#like am i grateful for any privileges i have? yes

[sailing-ever-west]

I think I'm too autistic to understand patriotism bro. Like why am i supposed to be in the "country where i happen to live" fandom

[drchucktingle]

What flavor of queer are you, if that's not too invasive of a question?

question is just fine with chuck it is kind of interesting story.

on LGBTQIA trot i am TECHNICALLY two letters

easy first one is B that does not need any more explanation. that has always been my trot

second way is what i have learned through talkin with my online buds way of non-dysphoric trans. it has taken chuck LONG time to understand this but it has been fruitful journey i think. long ago chuck would post online about becoming other people or things or concepts or wrestling with my IDENTITY as a buckaroo (whether that meant becoming sweet barbara or becoming my reverse twin or becoming the entire seahawks footballs team, very handsome). in fitting with my entire heckin LIFE some buds probably thought these were jokes when they were not at all. they were just personal artistic bubbles tumbling up and popping in ways i didnt understand yet.

but through posting these thoughts and THEN writing trans tinglers and talking to my trans buds online, i started to realize there are all kinds of versions of a trans identity INCLUDING the ones that rolled around deep inside of me that i never had a name for.

three events helped chuck understand this

first: the trans buds chuck talked to while researching harriet porber said 'well i always knew if i could press a button and change my body to match my gender i would instantly do this' and chuck thought 'of course woudlnt we all do this?' and they said 'well no, do you feel this way?' and i would say 'yes very strongly'. i will FOREVER be grateful to trans community for these conversations and maybe it is another reason why being anti-gatekeeping is so important to chuck.

second: thought about all the games i have ever played like a dang videogame or a role playing game, chuck would ALWAYS choose ladybuck character. didnt really think this was a unique thing at time but it is a pattern across whole life

third: chuck was trotting around with some buds and they all said 'whose bod would you choose if you could transform into any body?' (this is common topic for chuck believe it or not.) and the buckaroo guys went around naming the usual brats pitt or handsome channing and it got to chuck and i said 'obviously brie larson' and then the dang guys just kind of stared at chuck and then i realized 'oh, i didnt even think my answer was unusual but i guess they were only talkin guy bods'

these three things happened pretty close to one another but they were all bubbling up for decades and expressed in various ways even chuck did not entirely understand

anyway. chucks way is NOT that i feel uncomfortable in my body and it does not bring me grief. i am not upset about it honestly. i do not even THINK about it most days. however, it is all TRUE and in a purely technical and utilitarian sense of A PLUS B then YES, male would not be my preferred gender.

didnt talk on this for a while because there are MANY dysphoric trans buckaroos who go through a lot of hardships and i have gone through ABSOLUTELY NONE IN THIS WAY. it has not made my life more difficult and it does not haunt me, so i do not want to have my voice drown out other trans buds who need space to shout. i am very privileged so even though technically this applies to chuck i do not need or want any bonus points.

that beings said, part of my journey on the autistic spectrum was to recognize that EVEN THOUGH my personal story is not tragic, it is still an important one to get out there onto this timeline. IN FACT there should be more stories of buckaroos who love being autistic like chuck. i am PROUD of my trot and i love my autism (this is also why i wanted to explicitly say my lead character in camp damascus is autistic)

so in the same way, when directly asked, i will say: i am technically non-dysphoric trans ALSO this has not weighed on my life at all. my story is not tragic it is full of joy and excitement. i will not shy away from this because there are all kinds of buckaroos on this spectrum.

anyway that is my VERY LONG TROT hope you enjoyed getting to know chuck a little more thank you for this question buckaroo

[abcd-adventures]

Not an "easy read"--feel free to skip.

Friends, it has been a week. I am so. freakin. happy. to have zero plans today (other than, of course, catching up on a million chores). B even slept in until 6am. I was so grateful I'd turned my alarm off because that meant that I also slept in until 6am; I honestly cannot remember the last time I've done that. Even my mother coming out here to disrupt our quiet morning and make a jab at me about not going to church isn't going to derail this sense of peace. *eye roll. She's been sick, so I just casually asked her if she was going to church today. She responded, "Yes. Are you?" Look, man, I fully support anyone's spiritual or religious choices and practices so long as they're not harmful to others. Personally, I have never felt further away from my own sense of spirituality than I do in a church. It's not for me; I wish that didn't translate into my mother constantly in anguish about me going to hell, but what can you do. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Anyway, on Monday, I left work to take a friend to the psych ER for severe SI and a transfer to inpatient. Let me tell you, that process is horrific. As a therapist--and just...you know...a human--I actually cannot think of much worse for a person having a mental health crisis than to be put into what is essentially a cell in a psych ER. (And, please don't come at me to explain why they are the way they are because I do actually know all of that but my statement stands.) Thankfully, I was able to stay with my friend and eventually even able to transport them myself--SEVEN HOURS LATER--to the inpatient hospital, but everyone else was there alone. I honestly cannot imagine. While there, I got a call from CPS...nothing like that to scare ten years off of your life. They were actually calling about one of C's siblings because they needed an adult relative to release said sibling to or they were going to have to spend the night in CPS custody. I am not actually a relative, but I explained that my son is and gave them his number and then called him to prep him and talk him through the situation. Holy. Shit. Our house is already full to bursting, so I gave him money to get a hotel nearby and some essentials and dinner. Then, the SAME NIGHT, my husband had to call in a wellness check on my MIL and said, "It just feels like this is the night I'm going to hear that they've found her dead." That was not the case, but she is...not doing well, but was doing well enough to refuse EMS intervention.

I am very grateful to be able to support the people I love in facing difficult things. My friend is doing so much better already. My son is making me very proud of how he is being there for his sibling, and my husband and I are making a plan for what we can do for his mother. It is a lot, and it is heavy, but quiet days at home help. And, I would take the heaviness any day if it means that we have the privilege of being there for others.

