#if you change that then this really will become a hell site and people probably will leave

[qqueenofhades]

I frankly sometimes feel like social media has ultimately given a lot of people the illusion of power, while also causing them to become corrupted in a similar way to traditional forms of power, only without any actual power that goes with it. The similarities in their behavior to the latter is disturbing as hell, ESPECIALLY given the horrid behavior of online types the past few months.

I really can't emphasize enough how much of a constructed and artificial environment social media is, especially these days, and especially the Social Media Platform Formerly Known as Twitter, which is still the main avenue by which a lot of people attempt to "do" social justice. Once upon a time, Twitter was a moderately beneficial public communication service because everyone and God was on it and you could therefore get communiques directly from the source, there was a blue-check verification service that actually helped you understand who was real and who was not, and while there were serious and ongoing flaws such as there is when useful public discourse is sacrificed on the Great Altar of Profit, there was at least some attempt to monitor or ban Nazis, white supremacists, bad actors, and eventually Trump himself. All of that changed and/or was directly destroyed when Apartheid Clyde took over and turned it into a revenue-generating service for Russian propaganda, alt-right cranks, bots, and the rest of the Elon Fanclub willing to pay $8 for a meaningless blue checkmark, while trashing the site's guardrails and any other useful features. It basically exists for Elon to fanboy Putin, Trump, white supremacy, his 4chan trolls, and anything else that makes his money (while Mr. Free Speech Absolutist arbitrarily bans anyone who hurts his man-child fee-fees). This is not an unbiased, neutral, or constructive environment to start with. You don't have any certainty about who you're interacting with or who is amplifying your messages, and only a hardcore-radicalized (of whatever persuasion) base of human users remain, while a lot of casual users have left.

As such, if you're basing anything (hypothesis, claim, source, evidence, opinion) on "what everyone on Twitter thinks," that is fatally flawed data to start with. Even at the peak of its popularity, something like 24% of all American adults regularly used Twitter. That still means 76% of the country who doesn't (and the number is larger now as Chucklefuck McGee has continued driving it into the ground). If you're forming your ideas or looking for "what America thinks" just by quoting or relying on the tweets of people who already agree with you, you've done basically nothing and you certainly haven't proved it, you've stunted your own critical thinking skills, and you are selecting from a data source that is already fatally poisoned and limited in any number of ways. Adding to the echo chamber of similar opinions on Twitter is not going to actually influence public policy or make lasting change. Yes, the interns and/or public relations staff of the public figures still on there will probably check the feed every so often and make note of things that come up, but couching it as mindless vitriolic abuse and/or demonstrably nonsensical things is not going to get back to their boss. It will just be ignored and/or given less weight in the limited space available for things that are deemed important enough to actually follow up on/make policy around.

Also, a lot of people saw Trump tweeting insane things at 3am for four years, and somehow decided that was actually how US/American presidential and governmental policy was made, rather than that he was a fucking narcissistic-personality-disorder psychopathic lunatic. But uh, and it should go without saying, it didn't work. Just because Trump posted something absolutely unhinged and announced it was now policy, that doesn't mean it was. Half the time he didn't even do so much as issue an executive order, those can be and regularly are challenged in courts, and so forth, because despite all its flaws, America is not an absolute monarchy where the king can rule by fiat and have it totally done, no questions, the end. That's also why Trump's second term would be even more dangerous than his first. In his first, he was flailing around and yelling on Twitter and not really paying attention to anything. In his second, the administration will be staffed top to bottom with dedicated fascists like the Heritage Foundation's Project 2025 people, who have spent the last four years brooding on revenge and drawing up detailed plans to actually co-opt and suborn all the levers, checks, balances, controls, and functions of government directly to Trump's personal will (and/or the outrageously evil people pulling strings behind the scenes, because Trump is now basically a gibbering orange vegetable and the media is still far too beholden to the Biden Old!!! narrative to accurately report this).

