veneer of something seemingly more meaningful like ‘engagement’, there is in fact a metric of true engagement. The engagement metric that ought to matter must also be accompanied by the scale of difficulty through which that engagement manifests. 

Engagement in the form of a ‘like’ on Facebook or a comment on Youtube, or an upvote on Reddit, is far too cheap for it to count for anything. It is perhaps why the faceless algorithm sees positive and negative feedback as the same thing for the cost to do so is near nothing that any value in the content of that engagement is rendered completely worthless. When the cost becomes realised, however, the actual content of the engagement becomes something worth taking into account. Let us, for example, put an arbitrary price on the ability to leave a comment on this very article. Ten dollars. Only then can you say whatever you want about this nonsense here. If anyone chooses to pay such a toll simply to have their opinion on a matter heard, then the opinion suddenly becomes something far more serious than one thrown around for free, whether positive or negative. 

Of course the problem with using this as an example is that the currency of, well, currency is quite a bit broken in our world today due to the imbalanced nature of global economics. There are people with certainly far too much money that would not consider this toll to be of any value at all and would gladly pay it to leave a poo emoji behind, or a real turd if they could. Then there are many who would desire to engage in a positive way that do not have the resources to do so and their opinions are certainly no less valuable than an expensive poo emoji. So while the idea of putting a price on engagement should not be taken seriously, the principle behind the idea still stands. The value of engagement must be weighed according to the cost or difficulty through which it manifests.

A loving piece of fan-art crafted by an ardent follower of a fantasy series over hours and hours of painstaking labor is by far more valuable than any number of anonymous clicks on any social media platform. An audience member that waited the extra thirty minutes into the night to make sure they could say how wonderful the show was to the performers on stage far exceeds the value of twenty thousand likes on a youtube video. The person that strikes up a conversation to know every detail about a handmade item when buying it. That one evangelist that organizes group outings to their favourite restaurant just so they can see their friends experience what they know is amazing for the first time. The host of a watch party for one of their favourite movies that did not get much attention or screenings in their area. 

The appreciation of quiet excellence is as expensive as quiet excellence itself. Or at least it should be. Only then does it carry any weight at all. 

This is the metric through which the excellence of creativity ought to be measured, to hell with what everyone else says. All other metrics serve to measure the excellence of the marketing of creativity, not the excellence of the creativity itself, and as creatives we are in service to the excellence of the creative work and it alone. Nothing else. 

The world rejects this metric. Most of what we know of how the world chooses to function these days has been corrupted by materialism and capitalism. There are no metrics for humanity, no metrics for empathy and compassion, no metrics for morality or charity, no metrics for humility or responsibility. The reductive power of wealth and money has rendered all other objectively measurable qualities inconsequential, or worse, undesirable. It is why basic human rights and living conditions are so easily sacrificed for the sake of making a green number bigger. 

We must reject this rejection. And if we search deep within the heart and soul of a creative, deep into the very essence of what birthed the creative to begin with, we find that the natural proclivity of all creatives is towards creativity for the sake of itself, nothing else. Creatives start out this way, we all know this to be true. Any diversion from this model is but a corruption of the creative entity, succumbing to the overwhelming power of undeserving external forces that demand to be exalted above the creative endeavor. It is a betrayal to turn away from the desire to excel in our creative field for the sake of fucking TikTok views. 

So this is where I choose to make my stand. While many aspects of the global ecosystem have no appreciation whatsoever for any kind of quiet excellence in any field, while it continually rewards the marketing of creativity as much as or sometimes more than the creativity itself, while every example of definable success around us is a ratification of the unholy marriage of commerce and art, I choose not to participate in it. I am a servant of my own creativity. I will abandon all else for the sake of its excellence. No ounce of energy will be spent on any amount of noise, any amount of boasting, any amount of sales and marketing. I will believe the creative work speaks for itself. I must. 

This is perhaps where the stones will come. This is perhaps where I will be labeled as a sanctimonious prick, perhaps deservedly so. Many would call this bitterness, jealousy and envy towards the rewarding harvest of loud mediocrity. The fear of such labels is real. It reminds us of the time long ago when the whittling of the pointiest points would have drawn scorn from the ones actually keeping society alive. And this is where quiet excellence once again is the answer. For as long as I remain quiet and hidden away, the stones will never land. The labels will be on my closed door, not on me. It is quiet excellence that becomes the shield against persecution for appearing to be such self aggrandizing creatives. 

