#the habby place

[peliculadiverss]

📷 Small photo shoot 📷

[endlessmidnightcreates]

Gift that I gave to @annadeef for their bday a couple months ago, their dnd character Sly. God I love that cvnt, the most amazingest tiefling fr I love her so much y'all.

[crazy-lazy-elder-sims]

(arabic speaker here but with Egyptian context)

All of them are used in a sarcastic way too

Inshallah can be used as an answer to demands you will never do as a "keep wishing" answer.

Mashallah can be used to make fun of a failing situation or person kinda like when you say "wooow" my mom used to say "mashallah you have salad for brain how are you still alive?" /Sarcastic when i would do somthing stupid. Subhanallah is used in the same context but stronger more bewilderment indicated

Bismillah can also be used when u get jump scared by somthing over the top or funny like if a black cat was blending in in the dark then opens its eyes scaring you you say "bismillaaaah you scared me" you can use this in a funny way to make fun of your friends faces or something.

There is also the addition of habbi and habbiti to any of these sometimes its gentle sometimes it to make fun "mashallah habbi what how graceful you are" after your friend/sibling falls on thier face is sarcastic as hell

Yalla means come on and it can be said sarcasticly like"lets gooo!" After somthing goes to shit in a funny comedic way

Bas means stop or enough can be said in a normal context but if someone is rambling on and is like traling into madness about a blorbo you can pat thier back and say bas bas its okay

i think we should all start using arabic words and phrases more often because its a beautiful language and also theres not really. english equivalents that have the same vibes

theres also the comedy potential of it. you guys dont know the joy of having your muslim friend text you "hopefully the racists in our city will all get sick and cant go to the protest" and you, as a pasty white guy, responding with "inshallah they get covid"

its a one hit KO every time. its fucking hilarious. theres no english word that has the same effect.

he also once texted me that he got over a mysterious illness he came down with (i think? i cant remember the exact context) and i responded with "subhanallah he is cured"

again, one hit KO. he lost his shit.

what im saying is we gotta normalise arabic. its just a language like any other, and it has some great words. its just like saying "thank god" or whatever, but theres so much variety and nuance. its beautiful

[goldenbear228]

I forgot to update y’all (I’m sorry!) : body is doing ok

Also : Making problems is sometimes ok

[fieryvoid-scout]

I was one of the lucky few, I am completely broke and I'm not even close to being done decorating, but I absolutely adore this place.

[a-dauntless-daffodil]

it hurts me. the parallel of Charlie at the start of ep 1, so excited about showing her plans for the hotel to heaven she doesn't see how VERY NOT excited about it Vaggie is (cough angel kicked out by heaven for not doing enough murder cough cough), even while getting literally up in Vaggie's face.....

and then Vaggie, when Charlie comes drooping home after that all crashed and burned spectacularly- now it's VAGGIE so excited to show CHARLIE the new and improved hotel commercial she got everyone to make while Charlie was away... now it's Vaggie, up close and basically physically pressing her excitement into her girlfriend, not seeing how utterly crushed Charlie is right then

like, clearly Vaggie expected the heaven meeting to not live up to Charlie's hopes for it. Clearly she REALLY wanted to have something GOOD AND HOPEFUL for Charlie to come home to afterwards

-which would have worked too, if the Extermination schedule update hadn't interrupted the commercial airing

look at how habby Charlie was finding out about the commercial

awww

"heaven isn't homophobic" well then what do you call them interrupting this lesbian's hard won cheer-up-the-girlfriend effort huh? what was that then. not only cruel but also an insult to us queers everywhere. one of the only real sins we ever see in the show, tbh

but gods, they give each other so much CONFIDENCE, chaggie and the mutual "I can do this for her" / "She thinks I can do this and I will" synergy...

and it keeps fucking their relationship up. GODS

how they mirror and act like they're trying to literally meld into each other, while both being So Bad at actually SAYING when and why they're upset about something Serious-

when they're also clearly wanting to share SO MUCH of what they feel specifically with the woman they love!!!!

and how that sometimes blinds them both, over and over again, to the moments when (ironically) their other half needed them to be a little less sure, for a second, that things are or would be okay. Share less of their own conviction, that they got from the other one in the first place