In short, another Trump term (God fucking forbid) would be run by the kind of methodical and careful evildoers who know that policy isn't made by tweet, and would act accordingly. That would be much, much harder to remove, counteract, or fix, it would almost certainly lead to the end of American democracy at least for most of our lifetimes, and the repercussions of that would be absolutely terrible. But because we still have people who act like Trump is somehow a preferable option, who think that it's bad that Biden is trying to work through established and long-term channels to make sustainable policy and not just get short-term chuckles from an internet dopamine approval rush, that is the risk we are running from now until November 2024. After that, either way, we'll know for sure: we'll finally have a measure of safety, or we will be comprehensively fucked for generations. We all have the power to influence which of those outcomes come to pass. I suggest we use it.

#anonymous #ask #politics for ts

[criticallyacclaimedstranger]

The Artist and the Builder [a Joel x reader fic]

Read on Ao3

Sequel: All The Fear and the Fire of the End of the World

Fandom: The Last of Us

Ship: Joel Miller x you/artist!reader who is his age and has arthritis and allergies.

Tags/warnings: Bit of pining, Joel is sweet and settling in, reader has joint pain and allergies, kissing, pretty tame foreplay, a little fumbling, teasing, insertion of objects into vagina that probably shouldn't be there but it's the apocalypse there ain't no dildos, vaginal orgasm, Joel is Too Big and also has Bad Knees, piv sex, cuddling, artist stuff listen I don't know how to do this anymore.

Summary: Gruff contractor Joel Miller has been in Jackson for a while and up until now, you thought he didn't like you because you're an artist and who the hell needs art in the post-apocaypse? But you are wrong.

Words: 7,139

A/N: Listen I know absolutely nothing about being an artist, sorry about that. I also don't have allergies or arthritis (although I suspect I am going down that road but let's cross that bridge when we get there). I just want Joel to be soft with someone his age whose body is falling apart. Many many thanks to @pazizz and @rambling-in-purple who helped me with this one. It started as one thing but ended something else. I really appreciate the help along the way <3

My masterlist

The ache protrudes harshly into your dreams and tears you away from sleep way before it’s time to get up. It grows stronger as you come to, and you carefully try to open your hands. Each joint is like a rusty hinge that creaks and whines when moved, and you sigh deeply as you hide your hands in opposite armpits in an attempt to warm them up. Your mother had arthritis and would tell you in a bland voice that you’d probably get it, too. She had it, her mother had it, and so on. But that seemed so far away, you had your whole life ahead of you, and you had just settled down and started to live after your crazy twenties when the outbreak happened, and survival became your only goal. Despite it all, you managed to live for twenty more years, and then got slapped with the family curse.

Closing your hands around a mug of hot tea, you walk around the living-room of your small house and inspect your various half-finished projects: paper made of plants, clay paint, painted mugs. The whole house smells like a compost, so you open a window to let in a cool breeze. You immediately feel it in your aching hands but do your best to ignore it.

Sitting down at your drawing table, you pick up the charcoal and sketch a couple of lines to the profile you’re working on. It doesn’t feel right, however, so you put down the charcoal again. Restless, you sip some tea, your foot tapping against the floor.

Eventually, you have to go to the infirmary, where Robert, Jackson’s doctor, already is treating his first patient of the day.

You like Robert, like being of use, but being a nurse isn’t what you wanted. You trained to be one, yes, and worked as one for years because it felt like a good, honest profession, and your parents insisted. At nearly 30, however, you quit, and went back to school to pursue your true calling: art. You had almost finished your education when the world went to shit, and your passion no longer counted for anything. For the past twenty years, you’ve thrown yourself after art supplies like other people after food, but even paper is becoming harder to come by. Hence your experiments using plants.

“Your hands bothering you?” Robert asks around lunch, and you nod silently. You haven’t said anything, but he notices.

“Take the rest of the day off.”

“I’m good.”

“Just go, okay? I can’t give you anything for the pain, but I can give you the day off.”

You accept gratefully, and as you change into your normal clothes, you decide to go check at the latest construction site if there’s any sawdust to be had.

You hear the promising sound of a saw working its way through wood as you get closer to the latest house being erected, and when you reach it, Joel Miller looks up from the sawhorse and straightens his back. You think you see a grimace flash across his face, but then he carefully rearranges his features into the usual scowl.

