#i can't afford to buy like five of them at once if i want to do plaid or stripes or anything

[fyresnow]

So I may have made an absolutely terrible decision…. I have been hearing the siren song of the loom and I was not strong enough to turn away 😔 I really want a floor loom, but we have no space for one. So I got a table loom instead. Unfortunately, we have no space for this table loom either… I have no idea where I’m going to put it- hence why it’s terrible decision. It’s a lot bigger than I thought it would be. It’s currently on my sewing cutting table, but it can’t stay there. (Check out the angle it's bending my table at!) I don’t want to make it my roommates’ problem, but my craft room is an oversized walk in closet. There’s barely enough space to turn around in it. I don’t know what to do /: I don’t know where I can put it to actually weave. This table is too tall for me to weave while seated. why did I do this to myself. why couldn’t I be strong and resist the call of the loom.

but I found this for a super good deal! I was really lucky to find it! It came with books and a warping board and some yarn. It’s a Leclerc Medico that was made in 1974! a 4 shaft table loom that’s 22” wide. I’m really excited :3 I can weave fabric!! I mostly want to make yardage for sewing clothes out of.

I started warping it with the yarn that came with it- which is some 3/2 cotton yarn. I’m hoping it will turn into placemats. But I’m?? confused?? I have no idea what I’m doing. The books that came with it don’t actually have enough information to be helpful to a complete beginner. Even though they’re all called some variation of “weaving for beginners”. I am so completely lost. A lot of internet resources are on more modern looms or rigid heddle or floor looms or assume you have a raddle. I can’t find much for vintage table looms. Let alone for this specific model. So I’m sure I’m fucking this up. But here we go anyway.

[kayleigh-83]

Hello, hope you are well! I've been really enjoying reading through your BACC posts and i was wondering if there is a particular set of rules you use for your BACC?

Hey, I'm so glad you're enjoying it!

I've always called Brightmaple a quasi-BACC and I have to lean reeeally heavily on the quasi! I took a couple loose rules from BACC gameplay (mostly from @deedee-sims Griffinmere) but left many out from the start.

These days I'd say it's best described as generational growth-minded rotational gameplay with a custom ruleset, but that doesn't roll off the tongue the same way.

I don't play with a tax and/or mayor system, nor do I have rules for unlocking services like fire and police and such. Community lots and subhoods are fair game for me to add as needed, whenever I like. Many of my rules are constantly evolving and being added or changed as I go along.

My most essential rules are the strictness of rotation to keep everyone's ages in sync so the generations progress evenly - every household gets played for the five day full season, every Sim gets five days of life experience per round.

I also have a no Maxis jobs rule - I find them boring, and wanted to get more comfortable with owned businesses - before this hood I had hardly touched them. So every household owns a business (in a few cases instead of an owned business a Sim might work from home ie: selling paintings, instead). Once there is an owned business in the household, then another Sim in the home can work as an employee of another business.

I also don't use the service NPC's which is I guess another nod to BACC rules - no maids, gardeners, repairpeople (using landlords for repair is OK to me, perk of apartment living to make up for all the glitches), grocery delivery (but pizza or Chinese delivery is OK). I will allow nannies when it's required like going on vacation, but for day to day child care I use the 'ask to watch kids' mod and ask a family member or friend. And police and fire dept are also OK. I guess it's just DIY when you can is the rule?

I also have some more info outlined on my Gameplay Rules page which talks a little more about specific things in how I approach day to day gameplay and population control and things like that!

After 17 rounds and getting into the third and fourth generations, these days really digging into the individual characters of my Sims is becoming top of mind for me. It can be easy to become repetitive and play out the same stories over and over after so long (I think my last rough count was about 100 playable Sims in Brightmaple's history, dead and alive) so letting their individuality come through is I think essential for keeping gameplay fresh and interesting.

(Edited to add) I also should mention in terms of the finance system generally, I'm not strict - I allow the $20k handout. Beyond that evidence of my Sims living in a socialist utopia, my only real money rule is it has to come from somewhere. There is money that can be won from some ROS rolls, and I can "loan" them money with cheats that they have to pay back, without interest. I will also have parents buy items for their teens still living at home, to stuff in their inventory, and sell when they move out on their own as adults - essentially the parents giving their kids some money to start out with, if they can afford it. Not everyone's business is as lucrative as everyone else's, so some can't give as much.

[hannahssimblr]

A sliver of light hovers above the horizon. A glow, hardly even there, rests atop the sea as waves drag rounded pebbles along the shore with a soft shh. I can’t sleep. I crawled out of bed after three and walked straight to the water's edge without shoes, to find the sand cool and white beneath the glow of the quarter moon. I sit watching the sun graze the bottom of the sky like paint bleeding onto tissue. 

Sleep evades me sometimes for reasons I cannot explain. Insomnia arrives like this. It's like all those intense feelings and urges in my body. I can't verbalise them. I sit in boxer shorts and a hoodie on this final spit of beach before the coast turns to a cliff, and try to think of some poignant reason for my lack of sleep, only to come up with everything. There are a million reasons why. All the time, all at once, but then why only sometimes? And why tonight in particular?

Sometime around four, I change into a pair of shorts and run the length of the beach as the sun rises, pushing myself until sweat rolls from my body and there is fire in my lungs. I return to my end of the beach on shaky legs and take my clothes off, all of them, because the beach house is quiet and nobody is watching. Then I wade into the sea and float there with the waves lapping under my chin until the early birds sing and my hands and feet go numb. 

After a shower I collapse on my bed and sleep until close to midday, when I wake up to an empty house, starving, and with no food in the fridge. There is a message on my phone from Jen. 

Good morning lazy bones  Gone to the tennis court and then we’ll be on the beach, probably  See you around later? 

I forage the cupboards for something, but by the looks of it, the last of the food has been ravaged by the others, leaving nothing behind but crumbs and dirty plates, stacked up in the sink as usual. Someone should clean that eventually. 

When I locate my wallet among the random books and electronics heaped on the kitchen table, I zip open the coin pocket to find just a twenty-cent piece and a few useless coppers. I used the last of the money on my debit card at the petrol station yesterday. I know because I tried to buy some snacks and the only thing I could afford was cherry cola Tic Tacs which were rationed out between the three of us. I swear under my breath and call my dad. 

He’s already pissed off when he picks up. 

“Jude, what is it? I’m in the middle of something.”

“I need more money.”

“Already? What are you doing down there? I bet you’re putting it all into those stupid arcade machines, aren’t you?”

“No, I’m eighteen years old. I’m not doing that.” I’m also banned from the arcade, which he should know after the interminable speech he gave me about decorum and respect in the aftermath. 

“I put five hundred euros on that card.”

“Yeah, I dunno, I used it.”

“It was supposed to last the entire summer.”

I sigh, “It didn’t.” As he’s ranting in my right ear, I begin to wonder what I really did do with all the money. I suppose there was all of the alcohol, the takeaways, the junk food, that PlayStation game I bought, and the earphones for my iPod since I was careless with my old ones on the beach. Oh yeah, and I bought those running shoes too. I suppose that wasn’t a necessary purchase, I just wanted them.

Yesterday I bought everything for Jen and Evie, all of their tickets, food and drinks… I have a vague, passing thought that I might not be very good at managing money and that maybe I should have done accounting or something at school like my mom suggested instead of randomly choosing geography. I’m also aware that it’s completely fine. Once Christopher has finished going on about it he’ll simply send more. We just have to go through this charade first.

I wait for a gap in his mad diatribe and say casually, “So can you send me some?”

There’s a clatter in the background and I imagine him tossing his little weighty engraved silver pen across his desk. He grits his teeth, “What do you need?”

“I dunno, another few hundred. I want to book tickets to this festival in August, too, I think they’re, like, two-fifty, so.”

“A festival?” He really doesn't need to act like we’re discussing satanic rituals, but I continue as though I'm talking to a normal man. 

“Yeah, I want to enjoy my last summer in Ireland and all that.”

He makes some flabbergasted sound in response, which is obviously stupid because he has all the money in the world, and this whole thing is an exercise in control and power.

“So, a thousand?” I venture, resting my phone on my shoulder so I can pick some dirt out from under my nails. 

“Yes. Later.”

“No, I need it now, there’s no food in the house and I’m hungry.”

He taps furiously on the keyboard of his computer, “Fine.”

“Hm?”

“Fine. I said fine. I’m transferring it.”

“Thanks.”

The line goes dead. 

Beginning // Prev // Next

[trashcanwithsprinkles]

You ever wonder what you would do if you ended up in trevat?

probably the most fun thinking exercise i've had for a bit hahah

ended up rambling on for like five minutes so it's under the cut

assuming this is an unnanounced isekai of sorts where i wouldn't want to touch the plot with a ten foot pole (bc that sounds far more interesting than just- what if i lived there),

plan a) book it to liyue harbor avoiding wangshu inn just in case xiao can sense i'm not from teyvat, convince uncle tian to let me sleep in his boat until i have money (he looks like he'd let me in exchange of stories), become a storyteller, tell stories from a faraway land (any and all stories from here, be it plots of books, movies, fanfics, whatever man), profit, make casual friends w beidou to lower the chances of ningguang sending yelan to look into my untraceable past, try not to make it obvious i know zhongli knows i'm not from teyvat (if he ever appears by my storytelling corner) and ensure he likes my stories (this will boost my corner's reputation), buy a house outside chihu rock, befriend xiangling by sharing recipies from here, learn liyue recipies and how to use teyvat ingredients from her, befriend a gaggle of millelith by feeding them 'new and interesting foreign dishes' bc the fastest way to a man's heart is thru his stomach – they will now ensure the area around my house won't get jumped by random treasure hoarders and slimes or geovishaps, travel around once i've made enough money, always return to liyue and live out a chill life w the millelith's protection, the qixing not interested in bothering w me, and zhongli unbothered by my unthreatening presence