[whumping-valentine]

Content: Captivity, conditioned whumpee

I wrote this like a year ago back when I first found out about whump and was experimenting with dynamics. Thought I'd make some edits and post it because why not.

~~~

Whumpee was sat in the grass, smiling as the warmth engulfed them. Cool wind was blowing through the leaves of the trees and the strands of their hair, light rain falling against their face like tiny kisses. Birds were singing, chirping and chattering all around as they searched for worms to feed their young. The outside world was so free and open, and Whumpee was grateful to even get a gaze upon it, let alone sit among it.

They looked up at Whumper with wide, grateful eyes, "Thank you for taking me outside." They said sincerely.

"Well, you've been good, haven't you?"

Whumpee wasn't sure what the right response was, "I am not sure, have I?"

"You tell me, what do you think?" Whumper said, crossing their arms as they did a small roll of their eyes, "Why else would you be outside? Yes, of course you've been good."

"Oh— I'm sorry, I didn't—"

"Yeah, yeah. Just because you're apparently stupid doesn't mean you're bad. Enjoy this privilege."

"I will, I'll enjoy it."

"Good for you." They said, uncaring. "I'm going to run inside real quick, and you're going to stay right here until I get back, okay?"

"Yes Sir/Ma'am." (???)

"Good."

As they walked away they turned their head and continued smiling, feeling grateful for the opportunity to be outside. Though now left alone, a terrible realization struck. The smile vanished from their face as they sunk their nails into the dirt.

What am I thinking?! Being outside is a privilege? It's not a privilege! I should be allowed go outside whenever I want! And explore the woods alone! And make my own food, in my own kitchen, whenever I want! Those aren't privileges!

A hit had been taking to their pride as they realized how conditioned they became. It had happened so slowly they couldn't even see what was happening right in front of them. They were blind to it.

All of this niceness isn't because Whumper actually likes or cares for them, it's just so they'll be good and obedient and not cause them any trouble! It's manipulation! How could they be so stupid?! So conditioned?! They were smarter than this, smarter than to fall for manipulation, and yet they still did.

This monster had them doing all these things just to have the privilege to what, eat? Go outside? Not be tortured?!

If they had any sense of dignity left, they would stand up and take off right now. They were alone, they were outside, they were... not free.

It didn't matter if Whumper gave them a key to the outside world and a map to get home. It didn't matter if they opened the door and let them go. Hell, if they told them to go. It didn't even matter if they dropped them off right back in their old bedroom, because they'd still come crawling back to Whumper.

Physical freedom means nothing if your mind is held under lock and key.

And it's just what Whumper wanted.

They've got them.

"Look at you." Whumper cooed as they returned, "Still here. I knew you were too good to run off. I'm so proud of you."

Whumpee felt defeated, and Whumper could see it in their eyes, which just made their next words all the more satisfying to hear

"Why would I go... when I have everything I need right here?"

[wilwheaton]

When you're considering a new creative project, what are some of your 'green flags' that you look for?

It's a real privilege that I can choose to say no to things I don't want to do. VERY few people, regardless of their industry or careers, get this privilege. I am super aware of it. I also know that I was forced to say yes to everything for most of my life and all of my childhood, and I believe that I have earned whatever privilege didn't provide.

I say no to nearly everything. The fact is that over half of the asks are from people who aren't interested in me as an artist as much as they are interested in the potential audience I bring. That's not always a bad thing. If it's something awesome, I'm thrilled that I have the audience to help get me over the finish line. But most of the time it isn't.

So when I'm not sure, I ask myself questions like:

Is this going to be fun?

Is this thing going to satisfy something in me that can only be satisfied by this thing?

Is there someone just phenomenal in this who it would be a privilege to work with?

Is this someone I love and trust and would do anything for? Yes? Oh it's a Felicia Day project? FUCK YES I AM ON BOARD.

Will I be grateful that I said yes to this, which would (and likely will) mean saying no to something else?

There are others, but I think you get the basic idea. A "yes" to any of those questions is a green flag. Yes to all of them generally means we're working out the details so I can get to work.

There may be a time in my life when I have to say yes to things so I can support my family. I hope that doesn't happen, but whether or not it does, I am extremely grateful for this moment in my professional life.

[saintmeghanmarkle]

Clapback for sugars insistent that Catherine is work-shy. by u/Larushka

Clapback for sugars insistent that Catherine is work-shy. I am so sick and tired of sugars complaining that Catherine doesn’t ‘work’ very much. So let me spell something out for you.And yes, I will be shouting….CATHERINE, PRINCESS OF WALES IS RAISING THE NEXT BUT ONE KING OF ENGLAND, AND HIS SPARES (just in case, but Heaven forbid).In fact, I would say, she has one of the MOST IMPORTANT JOBS in the Royal Family. It’s not a job I’d want!She’s very well aware of how privileged a life they lead, and is therefore trying to instill in their children, as much of a normal life as possible. And quite honestly, it seems a lot more normal than H&M are pretending to give their children, because NEITHER of them has a clue what ‘normal’ looks like.The sugars can mock Catherine for her middle class upbringing, but that’s what makes her understand normal.Both William and Harry had a privileged upbringing, and Diana, well aware she was also raising a King to be, did her best in her own way, to show them what the real world was like. But they still did not grow up in a normal household. Meghan, as we all know, did not have a normal upbringing - in her own words, growing up on set of a sitcom with an absentee mom and a dad who did his best at dadding, by his own admission, gave in to her every whim and desire.The ONLY person with a normal upbringing is Catherine. And William has often said that the Middletons normal home life was something he really enjoyed, and he clearly thrives, and so do the Wales children, on the life she has created for them.Playing cards with the Middletons? You can be sure the photographer said he’d like some footage of them doing something with the grandparents, so I’ll give that might be partially staged - but so what - they all looked like they were having fun. What have we seen from the Harkles? Hmm oh yeah, when we saw Prince George stirring cookie mixture, the Harkles clapped back with Archie doing the same thing. So I’m calling this now - do we get Doria playing with the children?So sugars, STFU. From everything we’ve seen so far, she’s doing an incredible job in raising the next Royal generation. And for those sugars living in the UK/Commonwealth, you should be damn grateful for the stellar job she’s doing, because Prince George will be YOUR King at some future date. post link: https://ift.tt/lSFrOA7 author: Larushka submitted: September 11, 2024 at 09:56PM via SaintMeghanMarkle on Reddit disclaimer: all views + opinions expressed by the author of this post, as well as any comments and reblogs, are solely the author's own; they do not necessarily reflect the views of the administrator of this Tumblr blog. For entertainment only.