Joel’s been in Jackson for a while now. You don’t really know much about him, except for what you’ve heard from others: that he walked across the country from Boston with the girl in search of his brother, and when the place where he was supposed to drop off the girl was destroyed, they both came back here. He seems to have settled well, and he’s handy, so he’s a welcome addition. He doesn’t really seem to understand your needs, though: when you first asked him if he could save some sawdust for your papermaking, he scoffed when he learned that you needed the paper for art. You bit back on an acid remark. Art wasn’t valued very highly in this world, but it’s what made you happy, and you didn’t care what someone like Joel fucking Miller thought.

“Hi,” you say, stopping in front of the sawhorse. “You got something for me?”

He wipes his forehead on his sleeve and nods towards the wall of the house he’s building. There are three buckets by it, and you see that two of them are filled with yellow sawdust, the third one with nettle leaves. Puzzled, you look over at him. You can’t really figure him out.

“What’s this?”

“Ellie said you were looking for nettles in the vegetable patches,” he mutters. “Passed by a bunch of them on patrol yesterday.”

You chew on your lower lip as you process the unexpected kindness.

“Thank you,” you eventually say. “I appreciate it.”

“No problem.” Joel picks up the saw again and goes back to working on shortening the board propped on the sawhorse. The woodsy scent of sawdust fills your nostrils, and you catch a whiff of sweat from Joel, despite the cool weather.

The buckets are proving difficult to pick up. Your fingers refuse to curl around the handles, and even if the weight is more than manageable, your hands are just not having it today. You swallow hard, embarrassed by your frailty, when Joel steps up behind you.

“I’ll take those.”

Big hands close around the handles of the sawdust buckets. You pick up the nettle bucket and start to walk towards your house. Joel walks alongside you, silent and avoiding looking at you just as you are stubbornly staring in any direction but his.

“I have arthritis,” you finally tell him, naming your disease with disgust dripping from your tongue. “My hands don’t work so well some days.”

“That’s rough,” he offers. “I used to have a neighbor who had that. Sorry.”

You finally venture a glance at him. His features offer nothing of what’s going on behind those dark brown eyes.

You arrive at your house, and Joel carries in the buckets for you. You see from how his nostrils flare that he wasn’t prepared for the earthy smell of your home.

“Just put them down there,” you ask him, gesturing to him. Joel does that and is left standing in the doorway to your living-room. He looks around at your various half-finished projects, the pictures on the walls, all your attempts at creating art with whatever materials you've been able to get your aching hands on.

You pretend to busy yourself with washing your hands, but you're really watching him. You've seen this before: people who don't care about art seeing art in a whole new way for the first time. They're always slammed in the face with it, and it's a very delicate moment that shouldn't be disturbed. So you busy yourself at the sink, rinse out your cup despite it being close to clean already, warm up your hands some more with water, open the cupboards and rearrange things. Joel disappears into the living-room, his heavy, unfamiliar boots causing the floorboards to complain about every step he takes. You hear him walk around slowly, and your curiosity gets the better of you. Quietly, you walk over to the doorway to sneak a peek at him.

He's standing by your desk, holding up a paper with a half-finished sketch. To your horror, the picture is of him, the one that you just can't get right because you can't figure him out, can't combine his threatening glower with the warm smile he reserves for his close ones.

You almost dash across the floor and snatch the paper from his hands before throwing it down on the desk, picture down.

"That's not finished, I mean, it's not... you weren't supposed to see it."

"It's good," Joel states simply. You glance at him as you mindlessly rearrange the sketches on your desk.

"Thanks."

His stare is piercing and hard to meet, so you cast down your eyes to a sketch of Ellie right in front of you. Joel follows your gaze and sees it.

"Can I see that?"

You bite your lower lip, pick up the sketch and hand it to him. You're happier with this one: Ellie's face is open, honest. She talks, questions, comments. You've barely heard ten words in all from Joel, and he's been around for months.

"You really captured her," he admires you. "Did she pose for this?"

"No," you shake your head, "but I've worked together with her occasionally. It's easier to draw someone when you know how they move and talk and such."

He hums in agreement as he studies the picture.

"Is that why you haven't finished my picture?" he eventually asks, catching you off guard. "Because you haven't spent time with me?"