Perhaps the writing of this rant is in itself dissonant from the principle of quiet excellence that I profess to uphold. But it is also the fact that few will ever read this and I have no real desire to shout this in any public square that demonstrates my willingness to embrace the quiet. And I will take the opportunity to ask that you embrace the quiet yourselves. The idea that creative work is its own reward is the guiding light that allows for its continuous growth and survival, and its biggest detractor is the idea that the creative work inherently deserves to be seen and it is by this singular metric of visual appreciation that success be defined. This is a lie, despite how practically true it may seem right now. 

The desire for recognition and validation is impossible to separate from creativity, but it must not supercede the desire to undertake the endeavor for the sake of the undertaking. This will be what defines a true creative from those who start their creative journey with a pre-existing determination of success already written on the white board of achievables and goals. This isn't a gesture of gatekeeping, nor a cynical and judgemental discrimination against the many other creatives in the space today, nor is it even a coping mechanism for my comparative lack of success by the metrics of the world, but it is a plea for the sake of creative endeavors across all mediums. It is time to end the slop. 

This idea will flow into many other conversations, like the one surrounding the proliferation of artificial intelligence in the mediums of creativity, or the destruction of creative livelihoods by vast corporations and streaming platforms. As the monetization of art continues to be at odds with the art in question, the artist’s only remaining course of action is not to combat it, but to dissociate. The war cannot be won, it must be abandoned. Some would consider that defeat, succumbing to the continued rise of democratized platforms that reduce all artforms and creative endeavors into pleas for popularity and turn creatives into slaves of sales and marketing. The admission that it is but a necessary evil is perhaps a concession that is already far too compromising. Perhaps that is the line that must be drawn, no matter how many have already gone past it. Much like how the poison of ubiquitous media in the world of political truths and propaganda has slowly awakened us to the reality that one cannot win the fight against untruth with truth alone, the poison of the overwhelming success of the loud mediocrity in the world of creativity has shown us that you cannot fight the flood of this mediocrity by producing excellence in its territory. You can't flood the platforms with the highest quality of creativity, hoping that it would eventually tip the scales of the algorithm and prevent it from promoting the slop. That too is part of the lie, that we can make the platforms better overall by simply making better art on it. 

This has to end somewhere. 

A successful creative is almost an oxymoron. But perhaps we ought not to even care about what defines the success of a creative and indulge in the creativity alone. Perhaps there doesn't need to be such a thing as success when we consider creative fields. Perhaps it is time to try and divorce the union of art and commerce. We may be shackled to the monster of capitalism but to hell with trying to be its roommate. Like a monk retreating to the mountains in search of tranquility and enlightenment, I shall retreat to my hallowed halls of quiet excellence. And if I should die without the recognition I am told to hunger for, then I shall die without it. But I will have submitted into the world a pointy point which has never been seen or conceived of before, and that will be enough. 

[anhed-nia]

I have been trying to figure out what to say about this movie since I saw it on the Brooklyn Horror Film Festival jury, and I keep running up against the embarrassing conclusion that it has been impossible for me not to take it personally. This happens occasionally, where something hits you so strongly right in your DNA that you can't even tell whether it's as good as you think it is; mercifully the quality of RED ROOMS is not in doubt, but it reminded me of my delusionally personal associations with the original SNOW WHITE. The Disney feature was one of the first movies I ever saw, and it seemed to communicate to me very directly about my options for living as a human female of the brunette variety: On one end of the spectrum there is the sickly virgin with her morbid beauty and her kinship with nature, and on the other end, the cannibalizing bitch goddess with her devious mind full of arcane knowledge (ok so the Wicked Queen is not actually dark-haired, but I assert that that cowl counts (and I want one)). As a little girl I thought, yes, this is a pretty good deal for me, either one of these assignments will do.

Pascal Plante's RED ROOMS offers a similar dichotomy, and it has proven very hard for me to avoid seeing its main characters as an Aspirational Self, and a disappointing Actual Self. Maybe RED ROOMS has a Magic Mirror quality, in fact maybe all films do, though they don't all speak so clearly and bluntly to every viewer.