[sequencefairy]

Love how your gut reaction to poor people saying they can’t afford the watcher subscription is that they must want free handouts from creatives and just don’t want to pay. Do you think all poor people are entitled like this? Should they just pull themselves up by their bootstraps? Poor people don’t deserve to consume art and leisure? I don’t think Steven and his Tesla are hurting too much. Hope you can find the grey areas in life one day Jessie bug 🧡 you seem really angry and I don’t think it’s entirely at the naysayers.

firstly, i'm not anyone's jessie bug, but especially not yours.

secondly, love how your gut reaction to me saying that art costs money to make and creators deserve to make a living while making it is to accuse me of classism. projecting, much?

art is not and never has been a free thing. it is, unfortunately, a luxury item. if you cannot afford the watcher subscription, that sucks! i'm sorry! there's folks giving out gifted subs who I bet would happily give you one, or if you have a friend or friends who you can share an account with, I'm sure that'd also help defray the cost. but art is not free and it shouldn't be.

creatives deserve to make a living just as much as anyone else does and until there is a Universal Basic Income for every person in the entire world, making that living means they have to charge an amount of money that allows them to live.

this, right here? this is the nuance you so handily accuse me of not having. do i like that art is a luxury item? no. do i think creatives deserve to afford to be able to keep making more art and living in this fucking capitalist hellscape? yes.

$6USD/mth is something I can afford to pay, and that's my privilege. it means i can give back to a company that i have supported financially since the day watcher launched and who i am grateful to for giving me friends, fan spaces and many, many good times in the five and a bit years i have been a fan of ryan and shane.

thirdly, this pointed reference to Steven as if he's the cause or the reason behind the company not wanting to continue to operate in the negative instead of this being like, oh, i dunno, comrade Shane's decision that he pushed? i see you in everyone's inboxes today with your bullshit and you can fuck off with it at any time.

[to-the-stars8]

Affairs and Letters

Jason Todd x Reader Regency AU! AO3 Chapters

Part X

Mr. Todd did not understand as he was fortunate to have grown up in the privileged life that Mr. Wayne provided for him. You, on the other hand, had no more beyond what the Kents had given you. Without them, you would reasonably be desolate on the streets. Yet, his words had stirred your thoughts. For so long you had attended the Kents faithfully and been gifted very much by them, but, as you thought of a life beyond them, you could not help but feel used. 

And now, despite your better judgment, you stood before Mr. Todd’s bedroom door. If anyone were to see you, there would be no explanation as to why you, an unmarried woman, were at the door of a young bachelor at midnight. Just as you were about to step away, now brought back to your senses, the entrance to Mr. Todd’s room opened. 

“Miss,” Mr. Todd said, surprised. “Is everything alright?”

You opened your mouth to speak, but no words could escape you. Jason, ever the observer, stepped aside to let you in. The room was lit with one or two candles, both of Mr. Todd’s desk where he seemed to be penning a letter. 

When the door closed, you turned back to him. You still could not find the words to explain your presence, so he filled the silence for you. “I heard from the apothecary that Jon’s condition has improved.”

“Yes,” You managed to say. You noted that when you were not looking at him, it was much easier to find words. “The Kents are very grateful for your father.”

Jason chuckled, motioning for you to sit on the bed as he took a seat at his desk. “Most people in this town are. He has made it his mission to gain everyone’s approval.”

“You disagree,” You asked, finally looking up to meet his eyes. They sparkled with intrigue that drew you further in. 

Jason shook his head. “On the contrary, I understand a reputation needs to be made for a certain social order, especially when one is new. You of all people would understand that most, as well.”

You smiled, looking down at your hands. “Yes, I do understand.”

“I believe my suffering comes from my own,” He paused, thinking. “Awkwardness. I like to be comfortable.”

“Being too comfortable can have an effect on the character.”

“How do you mean?”

You thought, picking your words carefully. “Well, being too comfortable can possibly equate to never wanting to change. Change is important to one’s character. To speak plainly, it can lead to narrowmindedness.”

“You would not want that?” You shook your head at his words. “Then why do you not seek change?”

“What?”

Mr. Todd leaned back in his chair, looking amused. “You say you believe change is necessary, but you seem comfortable where you are now. You deal with the Kents, serving them on both hand and foot with no want to change. So, could you not argue that it is not only comfort that challenges the person, but also the unwillingness to take chances?”

You felt a bit slighted, whether by boldness to make such accusations, or that he was right. “I…”

“Worry not,” Jason smiled and stood. “I am not attempting to undermine or judge you. Nor am I in any position to do so.” 

“It feels as though you are,” You said, standing with him. There was no malice, and you felt the bit of humor he meant. 

He looked down at you, eyes searching for something in yours, perhaps some fault he could make you laugh at. Suddenly, Jason’s hands were on your hips, pulling you toward him. You did not deny him of this touch as you found yourself liking it. You almost had hoped he would touch you in such a way when you knocked upon his door. It brought forth feelings you had not known were possible. You’d had secret flights of fancy before, but nothing similar to what Mr. Todd made you feel. It was deep and resonated with something you felt had been missing.

“Who am I to judge a beautiful woman?” Mr. Todd said, pressing a feather-light kiss to your lips. 

You giggled. “There are some men who believe that beautiful women are dangerous.”

“Scared fools,” Jason said, hand slowly playing with one of the buttons on the back of your dress. 

“No, Mr. Todd,” You said, pushing his hand away from your back. “I will not let you have me so easily.”

Jason smiled again, putting his face into the nape of your neck and breathing in your scent. You smelled of sweet perfume with a slight hint of peppermint oil. Your hands wandered his back, feeling the muscles under his shirt and he heard you such in a breath. 

“Jason,” said you. He hummed in response. “You say that the unwillingness to take chances harms one's character, what if those chances could be one's ruin?”