"Probably," you shrug, and hold up your hand for him to relinquish the picture back to you. He does, and the line between his brows seems to melt away when he asks you if you'd want to finish his portrait.

"I can come by tonight after work."

You meet his soft gaze and nod.

"Yeah, okay."

///

You're in the middle of dipping your paper molds into a tub of pulp and putting them to dry when there's a knock on the door. You call out a "come in" as you wash your hands under water as hot as you can manage. Not good at staying passive, you've strained your hands all day continuing with your experiments.

Joel steps in, eyeing the room immediately before settling his nut-brown gaze on you.

"How are your hands?" he wants to know. You shrug.

"The same."

You reach for your jacket, and Joel grunts questioningly. You raise a brow at him.

"Are we going out?"

"I need fresh air."

"It does smell in here." A grin flashes by his face, almost shocking you. Was that a joke?

"Sorry," he immediately apologizes, taking your silence for chagrin. You smile wryly.

"Don't worry. It really is smelly, I just don't notice anymore."

You leave your house together and start walking slowly down the street. The evening is cold in a refreshing way, and you hide your gloved hands in your pockets, both to keep them warm and to keep them occupied. Keeping your eyes trained on some invisible spot in the distance, you try to figure out something to say. It doesn't feel like you and Joel have a lot in common, and all those old icebreakers of "where are you from" and "do you have a family" can be sensitive in this world. You opt for something you do know about him.

"Did you build houses before?"

He takes a second to answer, but finally tells you that he was indeed a contractor.

"Always good to know how to build things," you comment. Joel hums in agreement before clearing his throat.

"And you? You usually work in the infirmary."

"I was a nurse, but I didn't like it much," you tell him. "I went back to school to study art, but the breakout happened before I finished. And nobody needs art to survive. So I work as a nurse."

Joel doesn't say anything, but nods to a passer-by.

"Do you like being a contractor?" you ask. Once again, he takes a little time before presenting his answer.

"I do."

"Good, honest work, huh?"

"Something like that. And..." He hesitates, gaze flickering when you turn your head to look at him.

"It's nice to build something instead of destroying it," he finally mutters. You nod slowly.

"Yes. Yes, it is."

Without hurry, you walk around Jackson three times while talking. Joel is a man of few words, but the words he does utter are well chosen and sometimes heavy with information. He talks about his former construction work but doesn't utter one word about his personal life, possible family, likely loss. His voice is warm when he talks about Ellie, the teenager he delivered across the country, only to find that the people who were supposed to take care of her were already dead and buried. There is a momentary crack in his facade when he talks about his failed mission to bring Ellie to Salt Lake City, but he quickly gathers himself, and states that that's how both ended up in Jackson. He seems happy enough with those turns of events.

You tell him about your art education, about how you ever since you were a young child have seemed to notice how light falls on objects, faces, your surroundings, and the deep-seated urge to draw the light, paint it, trace is with a brush in futile attempts to replicate the magic. The light changes everything, how the world is viewed, and you're constantly trying to capture those moments when the light renders a common kitchen utensil magical, just because the first rays of morning sunshine catch the curves and angles of it. You're not sure he understands, but he does listen.

Eventually, you stop outside your house, facing each other. Darkness has fallen and you didn't leave the porch light on, so you struggle to see his face in what little light there is to be had from the moon, and the glow from the windows of the neighboring houses.

"It was nice talking to you," you say sincerely.

"You too."

You hide your hands in the opposite armpits in an attempt to keep them warm. The cold is getting to them, even with gloves.

"Will I see you tomorrow?"

Joel blinks.

"You're not going to draw me?"

"It's too dark."

"Ah." You hear from his tone that he just realized that you've been talking about light this whole time. His head shifts on top of that long, strong neck, his face turns a little to the side and you catch the profile of his aquiline nose against the faint light coming from the neighbor's house.

And you know you have to try to draw him like this, half cloaked in darkness, the bridge of his nose sharp against soft light, maybe from a fire, the shadows painting dark valleys on his face with his frown, the glint of grey in his beard, a lock of hair curling by his ear.

"Maybe not," you correct yourself and step past his towards your porch. "Come on in."