Juliette Gariépy plays Kelly-Anne, a fashion model who is fixated on the high profile trial of Ludovic Chevalier (Maxwell McCabe-Lokos) who is accused of serial murder and traffic in the snuff films of his young female victims. Seated in a row of goth groupies, the expressionless Kelly-Anne is identified with their fascination with the case, and yet we have no idea what really motivates her. Implicitly, few people would have any idea what it is like to be Kelly-Anne; as her internet handle LadyOfShalott suggests, she lives alone in a luxury highrise with the computer as her only connection to the outside world. She emerges for fashion shoots marked by her dark, edgy brand, and to attend the Chevalier trial. Otherwise, her only regular human contact is with online poker competitors who are no match for her savant-like math expertise and apparent lack of feeling. She presents as a bit of a sociopath, which becomes worrisome as she uses her technological skills to stalk the bereaved mother of the only victim whose recorded murder has not yet surface. However, Kelly-Anne is ultimately unknowable, and not much like the other fangirls and -boys who appear day after day at the hearings. We find evidence of this in the arrival of Clementine (Laurie Babin).

In opposition to Kelly-Anne, Clementine is needy, ingratiating, and naively intrusive. The tiny girl is fueled by her fanatical belief that Chevalier is innocent, a conviction she assumes Kelly-Anne must share. In a moment of rare empathy, the model invites the urchin into her sanctuary and, after flirting with the notion of human friendship, she eventually reveals enough to totally shatter the young woman's illusions. Clementine is the perfect foil, providing us with a tool for interrogating Kelly-Anne's identity and motivation--and for me, she also provided a painful reminder of the difference between myself and what I claim to value. Kelly-Anne is like every William Gibson heroine I have ever attached myself to: beautiful and alien, yet more intelligent than beautiful, dangerously brilliant and purpose-driven, emotionally incompatible with normal people, voluntarily exiled to the fringes of society despite her social currency and financial power. It's hard to imagine what she does and does not feel, but perhaps her life is not so easy. Clementine doesn't see it, of course, finding Kelly-Anne's robotic perfection very amusing. Clementine is her opposite: pretty only in a childlike way, hopelessly unself-conscious, counterbalancing her ignorance with self-righteous fanaticism. I saw myself there, and while Clementine is appealing and sympathetic despite (or even because of) her foibles, it wasn't a great feeling. She is obsessed rather than focused, embroiled in adult matters she can't quite grasp, and incapable of understanding or engineering other people's perceptions of her. She and Kelly-Anne make a lovely odd couple, but true connection is not quite possible, and Clementine only ends up feeling embarrassed, and like she has something to apologize for.

Whatever filmmaker Pascal Plante's grander statements might be, about the cybernetic nature of modern life and the merchandising of other people's lives and deaths, laced through as they are with a peculiar Arthurian motif, I've had a hard time fully engaging with them only because of my own passionate investment in his characters and their perverse interpersonal dynamics. Maybe by October I will have matured enough to articulate a more robust argument about this in-any-case extremely great movie. In the meantime, I am haunted by the enviable unknowability of Kelly-Anne, and the tragic transparency of Clementine. For now I will just say that I love it when a male filmmaker seems to live out a fantasy through a female character. One of the reasons that I don't totally dis Rob Zombie is that I enjoy the way that he encourages personal identification with tough female protagonists represented by his wife Sheri Moon, genre heroines like Meg Foster and Karen Black, and in my personal favorite instance, young Taylor Scout Compton:

When I saw this grim, black-eyed portrait of Pascal Plante, with its stark resemblance to Kelly-Anne, I thought yes, this guy gets it, he wants to live through her just like the rest of us, even if her version of humanity is not ours.

PS Please enjoy Lord Alfred Tennyson's description of average Tumblr user the Lady of Shalott, depicted visually by John William Waterhouse:

[ribscarvedlikebutterflies]

jupiter in gemini reflections

on this final, windy, warm, cloudy day, Jupiter (wants to be capitalized) is ready to ingress into his sign of exaltation, cancer. june 2024 - june 2025 saw my jupiter return, a 12 year cycle that coincides with pivotal ages in everyone’s lives. my first jupiter return happened between the ages 11 & 12. it was the first time i began to form and embrace my identity, especially through music & fashion (5th house).

the same themes were present — except heavier, deeper, to the point i was swimming in a pool of a thousand topics i couldn’t get enough of. i could not stop wanting to learn. i could not stop wanting to embrace newness.