Mr. Todd was silent for a second before he pulled back from your neck, putting his forehead against yours. “More experience I suppose. Life is full of trial and error. It is human to learn,” He pressed light kisses to your hand. “Yet, I am sensing that this does alleviate any worry.”

“No, sir, it does,” You said, quickly deciding to speak plainly. “I just know I cannot let you be my ruin.”

“Then do not let me be your ruin. I would not wish to be. If I am to be anything to you, then let me be your experience.”

[queer-geordie-nerd]

"The other photo on my wall is a black and white portrait of Andreas giving a military salute. In the photo he’s already bald from chemotherapy. Bald and intensely alive. Another old warrior, just like my father. Eccentric, wildly talented, deeply spiritual, Andreas had the ability to lift you to a whole different dimension when you were lucky enough to be in a scene with him. Any scene, even the most ordinary, the most insignificant one. (He would probably protest and say that “insignificant” scenes don’t exist if you’re a truly serious actor.)

Under all the latex, he was the most human of us all. You had a feeling that he could get away with any choice, even the most outrageous one. He was that free. He was that brave. I remember a scene we had one day on B5. As I was learning my lines at home, I didn’t think much of the scene. I saw it as an exposition scene, with lots of words and not much emotion. In the scene, the following question is discussed: is it justified to sacrifice a certain number of people (and aliens of course – we were on B5!) to save an even bigger amount of people (and aliens)? To me the scene seemed like a dry, philosophical, purely theoretical discussion between our characters. I was looking forward to working with The Master but wished for a more emotional scene. Oh well, I thought, even this was better than nothing.

So I come to the set, all made up. I sit in a chair. And there, facing me, is the big lizard G’Kar, looking at me. I say my first line and look into Andreas’s red eyes. Before answering me, he pauses. I see his chin trembling. I see a tiny tear appear in the corner of his eye. And, suddenly, I am moved beyond words. And, suddenly, I too feel a tear in my own eye. And, suddenly, the scene becomes a completely different scene from the one I had envisioned at home. The dialogue suddenly becomes deeply personal. The words don’t matter any more (or, more precisely, they suddenly start to truly matter, having been illuminated by the personal stake invested into them).

What Andreas brings to those words is his whole being, his whole human experience, all his pain and sadness. And, suddenly, we soar. And I am lifted to another realm. And while this is happening, I’m aware, somewhere in the corner of my mind, that I’m privileged to take part in a master class in acting which starts with one of the most important lessons: no scene can ever be dismissed as insignificant. Even if it is, an actor’s job is to make it personal. The job is nothing more (and nothing less) than to make EVERYTHING personal. Only then the words start to matter and the scene has a chance to come alive. I thank Andreas in my mind, grateful for that unexpected moment we all live for.

But Andreas is also deeply introspective and insecure. When I call him one day after the show had ended and ask him how he is, he says: “I’m mourning the death of my career.” He also says: “I’m just a mediocre actor. That’s not enough to ‘make it.’ The world needs exceptional actors, not someone like me.” (And I’m thinking: if you’re mediocre, where do I belong?) His insecurity is endearing to me and just proves that the best people are modest and humble. It also proves something I’ve been aware of for a long time: only fools are perfectly self-confident. Doubt, especially self-doubt, is a part of wisdom. A part of being human.

He comes to dinner to our house and brings a Greek desert he has made himself. He gives me the recipe. I have kept it on my fridge ever since. He collects coupons from the papers and uses them for grocery shopping. He has a weekly budget he sticks to, no matter what. He tells me he wants to collect a million dollars in his bank account before he dies. “Does it have to be a straight million?” I ask, laughing. “Yes, it has to be a round number,” he answers, dead serious.

I propose to Peter and Andreas that we do my beloved play, the one that I never had a chance to do: Harold Pinter’s “Betrayal.” In my mind it would be a dream job with a dream cast in a dream play. Peter is somewhat game but Andreas says he’s “burnt out” theater-wise. He says (and he’s right) that theater requires a different kind of readiness, a different kind of stamina, a different kind of mental and physical form. “We’ve all lost it. Since we’re not doing it any more,” he says and gets me worried. Would I ever be able to do theater again?

Billy comes up with the idea of doing a record. We all contribute two songs. It’s a lot of fun. Andreas says he can’t sing but Billy is persuasive enough and Andreas finally agrees to do it. Although he’s not a singer and is off key most of the time, he steals the record with his absolute honesty and his genuine feeling, capturing the very essence of blues.

And then he gets sick. We go to his house and read the Tibetan Book of the Dead, according to his wishes. He had found love by the end of his life. His wife put together a short film with clips from his performances. We watch the breathtakingly handsome young Andreas in a hot, sexy scene on some Greek island with the most famous model of the seventies, Verushka. We all laugh and Andreas laughs the most. We watch him do theater somewhere in Africa with the great master, Peter Brook. We don’t want to let him go. And when he dies, his wife invites us to sit with him and help him “make the transition,” as is the Buddhist way. G. and I sit there for half an hour. He looks like the Greek god that he is. He’s majestic. He’s like a sculpture. His body is cold and peaceful and so beautiful, so absolutely perfect. And death seems natural and not scary at all. Farewell, dear, sweet, talented man! We were lucky to know you.

My friends are with me all the time, alive or dead. After a while it doesn’t matter anymore. Sometimes the dead ones seem more alive than the living. Maybe it’s my nature. Maybe it’s my age. Maybe it’s just how it is."

- Mira Furlan, Love Me More Than Anything In the World

[letmereadinpeace4]

I have finally finished the first part of the second episode and have reached the actual family conference. I have a lot of thoughts about George/Shannon and Jessica/Kanon.

I cannot really bring myself to ship either couple. They do have cute moments together, but I feel like their romantic feelings are mostly due to the fact that the other is fulfilling a need or resolving an insecurity rather than an actual connection.

George loves Shannon, but his feelings seem to be mostly helped by the fact that her fawning over him and her being formerly interested in Battler helps his insecurities and his feelings of inferiority. In a perhaps even worse way, Jessica's feelings for Kanon seem to be mostly due to him being one of the few men her age she has around (even the narration acknowledges it). As for Shannon and Kanon, and by extensions Sayo, her feelings are a complicated mess between being envious of them, admiring them, being grateful for the attention and interest and looking for a way to escape their place as "furniture". Overall, neither character seems to have genuine appreciation for their love interest as an actual person.