You load up the fireplace, your hands only trembling slightly from the weight of the wood. Joel kneels next to you by the fireplace and takes the matches from you. A protest rests on the tip of your tongue, but the brief touch of his warm, callused hand makes you swallow it. You stand up and watch him light the fire, breathe life into the kindling, and carefully place smaller twigs on the first, small flames before rocking back to watch the fire grow. You move your weight from one foot to the other, tuck your hands into your pockets. Joel glances up at your fidgeting.

"Your hands hurtin'?"

"It's the cold," you shrug. "But it's fine, it's not that bad."

You take a step back, towards the kitchen.

"Want a cup of tea?"

"Sure. Thanks."

When you return with two mugs of steaming tea, the fire is crackling merrily. Joel rises, joints popping, and accepts one mug from you with one hand, the other suddenly taking a gentle hold of your wrist. You twitch, the tea spills over a little, but you don't pull back your hand. Slowly, Joel covers it with his big, broad palm, so much warmer than yours, and you almost instantly feel the heat spread into your aching joints.

When you search his averted gaze, he releases your hand, and clears his throat.

"Thanks for the tea," he murmurs, and you nod quickly.

"You're welcome."

You busy yourself with emptying the run-down armchair from various knick-knacks and tools, and indicate the seat for him. Carefully, as if afraid to break it, Joel sits down. You pull up the desk chair and take a piece of charcoal and a paper, propping it on your lap with a sheet of cardboard under.

"You're not going to continue with the half-finished picture?" Joel asks, sipping his tea.

"No," you shake your head. "It's not how I want to draw you."

"Waste of paper."

"I'll use it to make more. It's okay."

He grunts, and you hide your smile without knowing why you're even smiling in the first place.

"Turn your head a little towards the fireplace," you instruct, and Joel squares his shoulders, as if he's unhappy about being told what to do. However, he does as he's asked, and follows the rest of your directions easily. When you're happy with his angles, you put coal to paper, and start to sketch.

For a long time, the only sound heard is that of the fire, and the soft scratch of the coal against the coarse paper. Your sharp eyes note every hair, pore, and line on Joel's face, but you're finding it hard to transfer them to paper. After a long day, your hands are hurting bad, and the pain keeps shifting your focus away from the task at hand. Finally, you sigh deeply and turn the paper upside down.

"I'm done."

"It's finished?" Joel asks, shifting like he's sitting back and leaning forward at the same time. One brow is quirked inquisitively, while his tight jawline lets you know that he doesn't really want to see the result - but he's curious.

"No," you specify as you get up, "it's not finished. I have to start over, but it's getting late."

Your fingers can barely let go of the coal when you set it down together with the paper. You hide your knuckle in the palm of your other hand and rub it discreetly.

"You won't show me?" Joel rises from the armchair and comes up to you, putting away the cup of tea. Standing right in front of you he seems almost impossibly broad.

"Your hands hurtin'?" he asks in a low voice that vibrates along your spine. You swallow quickly.

"Just need to warm them up, it's okay, I'm used to it."

Your breath gets caught in your throat when he takes both your hands and presses them to his chest. You feel his heart beat quickly against your palm and realize that some of his body heat actually comes from him being just as nervous as you are.

Feebly, you try to pull back your hands.

"I'm getting coal on your shirt..."

"Don't care."

You bite into your lower lip, speechless as if you were fourteen and standing in front of your crush, instead of a middle-aged woman talking to...

Who is Joel to you, anyway?

"Why are you doing this?" you ask hoarsely. Joel frowns, his hands slowly letting go of yours. You keep your palms on his chest for a second longer before letting go. Bereft of the warmth, your joints feel even worse.

He doesn't seem to have an answer to give you, but his lips move like he's trying to say something to break the silence. When nothing comes out, you get impatient.

"Joel?" you prompt.

"No one's ever looked at me like you look at me," he lets out, his dark gaze locking in on you. "It's like you're staring right through my clothes. It makes me nervous. I haven't been nervous in... a very long time."

"Nervous how?" you hear yourself ask, even if your armpits have grown damp, and your heart is beating so hard he surely must hear it.

"Nervous in that way." You hear exactly what he means, all the possibilities and threats and risks summarized in that. There's something so awkwardly boyish in it that you find yourself smiling. His frown deepens when he sees it, but his lips soften.