i have a natal 4 degree rx jupiter in the 5th house, directly opposing and in mutual reception with my mercury in sagittarius, which is conjunct my sun, pluto, and MC (29 degrees scorpio). i’ve been gradually studying astrology since my elementary school gym teacher told me i was a Sagittarius like him in 4th grade. it hasnt been until the last couple years that i started to take my study much more seriously, and with this jupiter transit, i have been actively & consciously applying techniques i didnt realize i actually knew until i just started doing it. i read my own transits, my friends, my family, public figures, anyone that catches my interest or i feel could benefit from it. i have a small handful of astrologers i watch on youtube that is part of my daily routine. i also have a great interest in mundane astrology and have been making general predictions both for individuals and the world.

i didnt understand what it meant to have a mercury-jupiter opposition & mutual reception. my jupiter in gemini always confused me — having a sag stellium and a daytime chart w a sag sun makes me heavily identify with that energy. in true sag nature, i learn best through experience. im able & aware of logical thinking, but i naturally am an abstract thinker and basically. i try to see god in everything. i am always thinking big picture. what is the purpose behind everything, why am i even alive? why do human beings exist at all? why did i choose this life? why did i choose to be on earth?

jupiters masculine expression in sagittarius takes place in the transition between fall and winter. it is both the fall into the deepest darkness and the promise of the light. it is the fire that burns even as the sun diminishes and the night takes its place. it is the nihilism that comes with faith. i knew i truly believed in a higher power when i started to doubt it. that is what my soul radiates strongly, and what dominates the way i express myself & my belief system. so my jupiter in gemini mystified me. but now i see it for what it is, and how complimentary it is to my sagittarian energy: it is the multiplicity of thought. my ability to see through different perspectives effortlessly. my endless curiosity & thirst for knowledge. my interest in religion, spirituality, and different cultures (BA in religion lol). my interest in different forms of art.

i spent this last year deepening my astrological understanding & practice. i also began (or restarted) something i’ve been wanting to do for years: belly dance! 5th house of fun & hobbies, though it is directly connected to my 2nd house (ruled by pisces/jupiter) and my 11th (sag stellium) and once i understood this i knew that with my commitment and faith, eventually, my creativity is going to be what brings me income. ive always been a writer, ever since i could write. i am not fluent in my native tongue, but i have always excelled in reading/writing (cant do math for shit though). ive been writing stories & poems since i was a kid. i love to talk in riddles & poetry, and i have been noticing it come through when im communicating with others much more this past year.

jupiter in gemini is also what brought me to the performing arts, something ive done sporadically in the past but what ive truly been dreaming of my entire life. i had my first belly dance performance just last month and have three more performances coming up later this year. one of them will be burlesque, another form of dance ive been wanting to do for years and began to take classes for.

ive also been catching up on so much music i never got to listen to, partially because i used to get so overwhelmed and paralyzed by the amount of music that exists at all. im hyperaware of how music is perceived and the subcultures that go along with it. ive finally allowed myself to open up and let music, as well as other forms of media come to me — ive always been selective about what media i consume, especially with movies/shows, so whenever i feel drawn to something, i know it’s for me.

this transit, as expected, was also an information overload. i had a phase for a couple months where i was curious about too many things — politics, history, spirituality, religion, current events, pop culture, etc. — to the point where i was watching youtube vids back to back daily on 2x speed trying to waste as little time as possible. i usually did it before bed, too. ive taken in so much information my brain literally works differently. my memory has changed — not necessarily in a bad way, just different, where im not thinking about certain things unless im reminded. my brain has been active in ways it hasnt ever been, and i have to constantly remind myself that i (hopefully) have a lifetime to learn everything. or as much as i can.

i’ve also never been more assured in my faith, spiritual practice, and morals. the end of this transit is also opening me up to having more fun in general… and potential romance. pure 5th house topics. ive been waiting to enjoy life like this. even though the world is burning behind me and i am keeping all those suffering in mind and heart, i also know my ultimate purpose requires me to experience joy so that i can fully embody my most authentic self. i have never had a problem knowing who i am — i only uncover more goodness as i age. i’ve been protecting myself from my family, culture, & community my entire life. and now, for the first time, armed with wisdom that has been gifted to me through unique life experience that i barely even touched upon here, i am finally consciously & actively choosing myself above the fear of being stopped by a culture i have never wanted to participate in.

