#and wanting to come to europe...

[phoenix-is-still-here]

For everyone boycotting esc this year and being upset that Israel made it to the final: let this be a lesson for any upcomming elections. Boycotting is a great medium of public protest. But if you boycott an election you have to live with what other people vote for.

Well it's all half as bad in this case - you wouldn't believe how little eurovision matters to the average person on the street - but remember this.

If you want yo have a say in the results you have to participate first.

[hyunpic]

2023 year in review with hyunjin [it’s a wrap] 🎉

[jaarijani]

[notbecauseofvictories]

So I'm going to Europe for what is ostensibly a Work Trip---but I'm headed there a few days early so I can see museums and tour the historical sites before I'm forced to sit in a conference room and stare at powerpoint decks. I'm very excited! I've mapped out the places I want to go, the restaurants I want to try, I've got apps and a dumb little phrasebook to help me translate (plus google if that doesn't work).

I am just.....also very nervous. And reminding myself that I am going to a city, I will have a smartphone (and if all else fails, is there any harm in playing the jovial if ugly American and asking for directions?) is not terribly comforting.

[muirneach]

the tennis calendar is famously bad but february is the most disorganized thing i've ever seen. it's january so we're in australia on outdoor hard. march we will be in the united states on outdoor hard. so how do we get there? via western europe, the middle east, and the entirety of south america. some of these events are indoor hard. some of them are outdoor hard. some of them are clay! like what the hell

[ignatiusteto]

i think sacred music in the kryn dynasty would be very cyclical and repetitive in form to symbolize the idea that life is a continuous thing (at least those who are consecuted right right) and is a cycle across lifetimes and yeah

[aunteat]

POV you’re TdV-era Armand

[ciderjacks]

being native rn feels insane. Like at some point shit just becomes really funny. White americans are so insanely INSANELY deluded all you can do is laugh at them, because if you dont laugh your head will explode into flames and you’ll go out into the streets indiscriminately stabbing white people like your life depends on it.

[podraje]

I felt so sad, unmotivated and stuck in my life lately, I had to quickly start doing something new. So I started learning Finnish on duolingo. I am still at the very beginning but this language is so adorable ajdjwiaodkaka 🥰

Also I love my duolingo avatar. Idk how does it look more like me, than me.

[redwayfarers]

house of grief and sunlight

fandom: wayfarer ship: cassander/aisanne characters: cassander inteus, aisanne bjornsdottir rating: gen words: 1625 note: this is my entry for @idrellegames' three year anniversary event! prompt i'd chosen is paramour - expected of me, i know - but i've hardly written about cass' bisexuality and i felt like it needed to be written about! excuse the ya-sounding title lmao i could not resist also, aisanne is a gw2 oc that i've ported to wayfarer. she lives over on @i-mybrunettelady most of the time :) divider credit

I am tired of grief.  I don’t know if it ever goes away, but for fuck’s sake, I’m so tired of it. It’s summer, though, and a part of me feels like the sun will chase it away, if only for a day or two. Our house needs the sun right now. Grief hangs over it like a veil, and we don’t speak of it, but maybe the rays that come through our window each morning help. 

Or so I hope. Hope’s a stupid thing by and large, because every time I hope something happens it decidedly doesn’t, as if the gods above or whoever sits and watches this farce of an existence keeps laughing at me and says, “Add more!” But I can’t help but wish, in my heart of hearts, that sometimes, maybe one day in this lifespan that’s entirely too long for one guy, I don’t feel like a tossed out, crapped on kitten on the streets. 

It’s summer. That feels important to repeat to self. I am feeling a little less grief. The room around me is loud and messy and sounds jump from one place to another like rabbits, in a cacophony ruled over by the harmonious noise of music. Sanne’s the one behind the harp, golden under the candlelight, and if she was a different woman, she’d be singing in a Meissandic temple. 

She cares little for the traditional rites, though. She cares little for the chants I’d attended once or twice when I was a kid. She looked at me all confused when I told her how courtly, Vestran services happen, and said, in a strange tone, “I don’t understand how people like that.” I don’t understand either, and thank fuck I’m not a Vestran aristocrat anymore. 

Her place is telling stories of heroes and events long gone, to be a musical wayfarer. She’s doing that tonight. I was drunk when we first met here and she had to hold my hair while I was throwing up, apparently. Can’t say I remember that attractive trait about myself. I’m not drunk right now, however, sitting near the small wooden stage, taking small sips of my cider. The drink is irrelevant; she captures my attention more than any alcohol could. 