"Joel," you ask, softly touching your aching hand to his, "do you want to kiss me?"

He immediately grabs your wrist and touches his lips to yours in a kiss that doesn't really know what it's supposed to do but wants to do it anyway. He forgot to draw breath, and instead of inhaling against your skin, he pulls back quickly when he has to breathe.

"Fuck," he mutters, "that was a shitty kiss. I'm sorry."

Your cheeks flush violently when you pull at his hand.

"You can try again?"

The offer makes him smile, finally, and he displays that dimple that you found absolutely impossible to put to paper. His closes his hand around the back of your neck, and his lips press onto yours, and he remembers how it's done, and kisses you until you're not sure your legs will carry you anymore.

///

The picture of Joel becomes secondary to your meetings. Joel, you realize very soon, courts you, like some southern Gone With the Wind-type of gentleman. He brings you whatever materials he can find when he goes on patrol - you're excused from that task due to your horse allergy - and quietly offers you his thick gloves when you're out walking together, and your hands hurt. He continues to not talk much, but you start to recognize the little things: acts of service, the way he looks out for you, how his eyes light up when he sees you. His kisses when you part.

There is only kissing. He hasn't touched you in any other way, and you haven't taken initiative to anything further. There is only a rather chaste, yet warm, kiss when he leaves your house, where you usually meet up. He drinks tea and watches you draw, or paint when you're not asking him to pose for you. You know exactly how you want to capture him but so far, your hands haven't been skilled enough, and for every hour you spend with Joel, you lay another piece of the puzzle that is Joel, and you become unsure of how to draw him.

One evening, a couple of months after that first kiss, you're enjoying the warm fire in your living-room when there is a knock on the door. Joel stands on your porch, eyes scanning you quickly as soon as you open the door.

"You weren't at the movies," he says, referring to the event that nearly everyone in Jackson went to tonight. You hear the question in the statement: Are you okay?

"It's cold," you shrug. "Not my thing. Wanna come in?"

He enters your house, and you take his coat and hang it by the door.

"How are the hands?" he asks. You rub your palms together.

"Not bad today, actually. How's your knees?"

He grins a little, knowing that you saw him carry furniture up porch steps earlier.

"Creaky, but they still carry me."

"Tea?"

"I don't want to disturb, if you wanted to be alone."

You lead the way into the living-room, and move some things away from one armchair, pulling it closer to the fireplace, next to the one you were sitting in.

"You're not disturbing, do sit down. I could work some more on your portrait."

Busying yourself with picking at pieces of charcoal, you don't pay him any attention until his footsteps bring him right behind you. One warm hand touches your waist gently, startling you into turning around to meet his sheepish face.

"Sorry, didn't mean to scare you."

"It's okay." His warm body is so close to yours, and his smell of wood, sweat, and snow invades your nose. You inhale deeply, pretending to sigh just to get the opportunity to soak in this intoxicating, masculine smell of his.

"I got something for you." Joel holds up something wrapped in cloth, and it takes you a few moments to gather yourself.

"For me?" Carefully, you take the little package from him. "Whatever for?"

He shrugs. “Thought you might need it. It’s probably your birthday at some point, or Christmas, or whatever.”

You never were good at receiving gifts, and it's even harder now. When was the last time you even got one?

He shifts his weight; a show of nerves that doesn't match up with his calm, deep voice. You decide to put him out of his misery and unfold the cloth.

It's four paintbrushes, hand carved with thick, curved handles, and tidily shaped heads.

"Oh. Joel, these are... these are gorgeous."

You hear him exhale, like he had been holding his breath.

"You think they're any good?"

"I'm sure they are, the hairs look amazing. Where did you get these?"

"I made them."

Now you tear your eyes from the brushes. "You made them?"

"Carved them, they should be comfortable to hold, I asked the doc what's suitable for someone with arthritis... The hairs are horsehair, bound together with sheep hairs."

He has really listened to you talking about all the art supplies you miss, and your ideas of making your own.

"The hairs are washed, so hopefully they won't give you allergies," he adds quickly.

"Joel... thank you. I don't know what to say."