plan b) book it to fontaine. this could go two ways depending on if i break some random law immediately upon arrival: b.1) if i don't break any law then i befriend navia by sharing baking tips w her n convice her to let me stake it out at the spina's outpost in fleuve cendre until i make money, write mystery whodoneits (hello recovered manuscript bootleg sherlock holmes) for starting cash and then slowly make the switch to villaness novels w extra mystery (you can't tell me they wouldn't be a hit there) thereby avoiding the likely fierce market competition of plain whodoneits and gaining more fame, profit, buy a house in the countryside to reduce the chances of breaking a random law by reducing the amount of gardes around, keep in touch w navia n be rightfully grateful to her (this will keep the spina on my side), befriend the melusines by sharing stories n cooking tips (they can try me w their weird concoctions) n thus further lowering the chances of me getting randomly arrested, live a chill life (also travel around n stuff obviously) with furina/focalors entirely uninterested in my existance, the gardes and neuvillette seeing me as a normal citizen, and the just-in-case friendly connections to the phantoms via the melusines and the spina via navia (and maybe the surveillance patrol if chevreusse likes my novels) b.2) if i do break some random law immediately upon arrival or too early into plan b.1, then i plead guilty and get sent to meropide (nobody down there will ever bother to look into my untraceable past and trying to argue innocent will only bring attention i likely can't afford), work dilligently until i've made enough friends among the staff, become the prison's storyteller and bard and gain credits like that, become a friendly face nobody will have any interest in harming and likely won't dare to bc i'll have made friends w all sorts of prisoners by then (plus why would you want to fuck with the guy who's literally only singing songs and telling stories. like nobody else is doing it. half the prison would jump you i think), stay down there after my time is up for the same reasons i chose to go down, hopefully be a nice helpful prisoner and a welcome fixture in the fortress, live a quiet and chill life

and lastly, the last resort plan c) book it to mondstadt, beg charles for a gig at the angels' share, sing covers of songs from here and pass them off as melodies from distant lands, avoid venti and his knowledge of music like the plague, avoid kaeya and the knights like the plague also before they realize i'm not From There, get a house in springvale, if diluc ever bartends then try to subtly let him know i'm w him on the knights issue, hopefully this raises my chances at becoming part of the staff of the tavern n the likelyhood of the rest of the staff helping me avoid the knights' suspicion, ideally just live a quiet life in springvale, if by some miracle diluc decides to hire me for the winery then go there instead and live a quiet life as one of the workers, the main objective here is to fly under the knights' radar and position myself in life in a way that venti won't either want to, be able to, or feel the need to get curious about me and try to make contact (i realize dealing w music is counterproductive to this but it's the only gig i can think of that'd work there, would require no starting budget, would allow for flexible hours so i can skedaddle if needed, i wouldn't suck ass at, and would get me a step closer to who is likely going to be my only and/or most accessible ally in staying away from the knights: diluc)

[matchalattegreen]

Christmas with the greasers hc

My first headcanon guys hope it turns out ok!! (Sry it ended up being so long)

(Also please if you have any ideas for new headcanons or fanfics just drop them in my inbox like actually PLZZ I need some ideas)

Darry would totally be in charge of everything. Anything he doesn't do needs to be approved by him first

Ponyboy and Soda would decorate the tree very precisely

Johnny would put the star on top

Soda and Steve do the outdoor decorations but Darry watches them the entire time to make sure they don't do anything dumb or screw something up

Dally would simply sulk on the couch while all the decorating is happening

Two Bit would walk around giving unhelpful feedback for all the decorations but not actually offering to help decorate (tbh nobody really wants him to help anyways)

On Christmas Eve, they would have a Christmas movie marathon

Darry and Ponyboy really want to watch classics like It's a Wonderful Life

Soda wants to watch cheesy rom-coms like Love, Actually

Steve will say he wants to watch what Soda wants but get bored five minutes into the movie

Two Bit wants to watch Mickey Mouse Christmas specials

Johnny loves classic TV Christmas specials like Charlie Brown Christmas and Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer

Dally doesn't really like watching movies but will totally suggest that they watch Die Hard or Gremlins and put up an argument that both are very much Christmas movies

Ponyboy and Johnny make the best Christmas cookies

Soda wants to help them but Darry doesn't trust him in the kitchen

On Christmas day, Two Bit would totally run around the house trying to wake everyone up

Once Soda is awake he'll join

Opening presents is the best part

Darry gets everyone useful things like clothes

Ponyboy gives everyone a copy of his favorite book

Johnny gives everyone little origami swans that he made

Soda didn't really know what to get so he gives out bottles of Coke from the DX

Steve takes partial credit for the Cokes since he didn't buy any gifts

Two Bit would give the best gag gifts (he definitely stole them)

Dally wouldn't get any gifts, just say that his being is a gift enough

Darry would cook Christmas dinner, focused on perfection

No one else is allowed in the kitchen while he's cooking (he can't afford any distractions)

Two Bit, Soda, and Steve definitely eat until they get sick

But overall, everyone had a great Christmas!!

My first one, hope you liked it!!

[stabbyfoxandrew]

mer au plsss

WIP Wednesday (9/25) | Mer Roadtrip AU (Part 73)

Once they're back in the car, Abram digs through his bag to pull out a very worn road atlas and passes it to Andrew who turns it around in his hands a couple times. "You really use this thing?"

"Yeah. Got a better idea?" Abram asks, starting the engine again.

"Little thing called a GPS could be handy."

“Never had one. Don’t wanna be traced.” Abram sighs out a breath. “Which is also why I didn’t want a phone.”

"You’re kind of neurotic. Don’t worry, I like it.” Andrew says with a grin. “But I don’t think a GPS would tattle on you.”

"You never know." Abram says, then he takes the atlas back from Andrew and opens it. California is still dog-eared, so he flips to the right section and traces a diagonal path from Santa Monica to Las Vegas, nodding to himself. Finally he looks at Andrew. "Can you read a map?"

Andrew retraces the same route with his finger and shrugs. "We'll see."

-

It turns out Andrew can read a map, but he's absolute ass at giving directions. At least, in Abram's humble opinion. God, he finally understands the many times his mother knocked him in the head for taking too long to determine which road to turn on to. But they make it to the interstate without dying. It's a good sign.

As soon as they're headed in the right direction, Andrew props his legs up on the dash and pops open a can of Pringles. He crunches them loudly, like he's trying to get on Abram's nerves.

Abram thinks he is.

"How long is it to Vegas?" Andrew asks after about half an hour on the road. Until now, they'd been listening to the radio. And Andrew's inane chomping.

"Uh, my guess is about five hours. Maybe... Maybe six. I can't be sure," Abram says, watching a Honda creep up behind them in the rearview mirror. It’s been behind them for a while. “Andrew, who’s driving that blue car behind us?”

Andrew moves to sit on his knees and look out the back glass. “A one-hundred year old woman. Maybe one-hundred and one…”

“Thanks.” Abram lets out a breath as Andrew flops back into his seat. Andrew’s hair swishes as he cracks his neck and he inhales, making a face. “What?”

"Hm. Does this car have a smell?"

"Yeah. Like..." Abram sniffs the air. "I don't know what."

“Oh,” Andrew laughs. "Weed. It smells like weed. It seems dear Brian might've been a toker."

"Are you?"

"No, I just know how it smells."

"Is that sarcasm?"

"Maybe." Andrew crunches another couple of crisps. "I smoked weed once. Gave me the giggles and I ate a bag of chips and an entire carton of ice cream. You?"

"Never."

"I think you should try it, it's supposed to help you unwind."

"I can't afford to unwind."

"It's not that expensive. Besides, I've seen your trust fund. You could buy a marijuana farm. A small one, but still."

"You know what I mean. I'm literally being hunted, Andrew. Dead or alive," Abram huffs. "I don't have time for fucking with drugs."

[sharpedgedfool]

Hello I was just wondering if we could get some more stuff and ideas about the sonadow future museum au (im just going to call it that cuz thats shorter)

heres a quick sketch cuz I really liked the designs👍

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH YES YOU CAN AND IL OVE UR STYLE WITH IT???? I love how uncle-chuck-esc Sonic looks it's the exact vibe I wanted him to have 10/10

I'm in the process of writing this au as an actual story but I'm barely a chapter in yet, but I'll give some more snippets about Shadow and a page of sketches! (its a long read im so sorry but thank you for the ask!!)

Shadow goes by 'Oliver' as his fake name, he took it from a book he read once and liked the cover. They use He/They pronouns and identifies as something non-binary, he's not in a rush to label himself (they joke they've enough to label around the museum)

He lived as a vagabond until settling in Rainmeadow Town, and being taken in by the museum's solo-curator Beatrice, who's a field mouse with a physical disability and was unable to fully access the museum after she took it over from the previous owners.

Shadow adored museums as it was one of the only places he could visit freely so he has a soft spot, and Beatrice was so nice to him so he stayed to help restore it and got too attached he ended up settling down there. He was anxious at first, but its been five years and he's comfortable living there now

He lived with Beatrice for two years, before managing to earn enough from odd-jobs to buy out the small apartment above the local B&B

He has a stray cat he's taken in who wanders around town when he's at work. The cat is known to be vicious but is a sweetheart around Shadow, somewhat mimicking Shadows own demeaner

He dresses himself as unassuming as possible, and that sometimes makes himself a target for any outsiders of the village He gets tired out easily, due to them restricting their energy so much, but they can still fight viciously (almost feral after so many years outside of civilisation) for a short amount of time though would prefer to run. Shadow also needs rest throughout the day

Due to his tight inhibitor rings, Shadows red stripes and eyes have all dimed to a dull grey, his blood however remains a harsh green so he has to be diligent to ensure he doesn't injure himself in front of anyone. If he loosened his rings they would rapidly shift back to a red and he would regain energy to use his abilities, but he hides them and is extremely paranoid about his true identity

He likes to read and cook, and has a habit of reading while walking around even in the dark. He cooks meals for his cat and refuses to give them cat food from a can

He's a huge coffee fan, and loves brewing it himself with the manual machines at home (but also will still absolutely eat the beans straight if it's been a long day)

They haven't 'aged' but they've 'grown bigger' through mutation, their spines and fur are longer so they appear more mature even if internally he hasn't changed much.