Another thing that bothers me is that George and Jessica come from a place of immense privilege and are, in many although different ways, incredibly self-absorbed (yes Jessica, please tell the orphan who was raised as a charity case, cannot go to high school and works his ass off as sixteen that YOU were born under an unlucky star).

While the story shows us how they are negatively impacted by this position in terms of familial pressure, they are still in a place where, in one hand, they have some measure of freedom to determine the person they want to be or present themselves as, and on the other hand, they have never suffered any amount of actual grave consequences and trauma. Because of this, their speeches of love and their protests against Shannon and Kanon calling themselves furniture ring very hollow. They do not understand Sayo's trauma and are in no way equipped to handle it and while this is certainly not their faults, their reactions really show how much they do not have the proper tools and insight to get to the actual core of the problem.

Furthermore, the cynical part of myself wonders how much their feelings will last when faced with the backlash from their choice of partners. Sure, George talks about how he does not care about what anyone will say, but will he say the same thing when his parents refuse to support him financially and he has to work a difficult or boring job to support his family? When his wife is used to humiliate him ? When he constantly faces comments and jokes about his partners? When he has to handle Sayo's trauma and the way it impacts her and her self-esteem? Hell, when he has to handle that he will never have any biological children? It is easy to say "I don't care what anyone says, I am marrying you" but the biggest obstacle is not the actual opposition, it is the length of time and the constant little annoying things that happen every day.

However what I find most interesting in this romantic nonsense is that some of these criticisms can be applied to Battler and Beatrice. By understanding the weaknesses in George/Shannon and Jessica/Kanon, we are prepared to see where Battler messes up with Beatrice and where she messes up with him. Battler can also be pretty self-involved, engaging more in the how done it that the why done it (which will eventually cause Beatrice's death). Beatrice also seems to be using Battler as a mean to an end. However, where George/Shannon and Jessica/Kanon never had the chance to overcome these flaws, Beatrice and Battler eventually were forced to face these flaws and grow up.

[majestic-cicada]

The Majestic Cicada

Source: https://sayostudio.com/portfolio/cicada-life-cycle/

When I was a teenager, I never knew _what_ I wanted to be when I grew up. All the ideas of careers I had, however, dealt with wanting to make the world a better place - I don't think that's an experience unique to me. I like to think that most young people want to grow up and change the world for the better, I like to think that that is everyone's goal. So in a way, I knew _who_ I wanted to be.

Fast forward to doing what most young people are pressured into doing straight after high school (or else, obviously you're a failure... PSA: that's a crock of frass)- I went to university. I was very fortunate and privileged to attend a prestigious university in a small town in the middle of nowhere. It was an epic journey. I had a very generous family friend pay for the first two years of my studies.

[Soliloquy: I recently messaged him when I became overwhelmed with gratitude. The trajectory of my life would not be what it is without him... It could have been but he certainly made the road a lot smoother for me. Always be grateful. His words to me were, "You never need to pay me back but, rather, pay it forward." And so I try to do that in some way everyday, and I remind myself of this goal by saying a few things I am grateful for. Yes, even on the days when the thoughts of dark clouds are oppressive.]

I had been greatly humbled by my lack of academic achievement after my first semester. I had also been greatly liberated by my social experiences. Even so, I picked my damaged ego up and kept moving toward the finish line. I had registered with the intention of majoring in Zoology and Botany. Until one fateful day... Professor Martin Hill walked into the lecture theatre and began, with his booming yet very balanced voice, about insects. Five minutes into that lecture, I already knew Zoology was out of the window. Entomology was my new special interest.

Fast forward to second year. I had to collect 200 families of insects, preserve and pin them properly, and correctly identify them using dichotomous keys. As a vegetarian at the time, and someone who was extremely fond of any 6-legged creature, this was one of the most trying tasks I'd had to undertake. My pinning technique was shocking (sorry to the tutors and lecturers who marked my collection, and most importantly my sincerest apologies to the poor critters whose corpses are so poorly displayed).

I was, however, exceptionally talented at using a butterfly net. One day, whilst strolling towards the quarry, always on the look out for insects, I heard this odd noise in a bush. I saw this massive... fly? I wasn't sure. I had never seen anything so spectacular in my life. But the odd noise was somewhat familiar. It took me back to summer on the coast with my grandparents. I caught the poor bugger (pun very much intended) and off we went to the lab. It turns out, this was not just any cicada, this was a rare cicada to find in the area. I was absolutely taken by this enchanting and noisy creature. And so my love for the Majestic Cicada exploded.

I ended up collecting a coastal species in the mid-semester break, obsessively searching for them, obsessively devouring and gorging on the information of these creatures. We sometimes call them "Christmas beetles" here. They are not beetles at all, but rather true bugs (i.e. Hemiptera). They were given their misnomer for two reasons:

They emerge in the summer months (over Christmas time in the southern hemisphere) and make one hell of a racket.

Their nymphal casing looks almost beetle-like, which they discard as they emerge from the ground.

In my somewhat feverish love affair with learning about cicadas, what has stuck with me was that some species can take up to 17 years to develop before they emerge from the ground. I explained that poorly.

The adult female lays eggs.

Eggs hatch after a few weeks (species-dependent).

The nymphs (of which there are 5 instars), burrow into the ground where they hide from the world, growing, developing, figuring things out. The nymphs attach to tree roots for nourishment.

After what is one of the longest nymphal stages of an insect life cycle (at least to he best of my knowledge at the time), 13-17 years the nymphs emerge from the ground and into the daylight. They do this all within a few days.

After their emergence, they molt their exoskeleton for the last time, and crawl up a tree, pale and vulnerable as their wings extend and their exoskeletons darken and harden.