When instead of needing answers to the obvious problem, they both needed to be asked hey IS something wrong? is there ANOTHER problem here actually??

they both put so much of themselves into each other, they both rely on the other one for their sense of self-worth and the strength they need to be The One Who Get Things Done and The One Who Always Has A Plan

that's so DELICIOUSLY fucked up. the flip side to love,

(Vaggie freaking out feeling her existence is pointless while thinking she's failed Charlie, and Charlie losing so much hope just at the thought Vaggie might not really love or believe in her)

when someone else is walking around with your heart beating in their chest because you yourself put it there

heck, their resolution in s1 ISN'T even them hashing things out or communicating better! they don't NEED that- (yet) they JUST need each other! (soooooo fucked up I LOVE it) the thing that brings them back together is Vaggie fully letting go of her angel past to focus on her life with Charlie and tapping back into her whole self for first time since meeting Charlie, it's Charlie the singer and giver of heartfelt motivational speeches having her mind blown by words meaning less than actions as her partner who lied to her is also off right that moment doing everything she can to protect what they've built

the big moment is NOT them actually TALKING about what happened or why it happened. it doesn't matter!!! (to them) Their hurt came from being scared of losing each other, they meet up at the hotel gates and just seeing the other one there is Enough!

they happily return to status quo minus some secrets and plus some more confidence in what they have.... which means the rest of this stuff, the root cause of it all, the unaddressed subtext that they NEED to be fucked up together in an active, intentional, KNOWING way but are so good at inspiring and supporting each other that it just, doesn’t, happen..... that's all still there.

(i see you, Charlie sitting alone with your story of hell book and being shocked at your long time girlfriend coming up to your shared room, being around to see you sad, you putting on a smile and trying to wave it off bc yeah she's right you AREN'T alone anymore. technically)

(i see you, Vaggie asking to be left alone on a rooftop so you can deal with a devastating blow to your whole sense of self as 100% unintentionally dealt by your loving girlfriend who WANTS to be there for you through this but who YOU can't face until you're ready to shoulder the blame and apologize to her)

(i see you both trying so hard to help each other and not letting yourselves be helped)

(because no clearly you don't need it, clearly this is all already so much better that what you used to have and you're doing so much better, and what if you're still not good enough for it actually-)

chaggie is so happily, catastrophically entertwined and i hope they spend the next thousand years suffering through it together

[thereaderinsertlady]

At first, Rodger was elated to have come across Glisten in one of the lower floors. But, he quickly discovers exactly why his boyfriend was down there in the first place.

(Habby birfdey @tvccreator)

[scotianostra]

On September 5th 1750, the poet Robert Fergusson was born in the Canongate in Edinburgh.

Most of you will not have heard of Robert Fergusson, he suffered from ill health, physical and mental, during his short life, he passed away in barbarous conditions in Edinburgh's notorious Bedlam.

Doctor Andrew Duncan, the name might be familiar to those from Edinburgh, on finding Fergusson before being admitted to the "hospital" described him as being in a "state of furious insanity" he saw no choice but to have Fergusson taken to the city's Bedlam madhouse.Conditions at the Bedlam, which was attached to the Edinburgh Charity Workhouse behind modern-day Teviot Place, were notoriously awful. Patients were treated as inmates, locked in cold stone-flagged cells, with only straw for bedding.

Fergusson may have only lived for 24 years, the last of which was traumatic, but those short years not only inspired Scotland’s best-known bard Robert Burns and the writer Robert Louis Stevenson, it also paved the way for better treatment of people with mental health conditions thanks to the aforementioned Dr Duncan.

Robert Fergusson was born of Aberdeenshire parents in Cap-and-Feather Close, in Edinburgh’s Old Town, on 5 September, 1750. The street has since disappeared, having been demolished during Fergusson’s lifetime to make way for the North Bridge, many of you will have walked over where Cap-and-Feather Close, it is said to have been where the junction at the Tron Church is, the road that now takes you over North Bridge towards Princes Street.

After primary education in Edinburgh, Fergusson entered the city’s High School in 1758, attaining a bursary to attend the Grammar School in Dundee in 1762. Two years later, he enrolled in St. Andrews University. As a student, Fergusson became infamous for his pranks, having once come close to expulsion. Despite this riotous reputation, the poet’s education stayed with him, he moved back to Edinburgh to support his mother, after the death of his father.