He's always wanted a motorbike, but couldn't travel with one and can't afford the upkeep

Their glasses are generic reading glasses that he doesn't really need, but he finds it grounding to have them in his vision (he feels hidden behind them)

Rainmeadow is a known queer-safe town, despite it's remoteness, and the museum has a hall they regularly hold events in (Shadow is fond of the rollerskate hang-outs they schedule)

He has frequent panic attacks and extreme anxiety, they're selectively mute and uses sign (I use BSL when I'm drawing it out) and can't be around large groups of people for too long. He lets Beatrice work at the front of the museum and he lurks around in the back, people jokingly call him a 'shadow' often (and he's gotten used to the fear that shoots down his spine at the mention of his name)

No one knows of his origins, though Beatrice knows some of his vagabond experiences and topics that makes him uneasy

Shadow has met Rouge a handful of times. When he was saving money, he was contacted by her due to his experience in the museum. Due to his lack of background information, she assumed he had been involved in criminal activity and needed his knowledge on artefacts and assistance in restoring something. Shadow agreed reluctantly, but despite his uncertainty he enjoyed working on the things she brought and Rouge found his genuine interest in history and lack of concern for her intentions to be good company. Shadow became her main contact for these things (though she rarely needs his help) and the two are on good terms despite not being close

Rouge has worked with Team Sonic on occasion, and never worked with GUN. She's infamous but her identity is unknown to the public, except her name on her calling card. A few of Sonic's gang know what she looks like as eventually after knowing them for so long she doesn't wear the spy gear around them all the time, but felt strangely comfortable around Shadow rather quickly so he's seen her face

[she-posts-nerdy-stuff]

Don't Go Blindly Into the Dark

Summary:

To hide that he can't read, Jan Van Eck has been forcing his son to pretend he's blind since he was eight years old. Wylan is now attending Ketterdam University, and meeting Jesper Fahey may very well be about to change his life. But is he safe to tell Jesper the truth? And what will Jesper say if he does?

Jesper is struggling to weigh up his life in the Barrel and his life at the University of Ketterdam, and there's a good chance that his growing debt is about to make the decision for him. He hasn't attended class consecutively for months, but maybe that will change when his newest project includes partnering up with Wylan Van Eck. But can he really leave the Barrel behind him? And how long can he keep up the pretence of who he thinks Wylan wants him to be?

Tags: @justalunaticfangirl @lunarthecorvus

If anyone else would like to be tagged let me know :)

Content warnings for this chapter: child abuse, violence, implied domestic abuse, self-deprecation

AO3 link

Chapter 29 - Wylan

Wylan walked through the streets of the Barrel for the better part of an hour. He had no idea where he was going, more than once he realised he’d doubled back on himself but he apparently had just enough awareness not to let his feet lead him back to the dark walled gambling den with the crimson facade, nor the tipsy greyed building where his things - quite possibly the only things left in the world that he owned - were still sitting in Jesper’s bedroom. His clothes, his favourite jumper. His ruined flute. The only thing he was wearing that was actually his own was his still slightly damp jacket, and one of the two things that had been left in his pockets was sitting on Brekker’s desk in a blank, wet clump. The papers were completely blank. His father hadn’t even bothered with committing to a convincing ruse. 

The only other thing in his pocket was a few purple kruge notes, not many and not really enough recovered from their bout in the canals to be described as dry, but perfectly good for spending. He needed somewhere to stay, and once he had that he would need a job - a real job - to be able to keep on affording it. Of course, he could have gone back to Jesper’s - when he stopped and focused he thought he could remember the way back at least well enough to find a landmark that would get him there - and collected his things, then at least he wouldn’t need to buy new clothes, but he didn’t feel ready to face him. To face any of it. 

Wylan was an idiot. He had been stupid and foolish and so utterly and completely naïve. Why would someone like Jesper have wanted anything to do with him? This was exactly what his father had meant. He’d called Wylan vulnerable, and it was true. He was so easily taken in by their tricks, too stupid to understand when he was being lied to. Imagine if he’d been allowed involvement in his father’s business, and let himself be tricked like this. Everything would collapse around then and it would be all his fault. Maybe that almost stung more than realising that Jesper had lied to him: finally knowing for definite that his father had always been right. 

“I don’t want to do this, Wylan,” his father had told him, when Wylan was eight, “But you have left me no other choice. Do you understand that?”

Wylan had nodded, not sure if he was supposed to speak or not. It was a day or two after Jan Van Eck had informed his son of the plan to fake his sight loss, so it must have been just over a week after his mother died.

There used to be a miniature portrait of Marya Van Eck sitting on this desk, next to one of Wylan when he was maybe four or five, in a little folding frame that propped them both up side by side, he could picture it well. Most of the time he had ever spent in this office had been devoted to avoiding his father’s gaze and the painting of his mother was in good view from Wylan’s chair, but it had never been a good place to look either. Marya had never been angry with him for his failures, but every time he tried without success, every time another harsh report came from his tutors, every time one of his father’s new plans to help him learn to read proved useless compared to the extent of Wylan’s shortcomings, he saw the same look in her eyes. He thought it was disappointment but it was certainly mingled with fear as well; he supposed she was afraid that he would ruin everything her husband had built for them. For her. Wylan was eight, his eyes daring to rise high enough to search his father’s desk for the missing portrait, when he realised that the tiny release he’d just felt in his chest was relief. He was relieved that his mother would not have to suffer him anymore, and he was relieved that he would never make her frightened again. How evil of him, no matter how tiny or fleeting the thought, to be momentarily relieved that she was gone. But it was a fact, whether she had ever told him so or not, that Wylan had hurt her. He was glad that he would never be able to again. 

“And you understand that we have to make sure it’s realistic, or you will only embarrass us both,”

Wylan nodded. His father had said this yesterday, or the day before or whenever Wylan had last sat in this chair and tried not to look him in the eye. The painting had been there, then, but now it was gone. 

“You don’t want to become even more of an embarrassment, do you? Or do you take pleasure in hurting me like this?”

“No, Father,” he’d whispered, “I’m sorry,”

“Sorry does not fix what you have done, Wylan, and you will not succeed in trying to win any kind of sympathy from me here. You have threatened to drag our name - my name, and the name of my household - through the mud, and I have no pity for someone who would do such a thing,”

Wylan looked at his shoes. 

“We’re going to go on a little trip,” his father continued, his voice level, as though he were discussing one of his business deals, or when he was hosting his next dinner party, Anything normal, “We will leave tomorrow morning to go to the Lake House, but as far as anyone else knows we are leaving the country. Understood?”

Wylan nodded.

“When we return in two week’s time everyone will believe that we cut our trip short after a tragic and violent accident that cost you your sight, when in fact you will have spent those two weeks practising to convince the world that you cannot see. You’ll be getting up bright and early, so best go to your room now and get sorted for sleep,”

Wylan glanced briefly at the window - the sun had not yet set - but of course did nothing except nod and wait to be dismissed. He wanted to go and hide under his duvet, to try and summon the tears he wanted to shed for his mother but had so quickly vanished when he heard the change in his father’s tone as he told him to grow up and stop crying. He wanted to be swallowed by that warm hollow of darkness in his bed, where he could hide, where he could pretend that nothing existed beyond the feeling of the sheets, where he could try to convince himself that everything would be okay. 

“My Corporalnik will travel with us in a Squaller kefta, so if anyone sees us they will simply assume her job is to summon winds for our ship as we cross the True Sea. By the time we return, you must be convincing enough for even myself to think that you are blind, or I will have to find a new solution to this problem. Have you understood everything that I’ve told you, Wylan?”

There was a brief pause, before Wylan dared - an perhaps this was foolhardy of him - to whisper:

“Why do we need a Corporalnik?”

Jan Van Eck shook his head, his sigh long and low. 

“Did you not listen to me at all, Wylan? It has to look realistic,”

No, Wylan could not go back to collect his belongings from Jesper. At least not today.

The street he’d found himself on now was quieter than the others he had walked through, which must mean he’d gone farther South again. He had heard the tourists were less likely to venture here, and that this was where the bright, falsely jovial fronts the gangs put up in their gambling dens and pubs and other tourist businesses began to slip. It was probably not the best place to stay, but it was almost probably going to be the cheapest. 

“Excuse me,” Wylan all but forced himself to say, as he approached a man sitting on the front porch of a dilapidated building, “Do you know where there might be rooms to rent?”

The man surveyed Wylan with distaste as he puffed on his pipe, before hacking loudly into the crook of his elbow. He was chewing a wad of jurda that had stained his teeth and lips orange, and when he coughed streams of the stuff slew from his mouth and stuck onto his shirt sleeve. Wylan had to fidget his fingers in and out of his fists and try to subtly glance away so that it didn’t turn his stomach. 

“Sign right there says vacancy,” the man grumbled, “What are you, blind?”

For a brief, almost surprising moment, Wylan found himself contemplating the possibility of dropping the lie. It would be easy, wouldn’t it? To simply not say anything of it to a stranger; all he would have to do was find some words or other to get him through the end of a short conversation and then just walk away, the first step to dropping this stupid facade that he hated so much, such a simple way of letting it loosen its suffocating hold on him. It should be nothing. But even for the tiny moment that it flickered through his head, Wylan felt sick. 

“Yes,” he said, the shame or annoyance or both that he could feel burning towards himself turning into impatience and impertinence as it translated into his voice. 

The man grunted, leaning forwards and uncomfortably close as he stared at Wylan’s eyes - he smelled very strongly of pipe smoke, and something beneath it that Wylan was pretty sure was alcohol on his breath - and Wylan had to fight not to squirm away. Then he just shrugged and pulled back. 

“How did you know I was here?”

“I could hear you,”

He grunted again. 

“Rooms for rent on your left - there’s a step in front o’ the door,”

Wylan thanked him, and then walked away as calmly as he could stomach. 

He managed to get himself a tiny and barely affordable room, and lay awake all the rest of the day and night on a mattress that reeked of the chemicals they’d used to try and rid the thing of lice. His skin crawled, and he couldn’t tell if the chemicals had failed their task or if he was just putting too much thought into the image of the little bugs scuttling across him. He had no night things - he quite literally had nothing at all - and no food for the evening or the next morning, but he wasn’t sure that he would have eaten it if he had. As soon as he was lying down, with the possibility of lice or none, it took a good chunk of time to convince himself to rise again. What if he just stayed here, lying like this, letting the world move around him forever? When he was little he used to hide in the house’s warren of upper rooms, beneath a servant’s bed or in one of their linen cupboards, praying that everyone would just forget that he was there. But it had never worked, and it would not work now. No-one would forget that he had rent to pay, at the very least. 