there’s a million other things i could say… i fight with myself over engaging with detail or keeping everything wide open. that is my dichotomy— do i read up on what my soul burns for or do i just let it come and happen to me? i usually pick the latter anyway, lol…

my mercury-jupiter mutual reception is one of the most significant points in my chart. it quite literally defines my communication style, how i engage with others, and eventually, my career.

i wrote this out a bit more formally than i meant to, but however it came out is what it will be. i will think of more things i could say later. i got emotional thinking about writing this and then actually writing this. i am so grateful that i am who i am, that i am blessed with intelligence and wisdom that i only hope to grow. there have been many times, especially in these last 2 years that i would get so upset that i am not doing more in terms of advocacy & community. so i asked to be led, and this is where i was led. it starts with the things you never had the chance to fulfill. creativity is my channel. finally, after years of rising from ash, i’ve hit a sweet spot. even though jupiter has been in detriment, it has been one of the most significant transits i’ve consciously experienced in my life. and now, we enter the new summer of love with jupiter in cancer. if anyone’s actually reading this, i hope this was interesting for you lol.

[austenhowe]

I'll ask for nothing else if I get this in show canon

alright, walk with me. if they're bringing cressida back in s4 for sophie's intro and with francesca still married to john and with eloise trying to figure herself out, I want a drawing room scene where cressida and michaela interact (read: lowkey flirt).

crackship, I know, but the potential for jealous!francesca (aware of her feelings) and jealous!eloise (confused and unaware of her feelings) with sophie and benedict falling in love and side-eyeing the gay drama subtly unfolding is just too delicious and can deliver a "kill three birds with one stone" scenario (the first of its kind but gay math so it checks out).

assuming that cressida's role will that be of a close friend accompanying sophie in navigating the london season after having been essentially exiled to wales, I imagine she'll only be comfortable interacting with sophie and that she'll be reluctant to engage in small talk with any of the bridgertons present.

now, I don't recall if they ever showed intimate dinner parties in the bridgerton universe (that wasn't for the sake of a betrothal) since they only show balls, but for the sake of this scene a small dinner party is held by a mutual acquaintance after the masquerade ball.

so, in this setup, we'll have benedict, sophie, francesca, john, michaela, eloise, and cressida along with about 5 other dinner party guests (not important for the bit but you can round it out with whoever else you want to bear witness to this scene) in the drawing room before dinner.

my headcanon is that cressida is not too fond of reading because she's dyslexic (undiagnosed due to the time period; can explain away the whole "she can't write whistledown 'cause she's stupid and doesn't read books" thing they tried to set up as hilarious in the show; she's smart, cunning, and observant ffs!) but that she enjoys listening to people read to her.

I imagine michaela stirling is the smoothest and most considerate angel in england and with everyone else paired off in conversation she approaches cressida. she's impartial and only knows about the whistledown drama from what eloise shared with her while they were in scotland, that is to say that she has no qualms conversing with this reserved and softened version of cressida cowper.

she strikes up a conversation with cressida, inquires about her time in wales, her hobbies, her opinions about society, etc. and she's kind to her. cressida, greatly moved and appreciative of this kindness, engages michaela as well, asking about her and scotland and her opinions on various other subjects.

they eventually get to the topic of books and cressida tells her that she's not much of a reader. she adds that she reads uncommonly slow and she loses her train of thought too fast since she has difficulty focusing on the words on the page but that she enjoyed hearing stories. so michaela offers to read to her.

this interaction doesn't go unnoticed by the other occupants of the drawing room. in fact, it's an intriguing sight.

they break for dinner and are separated by the seating arrangements but they pay attention to each other's polite conversations with their respective seat mates.

francesca and eloise are keenly aware of the two unexpected but loyal conversationalists and in turn make for inattentive conversation partners all throughout the meal. sophie and benedict are engaged in their own conversation but they are not insensible of michaela and cressida's budding friendship.

after dinner, they return to the drawing room. francesca is enjoined to perform on the pianoforte, with john dutifully turning her pages. sophie is invited to dance with their host. eloise is cajoled into dancing by benedict to distract her from her concentrated staring at cressida who takes a seat in the opposite corner of the room.

