Dear college students,
I really hope that I, your spinster aunt of Tumblr, am not the first person to tell you this, but: please use your university library services. You are paying for them. They are there for you. Moreover, your professors are operating on the assumption that you will use them as necessary.
When I say "library services" I mean not only physical books that will help you with research, but the usually more extensive eBook collections ditto. Novels you've been meaning to get around to and can't afford to buy. Even (quaintly?) DVDs for your entertainment. And perhaps most significantly of all, interlibrary loan.
I'm going to reiterate interlibrary loan in its own paragraph because a student complained to me recently that publishers were "literally incentivizing piracy" by not pricing academic monographs for purchase by college students and my reaction is best summed up as: ????? Publishers typically price scholarly monographs in the pious hope of not losing money on them. Everyone complains about the ones priced at $300, and a lot of them are priced around $30-50. They are priced for purchase by libraries and specialists. And they are priced for purchase by libraries precisely so that libraries can make them accessible to college students. Anyway, use interlibrary loan, good grief.
TL;DR: the library is there for you, that is what it is for, please behave accordingly.
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My kitten was playing and just pounced on his own shadow
He hasn’t heard about the cave bro
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A big argument against asexuality and aromaticism is the idea that you can be too young to know. I remember people being so put out by the idea of somebody under eighteen identifying as aro or ace, and they made it known how they thought it was bad.
However... I really don't agree with that outlook. I knew something was up with me when my friends were developing a "normal" identity in the eyes of amatonormativity, and I was under eighteen. Mind you, I didn't have words to express how I felt, so I was in a perpetual state of feeling pressure to be "one of the normals." It made my life miserable because I was being dishonest to myself and cloaking who I was behind a layer of shame.
My point is that... when you know, you tend to know. Sure, your identity might change, but is that more important than making sure you are comfortable in yourself? Would you rather feel the way I did at my age hearing about my allo friends? Because it was unbearable, and I don't wish that on anybody.
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Gareth didn’t know who had “almost running over a bloodied and very clearly drugged survivor of--if said survivor could be believed-- a mall fire” on their 1985 bingo card, but he’d like a fucking word.
Particularly considering Steve Harrington kept panicking anytime either he or Eddie even hinted at taking him to a hospital.
Instead he insisted, like some kind of bad action movie hero, that he was “perfectly fine” and that it was “not nearly as bad as it looked.”
Both of which might have been believable had he not twice gotten distracted by Gareth’s drums (sitting next to them both, on account of Corroded Coffin having played at the Hideout that night) asking rambling questions that constantly outed him as being high as hell.
Nevermind the fact that Gareth kept finding more blood.
“Really, it’s--mm.” Steve said, wincing as Gareth found yet another wound. “Not bad.”
“I don’t know how a fire even did this.” Gareth shot back, trying to figure out what stain he needed to press on without taking Steve’s shirt off.
Harrington raised a hand. “Service elevator.” He identified.
He made a whooshing noise, following his hand as it dropped back to his chest. “Slammed right into the floor.”
Gareth winced.
“There was a lot of shit in that elevator besides us.” Steve added, and it was moments like this where Gareth could almost believe the guy was sober, until Harrington followed it up with yet another rant about Russians and Russian Truth Serum.
Right as Gareth found another wet spot.
“Fuck the speed limit, Harrington’s bleeding out on me back here!" Gareth called, voice loud and frantic.
Sure that might have been dramatic but then, so were Steve’s injuries.
"Sorry babe." Brown eyes, pupils blown wide from drugs stared up at him with an easy smile, at odds with his beaten face.
In a tone so unimpressed, a middle school teacher would have envied him, Gareth said; "That is not my name."
Harrington didn't even blink. "I know. It's Gareth."
That took him aback.
"I really don't know how to feel about you knowing that." He admitted, half to keep Steve talking, and half as a distraction when he finally figured out which wound needed pressure the most (and then pressed on it.)
Apparently whatever the hell made up “Russian truth serum” was some strong shit, because in a tone so utterly honest (and thus entirely unlike the Steve Harrington that had ruled Hawkins High halls) Harrington said; "Good things, I hope."
Then winked.
What the fuck.
"Eddie drive faster!" Gareth yelled over his shoulder. “I think he’s dying!”
(He wasn’t, but given the flirting, Gareth wasn’t taking any chances.)
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Everyone's getting so heated over evolution right now that I kinda want to say I believe in some secret, third thing for kicks and giggles. Get real gnostic on 'em.
Oh? You believe in evolution? And you believe in creationism? Well *I*, the most learned of individuals, believe that we are actually yet still in our larval stage as a species and will only be able to enter the kingdom of heaven when we grow the exoskeletons which will make it so our flesh can handle the gaze of God, like a REAL Christian
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