At some point, he was sure it was days later, he could smell a food stall below his window and suddenly felt more overwhelmed by hunger than he ever had been before in his life. He bought an entire cone of fried potatoes and sat cross-legged on the sidewalk, scarfing them down so quickly that he burned his tongue. After that he stayed sitting there for a short time, watching the world go by, before he forced himself to his feet and began to walk again. He needed a job, though he had no idea what he might be able to do. He wasn’t strong enough to do any of the labour-intensive jobs, and anything softer would require him to read - or at least to see, and apparently he wasn’t ready to let go of that hang up yet. Maybe he could try to force himself through admitting the truth, but if a job would require him to read anyway then what would be the point of it? 

It took Wylan a week to find a job at a tannery in the warehouse district, stirring chemicals and dyes in massive vats on the factory floor. He gave the name Wylan Hendriks, without even really thinking about it, because he knew that Brekker had been right about that, at least. The foreman made a slight show of being good enough to take Wylan on despite his lack of sight, but nobody mentioned it after that.There was no protective or safety clothing offered to anyone working there and the chemicals made Wylan woozy after only an hour or so; the pittance he was earning probably wasn’t enough to justify his constant exhaustion from the twelve hour shifts or the constant unpleasantness in his head that had grown to cloudiness and seemed to be growing on to be persistent enough that it could be described as illness. He found that he could do little but stumble along his well-learned walk in the dark of every morning and every evening, do his job with the absolute minimum attention it could possibly require each day, and collapse onto his little, possibly lice-ridden bed each night. At least he was too tired for staying awake late into the night to be an option - though unfortunately it would seem that exhaustion did not make him too weak for dreams, and they would often rouse him in cruel bursts; too late to bother going back to sleep, too early to start walking to the warehouse district. 

At some point Wylan looked up into the grimy mirror and saw that the Tailoring over his scars was starting to come undone. There was no chance of him scraping together enough money to see a Corporalnik - after rent was paid he only had just enough to eat twice a day - but he found that he didn’t really care. The misty white layer on his eyes was still there, which he knew anyway because his view of distances hadn’t gotten any better, but it was perhaps a little thinner. Only one of his scars was properly visible - the full extent of the one that ended in a silver line above his cheekbone. 

Just stop the bleeding. No, don't Heal him - let it scar. 

Wylan ran a finger over it, staring at the boy in the mirror. He was thinner than Wylan, with heavy dark circles beneath his eyes, slightly hollowed cheeks that made him look like a ghost in one of the children’s stories Wylan remembered his nanny reading to him as a small child. How long did it take for the Tailoring over his scars to come undone? Wylan didn’t know how long it was supposed to last, but it was the surprise at seeing the scar that made him realise he had no idea how long he’d been there. He sat and counted each week, as best as he could remember through his weariness and burning headache. 

A month. Wylan had been in the Barrel for an entire month. 

[moodymermaid3690]

Where did you get your matching face pillows? I want to get for mine and to my longdistance girlfriend

I'm actually not sure where they came from, as Abbey was the one to order them. She lives in New Zealand, so some sites that work there don't work here (I'm, unfortunately, in America) and vice-versa.

If you live in America, I would recommend Amazon or Etsy. If you're outside of America, I would try researching websites that will allow third-party shipping (a middle-man of sorts) or a site that ships to both countries. Otherwise, though this would be more costly, I'd suggest ordering both to your own home and then shipping your partner their half of the gift.

There are a few websites that can help you find cheaper international stamps if you have a printer and the proper paper. So, if you don't want the hassle of the post office (and their ridiculous upcharges), I'd suggest investing in a printer and stamp-printing paper; and, if you can't afford a printer or ink, I've found that most libraries are willing to let people print them for relatively cheap. I sincerely recommend avoiding buying anything from the post office if possible because they price gouge to a wallet-bleeding degree. They once tried charing me forty dollars (USD) for an envelope, which I then purchased the same envelope at a local store for five dollars (USD) that was accepted all the same.

If you'd like to know the site the pillows were ordered from, I'm sure Abbey will be happy to tell you and help with the process; she told me they're pretty finicky about the pictures that have to be chosen (size, angle of the subject, background, and such). But, if you have any other questions about money-saving methods while shipping, I can try to help as much as possible.

I hope you and your long-distance partner are doing well, and I hope you'll both be able to close the gap one day. Abbey and I are going to have to take great care and time to close the gap, but that's just given me so many more reasons to love her; when you find someone who loves you so deeply that they're willing to wait as long as it takes and go through all the hiccups that come with the process of moving countries (not to mention my added disadvantage of needing to go to rehab before even being able to have our first in-person visit), that is a love that truly has no conditions. And, as someone who's never had unconditional love in my life, I'll never be able to thank her enough for showing me a love so soft, so pure, so unconditional - a genuinely true, honest love.

Best of wishes to you and yours!

[pissodeluxe]

Money is so insidious.

Never before have I wished to be wealthy like I do right now. My heart is bleeding every time I see another post, another face, another please do not scroll. I empty everything I can find into fundraisers and sim cards and organisations feeding the hungry.

I've never been wealthy. In all the ways possible in a Scandinavian welfare state, I've been poor. I've grown up hungry and without proper clothes. I've been homeless several times. But I've never wanted to be wealthy. What would I do with money, I always thought. Buy a car I don't wish to drive? Buy a house that I probably won't know how to live in? I once was gifted a lottery scratcher that was a single, final digit away from being the winner and all I remember is the feeling of stress. I don't like money. I was relieved when it wasn't there.

Rock stars fly around in private jets, rich men build rockets and force their workers to piss themselves on the line, my country's subreddits are full of people advising each other on how to become wealthier through becoming shareholders, the famous and the aristocrats waltz around in pointless fashions giving pointless interviews and here we all are on Silly, Pointless Tumblr, half of us are already begging each other for help, for just a single dollar, just anything at all, just enough to feed my dog, just enough to buy my medication, someone please save my cat.

And we're apparently the only place where the cries for help from Gaza and Sudan are even heard anymore. Across the street the owners of the new, fancy apartments with the rooftop gardens whose gentrification has caused five new dog grooming salons to open up in an area that used to be only run down mechanics and car parks, they come here to my government apartment blocks and park their expensive cars, because our parking was always too far away from any place useful to be used like this.

Those people, I see them around. Talking about terrorism and complications, talking about their political views of fiscal responsibility and moral conservatism like they know anything at all about what life is like. They look at me sideways because I'm a filthy homo. They could help but they would never. They need that money, how else would they have their next date night at that Michelin restaurant. How else would they book their next vacation and buy a second Mercedes.

I'd key their disgusting cars except I'm pretty sure they have surveillance built in, and I'm a single parent and I'm already doing my best to find any leftover cash to donate it. I can't afford a fine. But I wish I could hurt them even just a little. Make them think twice before telling anyone who'd listen about how great they're doing. We're not even allowed to have dogs here. Not that I know anyone who would have their dog groomed. We don't even go to the human hair dressers. Five dig grooming shops in an area that I can walk across in twenty minutes.

I hate it.

I want the wealthy to suffer poverty. To feel hunger at night. To be afraid of the end of the month. I want them to feel what it is like to have their rent go up further than their income reaches. I want them to know the desolation having nowhere to go. No home and no family.

I want politicians to become powerless. I want them to become as irrelevant as the victims of their ruthless campaigning. I want them to yell in vain at a world that no longer listens.

I want open borders. I want all of us to weather the coming climate together, I want us to share what we have.

I want Palestine to be free. I want it's people to be compensated and apologised to somehow. I want their olive trees to grow back. I want Zionists to become a ridiculed minority again. I want Jews to be allowed to exist outside of some political nightmare state that claims to speak for them.

I want corporations to become illegal. I want previous metals and whatever else is causing people to be murdered and tortured to be respected and reused. We have enough smart phones, we have enough. I'm ashamed to admit I don't even know what the rest of the current conflicts are really about, because I'm so heartbroken all the time that I'm afraid for my health if I keep reading. I want the world to be safe for Muslims. I want us to get over the stupid, evil racism that's been driving us to murder and maim and torture and starve and kidnap and

I want it to stop. I can't accept that wanting it to stop is "too naive" or "too utopian." I don't care. Let me be childish then, and say that I want it to end. The suffering, the cruelty. I want a just world where everyone is given food and shelter. I want a world where no one gets to just claim the right to hurt their fellow humans.

I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry that so many have already been killed for pointless reasons and unfair wars. I'm sorry that the protests aren't listed to (yet!) I'm sorry that people feel allowed to turn a blind eye. I feel sick to see my country folk pretend like they don't know anything. I'm sorry I don't have the money to help everyone reach their needs, and I'm sorry I'm centering myself in this rant that my one follower will see. Like my heartbreak matters. Like my exhaustion is worth mentioning.

But I refuse to believe that this is how it will be. I refuse a future where not everyone is allowed to have a happy, safe life. I refuse it. There is too much good in this world. We will be heard. Our childish dreams will be made more and more real until the selfish forget that they ever denied them. We will keep fighting and building and sharing until everyone is cared for, until justice is done. We will learn to take care of each other and the ground that carries us. We will learn to become what we want. We will have clean air, clean water, clean food.

There's been enough pain. Something's gotta give. It's been paid for a thousand times already. This planet is too mathematically unlikely to just end up empty. Injustice is a losers game. Because I said so.

[mariacallous]

Serbia is seeing a growing trend of poverty that disproportionately affects women, particularly single mothers, retirees and those living in rural areas. This ‘feminisation of poverty’ limits their ability to participate actively in civic life and democratic processes.

“What can you do with 23,000 dinars?” asks Emilija* derisively about the 196 euros a month she receives as a welfare recipient.

Sitting on an improvised couch in front of a house constructed of pallets, boards and tarpaulin, the flag of the Roma people hanging above her head adding some colour and vibrancy to the otherwise gloomy exterior of the place she calls home, Emilija, 25, answers her own question with a shrug: “Almost nothing”.

Emilija and her friend Nada*, 31, live in an informal settlement on the outskirts of Belgrade made up of shacks and containers. Emilija has three children; Nada has five.

“We wait a whole month for the money and end up spending it in one day,” Emilija tells BIRN. “For example, when a child asks for a toy, or when we go out with the children, a child is a child and will say, ‘Mom, I want this’. But he can't have it; that's very hard for me.”

Nada finds it difficult to afford food because it’s now very expensive. “Sure, I can find clothes [in bins], but sometimes you have to buy something,” she says.