michaela having returned from stopping by the library to fetch a book of poetry sits beside cressida and offers to read to her. cressida is struck by her thoughtfulness and accepts, a curiously soft look upon her face. they pass the time reading and listening to poetry and discussing the verses.

to sum up: michaela is glad to have made a friend, cressida is equally as glad to have made a friend and also develop a crush (she already knows she's into women), francesca further confirms her suspicions about her own feelings, eloise still doesn't know she's into women but clocks the vibes of michaela and cressida (leading to her own questioning and subsequent realization) and sophie and benedict are having the time of their lives falling in love.

like give me a full-on ensemble season of the fruity bridgertons while further setting up the romantic threads for the next ones. the comedic (possibly angsty) potential of simultaneous gay awakenings stemming just from michaela's presence and influence is too good lol.

I need michaela stirling to be fully involved front and center in the next season just to spite the haters. just give me all the gays please and thanks!

[sun-marie]

2, 4, 21, 31, 43 for the oc asks! c:

thank you for the ask!!

2. Do you have a personal favorite among your OCs?

I think they're all kind of on rotation for my #1 favorite at any given time! I definitely have some that are more developed than others, but most of that comes down to the amount of time I've had them. I'd say currently, my favorites would be Lydia Laidir and James Trevelyan (since i'm still in DA Hell), and Zephyr Skybreeze (one of my BG3 Tav's, I have a soft spot for her since she's the first OC I had to build her background out from the ground up)

4. A character you rarely talk about?

I had to think about this one for a bit, but I'm gonna go with Maya, my Pokemon Violet kiddo! No real reason for that, beyond that my love for Pokemon Violet comes in waves and is more often dormant. That, and most of what I talk about w/ my OCs is shipping related, and she's literally a child so. Not a lot to say there lol.

BUT I love her quite a lot! Violet is the first Pokemon game I ever felt like I was actually creating a character who had traits and personality (rather then gens 1-5 being pre-built and gens 6-8 feeling kinda blank). The classes helped a lot with that, I think! Her favorite teacher is Jacq, she's really good at math/science and anything related to Pokemon Battling, is kinda bored in Art Class and struggles with History and Languages (which is like the polar opposite of my academic experience lol). She shares Nemona's passion for battling but takes an analytical approach to it, and I think in the post-game I could envision her as a Pokemon Battle Professor when she's an adult <3 (though I haven't played the DLC yet so idk if that's in my canon 👀)

Also honorable mention to Marco, my ME Andromeda boy. I have so much love in my heart for this guy and literally no idea what to do with him ✌🏻

21. Your most artistic OC

Viola, my Dark Urge! I've mentioned it before but I like the idea of her sick and twisted urge fantasies lending themselves to an innate understanding of human anatomy, and sometimes when she wants to kill kill kill kill, she draws....killing, instead lol. It's therapeutic for her, I think in a similar way her faith is, and I like the idea of art being such a strong positive outlet that it's able to ground someone in reality.

31. Pick one OC of yours and explain what their tumblr blog would be like (what they reblog, layout, anything really)

Hm! Well seeing as how I barely maintain my own blog I'm not super sure how to answer this 😅 but I'll do my best!

I'll go with Zephyr, I think. I think she'd have one of those really fancy layouts with the small buttons and the small text and a cherry blossom overlay with constantly falling petals. She'd reblog a lot of academic literature, poetry, positive affirmations, and moodboards! She'd be intensely active for like two weeks and then ghost for three months, and rinse & repeat

43. Do you have any certain type when you create your OCs? Do you tend to favor some certain traits or looks? It’s time to confess

Physically: Ponytails for days, followed by long braids. Idk what it is, but multiple of my OCs (Sabina, Zephyr, James, Ruathym, Maya, Anwen, Vanessa, AELON even in Inquisition literally remembering some of these ocs have ponytails as I type this sentence lmao) pull their hair back into either a midlength ponytail, a braid, or transition between the two. It's a good look, what can I say~

Character-wise: I have noticed a theme starting to pop up my last couple OCs, of having wild periods of Young Adulthood before mellowing out by the events of the story (James, Lydia, Sabina). Other than that, I have a few characters who are begrudgingly bound to Not Be an Asshole by their moral compass, i.e. they're rude in almost every conversation but they make good Big Choices (Ruathym, Aelon, Vanessa, Act 3 Anwen)

some OC questions <3