As fully-fledge adults, the males fly around singing the most ludicrous song in search of females. The females show their approval with wing-flapping.

After a wild time of promiscuity and making as much noise as possible, the adult females will lay their eggs. The adults live for only a few days to a fortnight. And so the cycle begins again.

It's beautiful, isn't it? This cycle of a 6-legged creature, so similar to the experience of so many humans. We're put away in schools for our formative years, kept separate from society at larger, in the dark and not in the daylight. We emerge one day as adults, vulnerable, confused and trying to figure out what the heck we're supposed to do. And when we've gained our strength and certainty, we fly, screech and fulfill our life's purpose. We perish and return to the earth from whence we came, their to provide nutrients to trees whose roots will one day feed future generations.

As I'm getting closer to thirty years old, I feel like my exoskeleton is starting to harden, I'm not so vulnerable anymore. My wings are itching to take flight. I am ready.

Prof. Martin Hill, if you ever read this or get this far through reading this, thank you. Thank you for bringing such joy to my life through your passion. Inspired by you, I now teach biology. I have a booming voice and a fire to warm the curious minds of my students. If you've forgotten who I am, I used to wear the most outrageous outfits, with the most outrageous hairstyles and often times in winter, I wore my ladybird onesie to lectures. You have made an indelible mark on my intellect, my journey and my life. Thank you.

[talkethtothehandeth]

Why is everything medical so expensive (aside from the fact they want us dead) like $1.5k to get my lungs tested, $880 for fucking blood work and my endo surgery??? My endo surgery to remove pieces of uterine tissue throughout my abdomen and off of my organs??

People say I’m lucky for being on Medicaid and receiving the bare minimum of SSI aid (I couldn’t live on it at all, I cannot save because of bills) and I am so privileged to even have these services. I am SO thankful that I can get help for free, but I am not receiving adequate care; my body is trying to, quite literally, kill me again.

I am so fucking blessed to have no medical expenses, it is something I will forever be grateful for because I’m probably never going to get off of it. I’ve been on Medicaid since I was 3 when they declared me “legally” disabled (yes, really).

Also the government is so horrible with disabled people. The only reason I have this is because my mom fought for me as a kid so hard just so I could be okay. I appreciate her always and I can’t express it enough, the level of gratitude I have for this.

I would die without having Medicaid, but I cannot get certain aids, I cannot have access to doctors unless they approve it, I cannot have any medication they don’t approve, any braces medicaid pays for fall apart and lose their stability because it stretches too much. I cannot go to doctors outside of my main hospital without a referral and approval. I cannot afford to be sick, that is the biggest problem.

Free healthcare seems like a dream, but it is not. Yes you get coverage, in exchange for only being able to have $2k at any time for any reason, not being able to marry your partner, you cannot choose a doctor on your own or where you need to get treated, you don’t have access to eye or ear care, you cannot get into a dentist because there are such few places that accept it and it is full because everyone is fucking poor which means the waiting lists are so long that by the time you’re able to see a doctor, they send you to a new one since your symptoms got worse and out of their field. There is a reason I’m on Medicaid, and it’s not because I have thousands of dollars in my bank account.

Although it is absolutely a privilege, without financial aid I would die. And I fucking hate that this is a reality for so many people. It makes my blood boil knowing we have enough resources to take better care of people, but the government literally refuses to do anything unless they think you’re bad enough. And when you are bad enough to their standards, it’s a whole other type of price to pay.

Tl;dr: people deserve low cost or free healthcare and it is incomprehensible to me how the American health system can just charge you whatever they want for whatever reason when all you want to do is live

[wheelerpilled]

Reminder that if you're pro-israel block me. Dni. Or even if you are remaining neutral!!!!!! 🇵🇸

There is a genocide still ongoing! Read this post before interacting with my page as it's important.

__________________________________________

And no. By supporting Palestine I don't mean supporting Hamas.

I mean supporting the civilians who have been bombed, killed, and displaced by Israeli attacks. The innocents who are being slaughtered. Those who are the victims in this horrific genocide.

___________________________________________

Block me if you remain neutral. I just can't fathom how anyone can remain on the fence after hearing about the one-sided onslaught in Gaza. Stand with Palestine or stay away from my page as you are not welcomed here. Please, if you don't know alot about the situation that well- ATTEMPT to educate yourself! It is not an excuse to remain neutral due to not knowing the extent of the situation. The resources are readily available.

Sorry if this sounds blunt, my intentions are just in support of spreading awareness for Palestine.

_____________________________________________

here is a link to a useful masterpost of ways you can educate yourself about Palestine and support them.

Please take a look.

While most of us sit privileged and comfortable there is a GENOCIDE ONGOING. This is not meant to be rude or come across as aggressive. it is just a fact. Alot of people (including myself) will probably (and hopefully) never have to firsthand experience such horrors that Palestinians are going through. the fact that innocent people, including innocent CHILDREN AND INFANTS are suffering in such unimaginable ways is vile. it's heartbreaking how cruel the situation is.

I am forever grateful that I am not in such a horrible situation and it's so important that we never take it for granted, so please, all of us can contribute in some way shape or form, no matter how small it may seem. Every contribution helps. Even if it's supporting in free ways without donating.

_________________________________________

Remember to DO YOUR CLICK EVERYDAY. IT TAKES A SECOND AND IT IS FREE.

-i understand some people can't donate. But there is no reason not to take a moment to CLICK A BUTTON everyday. Everything adds up and helps.

even if you don't, just remember to engage with any pro-palestine posts you come across in your feed. Please, spread awareness no matter how you do it. Educate yourself and others on what's happening in the world and about the conflict if you are able to.