And if they do manage to buy something, they rarely get anything for themselves. Menstrual pads, a product that is taxed as a luxury item in Serbia, put a huge strain on their budgets, especially for Nada, who has a teenage daughter.

And it is proving almost impossible for them to find a job, they tell BIRN. “This is not an environment where you can leave your children behind. I would like to work, why not? It’s easier for men to find manual work, but as women we have to make a choice, we have a house and children to look after,” says Nada.

Emilija tried to find a job a few times, but it is difficult for women like her given that they will lose their social welfare if they get a job, and none of the jobs on offer last long enough to enable them to stand on their own two feet.

“I worked in the countryside a few years ago. And I worked in the Gallery [a shopping mall in Belgrade] as a cleaner. They paid 750 dinars for three hours [6.40 euros]. I would get 27,000 dinars a month, but they would not pay the whole amount at once. They give you half and keep the other half for themselves so they do not ‘lose’ you,” says Emilija.

Sarita Bradas, a psychologist and sociologist, tells BIRN that Nada and Emilija epitomise what she terms the “feminisation of poverty”, where the poverty rate among women is higher than among men because of gender inequality in all its various guises.

“To get out of poverty, you have to earn an income. To earn an income, you have to be employed. And of course, whether you are poor or not also depends on the amount of income you earn,” says Bradas.

Uneven playing field: the gender dimension

Emilija and Nada are just two of the 89,024 women who receive social assistance in Serbia, out of a total female population of about 3.4 million. According to data provided to BIRN by the Serbian Ministry of Labour, Employment, Veterans and Social Affairs, women make up more than half of all benefit recipients.

A welfare recipient receives a monthly payment of 11,674 dinars, less than 100 euros. Additional benefits are paid for other family members and children, but according to the basis for determining the amount of social assistance, a family of three (mother and two children) would receive about 18,000 dinars (153 euros). That is three times less than the amount needed for the minimum basket of goods in Serbia.

Data from Serbia’s Statistical Office shows that women of all age groups, except for those aged 55 to 64, are at a higher risk of poverty compared to men. And last year’s report from the EU’s Commissioner for Human Rights found that employed women hold lower positions even in the public sector or are less likely to be employed on a fixed-term basis, even when they have higher levels of education. The report also expressed concern about longstanding gender inequality in property rights.

In Serbia, only 25 per cent of women have property registered in their own name. The reason for this is that women are excluded from the order of inheritance in favour of male family members in more than 40 per cent of cases; on the other hand, only 0.5 per cent of men are excluded in favour of a woman. The situation is even worse in rural areas, where more than 80 per cent of women do not hold any property in their own name, while the rest typically have plots of land less than 2 hectares that are not intended for housing.

Sarita Bradas, the psychologist and sociologist, tells BIRN that the gender gap in employment is most pronounced in the group of unqualified and uneducated people. By way of illustration, Emilija has only completed four grades of elementary school, while Nada is currently in the sixth grade of elementary school for adults.

“Among women, 39.4 per cent have no qualifications, compared with 29.1 per cent of men,” she explains.

In terms of education, Bradas says the data shows that uneducated men are more likely to be employed than uneducated women. “63 per cent of men without a degree are employed, compared with only 40 per cent of women. Men are more likely to be employed in jobs that do not require qualifications. They have easier access to the labour market, regardless of their level of education, with these differences decreasing as the level of education increases,” she says.

The gender dimension is also evident in the informal sector. This sector includes the self-employed, undeclared workers, moonlighters and unpaid family workers. “If you look at the structure according to this status, 70 per cent of women are among unpaid family members, while this figure is 25 per cent for men. This means that 75 per cent of men earn an income from informal work, while only 30 per cent of women do,” explains Bradas. “As a result, they have no income and are more at risk of poverty.”

As far as social welfare recipients are concerned, women are rarely able to earn an income because they have to stay home and look after the family. “You should bear in mind that people in developed countries can live on social assistance. But here, a family has less than 20,000 dinars (170 euros). What can you do with 20,000 dinars? Can you buy food, not to mention anything else?” asks Bradas.

For Nada’s five children and Emilija’s three, the chances of escaping this vicious cycle of poverty are slim.

“The probability of attending college is 11 times higher if the parents have a high level of education than if the parents have only completed elementary school. Children from these lowly educated families are poorer, have no money for education, and of course poverty reproduces inequality,” notes Bradas.

“On the other hand, we have the problem that children from marginalised groups and poor families have almost no support for education. In rural areas, children are involved in the work process from a very early age in order to support their families,” she adds.

Man’s work for women

Even where women are employed, the discrimination is all too evident.

Mirjana is 51 years old and works in a factory that manufactures electronic components for the automotive industry. It is a physically demanding job that she describes as “man’s work”, though the factory mainly employs women.

Despite the tough nature of the work, Mirjana tells BIRN the salaries are pitiful. “Those who work on Saturdays and Sundays are paid more. I got 61,000 dinars for the whole month after 13 years, without a single Saturday. But there is also a hot meal, there are also bonuses. The hot meal is 5,000 dinars a month. One bonus is 3,500 dinars; another is 1,500 dinars. If you have Saturday and Sunday, then these bonuses are higher,” she says.

Mirjana puts up with it because she’s a mother, but feels sorry for the younger women who work there. Her daughter also worked there for a while, but left.

The long-term health consequences of working at the factory are serious. “I get injections in my elbows. I was in the hardest part of production, where women work on knots, bend their fingers, break their joints. After eight years, I had no more functioning elbows – my arms were cramped. As we were pulling the cables, I got a hernia. It’s not harmless at all, it’s not easy,” Mirjana says.

She reckons 90 per cent of the older workers are sick or injured. “One colleague suffered a vertebral fracture while pulling the system and now has screws in her neck. She’s still working. We also have colleagues who have had spinal surgery, where cysts and tumours have formed due to the physical exertion, because we all hold our hands up all the time. The women return to the line after operations,” Mirjana complains to BIRN.

There are several factories in Serbia that produce secondary raw materials and components. Most of them have received state subsidies to open their plants here. These companies mainly employ women. In March last year, two female workers died within a short period of time in two of these factories. As the media reported and their families testified, both women had shown symptoms of exhaustion, but were sent back to work even after complaining. No irregularities were found during the inspections.

Lara Koncar, an anthropologist, tells BIRN that the position of women in the labour market is unfavourable compared to men, which keeps them in a state of poverty and subjects them to different types of bullying and abuse in the workplace, including sexual abuse.

“Poverty is not exclusively due to economic relations. It also has to do with relationships between partners, kinship and family, among other things, which is especially important when women are affected by family violence… If you are in a situation where your freedom of movement in the labour market is definitely restricted, you are very likely to stay in that situation because there is no possibility of getting a job elsewhere, and that will keep you in a situation of bullying,” she says.

Koncar says women suffer many types of bullying and abuse in the workplace. There are the hidden forms of bullying, such as the inability to advance in the workplace. “We know what happens to… women who return after maternity leave, that they often return to their own position but that the advancement that was supposed to follow does not happen,” she says.

Nada Padejski, head of the Safe House for Women in Novi Sad, also sees a clear link between violence against women and their financial situation. As she explains to BIRN, this can be viewed from three angles.

“Firstly, economic dependence influences whether you leave the perpetrator or not. Secondly, whether women with a lower economic status in particular are housed in safe accommodation. And thirdly, how violence in general affects the housing and economic situation of victims of domestic violence,” she says.

Padejski says it is not uncommon for women to be unemployed precisely because of the influence of the violent offender. “In the sense that he says: ‘You do not need to work, there are two small children here, why should they go to kindergarten, it’s better to stay at home, I will give you money’. So, she stays at home with the child, they are both housed and looked after. But when violence escalates, it always turns out that the woman is unemployed and doesn’t have the right to say anything,” she says.

Padejski also cites cases where women have had to take out loans to pay off their husbands’ debts or to help them start a business, only to be left with nothing.

Padejski emphasises that domestic violence leads directly to homelessness among women. Without permanent housing offered in Serbia as a social protection service, a woman who has decided to leave a violent relationship often has nowhere to go.

“Most of these women have two or three jobs and have not made the property claim they applied for because the process has either taken too long or has not yet been completed, or they have not even started it,” she says.

Property law proceedings are also lengthy, complicated and disadvantage women. “The courts do not take into account the fact that there has been domestic violence when deciding on property law proceedings. No woman ever receives everything she has invested. The abuser usually does not pay maintenance. If she files a lawsuit, it takes too long, or it’s not paid properly, or her lawsuit is dismissed,” she explains.

Looking at the example of Novi Sad, Serbia’s second-largest city, the data shows that women rarely initiate property division proceedings – and even when they do, the courts are unlikely to rule in their favour. From 2019 to 2022, there were 2,551 divorces in Novi Sad, yet during the same period, women initiated only 17 property division proceedings, with judges ruling in favour of women in only six cases. By contrast, during the same four-year period, as many as 367 proceedings were initiated due to non-payment of child support.

Feelings of powerlessness

“Powerlessness,” Padejski concludes, “contributes to the reproduction of powerlessness.”

Mirjana, the factory worker, wonders how she can convince her children that Serbia is a good place to live, when no one, not even the mayor or state officials, speak out when workers, especially women, are clearly being exploited.

At the same time, there is a public pressure on those who are being exploited to participate in the democratic processes of the state, by staying informed and voting for change.

Bradas, the psychologist and sociologist, says that demanding the poor and marginalised bring about political change is deeply unfair. “What I resent about the so-called elites is that they blame the poor for selling their votes and warn that it is a crime. Poverty is a violation of human rights – that is the basic thing,” she says. “If you are focused on surviving and looking for any way to do that, you do hard jobs, you work in harsh conditions, for low wages to survive, and you cannot think that your vote is important. Your life is not important in this society, so who cares about that vote?”

In his first speech as prime minister earlier this year, Milos Vucevic of the Serbian Progressive Party (SNS) devoted a large part of his speech to women – but not as equal members of society, rather as “sanctities for every patriot”.

“A woman must always be shown due respect, because she is a symbol of renewal, birth and victory. A woman brings new life into the world, and that makes her a being who is actually most like God,” Vucevic said.

Although he vowed that “women in Serbia will have the same rights and the same starting positions as men”, he emphasised the government is not interested in trying to creating a society of “equal incomes”.

