omg lucy last friday we were writing an essay for world history and i was doing SOSOSO good omg i was eating it UP but it had a TIMELIMIT and i was so upset i literally wrote more than liek everybody in the class but i didnt finish☹️ u and me we are built for writing 40 pages abt history we are yappers at heart
THIS FOREVERRRRRR. i get it i get . we are forever unified in history yapping forever………… literally my teachers used to get so mad at me because i could never finish my papers in time :(( ok i REMEMBER. like in middle school when my teacher was teaching. approximately apush to sixth graders. that i would spend so long writing the short answers i didn’t even GET to the essay for every test i just turned in my essay plan and my teacher pretended i had finished it
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honestly I’m fucking tired of calling my reps and begging them to care
I’ve been calling them over and over and over for the past four months begging and pleading them to speak out about what is obviously genocide
I don’t think they listen, most likely their underpaid interns got instructed to throw notes or voicemails out, but even if they do they don’t fucking care. It’s exhausting.
The White House comment line is only open for 4 hours 4 days of the week during hours most people work. If you’re able to call and wait for 20 minutes to finally speak to an intern they take a brief note and you can only hope they don’t immediately throw it out.
I’ve been doing this since I was a child. begging my reps to care about children being shot in school. begging them to care about my own schools getting bomb and gun threats every year. begging them to care about the fact that people don’t feel safe around cops. begging them to care about the growing number of people in my city becoming jobless and homeless and dying of covid. begging them like a dog to care at all about people’s lives and happiness.
I don’t know. I’m just fuckin’ tired
I won’t give up though. It’s not the only form of activism I do or the main one I give my energy to. I hope the same thing for anyone reading this. You shouldn’t just be boycotting and calling your reps, you should be attending vigils and protests and speaking about the issue of genocide to your friends and family
I’m just tired of people pretending like our representatives actually give a fuck what we think over their lobbyists and investors cause it is and has always been clear to me that they don’t. America has never been a democracy and if you think that you are deluded.
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Venti Brainrot eh? I can work with that.
I've read a few fics that say Archons can change their form at will... (minor spoilers for Venti's backstory)
Venti realizing who you are because the wind seems to sing whenever you're around. It's constantly guiding him to you and actively pushes him away from the fake on the throne. He's not stupid, he sees the way the land flourishes wherever you go. The plants and wind seem to cradle you while rejecting the faker outright.
Knowing he can't approach you in his human form (he's seen how you shy away from any and all human contact), he shifts into his wind sprite form to greet you. He's more than happy to show you the love and affection you deserve as the First Guiding Wind. And so what if he keeps quiet about how much he adores the affection you give back? It's not like you mind, ehe!
-sibling anon, who also loves the windy boi
ah, a fellow citizen of brainrot city
anyway the idea of archons changing their forms is so cool actually (and maps to canon bc venti changed into this form so) and i think i’d enjoy small dragon!li as like a weighted blanket pls and thank
but back to the prompt: yes. so much yes.
he’s already tuned into nature quite well, so he can hears how the harmonies turn discordant around the throne room. likewise, he notes that the wind sings of heaven, of liyue, sumeru, of wherever you are, pleading with him to stop the hunt. to pull you away to a castle of gold, filled with whatever you need while keeping you safe from those who dared call you the sinner.
i honestly think a lot of my problems could be solved by simply having Wisp Venti at my side, sagau or not, isekai or not, imposter au or not. like he’s so……..
he comes up to you with a curious trill, wondering if you’ll be receptive to this form- he spends his time floating beside you like one of the companion seelies, and is so much more open to displays of affection than bird!xiao i’m- he openly runs into your hand when he wants pets, he cuddles blatantly into you when it’s time for bed, he leads you towards trees with the freshest apples (or sunsettias, if you’re allergic or don’t like them) and fully expects a pat on the head as a reward. he communicates entirely through sqeaks and chirps—he sounds a lot like the mini seelies actually, at least in my mind, but it has a speech-like pattern to it—and softly hums a little when he’s asleep, like a little white noise machine for you <3
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Sunday Snippet
tagged by by @narcissa-black-supermacy and since i’m incapable of anything except our first cousins au rn, here’s a lil sneak peak.
“Now, I realise Walburga has a—different style but—“
“You can say gaudy, Atta, it’s okay,” Sirius adds cheekily.
“—but it isn’t right that you’ve not been taught how to take care of all this,” she runs a gentle hand down Sirius’ tightly braided hair. “A girl’s hair is, after all, one of her most precious possessions.”
“Take care of all this?” Sirius echoes, wondering what she meant by that. Of course, she knows that most of the reason her hair is the way it is for convenience’s sake. Tying your hair in a loose ponytail or a messy bun only works if you’re a white girl with silky straight hair. Less than ten minutes of keeping her hair unbound and it became pricklier than a thorn bush. She also knows that there’s ways, if she so chooses, that she can look different. She’s seen the other brown girls in her schools noticed their intricate styles that looked nothing like her own strictly ordered, slicked back hair.
Euphemia cups Sirius’ chin with her thumb and forefinger, guiding grey eyes to brown. “You’re beautiful as you are, Sirius, but you shouldn’t have to fight your body, not now nor ever. It’s an extension of yourself, don’t forget treat it as such.”
And as Sirius sits there, still horribly confused, over the course of the next hour, she gets a crash course in the art of taking care of curly hair. Not waves, like she’d always thought, but curls. She’d never realised how similar their hair types were—Effie atta preferred clipping it in the back, daringly open—but after the time they spent together, Sirius was amazed.
Because her aunt was right—she had been fighting parts of her body for her entire life. Hair too unruly? Shove it into a brain or bun tight enough to cut off circulation. Breasts not cooperating? Squeeze into an extra sports bra on top, no matter the strain on her shoulders. Pimples? Popped on sight, no mercy. Not one thing was easy, or gentle.
She never realised her body could be made for gentleness, that she could learn to be so. Sirius had to grow up strong—kids were both cruel and thoughtless, a terrible combination for anyone who looked the way she did and spoke in the accent she had. Mama tried, but she had to spend so much time on her own self that it left little for her. Besides, she’s glad she didn’t learn from her mama; no one wants to be like Walburga, not if they didn’t severely hate themselves. What Sirius knows, she scraped together herself.
open tag for anyone who wants to show off a lil ;) go for it!
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stephanie brown dies at 16. at 16 and a quarter, she is woken up, screaming and thrashing and attacking, covered in acid green water. at 16 and three quarters, she has a young boy firmly attached to her side, calling her ukhti. she is learning what that word means, and what all the words spoken around her mean, from the woman who watched her rise from the water.
talia explains that she was not the one to retrieve her body, nor did she ask for it, but she did receive it. she explains that she knew bruce once, years ago. stephanie looks into the face of the boy curled up next to her and believes talia. talia says that she will not allow any more robins to be dragged to her doorstep, bodies cold and eyes closed. stephanie sees photos of a young man with the same green eyes as the rest of them, damian on his hip. she sees photos of him with a sword, with a gun, with nothing but his fists. she sees one photo of him as a child and— oh. the bright colors, the boyish grin, the shadow lurking behind him. at 17, stephanie understands.
at 17, stephanie decides that she won’t go back to gotham yet. she can’t. that’s where jason is, the other lost robin, talia tells her. at 17, she trains with staffs, swords, knives, guns, and whips. anything and everything she can get her hands on, even the things b would never let her touch. b thinks she’s dead, and whose fault is that? talia seems to think it’s b’s, but steph isn’t sure. she only knows one thing: this will not happen again. no more dead robins, she swears.
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