He got a job as a copyist for the Commissary Office main concern was, of course, poetry, and on 7 February, 1771 he anonymously published the first of a trio of pastorals in Ruddiman’s Weekly Magazine. Originally he wrote in English but by 1772 he had started to use the Scottish dialect in the standard Habbie verse form - a form which would later be copied and made famous by Robert Burns, indeed this style is now called the Burns stanza, perhaps it should be The Fergusson Stanza?

Fergusson’s own muse was Allan Ramsay and, like the be-turbaned Ramsey, followed a bit of a bohemian lifestyle in Edinburgh, which was then at the height of an intellectual and cultural tumult as the nerve centre of the Scottish Enlightenment. He wrote a total of fifty poems in Scottish English and thirty-three in the Scots language, but it is for his remarkable exploits in the latter genre that he should be acknowledged and acclaimed. His poetic subject matter paints vivid accounts of the life and characters of ‘Auld Reekie’ and drunken encounters with the notorious Edinburgh City Guard of Captain Porteous, the ‘Black Banditti’ of ‘The Daft Days’.

Fergusson began to suffer from depression in 1773, biographers have described his condition as ‘religious melancholia’, but regardless of whether or not that was the case, he gave up his job, stopped writing, withdrew completely from his riotous social life, and spent his time reading the Bible. He had heard about an Irish poet, John Cunningham, who had died in an asylum in Newcastle. That inspired 'Poem to the Memory of John Cunningham', and Fergusson became terribly afraid that the same thing was going to happen to him. Tragically, his dark prediction came true. In August, 1774, Fergusson fell down a flight of stairs and received a bad head injury, after which he was deemed ‘insensible’. His friend, the good doctor Andrew Duncan, had no choice but to admit him to Darien House "hospital", Bedlam, where after a matter of weeks, he suddenly died. He had only just turned 24.

I return to the fact that Burns was a fan and after Fergusson’s death Burns wrote of him, “my elder brother in misfortune, by far my elder brother in the muse.”

Fergusson was buried in an unmarked plot in The Canongate Kirkyard. On visiting Edinburgh in 1787, Burns paid for a headstone over his long-neglected grave, commemorating Fergusson as ‘Scotia’s Poet. I have taken many friends to visit Fergusson's last resting place over the years, mainly down to my late mother's love of Burns, but also because I love showing people around my home town.

The picture shows the statue of Robert Fergusson outside the Canongate Church, if passing go pay your respects to the man, who inspired Rabbie Burns, who, under different circumstances might have been lauded as our National Bard, if you like a wee whisky perhaps raise a glass tonight on what might have been "Fergusson's Night"

This few lines are from The Daft Days, by Fergusson, you will get the drift of Edinburgh being a comforting, hospitable place where they aren't afraid of a drink, which is a s true today as it was in 1772 when they were written.

Auld Reikie! thou’rt the canty hole,

A bield for many caldrife soul,

Wha snugly at thine ingle loll,

Baith warm and couth,

While round they gar the bicker roll

To weet their mouth.

[clownmiser]

lil habby is going places, seeing things... ☀️🌈

[stormbreaker-290]

*removes you from the walls and gives you a ton of /p smooches, gently placing you back into the insulation when I’m done*

UEHWHEBH

*habby creature noises :3333*

[nelithic]

Her encounter with Lord Rafal had been cold. While she wasn't expecting a warm welcome with hugs and laughter she was hoping to at least see him happy. Sadly he simply told her the way to find Lady Nel. As happy as the thought of seeing both her Lord and Lady made her... she was hurt by the distance their interaction showed.

Zelestia put on a strong face, if she was to have another reunion she would make it a happy one! But her expression seemed more of a sad cat trying to smile than someone ready to be bright and bubbly.

Perhaps it was the way she was carrying herself that landed good luck on finding her way around the Abyss as her Lord had called it. Though some had wary eyes placed on her—nothing she wasn't used to by now but wouldn't judge them for it—a few kind souls guided her to find her Lady.

When a sad little eye spotted the person she was looking for she picked up the pace, her steps a sweet mixture of happiness for seeing someone dear and a knights bliss as seeing their liege well. "Lady Nel!"