“This is not and will not be a government that will promote the ideas of self-managed socialism,” Vucevic stressed.

Serbian President Aleksandar Vucic has also spoken several times about the importance of women for the state and for SNS, estimating – without providing evidence – that more than two-thirds of the women who voted in the last elections supported SNS.

How much support women have received in return is open to debate. Between 2021 and 2023, for example, Serbia fell from 19th to 38th place on the Global Gender Gap Index.

When it comes to asking for their support, however, women interviewed by BIRN say the authorities don’t hesitate. Emilija and Nada say that “people from the ‘city’” come to their settlement before every election to warn them that if they don’t vote, they will be fined.

Asked if they receive any gifts or offers of assistance when asked to vote, they both reply: “Not this year.”

“But we did get them in the past, honestly, they even gave us as much as 3,500 dinars,” Emilija tells BIRN. “They give us a pen, we sign with that pen, return it, and then if you return the pen, you get the money.”

Nada says they both voted this year too, voluntarily, even though they didn’t receive anything in return. “We voted. Who else are we going to vote for and how? Vucic will win for sure. We have our own problems on our doorstep, we don’t have to worry about him too. Authority is authority.”

*Names have been changed

[author-a-holmes]

Writerly Questionaire (Tag Game)

@winglesswriter Thank you for the tag! (HERE) I'll leave a blank version of the questions beneath the cut at the end, and tagging forward, with no pressure, to;

@ashen-crest, @world-of-fire-and-flight-admin, @tisiphonewolfe

@talesfromaurea, @withlovelunette, @worldsfromhoney, and anyone else that wants to play, consider this an open tag <3

About Me

When did you first start writing ?

Blimey. I must have been... About seven years old. I'd briefly wanted to be a ballet dancer when I was about five. When I was six, I realised I'd never be able to dance professionally because I'd been born with congential talipes (aka Club feet), so I decided that I wanted to illustrate books. They were always my escape when I was in hospital, or after having an operation and was bed bound.

Eventually, I gave stick figures a bad name. Or maybe I just got old enough to realise that people wrote books, instead of them spawning into existence on the library shelves, but I tried writing my own stories instead, and kind of fell in love. Since then, I've never wanted to do anything else.

Are the genres/themes you enjoy reading different from the ones you write?

Maybe a little. I write what I enjoy reading, so in that sense no, not at all. But I'll also read wider than I'm willing to write. Mainly because I can check out a book I'm not sure of, or that's outside my usual tastes in a day or two.

If I try writing something outside of my favourite things, it's going to take months or my time, or I'm just not going to be invested enough in the themes or the genre, to make the end result good. I respect the craft too much to half-ass a story.

Is there an author (or just a fellow writer!) you want to emulate, or one to whom you're often compared?

I've never been compared to another writer, however there are writers I'd love to write more like. Tolkien, is an obvious answer, but I love the subtlety with which he writes his characters.

Another writer I'd love to write more like is @faelanvance. It seems a little trite to say it because she's my best friend, but genuinely, her descriptions and exposition and worldbuilding are so vividly vivacious, and I'm incredibly jealous of her ability to pain a scene with words.

Can you tell me a little about your writing space(s)? (Room, coffee shop, desk, etc.)

Oh god. In theory, I have a writing desk in my room, but I rarely write in there.

Most of the time, right now, I write on a laptop on the sofa in the living room. Before Covid, I would go out once a week to a local pub, or the local Mcdonalds, grab a table near a power outlet, and write all day, from arounf 10am to 6pm.But the pandemic interrupted that routine, and the price of everything has gone up so much I can't afford to spend all day buying coffee's or a plate of chips to nibble anymore.

Essentially, though, I'll write wherever I'm comfortable.

What's your most effective way to muster up some muse?

Music. I have to have music playing while I'm writing. It blocked out all the other distracting sounds, but it also has to be the right music. I prefer music with lyrics, I know many authors don't, but even the lyrics themselves don't really matter because I tune them out. It's something about the rhythm or the pace of the song, that has to be right for the scene.

Or maybe it's the notes. If I writing a sad scene, it has to sound like a sad song, even if the lyrics make it an happy romance genre song. It's a weird thing to try and describe.

Did the place(s) you grew up in influence the people and places you write about?

You know, I don't know.

My gut instinct is to say no, mainly because I write fantasy and so I create pretty much everything I write from thin air... but at the same time, life experiances, including where and how you grew up, influence who you are, and who I am influences what and how I create.

So I suppose yes, but I wouldn't say it consciously influences my writing.

Are there any recurring themes in your writing, and if so, do they surprise you at all?

I don't plan my themes in advance, so when I stumble across them they're always a little. Not surprising, per se, but interesting to me to see what my mind's settles on exploring.

"Finding your place in the world", is a common theme I find myself coming back to. Sometimes that includes found family elements, sometimes it's about accepting who you are and being happy with that. I come at it from different angles, but I think it's an important message to reinforce.

The other recuurring theme seems to be running. I've created two characters now, unintentionally, who deal with their problems by running. This one wasn't intentional, and did surprise me when it was pointed out to me, especially as running is something I'm incapable of doing. But maybe that's why it's a concept I keep coming back to.

My Characters

Would you please tell me about your current favorite character?

My current favourite character is Stella Korazon from my novel Stolen. She's a thief in the world of Moryann, and a lot of fun to write and explore the world through the eyes of.

She's both naive, and world weary, and I enjoy exploring the duality of her character.

I wrote a post about her last week, if you want to know any more about her, and see some artwork I had comissioned of her and Reilly.

Which of your characters do you think you'd be friends with in real life?

Quite a few of them probably, but the most likely is Andric Roche, for his calmness, and his patience. I'm a bit of an anxious mess, so I think Andric and I would get on well.

To pull me out of my shell though, and push my out of my comfort zone, probably Reilly Mosswolf. He's an extrovert, and outgoing, and I need that in my life.

Which of your characters would you dislike the most if you met them?

That's a tougher one. I rarely write a character I truly dislike. Even my "villians" have their own reasons and motivations. I think Indre Larieth, one of the side characters in Stolen is probably my best bet.

Mainly because I think our personalities would clash. She's naturally abrasive, and I don't handle that well. In addition, many of her motivations are fuelled by jealousy, and I struggle to understand or relate to that in real life. So I don't think we'd have any good starting point for a friendly relationship.

Tell me about the process of coming up with of one, all, or any of your characters.

So, I don't like creating characters who are just there with no purpose. So the first thing I tend to do is look at the story I want to tell, and decide which roles I need filling.

Once I know a character's purpose, I can build out from there. I usually start with their parents, because how they were raised, and where they grew up, will influence the people they end up becoming... but I also know where I need them to end up, so I can craft their beginning to match what I need.

For example. Booker Reed, in the Fey Touched Trilogy, I knew I needed him to be quite good at the word play of the court fey. So even though he's adopted at seven, and raised by Lizzy's mum, Maddy, in the Outskirts, away from the fey court, his parents were diplomats to the fey court, and so for the first seven years of his life, he was immersed in that enviroment. It shaped him.

And he didn't lose those skills, because once he saw the way Lizzy was treated, as an outcast, he began using them to out-talk the fey who wanted to target Lizzy.

So he still has those skills, when I need them, for the plot points in the books. Just a small example, but that's usually how I build out most of my characters.

Do you notice any recurring themes/traits among your characters?

Not that I've noticed, although I sure there are some similarities. I like rooting for the underdog. I also enjoy morally grey characters, although I haven't truly delved into a TRUE morally grey character just yet.

I find the concept of doing the truly atrocious, for either the right reasons, and a reason that is justifiable to you, to be a wholly fascinating character study.

How do you picture them? (As real people you imagined, as models/actors who exist in real life, as imaginary artwork, as artwork you made or commissioned, anime style, etc

I tend to picture them as whole people that I've imagined. I do, however, quite often grab a celebrity face claim. They're never 100% accurate, but they're a good visual reference point, and I sort of think of it as "If someone was going to play this character in a tv adaptation, who would I want to cast?"

So the celebrity face claim may not always be 100% accurate, but they're usually close enough for me to be content.

My Writing

What's your reason for writing?

I honestly can't imagine what my life would be like without it. It's a balm. It's an escape. It's fun. It's a hobby. It's a business venture. It's a way to explore a world of my own creation. I don't know. I don't know why I write, I only know I can't not write. It's my everything.

Is there a specific comment or type of comment you find particularly motivating coming from your readers?

While I don't know why I write, I do know why I share my writing, and it's to take someone on a journey.

I remember being stuck in hospital beds, unable to move, but a book could take me a billion miles away, or to a world that didn't exist, to meet creatures of myth and legend.

I want to give that escape, and that joy of discovery, to other people. So the best comment? Is when I can tell I've done that. It's not a specific set or words, or a particular phrase, but when I can read a comment or review, and tell that the person just enjoyed it, that they were able to escape to something fun, or my writing took them to a place that made them happy, that's everything.

How do you want to be thought of by those who read your work? (For example: as a literary genius, or as a writer who "gets" the human condition; as a talented worldbuilder, as a role model, etc.)

I want to be known as a writer, whose stories can take you on a journey, and return you home safe, and happier, than you were when you opened the cover. That's all I want. To share my worlds, and charaacters, and have people love them.

What do you feel is your greatest strength as a writer?

Characters. Character dynamics, Character development, Character ARC's. I put a lot of time into figuring out what a character might or might not do in a situation. To thinking about what they would notice, and what they wouldn't pay attention to.

Even if I, as the author, think there is a better choice, it comes down to whether it's logical or believeable, for the character to react in that way.

There's many things Lizzy does in Changeling that made me facepalm, but they make sense to her, and that's the most important part, imo.

What have you been frequently told your greatest writing strength is by others?

I don't get a lot of feedback, if I'm going to be honest. Most of the time, people will give me generalised feedback, that the work is good overall. Which is incredibly flattering, but doesn't help me answer a question like this. :D

How do you feel about your own writing? (Answer in whatever way you interpret this question.)

I'm incredibly proud of my writing. I feel like it's constantly improving, and that I'm always learning more about not just the craft, but also my ability to implement the things I've learnt since the last time I picked up a pen, or sat at the keyboard.

