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Tell me about your current favourite and least favourite assignment bc I just realised I have no idea what you're doing in school 😼
FAVORITE?? Probably my theater final. I get to do a monologue on Monday which is pretty sick. Least favorite is easy math I hate math I’d kill math if math was a person I’d befriend him and become a part of his life just to stab him in the back and make him watch his entire world burn at my hands before I destroy them so utterly that not even death would be an escape
i can't wait to be 30+ and still in fandom and i can't wait to be 40+ and still in fandom and i can't wait to be 50+ and still in fandom and i can't wait to be 60+ and still in fandom and i can't wait to be 70+ and still in fandom and i can't wait to be 80+ and still in fandom and i can't wait to be 90+ and still in fandom and i can't wait to look back on my life and know that i loved things deeply and passionately and was inspired to create and was part of communities with incredible people from all over the world brought together by the stories that touched us
he says i hate everyone except you and that is addictive and that is kind of romantic and beautiful because you're young and you're kind of a sarcastic asshole too and you don't like bad boys, per say, but you don't really like good ones either. and you like that you were the exception, it felt like winning.
except life is not a romance book, and he was kind of being honest. he doesn't learn to be nice to your friends. he only tolerates your family. you have to beg him to come with you to birthday parties, he complains the whole time. you want to go on a date but - people are often there, wherever you're going. he's just so angry. about everything, is the thing. in the romance book, doesn't he eventually soften? can't you teach him, through your own sense of whimsy and comfort?
at first - you know introverts often need smaller friend groups, and honestly, you're fine staying at home too. you like the small, tidy life you occupy. you're not going to punish him for his personality type.
except: he really does hate everyone but you. which means he doesn't get along with his therapist. which means he has no one to talk to except for you. which means you take care of him constantly, since he otherwise has no one. which means you sometimes have to apologize for him. which means he keeps you home from seeing your friends because he hates them. you're the single exception.
about a decade from this experience, you'll type into google: how to know if a relationship is codependent.
he wraps an arm around you. i hate everyone except you. these days, you're learning what he's actually confessing is i have very little practice being kind.
Kaloo, Kalay! Earl Conversational Sprites hastily put together for his Birthday Ask Session, which was on June 1st! Thank you to everyone that wished him a happy birthday and visited with him on his special day <:o)
Being in the Pennyworth fandom will have you googling shit like "How to fortify an umbrella against acid rain" to try and give a smidge of credibility to the storyline you're plotting.
Meanwhile, the official writers are just giving interviews like, "Yeah, the mad cultists who got turned into super weapons by a drug activated by a popular song sung by Alfred Pennyworth's pop star girlfriend survived the nuclear bomb that got dropped on London, so now there are these irradiated mutant cultists cannibals roaming the streets of London who go ballistic for 70s pop ballads. What do you mean, 'how did we plan to resolve that?'"
"Mams, I have some news for you." You say, hands behind your back at a weird angle, clearly hiding something.
"Not now, MC, the Great Mammon's busy." The Avatar of Greed dismisses you in an attempt to take his focus away from the way he perked up like a lovesick puppy when he heard your voice.
"But Mams, it's super important."
Mammon looks up from his DDD and stares at you expectantly, when he once more realises he's behaving like a lovesick puppy, he stares at his nails instead, scoffing. "This better be good, human. Do ya think I have all day?! Cus I don't!"
"But Mams! You're a dad now! You have to make time for your family!"
Mammon splutters, dropping his phone and falling off of his bed. "I'm a WHAT??!!! MC who's lyin' to ye! I'm not a dad!!!"
"Yes you are!" You bring your arms out from behind your back to reveal a small little black blob with small little golden horns, wearing an equally small black top hat with yellow accents.
"Papa!" Little D No.2 exclaims from your arms.
"ARRRGH!! The Great Mammon is not yer papa Little D!!!" Mammon shouts, attempting to cover the blush on his face.
You pout, Little D No.2 mirrors your expression. "But Mams! He's the spitting image of you! He's even got your horns! Are you abandoning our child?!"
"Yeah, Papa are you abandoning our chil-...wait hold on I am the child-....Yeah! Papa are you abandoning yer child?!"
"See! He even talks like you! He said yer!"
"T-t-that proves nothin'!! I-I'm not a dad!" Mammon splutters.
You look at him sulkily. "D-do you not wanna have a family with us...I mean how could you say no to this face?" You pinch Little D No.2's cheek and push him out towards the Second Born. "He's adorable! He gets it from you!"
"Fine! I'm a dad! Now please....stop poutin'?" Mammon almost pouts himself before his learned bravado makes another show. "Ahem...! What I was tryna say was....I, the Great Mammon don't care if you pout or not!"
Little D No.2 stage whispers to you. "Psst, what Mammon means to say is that he's so deeply unequivocally in love with you he hardly knows what to do with himself!"
Mammon sputters and shouts something in protest, but you just grin. "Awww! I love you too Mams!"
Mammon subconsciously preens at the praise before staring daggers at a sniggering Little D No.2 as you cradle it in your arms like a baby and coo to it things like 'You look so much like your papa! Yes you do!' and tap its little top hat before booping the small creature's nose, or where a nose should be on a Little D.