To see her again truly was a great joy despite not all reunions being sweet ones. With teary eyes—more like a waterfall—she opened her arms as if going to give her a hug but stood in place instead. "I'm sho habby to shee you!" Noticing her own speech she took a deep breath, it took her a few minutes to calm down but after inhaling and exhaling over and over, she tried to speak in a more pleasant way. "Have you been well? I hope you have been taking it easy and that you are making many friends of course! And as your wind i'm here if you ever need anything."

the sudden shift in seasons had proven nearly as much a trial as the prior winter had — a winter that, as she understood it, had never truly existed, instead the product of a shade-like fabrication, modeled by a force she did not fully comprehend. this force, cavernous and seeing yet just out of reach in much the same way that the nature of fódlan's dragons & the crest stones had been, appeared to roil just beneath the surface. it is this that has lingered distantly on nel's mind since returning to a new and unbroken spring, the mountainside of garreg mach touched by a vernal warmth as though snow and ice had never reached the eaves and starvation had never lurked beyond their doorways, gnawing as the wolves did.

"lady nel!"

she turns — as she would for anyone. and the use of ' lady ' strikes her belatedly, a jarring division between this world and the last. she is made to remember again suddenly that such a title does not belong, and that this is not elyos.

but the face and figure that greet her are.

it is as though color had walked out from a painting, flowing along the ground towards her from a gallery which had long been consigned to the walls for display. color in black and cream and gold, in rose-wrapped horn and bronzed skin, all of it out of place amid the shadows of the abyss where only torchlight lived, making sallow hues of the water and stone.

so stunning is it that she hardly registers the tearful greeting, the arms outstretched, the bewildered stares of onlookers. she must truly look like the statues she had often before been accused of resembling, grasping at nothing for how to respond.

where had she come from?

how had she come here?

and would she not prove to be yet another shade — the name and face of an elyos that had since shed its skin, but a self belonging to another elyos that still thrived?

yet nel finds that the part of her that raised barriers in caution to the potential of some trick or imposter or disappointment fell beseiged now to the part of her that had desired, since waking, even the ghost of something familiar. had sought it in griss' uneven likeness without thinking; weighed it with warmth and loss any time she spoke to rafal; acclimated herself to it with slow and steely reconciliation in the bracelet emblems made flesh. in a world where separate realities converged and different annals of time could be made to coexist within the walls of one academy, could this not truly be zelestia?

... in a dragon's lifetime, miracles are not such elusive things. and here they seemed more possible than usual.

"... zelestia."

she sets down the woolen blankets and supplies in her arms she had been in the midst of moving. produces, from somewhere within the bundles, a plain towelette which she then offers to the woman. an ordinary gesture — wooden, even — as though to somehow compensate for the shock still forcing its way past all the means she has to disbelieve. "you seem like you could use this."

it settles in, then, as much as she permits it to. that somehow, zelestia had found her way here. of all the winds, she does suppose this makes the most sense; a thousand years would mean as little to her as it did for herself and rafal. managing at last a faint smile, nel shakes her head; she knows it is all said in good faith, and that it has been a long time, but she does hope zelestia has not forgotten who she is speaking to, with this talk of taking it easy and winning many friends. allies at most, perhaps; more than she had expected.

"... i had not expected to find you here. not after..."

... no matter. she looks up again, gaze resting kindly on the foremost of her winds and the staunchest of those she had known. "it is good to see you again. i am certain much has happened. i would hear of it, if you would tell me."

spring, indeed, had come again.

[kckflips]

vincent’s birthday takes place around this time in canon....habby birthday vincent.......

[lacefuneral]

oh habby bday!!!!! Thanks for all the bunny posts

ty and YES of course i love bnuuy!!!

best animal -> 🐇 

also i love your icon!! i remember i used to love happy bunny as a kid. i had posters and i used to get stickers out of the capsule machine at the local pizza place

[zombiebaratiddies]

Take care of urselves nyall <3

[scotianostra]

On September 5th 1750, the poet Robert Fergusson was born in the Canongate in Edinburgh.