It's a journey that never ends, and I wish I could live a hundred lifetimes just to keep writing more, crafting more, creating more.

If you were the last person on earth and knew your writing would never be read by another human, would you still write?

Yes. First, and foremost, I write for myself. I think, you have to because if you don't love writing, and you're not enjoying the writing you're creating, then there's no joy being infused into the work. I feel like it would become dry, and lifeless, and let's be honest, if you hate what you're doing, why are you doing it?

It's only when I've finished writing, and I begin to think about the publishing of the work, that I begin to look at it from the perspective of "Would others enjoy this?" because that's the editing stage for me. And if I'm at the end of the world, with no one left, then that stage is never going to come.

The first draft is telling the story to yourself. So of course, I'd still be writing if I was the last person alive. I'd probably be writing more.

When you write, are you influenced by what others might enjoy reading, or do you write purely what you enjoy? If it's a mix of the two, which holds the most influence?

I think I inadvertently answered this one in the last question. I write for me first and foremost. It's only when it comes to the second draft that I might begin tweaking things, but overall it's still written to cater to something I would enjoy reading.

There's going to be other people in the world who like what I like. That's a statistical inevitability. But if I try writing something I don't like, to cater to other people, then that boredom, or dislike, of the words I'm putting on paper is going to come through in the writing, and then no one is going to enjoy the finished product.

About Me

When did you first start writing ?

Are the genres/themes you enjoy reading different from the ones you write?

Is there an author (or just a fellow writer!) you want to emulate, or one to whom you're often compared?

Can you tell me a little about your writing space(s)? (Room, coffee shop, desk, etc.)

What's your most effective way to muster up some muse?

Did the place(s) you grew up in influence the people and places you write about?

Are there any recurring themes in your writing, and if so, do they surprise you at all?

My Characters

Would you please tell me about your current favorite character?

Which of your characters do you think you'd be friends with in real life?

Which of your characters would you dislike the most if you met them?

Tell me about the process of coming up with of one, all, or any of your characters.

Do you notice any recurring themes/traits among your characters?

How do you picture them? (As real people you imagined, as models/actors who exist in real life, as imaginary artwork, as artwork you made or commissioned, anime style, etc

My Writing

What's your reason for writing?

Is there a specific comment or type of comment you find particularly motivating coming from your readers?

How do you want to be thought of by those who read your work? (For example: as a literary genius, or as a writer who "gets" the human condition; as a talented worldbuilder, as a role model, etc.)

What do you feel is your greatest strength as a writer?

What have you been frequently told your greatest writing strength is by others?

How do you feel about your own writing? (Answer in whatever way you interpret this question.)

If you were the last person on earth and knew your writing would never be read by another human, would you still write?

When you write, are you influenced by what others might enjoy reading, or do you write purely what you enjoy? If it's a mix of the two, which holds the most influence?

[2af-afterdark]

JUST READ YOU POST AND. SHOULD I BE CONCERNED ABOUT GARU AND KARU? MY BOYS??? THAT WAS HYSTERICAL LAUGHTER WASN'T IT

The fact that there are so many things that can go wrong with them... I don't even know which of the many possible scenarios would devastate me more, lol. I remember staring at the screen for like solid ten seconds after seeing "horror" right after the "mature themes and violence" disclaimer. WHAT DO YOU MEAN "HORROR" HUH!!! All I wanted was to try out some silly horny game because I like looking at pretty boys and so that I could translate it for my friend that's interested in the plot but doesn't know English as well as I do...

What have I gotten myself into.

Ah well, I don't regret anything. Love the characters (Edmond, Olivine and Blade especially are so cute, I want to squeeze them like stress balls), the artstyle and the music. Can't wait to get traumatized once I get strong enough to advance in the plot, lol. Should probably not go looking through character tags for now, though... I usually don't mind spoilers at all, but you've piqued my curiosity.

Also, thank you for the heads-up about 10x draw rates! There's still a lot I need to learn about the game mechanics... And to decide whether I should give in to the temptation of buying that 2024 pack... My student ass can't afford to whale so I usually just stick to being fully f2p, but Eiden. Fucking. Eiden. This man has such a hold on me and I've had him for less than five days. What the fuck. I literally blush like a schoolgirl with a crush whenever he says something horny or teasing. I am so pathetic for him, damn it.

— 💛

The short answer is that everything happens all the time. Events and story alike both delight and destroy. I cannot wait for you to get further into the plot and discover all the juicy secrets. And all the event revivals you have to play! Because events are actually meaningful in Nu:C! They give lore and character moments that may be referenced down the line! And, since they often only focus on a few characters at a time, they feel so well paced and meaningful. Fuck! Nu:C has some of the best events. Period.

I will say that, unless they plan to add more horror down the line, that warning may be referring to one event in particular (it's the only event I actively chose to skip altogether so I cannot say much, but I hear it involved cults and sacrifice).

And, yeah.... 10x will sometimes net you absolutely nothing. I have had 10x where I don't even get an SR card, let alone an SSR. In all my time playing (literally since launch day), I have also only ever pulled 2 SSR in one 10x once. The draw rates in Nu:C can be brutal. I advise picking your favorites and only drawing when they are in the banner if you want to stand a chance. Like, I have 110 contracts saved up for Eiden's new card because I restrain myself to only pull for Kuya, Rei, and Blade (and Eiden, Aster, and Morvay, but they are rarely in the banner so those three are special circumstances). If you try to pull every banner, especially f2p, you are going to have a hard time getting any SSR.

Some quick tips:

Make sure you are doing your intimacy rooms since maxing those out actually makes cards stronger.

Ensure you do potential for the cards you plan to use a lot as this gives bonus benefits and stats. An R or SR card can be stronger than SSR card depending on potential, abilities, and how many * that card has (example: My SR Aster is still really strong because he's 5*).

Not all cards are built the same, even when they are the same class. The wording of the abilities matters. Example: SSR Dante (base card) will give every ally a shield to help protect them whereas SR Morvay will attack and guard for his normal attack and he will pull aggro for his ultimate. Different cards. Different uses in battle.

[spacecadet-ticklesinspace]

Shirt Situation

Summary: Peter 2 takes Peter 1 clothes shopping and it leads to some interesting interactions ❤️

"Why do we have to go clothes shopping?" Peter 1 whined. "My clothes are fine."

"You ruined your last shirt Bug." Peter 2 calmly replied as he held up another shirt. "You've also sprouted an inch or two."

Peter 1 looked down at his body. "Have I?"

Two had him straighten up so he could hold the shirt up to him. "You've gotten a couple inches on me now. Also, last time I let you borrow that shirt, it fit perfectly. Now it sits a little higher."

Once Two removed the shirt he was examining, the youngest tugged the borrowed shirt a little lower. "Is it obvious?"

"Only if you raise your arms." Two placed the one size back and grabbed a bigger one. "It just looks like a regular shirt otherwise."

Peter 1 still adjusted the shirt despite his brother's assurance. "Can't I just wash my shirt?"

"If you want a crop top."

"I have others!"

The oldest Peter measured the shirt along his younger brother's shoulders. "You had five Bug. Two got destroyed the first time you tried to do laundry. One was ripped up during a fight. Now you have one and a crop top."

Peter 1 crossed his arms. "I like it as a style choice."

The oldest Peter rolled his eyes as his baby brother's protest. Instead of firing back, Peter 2 held up the shirt he was examining. "What do you think of this one?"

One dejectedly shrugged.

"Hey, you're the one who is going to be wearing it. You should pick something you like."

"It doesn't matter." One rubbed his arm. "I can't afford it."

Peter 2's eyebrows shot up. "Who said you were buying it?"

The youngest's head shot up. "What?"

"I'm getting them Bug."

I. . . I can't . . ."

Two squeezed One's shoulder. "Hey, it's okay. I don't mind."

"But . . . Why?"

"Because I want to."

The youngest had no argument for that.

Two softly smiled. He set the shirt aside and lifted his brother's chin so they were eye to eye. "I'm not doing this to embarrass you. I'm doing this because I love you and I want to take care of you. If that means a couple outfits, I'm okay with that."

Peter 1 gave his brother a small smile, but Two could tell he was still uncomfortable. The oldest Peter didn't judge him, he knew how uneasy this could be when someone had done it for him.

To take his mind off of his uncomfiness, Two pointed to a nearby rack. "Before we try these on, grab one of those polos too."

"Why?"

Two shrugged and turned back to the table. "To try on."

One eyed his older brother before turning to the rack of polos. They were eye level, meaning he had to raise his arms to grab it.

Peter 1 blushed. He looked around before quickly reaching up to grab the shirt. As his arms were up, something scurried across his tummy.

"Eep!" The youngest arms crashed down, but there was nothing there.

He turned to look at Peter 2, but the oldest was still looking at shirts.

Peter 1 squinted at the oldest before raising his arms. He had turned back to grab the shirt he needed when something scurried across his tummy again.

"Ah!" Peter 1 brought his arms back down, but once again nothing was there.

One whirled back to Peter 2. "Two!"

The oldest turned to his brother. "Yes Bug?"

"Stohop tickling me!"

The oldest raised his eye brow. "What are you talking about?"

Peter 1 looked around. "Something keheeps tickling mhyhy tummy!"

Two chuckled. "Thihis ihis what happens whehen you show off a tickle spohot."

One growled.

The oldest rolled his eyes. "Look, juhust grab thehe shirt ahand we'll go try on thehese things."

The youngest watched his brother as he reached out, leaned forward, and grabbed one of the shirts.

"Is that the right size?" Two asked as he pointed to the shirt.

One turned to look at the shirt.

"Gotcha."

One's eyes widened. "Wait!"

Two hands skittered across the youngest's exposed tummy.

Peter 1 squealed and wrapped his hands around his tummy. "Twoho!"

The oldest Peter chuckled. "Nohow doho you understand why yohou need nehew shirts?"

"Yehes!"

Peter 2 removed his hand. "Ahalright. Let's goho to the fitting rooms."

Still pouting, Peter 1 followed his older brother. The lady monitoring out front gave them a number and sent them inside.

One felt a little odd trying on things for his older brother. Two made him raise his arms, spin around, and asked for his opinion on fits. By the end, they had agreed to three of the shirts Two picked out. The last shirt to try on was the polo One had grabbed. One pulled the shirt over his head, but it was too small.

And then he ran into a problem.