She’s radiant and shiny, half covered in shadows, which makes her golden crest stand out. The bright sheen of her golden hair disappears and reappears after the movements of her head. I can’t see her freckles clearly from here, but I can see the ink on her neck, the roundness of her full lips, an occasional yellow in the blues of her eyes when the candlelight reflects off them. I’m not blind to beauty, but there’s beauty in a way a finely made building is beautiful, and a way a person is beautiful. 

You don’t wanna fuck buildings, do you? And if you do, what the actual fuck is wrong with you?

Others are looking at her too. That doesn’t matter, because it’s my bed who she comes to tonight. Or is it me coming to hers? Not fucking important. 

These feelings are new. For most of my life, interest like this fell to men. Part of me wonders if I’m just that desperate for any kind of tenderness in my life that my head would start making up attraction; but the way this feels can’t be anything but a solid fucking reality. Women were always beautiful the way buildings were, but now they’re flesh and bone and soul and personality and there’s something so weirdly appealing about that that it catches me off guard. 

Not all women are your mother, you dumb fuck. 

I know, but women have never been.. This. I think about Sanne when she’s away. I watch her practice for the performances, mesmerized. There’s peace and blood rushing to my face when we’re laughing in bed, or making lunch, or eating, or just existing in the same space. My insides get all twisted up, like I’m a kid again crushing on older Wayfarers. It’s like Senna again, and I simply forgot how it feels like to be crushing on someone this bad. 

Nothing will ever happen between us, however. It would be so crappy to prey on a widow’s feelings. She rarely speaks of her dead husband, but he’s not even that cold as far as dead people go; maybe a little more than us Wayfarers, but not by much. Our living together is a result of loneliness, desperation, not a desire to find a partner again. But I was dumb enough to pretend I didn't see it. 

She’s cooking, some days after her performance. Sun is shining through the window, leaving her figure in semi-shadows and catching on the ends of her shiny, metallic hair. She’s not as glamorous as she was at the show; right here is a Sanne that’s more down to earth, more solid, dressed comfortably, not worried about how she’s perceived. I’m folding clothes nearby and doing a half-assed job of it, too. It’s hard to concentrate some days over the deafening noise of all this fucking attraction confusion business. 

Every so often she turns back to look at me with a strange smile on her face. “That’s what I wore to Kiaran’s funeral,” she says suddenly. I jerk and drop my gaze to the dress in my hands. Sunlight washes away its dark color in places. There are little holes in it that I want to sew shut, but I don’t have her consent to. She’s weirdly sentimental about it. 

My Spire didn’t have a funeral, and us survivors only have ashes as funerary garb. 

“What’s this stain again?” I ask, raising the dress and jerking my head in the direction of the big, grayish blob on the skirt. “I keep forgetting!” 

She sighs and throws a full, peeled onion at me. It hits me right in the forehead and the poor plant, already under threat, pricks my eyes. “You’re horrible,” I say in mock offense. “You don’t want your dress to stink, do you?” 

“I’m not burying anyone anytime soon,” she says lowly, in a tone that implies I’m hitting a boundary. I wince and put the dress down, careful of the location of the onion. 

“I’m sorry,” I whisper as I approach, gently placing the vegetable on the table. She gives me a hard look. “I shouldn’t have joked about the dress. It means a lot to you and I tend to joke around, right, about the things that I’m sensitive about so people don’t attack me for it first? Offense is the best defense kinda thing? And I forget that sometimes - a lot of the time - people don’t function the way my fucked up head does?”

Shut up, Cassander. You’re making it worse.

Something tightens my throat, like hands choking me from the inside out. I grip the table and swallow thickly. My stomach twists up, and the smell and feel of onion fills the kitchen and I can only focus on the dents in the dark wood beneath my fingers and the uneven pattern freckles of my hand. 

“Cassander,” Sanne says. Her tone is too much for me to analyze right now, try as I might. “Cass.” 

“What?” 

“You’re doing it again.”

“Doing what?” 

“Picking at your scar. Stop it.” 

I lower my hand from my face and grip the edges of my tunic. The edges of my braid - I need to take care of those ugly fucking ends one of these days - tickles my hand. You’re scaring people. Enjoy your lifetime of solitude, whether you’re actually into women or not. Who would want someone as shaky and deranged as you are? 

Vestra should’ve killed you, if you were so determined to go back. 