_____________________________________________

Yes I am aware I'm a ST blog, a show of which has Zionist cast members- I would like to make it clear now that I do NOT align myself with such vulgar and cruel views and neither should you!! I have no respect for Brett Gelman, Noah Schnapp or ANY other Zionists. I pirate any content I wish to watch from big streaming sites and I will not be streaming ST5 on Netflix or funding a subscription that will benefit Zionists. I won't shame anyone for doing otherwise but I advise people to look into alternative ways of seeing content... especially content of which could POTENTIALLY fund Zionists!!!

____________________________________________

That's all, thank you- please remember to stand with and support Palestine 🇵🇸🇵🇸.

[whiterosebrian]

Death and Depression

I have very sad news to report.  My mother died.  She most likely died from a complication from chemotherapy, though I suspect that the other family members wouldn’t want me to divulge other details.  My mother and father both did their best to help me cope with my autism for well over forty years.  I am grateful that they taught me to honor every human life and treat every individual with respect with no regards to color, heritage, or any other inherent qualities.  I am also grateful that they set me on a path of seeking truth and love, whatever twists and turns that path took.

There have been times, especially in recent years, when I feared that I have not been a good enough son to my parents.  I’ve feared that long strings of repeated incidents of misbehavior and inappropriate reactions continually ruined their lives.  They have told me that I have actually been a good son; they’ve also told me bad behaviors largely came from a disability that I can’t entirely control.  Was my best good enough for my late mother?  Maybe it was. 

My mother died recently enough that it may be too early to tell how exactly how the loss has affected me.  Perhaps I can say that a massive, bloody gap has been left in my life.  Is my pain valid, however?  So very many people are facing much, much worse at this moment.  As a cisgender white male living in an upper-middle-class home, am I too systemically privileged for my pain to count as real?  Must I passively accept each and every personal pain? 

I have indeed felt much emotional weight and pain.  I have felt a cloud of depression over my life for a very long time.  That depression may be getting worse now.  I have felt almost no motivation for sketching or drawing.  I haven’t even felt up to writing another exercise in poetry lately.  I’ve felt even less delight in activities that should be relaxing or stimulating.  You may recall that my decades-long dream of being a successful and popular creative writer and illustrator has seemed further and further away from reality as the years passed, despite my efforts to develop my skills, leading to a profound crisis of purpose. 

I recently realized that I still feel the wounds from the difficult decision that I made back in 2018 to abandon Catholicism after nearly a quarter-century as a fervent convert.  I’ve heard losing faith being described as akin to a very ugly divorce.  Talking about wanting to be a pagan druidic wizard does risk making me sound like a complete infantile lunatic.  Being an autistic loner leads me to being terminally online, and the brutal socio-political polemics and frequent doomsaying that I encounter (of varying degrees of accuracy) exacerbate my crisis of purpose—I certainly have a hard time knowing exactly what is true and just.

My awareness of being a northwestern European on Turtle Island also makes me think that I am too much of a colonizer to be worthy of human dignity.  Sometimes, I think that I might as well be some nightmarish Lovecraftian eldritch alien—or a malignant tumor.  Do I need to at least passively accept every burden and every loss as punishment from Mother Earth for being a colonizer from birth?  Yes, I know how melodramatic those statements sound.  I am being brutally honest about how I’ve come to see myself.  I simply wish to do right by people who are more marginalized and by the earth itself, helping to bring healing and peace and freedom.   

I don’t know if I can ask for much sympathy at this time.  So very many people suffer far more badly.  I appreciate anything that you might offer to me.  I ask that you also badger your leaders wherever you live and agitate for meaningful policy changes to enable meaningful social changes.  Can you also find any local organizations that you can work with to build stable local communities?  Anyhow, what can I do for myself?  I’m still trying to figure out what is best, both for me and for everyone around me.

[sea-saur]

gender rant under the cut

ok here's the thing i've been on t for a little over a year now and i had top surgery back in september of '22 so like i'm cooking right im a little guy in an incubator and my voice has changed for sure and my bottom growth is growing and im getting more hair in places etc etc so like things are happening right. but i'm also 5'2" and have a big ole ass and while my voice has changed it isn't changed enough to pass and while yes i have more body hair plenty of cis girls have more body hair than me and like basically i'm getting on and off dysphoria for not passing. i don't even WANT to pass as a cis man, i just want to NOT be read immediately as a girl. you know? and frankly i'm happy with the body hair and bottom growth and it'd be nice if my fat redistribution kicked in a little more but i'm comfortable with my weight etc etc like....frankly i think it's mostly the voice. the voice and the face. like if my face looked more boyish and my voice sounded more boyish i think the rest of my body would coast cause i've seen enough chubby guys of various shapes to not really feel that self conscious about my body. it's the face and voice that sell it.

and the other thing is like....i have this thing where it's like 'i don't pass as a boy therefore i'm not one' when i don't put that requirement on any other queer person but for ME living it mentally? it's hard to put together the 'i walk around and am read as a girl, and i was raised as a girl, and hell i frankly WAS a girl up until my 20's like that's a part of who i am and im not ashamed of that, i love child me she is important to who i am as a person and frankly i'm grateful to be trans in that way, i think growing up a girl can make me a better guy" (and yeah there's a lot of privilege to be able to say i love being trans, i'm in a large city and work in an industry where queerness is accepted and often celebrated so like. i know. i'm really very very lucky and im extremely grateful for that) but mentally, it's hard for me to even see myself as a transmasc person when i don't SEE it physically, AND because my insides are still me. like i'm still me. and i didn't grow up as feeling like a boy in a girls body. i'm still some kind of nonbinary, still very queer in general, like being bi puts an interesting spin on this too since i have never been and don't associate my personal self with lesbian spaces, or gay men spaces, i sort of float in any queer generalities that people are into. but yeah, never really clicked with lesbian specific environments. i love lesbians but im just not one.