He may have only lived for 24 years, the last of which was traumatic, but those short years not only inspired Scotland’s best-known bard Robert Burns and the writer Robert Louis Stevenson, it also paved the way for better treatment of people with mental health conditions thanks to the work of Doctor Andrew Duncan.

Robert Fergusson was born of Aberdeenshire parents in Cap-and-Feather Close, in Edinburgh’s Old Town, on 5 September, 1750. The street has since disappeared, having been demolished during Fergusson’s lifetime to make way for the North Bridge, many of you will have walked over where Cap-and-Feather Close, it is said to have been where the junction at the Tron Church is, the road that now takes you over North Bridge towards Princes Street.

After primary education in Edinburgh, Fergusson entered the city’s High School in 1758, attaining a bursary to attend the Grammar School in Dundee in 1762. Two years later, he enrolled in St. Andrews University. As a student, Fergusson became infamous for his pranks, having once come close to expulsion. Despite this riotous reputation, the poet’s education stayed with him, he moved back to Edinburgh to support his mother, after the death of his father.

He got a job as a copyist for the Commissary Office main concern was, of course, poetry, and on 7 February, 1771 he anonymously published the first of a trio of pastorals in Ruddiman’s Weekly Magazine. Originally he wrote in English but by 1772 he had started to use the Scottish dialect in the standard Habbie verse form - a form which would later be copied and made famous by Robert Burns, indeed this style is now called the Burns stanza, perhaps it should be The Fergusson Stanza?

Fergusson’s own muse was Allan Ramsay and, like the be-turbaned Ramsey, followed a bit of a bohemian lifestyle in Edinburgh, which was then at the height of an intellectual and cultural tumult as the nerve centre of the Scottish Enlightenment. He wrote a total of fifty poems in Scottish English and thirty-three in the Scots language, but it is for his remarkable exploits in the latter genre that he should be acknowledged and acclaimed. His poetic subject matter paints vivid accounts of the life and characters of ‘Auld Reekie’ and drunken encounters with the notorious Edinburgh City Guard of Captain Porteous, the ‘Black Banditti’ of ‘The Daft Days’.

Fergusson began to suffer from depression in 1773, biographers have described his condition as ‘religious melancholia’, but regardless of whether or not that was the case, he gave up his job, stopped writing, withdrew completely from his riotous social life, and spent his time reading the Bible. He had heard about an Irish poet, John Cunningham, who had died in an asylum in Newcastle. That inspired ‘Poem to the Memory of John Cunningham’, and Fergusson became terribly afraid that the same thing was going to happen to him. Tragically, his dark prediction came true. In August, 1774, Fergusson fell down a flight of stairs and received a bad head injury, after which he was deemed ‘insensible’. His friend, the good doctor Andrew Duncan, had no choice but to admit him to Darien House “hospital”, Bedlam.

Doctor Andrew Duncan, the name might be familiar to those from Edinburgh, on finding Fergusson before being admitted to the “hospital” described him as being in a “state of furious insanity” he saw no choice but to have Fergusson taken to the city’s Bedlam madhouse. Conditions at the Bedlam, which was attached to the Edinburgh Charity Workhouse behind modern-day Teviot Place, were notoriously awful. Patients were treated as inmates, locked in cold stone-flagged cells, with only straw for bedding. The young poet was only there for a matter of weeks when he suddenly died. He had only just turned 24.

Fergusson was buried in an unmarked plot in The Canongate Kirkyard. On visiting Edinburgh in 1787, Burns paid for a headstone over his long-neglected grave, commemorating Fergusson as ‘Scotia’s Poet. I have taken many friends to visit Fergusson’s last resting place over the years, mainly down to my late mother’s love of Burns, but also because I love showing people around my hometown.

The first picture shows the statue of Robert Fergusson outside the Canongate Church, with my very own Saltire attached to it, if passing go pay your respects to the man, who inspired Rabbie Burns, who, under different circumstances might have been lauded as our National Bard, if you like a wee whisky perhaps raise a glass tonight on what might have been “Fergusson’s Night”

The pics are my own, I drop into Canongate Kirkyard almost every time I am in the area.

[tikki-wikki]

SO UHMM,,, HIIII @fungalsalad ,,,,  SO I DECIDED TO DRAW MAAM FELIS AND SHES,,,, SHES PREBBY,,, PREB PREBBY,,,