“I’m sorry,” I murmur to my feet. 

“I’m not angry. If you pushed, I would’ve been, greatly so. But you didn’t. Stop shaking like a leaf.” There’s something in her tone that feels like cold water to the face. I breathe out and blink away a small selection of tears. Saltiest one always drops first! I’m imagining a little tear race now, little tear spectators cheering the racers on, tear savants testing the levels of salt in each one. The thought makes me giggle and I bury my head in my hands as I laugh. 

“I’m not angry with you,” she repeats, gentler than before. Her voice is still as steely, though. “Go finish the laundry while I make lunch.”

Without a word, I retreat to my location at the corner of the room, where still wet clothes wait to be sorted and hung to dry. I put the dress to the side and continue sorting through the clothes; sometimes, I look at her, her back turned to me, and the shaking of my hands grows for a split second. 

I try my best not to cry. Better save that energy for the worst of the shitshow that I know is yet to come.

I’ve forgotten that this is a house of grief and no sunlight can fix it. And I’ve walked over her grief in the same way I would walk over my own, but where I’m used to it, she isn’t. And even when we go to the same bed that night, seemingly forgetting what happened, and even when the sun rises the morning after, this is still a place where two grieving people decided to seek comfort because being broken together is somehow better than being broken alone. 

No summer nor new kinds of sex can fix the holes in your heart. 

I am tired of grief.  I don’t know if it ever goes away, but for fuck’s everloving and everlasting sake, I’m so tired of it.

[i-am-a-fan]

Shocking news! guy invents new species of ocs and can’t stop drawing them.

[amandabe11man]

"I was born in the wrong time" but it's not only about aesthetics or whatever-- I was literally born in the wrong time if I wanted a chance to experience mental peace in my adult life

[schnaf]

23 days until gaon's 23nd birthday

day 4 - jungsu-hyung ♥

[magicalgirlmascot]

Bomonga is a hunter who lives in a cabin coming down to town every season like an omen of change and also unwillingly doubles as the local cryptid all the kids want to take blurry pictures of much to his fucking chagrin. can a man just enlarge himself to the size of a trex and chill with his head in the pine treetops ffs

Bomonga: it's so annoying. Every other week I get some damn teenager or another trying to track me back to my place. They've never succeeded but it's the principle of the thing.

Norik: maybe this would be less of an issue if you came out of the woods more than twice a year

Bomonga: no

[worstloki]

Loki surveilling the skyline of New York from the top of Stark Tower and clocking that his favorite paired set of buildings are gone. sad

[svtskneecaps]

yea once again i am really hoping it's not a full blown server, i sincerely do not think qstudios is ready for that kind of undertaking and ngl i'm not either. like as much as i go fucking wild for the multilingual communications, even if by some miracle they completely fixed the legal side of things there's some other stuff that's raising some red flags for me so uh.......

.......can i rant about time zones i just want to rant about time zones i've been sitting on this for like half a year and getting more and more like ??!?!?!!?!?!!!?!!?!!!?!!?!!?

like first of all there have been europeans since the fucking first day of the server and yet very rarely were events scheduled at euro-friendly times and when they WERE it felt like it was because the french fans beat the studio into doing it, which they obviously should not have to do and it would have been SO easy to just hold a couple events at euro friendly times instead yknow trade it off like shared custody because we have the update accounts and if it's on a weekend some americans can just wake up before noon and still catch it live. it would have been so easy i don't get why the euro fans had to fight so hard for this.

secondly why in the fuck would you invite people to a server that is entirely about collaboration without making sure there would be people online during their usual hours and YES this is about the koreans, why in god's name would that not be included as a consideration? the only reason yd interacted with as many people as she did was because she fucked up her sleep schedule like that shouldn't be a requirement. i can think of a couple "blue sky" (i.e. idealistic with no regard for real feasibility) solutions, like "invite a few people from an existing language that stream in that time frame" or "invite another language group in that rough time zone", but honestly i'm flabbergasted. did we not consider this or did we just decide we didn't care?? there's a fucking half day difference between the prioritized server timezone and korea. sorry, but it's a multicultural server; you can't prioritize america forever, even if the server owner is from there

third and less importantly but why in god's name was pepito going to be given a european admin. most of pepito's parents don't come online before midnight in europe. that's fucking insane. that was doomed to fail from the beginning. obviously this is small potatoes in terms of pepito but what the fuck was that. who fucking signed off on that.