BUT i was raised a girl, so i feel COMFORTABLE around women, often times more than men. queer people in general of any gender are number 1, but ya know. the gist is coming off of a gig the last month that was very queer coded in the musical we were doing, and being surrounded by queer women making lesbian jokes, i felt...simultaneously left out (no one was leaving me out, to be clear, i mean within my own personal identity crisis lol) and also too included. i don't know. a lot of it is in my head, people are often good about my pronouns and frankly i don't KNOW how my usual colleagues see me as a person, if they have to work harder to reframe their interpretation of me away from "girl" and into "transmasc person" since i worked with a number of them before i started medically transitioning. thankfully i always read as a queer person haha. i have that going for me, which does feel very affirming.

idk. even my own apartment decor gives me dysphoria sometimes, which drives me crazy!! i like my apartment decor! I keep trying to do little things to "masc" it up, neutralize it a little, even tho i love all the things i've put in my home. i need new curtains.

there's nothing more to do about it right now i guess, besides try and take more active steps toward my legal name change, and potentially switching from t gel to injections, but that scares me because i'm afraid of doing it wrong and hurting myself. the gel is safer that way. and the dose is daily so i think it gives are more consistent level throughout the week. i also don't know exactly how much i want to pass as "just some guy" even tho this entire rant is literally about that. i think that my fear is that i look cis/straight, which frankly idk that i ever even would based on how i am as a person, so idk why i'm worried about it. basically, i want to stop feeling like i'm 'pretending' to be transmasc. cause sometimes it feels like it's all a lie and im actually just a girl who doesn't want to be a girl but is stuck as one. especially since i don't want to be a cis guy either. i also don't want to lose my ties to my past - i don't connect with womanhood, but i don't want to lose the "sisterhood" for lack of a better term? But also really want to be part of the queer "brotherhood" that i feel like i can't be based on where i am as a person? idk i feel a lot of the time that when im in my own home, im just a little goosey guy. the second i leave my apartment and im percieved, i'm a masculine woman to the world. and even tho masculine women are the fucking shit, im just not that!! and so. dysphoria.

[owlespresso]

kuras meets a strange critter. 800 words. my specific mc and not a reader-insert. feel free to blacklist "a strange horse" if you don't want to see any other my mc-specific posts.

Kuras picked up a woman, half dead, in the wastes, and now she is unconscious on his only cot. Still breathing, despite the wide gashes and recently-reattached arm. Precious few were bold—or foolish enough to trek the wastes to make it to Eridia. While he regrets the unkind fate the caravan was met with, he is grateful that he managed to save a life. 

He had thought her a mere girl, at first. A child, so small. Her unconscious form, half-submerged, had been coddled by the bodies of no less than five Soulless. Had the travelers taken up arms, managing to slay a handful before their inevitable deaths? Killing one of the accursed beasts was an impressive enough feat for a group of ordinary folk. Had she not been bleeding out her life by the lungful, he would have liked to remain and inspect the scene.

Saving a life, he decides, is more important than sifting through broken remains and corpses torn asunder. 

She snaps up from her rested position in one, violent motion. The blankets are tossed to her waist. There’s a wild, hunted look in those wide eyes as they dart around his office, before finally landing on him. He’s completely frozen, thumb wedged still between the corners of the pages he’d been swiping through. 

“Do not be afraid,” he begins. 

“I’m not.” she says, before he can continue. He wouldn’t fault her if she was. Alone, a woman bare in a stranger’s room. It’s perhaps common sense to be afraid. He wonders if it is sheer naivety that drives her to trust him immediately. Or, maybe, she is an exceptional judge of character. He smiles, eyes crinkling at the edges.

“Good. I suggest you take things slowly. I healed the bulk of your injuries, but some soreness may remain…” he elaborates.

“No. I feel fine,” she says, and Kuras realizes that her eyes must naturally be that large. Wide, but betraying no emotion. Not unintentionally. Like the glazed eyes of a lamb. There is not an ounce of distrust, there. No contempt or suspicion towards the stranger she has woken up naked beside.

“That is a relief to hear, given the state I discovered you in.” “Rarely does the Fogfall permit any survivors. I am grateful I discovered you when I did. Any later, and you would have been beyond help.”

“Can I ask you a question?”

“After enduring such an injury and being such a model patient, I think you have at least earned that,” Kuras says, smiling.

“What are you?”

Kuras stops smiling. What a peculiar query. He could perhaps brush it off as a slip of the tongue, borne of the haze that comes with awakening from deep sleep, but he realizes that there is an intention to the question. A purposefulness.

“I am a doctor,” he informs her, slowly and carefully. Does she see him, somehow, for what he truly is? Does she see the sickly gold cracks in his shell, where the light of his yolk seeps through? Rarely, mortals are possessed of a rare, inner sight. A sixth sense for what does not belong. He cannot discern truly if she is among their number, but she mercifully does not question him further.

“And this is your office?”

“Yes,” he says, and a soft silence settles between them. He lets it rest for a beat. “Might I ask your name?”

“Horse.”

“Pardon?”

“That’s my name.” she clarifies. Very helpfully.

Kuras, across the long ages he has lived, has had the privilege of meeting an endless catalog of individuals. He has encountered nearly every name under the sun, but never has he heard of a person named Horse. He can only wonder what kind of parents this strange creature must have had. 

“Well. It is very nice to meet you, Horse.” he smiles, and the interaction plays out. Horse is a person who doesn’t quite fit into the shape of one, he thinks. He’s encountered those socially inept, those inexperienced in the ways and mannerisms of their fellows. This is something different. 

“What have you come to Eridia for?” he asks. “Perhaps I can be of assistance.”

“Help.”

“Can you elaborate? I cannot aid you if I know not what ails you.”

“No.” A beat, she looks apologetic. “Sorry.”

Most of her responses follow a similar trend. Short and to the point, betraying no excess detail and rarely showing exceptional amounts of emotion. In the end, he discovers that Horse is:

has come to the city of Eridia in search of help for a problem she will not disclose to him, at the moment

has no contacts in the city, nowhere to stay and no idea where to start looking

is named Horse

Sensing there’s very little he’ll be able to do for her, at least at the moment, he directs her to the person he knows will be weakest to her large doe eyes and sympathetic situation. Leander. She thanks him politely, mustering the gusto to actually look him in the eyes for a fleeting second before she scurries out the door. She flees with such urgency, but it shuts so gently and quietly behind her. Kuras has a feeling, a sensation he cannot ascertain the origin of, that he has just released something onto the streets.