Mammon cracks a soft smile watching the scene; not that he'd ever admit it. Even though Little D No.2 was a little shit, he wouldn't mind someday having little shits of his own with you and starting an actual family, except he hoped they'd look like you.
I'm so mad that post was misinformation because there is actually an EXTREMELY important conversation to have about the production schedules artists are forced into. There's no need for exaggeration, the conditions are bad.
I work for webtoon. My publication schedule is weekly. While publishing I'm required 10-15 pages a week. Fully colored.
This means I'm finishing a 150 page fully colored graphic novel every 10-15 weeks.
When my comic is not updating, I am not getting paid. Any time writing, editing, or off is out of my own pocket. I don't get healthcare. They do not provide any assistants. They expect me to promote myself; they chose to deprioritize me before I even launched and gave me an end date half a year in. I never had a chance.
And this is the industry standard! Every company has artists forced into crunch hours, overtime, and burnout. Artists are literally dying early due to it. So many of my friends can't afford to go to the doctor.
It's unsustainable and untenable, and it's also the expectation our audiences have.
If we want to have this conversation, there's plenty of conversation to be had with the realities of the situation. It's bad as is.
I think that if we lived as we were meant to, in larger intimate ("extended family") groups and with more shared labor and time to do it (UBI NOW) people like me would not feel so useless and burdensome because there would be people around to help and to do what neurodivergent people can't while making valuable space for the neurodivergent to do what they ARE good at.
The way we live right now, all right, the way we live right now forces units of two adults to be able to do EVERYTHING or PAY to have someone come do it for them. I have to do the housework. I have to do it! But I am having to do a million different things and most of them I am not good at. I suck at them.
I wouldn't feel like shit, okay, if I had more than one other person around who was not a child and who could do the things I can't, like do the yard and cook and do repairs and basic maintenance; and someone else to split everything else that I like but is too much for me. It would free me to do what I am good at and enjoy. Cleaning, as in the sink and toilet, the windows, the blinds. Taking out trash. Folding, hanging, and sorting laundry.
But because all the shit I can do often relies on other shit being done first, and I can't do or have trouble doing those things, the shit I can do often can't be done. And even the shit I can do, I can't do ALL of it. So I can't keep up, and things get very bad.
We aren't meant to live like this. We are not meant to live like this.
That thought hurts so much because being able to flee the birth family is integral to survival for so many people. I'm so afraid that living in larger family groups would create more opportunities for, say, queer kids to be isolated, rejected, bullied, and abused. But if we gave people enough money to survive, and stopped considering children the property of their parents with no system in place to help them escape bad situations except a system that is often just as bad, just different.
I'm aware that communes and collectives aren't all that successful and are kind of a joke. I don't mean that. I mean a fundamental shift to multigenerational families where taking in "strays" (which my family did) is also normalized so people escaping abuse into existing households was accepted, with these families centered in maybe a couple of different larger residences so not everyone has to buy and maintain their own fucking washing machine and vacuum cleaner, and so people can benefit from large group meals that yield leftovers, and so child and elder care can also be centralized.
Then disabled people and the neurodivergent and sick and injured people, and pregnant people, and grieving people, would not have to either labor through all those stressors or consign themselves to living off an unlivable pittance or being put under legal guardianship.
I'm not saying anything new. People live like this in other parts of the world and maybe it sucks and I am wrong. But I'm just really mad right now because I can either do laundry or clean the sink but not both, and I really think we could improve society somewhat by making it so I did not have to choose one without sacrificing the other.
i always tell myself that i need to interact more with the people on here and that ill be happier if i do, but i also have this paralysis that keeps me from doing it. i want to create bonds and friendships!!!
I’d like to propose a performance of Hamlet in which the audience is addressed, looked at, and treated as if they were there but ONLY by characters who have gone mad.
in Act 2, when Hamlet’s pretending to go mad, while in the presence of Polonius and others, he sort of pretends to look at the audience, but always glancing over, looking sort of in the wrong direction, putting on a show for the only eyes he thinks are watching. When he’s alone and doing his soliloquies, it’s clear that he’s talking to himself, even though we’re listening in.
And it continues this way until Act 3 Scene 4, when Hamlet runs Polonius through with the sword. For a moment after the deed is done, there’s a shocked silence on the stage. As Hamlet goes to examine the body, he falters, slightly, as he becomes aware of just how many eyes are on him. And slowly; he looks at us, and through the rest of the scene his attention is torn between the audience and his mother, until the ghost appears (perhaps in the audience as well) and he’s… sort of put back on track. But from then on, all his soliloquies, asides, he begins to talk to us, in the audience.
And we notice the change, sure, but we don’t really get what it means, not until Ophelia goes mad, and while onstage she begins to give audience members flowers, to talk to them as the others call her crazy. And at that point most of us can make the connection.
From then until the play is over, Hamlet can’t fully ignore us. Every other character will, and does (besides maybe the gravediggers if you wanted to include anyone else), but we’re ever present in his sight. As he dies, we’re the ones he refers to when he says ‘you that look pale and tremble at this chance, that are but mutes or audience to this act’