"Oh no!"

Peter Two knocked on the door. "One, you okay in there?"

The youngest tugged on his arms. "Um . . . I'm stuck!"

"Stuck? Stuck in what?"

Peter 1 knelt on the floor. "The shirt!"

"The---The shirt?" Peter 2 tugged on the door handle. "Are you okay?"

"Hold on." The youngest Peter rotated until he was able to unlock the door.

Once the door was open, everything went quiet.

Then Two erupted into laughter.

"Hey!" One could barely see Two through the gaps between the buttons, but he could definitely tell he was doubled over in laughter.

"Ihim sohorry Buhug." Two helped his brother up. "Ihi dihid tehell yohou toho cheheck thehe sihize!"

One tugged on his arms again. "Can you gehet me out please!"

"Ihi wihill."

Peter 1 breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank you."

"Buhut first."

The youngest tensed again. "What?"

A hand skittered across One's tummy again. "You left a tickle spot open."

"Ah!" Peter 1 fell too the floor. "Noho! Twoho! Ihill rihip ihit!"

The oldest chuckled. "Just one mohore thing."

"Dohon't yohou dahahre!"

The next sound to leave One's mouth was a squeal as Two blew a raspberry into the center of his tummy followed by smaller raspberries around it.

"Twoho! Yohou're gohoing toho gehet uhus kihickEHED OHOUT! NAHA!"

The oldest Peter chuckled and finally unbuttoned the shirt. "Ihi think thehy'll understand whehen they see I have suhuch an adorable little brohother."

Once the shirt was unbuttoned, One was able to wiggle out easily. His face was red and the scowl he was trying to make was overtaken by a wobbly grin.

"Excuse me?" A voice asked.

Both brothers turned to see a lady attendant studying them.

"Is everything okay over here?"

"Yes ma'am." Two ruffled Peter 1's hair. "This ohone was just strugglihing to operate his shihirt."

The youngest Peter playfully shoved the oldest's hand away.

The lady attendant gave Peter 1 a look. "Do you know this man?"

The youngest's eyes widened. "Oh! Yes! He's my brother."

The lady smiled. "Ah, that explains it."

Peter 2 stood. "I'm sorry if we were being noisy. Wehe were goofing off."

Peter 1 scrambled up. "More like you were picking on me!"

"Because you're juhust so cute."

The lady attendant cooed. "You two are really sweet. Just keep it down so you don't bother the other shoppers please?"

"We're sorry ma'am," Two replied. "We'll be leaving soon."

The attendant nodded. "Thank you. Happy shopping."

Once the attendant was back at her post, Peter 2 fixed the shirt back onto its hanger. "I'll get you the right size ahand then we'll be ready."

The oldest stepped away and returned a few minutes later with the right size. This one was able to slide on with no complications.

"How does this one feel Bug?"

Peter 1 looked in the mirror. "I like it."

Two nudged his younger brother's arm. "Not too tight or itchy?"

One lifted his arms. "Nope."

"Good length too." Peter 2 tugged on the bottom.

Peter 1 blushed. "Noho tickle spots thihis tihime."

Two playfully pinched his brother's side. "Oho yeheah?"

One squeaked and pulled his arms down. "Two!"

The oldest Peter chuckled. "Come ohon. Go get changed ahand we'll be good to go."

Peter 1 stepped back into the changing room to change back into the borrowed shirt. Once all of their choices had been gathered the two Peters made their way through the checkout line.

As they made their way out of the store, One wrapped Peter 2 in a hug. "Thank you."

"You're welcome bud," the oldest cooed as he returned the hug. "I'm sorry this was a lot."

"It's okay, I know why you did it." One squeezed Peter 2 close. "And I can't thank you enough for what you've done."

The oldest pulled back. "They're just shirts Bug. Knowing you thehey'll prohobably last aha month and---."

"It's more than that Two. . . And you know it."

"I love you Bug." The oldest's smile morphed into a grin as he reached up to place a kiss on One's forehead. "That's why I do it."

Peter 1 snuggled back into the hug. "I love you too Two. Always."

Brothers could be annoying when they embarrassed you in a changing room, but it was comforting to know you had someone watching out for you.

And that's just what One needed.

[kamreadsandrecs]

Title: The Violin Conspiracy Author: Brendan Slocumb Genre/s: mystery Content/Trigger Warning/s: explicit racism, emotionally abusive parents and family, police violence, false arrest Summary (from author's website): Growing up Black in rural North Carolina, Ray McMillian’s life is already mapped out. But Ray has a gift and a dream—he’s determined to become a world-class professional violinist, and nothing will stand in his way. Not his mother, who wants him to stop making such a racket; not the fact that he can’t afford a violin suitable to his talents; not even the racism inherent in the world of classical music.

When he discovers that his beat-up, family fiddle is actually a priceless Stradivarius, all his dreams suddenly seem within reach, and together, Ray and his violin take the world by storm. But on the eve of the renowned and cutthroat Tchaikovsky Competition—the Olympics of classical music—the violin is stolen, a ransom note for five million dollars left in its place. Without it, Ray feels like he's lost a piece of himself. As the competition approaches, Ray must not only reclaim his precious violin, but prove to himself—and the world—that no matter the outcome, there has always been a truly great musician within him. Buy Here: https://bookshop.org/p/books/the-violin-conspiracy-brendan-slocumb/18709063 Spoiler-Free Review: So I picked this up because it promised to be a mystery about a Stradivarius being stolen from a Black musician, and while that's DEFINITELY what this book is about, the mystery of the theft is more like a frame for the story of Ray's growth as a musician; the origins of the Strad; and the many, MANY complications and dangers of being a Black classical musician. So really it's more like a bildungsroman than a mystery overall, but I think that billing it as a mystery makes it more marketable? Regardless, as a bildungsroman and as a mystery, it's a fantastic read. I enjoy classical music and it hasn't escaped my attention that it's an overwhelmingly white world, so I can only imagine the kinds of hurdles musicians and composers of color, especially Black musicians and composers, face in that world - this on top of the myriad other injustices that come with being a Black person in the US. Slocumb writes about those instances with a sharpness and clarity that comes from personal experience - something which he admits to in the Author's Note at the end of the novel. Another thing I appreciated was the family aspect of Ray's life: how Black children don't always get the kind of support they might need or want to pursue less "profitable" career paths. In a way, one can't blame the family for this because of the systemic poverty that haunts many Black families and communities, and makes it so that they have to struggle to survive. The psychological damage this causes is then passed on to their children, in a cycle that can be difficult to break. On the other hand, though, Ray's bitterness at the way he's treated by certain members of his family is entirely familiar. This is especially true in the way his family only begins to think he's "doing something" with his life once he hits the "big time" as a musician. It's something many people who've pursued careers in creative fields will recognize, and will relate very hard to.

I know I said earlier that the mystery acts more like a frame for the bildungsroman that forms the actual heart of this novel, but I think they play very well with each other, because the bildungsroman provides you with a list of potential suspects: all the people in Ray's life who could possibly want to get their hands on the Strad, along with their potential motivations for doing so, and their potential methods. Whenever someone new comes into Ray's life, you look at them with some suspicion, even if they seem nice, because they could potentially be responsible for stealing Ray's violin. And I'll admit: I didn't guess who the real culprit was until Ray himself figured it out. It's always fun to try and guess ahead, but I also appreciate it when I don't figure it out until the precise moment the protagonist does. Of course, that only happens when the rest of the novel is also fun to read, which was definitely the case here. So overall, an enjoyable read with a great look at what happens behind the curtains, so to speak, in the classical music world. It's also a great look at the kind of prejudice Black classical musicians face in that same world, which they must deal with on top of the prejudice they already face in less rarefied circles. I do wish, though, that there had been a list of all the musical pieces mentioned in the novel at the end of the book. Slocumb provides a link to a Spotify playlist on his website, but I wish there'd been a list at the end regardless. Rating: five violins

[hermywolf]

¡Hola!

Can I ask for your opinion?

According to you as Argentinian, with a stadium like this (has a Running track that separates the pitch to the audience seat by a farrr margin), do you think the ticket prices to watch La Scaloneta vs Indonesia (aka: mi pais) worth it?? (Not to mention the squad will be without Dybala,El Toro,Licha)

Even the VIP tix (the Purple ones) can't shake hands with players because of the distance from the audience seat to the Players Entrance (vestibule) and Bench is quite far.. I feel bad if Argentina scores, they have to run that far if they want to celebrate the goal with my people 😭😭

(tmi: if I go, I only can afford to buy ticket Category 2 (the Blue ones, only have view behind the net) or Category 3 (the Orange, the above/highest tribune ones)

About the squad prediction, imo Scalo most probably will go all out against Australia (June 15th), and probably Messi will play full time for that match. Against Indonesia I predict it will be like the game with Curacao, with Scalo let other (different starters) players to play and I don't think Messi will play full time in my country (half of me don't want Messi to end up tired but it's understandable the public's demand for him to play full time will be high).

Also, a warning. My country with its people can be sooo deadly embarassing. I hope Argentina's visit to my country will be nothing but a pleasant trip for the squad (and us as the host too).

hola!!

okay so first off im sorry but i have no idea about the prices and stuff. thats entirely up to you. i think the prices are worth it bc its a once in a lifetime experience especially with a team thats almost exactly the world cup winners team and so soon after the wc, with such quality players and chemistry, but then again nobody should ever trust an argentinian when it comes to how much money should be spent on futbol bc we're the people who sold cars and houses and saved money for years to attend important matches so we're a little too insane about the subject to be trusted to be reasonable when it comes to this so um. maybe don't listen to me. its up to you.

messi really doesn't like playing part time in games, even when its about leaving five minutes before the end to get a standing ovation he always likes to play the full game if he can instead. plus its not like he's got a bunch of club games surrounding the international dates during the transfer window either as far as i know. so unless he's hurt or really tired i think its unlikely that he'll play part time, i think he'll probably play full time both games. but yeah i agree i think especially if a lot of players come for the friendlies scaloni'll do like the curacao game and switch players a lot so as many as possible get to play which would also be nice to see!

im sure the scaloneta will have a fantastic time in indonesia, personally im really looking forward to the friendlies, i can't wait to see them play together again. sorry, this wasn't really helpful, but i hope you'll have a great time too and manage to get good spots if you decide to!!