He chuckles a little. "Try them first. What I know about making paintbrushes can fit onto the head of a nail. You may wanna return them."

"Unlikely."

You lean forward, the brushes still in your hands between the two of you, and touch your lips to Joel's. His hands rise to gently cup your elbows as he accepts your kiss. Only when your lips grow more insistent, does his hold tighten as well, and all you can think of is him holding your tits in the same manner.

Your hands, still holding the brushes, come to his chest, and you start undoing the buttons of his flannel. Joel's lips leave yours, and when he looks at you with eyes steeped in hot molten lava, you know that it didn't come easily.

"What are you doin'?"

"What does it look like?" you smile a little shakily. Is this the beginning of a refusal? Have you misunderstood his interest in you altogether?

"I don't want you to do it just because I gave you somethin'."

"It's not because you gave me something, it's because you never took anything away."

He cups your cheek now, strokes his big thumb over your lips.

"You're beautiful. I haven't done this in a long time, and never with anyone as beautiful."

"How old do you think I am?" you laugh, amused and touched at the same time. His ever-present frown changes slightly, turning quizzical.

"I don't need to hear that I'm beautiful," you specify, hands still on his chest. "I don't care about that."

"Then what do you wanna hear?" His voice is impossibly low. Your pussy clenches, grows moist and hot.

"I want to hear you want me."

"Oh, darlin'..." he sighs, closing his eyes momentarily. "I want you like crazy. I have wanted you for a long time, but I wanted for you to decide when you'd have me."

You didn't know how much you had longed for someone who saw you as a sexual being, a woman with desires and a will of her own.

"Joel," you whisper, and he swallows the rest of your words when he crashes his lips to yours. The brushes fall from your hand when you throw your arms around his neck to bring him closer, and Joel's big arms go around your waist. He hums into your mouth when your entire front is pressed against him; a satisfied hum, like he's happy to have you here. You answer with a hum of your own and feel his lips curve in a smile.

Slowly, his hands begin to know your body, sliding over curves and dips, fingers dipping into flesh, palms caressing over your clothes. Your approach is more direct: you pull at his flannel, wanting it off him.

"There's no hurry," he admonishes you between kisses. "Unless you got somewhere you need t'be?"

You exhale in something in between a scoff and a chuckle.

"In your pants?"

"Bedroom, then?"

"It's warmer in here, where the fire is."

"Hold on."

He releases you, seemingly unwillingly, and disappears into your small bedroom, re-emerging momentarily later with your bedding. You move the armchairs away to allow for him to put everything down in front of the fireplace. Groaning, he lays down on the makeshift bed, taking your hand and pulling you down next to him. You giggle a little as you plop down, immediately receiving more kisses.

"This better?" he wants to know. Your skin knots over when his hand finds its way underneath your shirt.

"Much better."

He rolls half on top of you, hand finding your breast for a light squeeze as his knee pushes between your thighs to separate them. His cock is stiff against your hip, and you move against it, smiling into the kiss when he grunts and grabs your breast harder. You put your hand on his, pressing it down, feeling his hand disappear into your soft flesh almost painfully. Your moan gears him up, and he starts to pull your shirt upwards. Squirming out of it, you reach for his belt, huffing in annoyance when Joel sits up to take his own shirt off. You sit up as well for a better reach, and your forehead connects with his chin just as he dives back to you.

"Ouch!"

"Fuck!"

You smile sheepishly at each other, both of you more startled than hurt, and Joel gently pushes you back down.

"Maybe we should take it slow?"

"I need you, I'm done waiting."

"I know, sweetheart, but I don't want you to break my jaw."

You scoff, but his kisses make you docile. Your clothes come off, along with his, and when you're both finally naked, skin against skin, you discover that you're happy with going slow as well. In the light of the fire, you trace your hand along his strong muscles and soft flesh, kiss his scars from past struggles, and the newer bruises from recent altercations with logs or whatever he has attempted to lift on his own. You close your fingers around the girth of his cock - Jesus, 20-year-old you would've giggled like a maniac at the sight of it - and enjoy the sounds of surrender that you can conjure out of him.

"God, your hands feel good on me," he hisses as you slowly, while trying to remember how to do this, stroke him with both hands. You smile, suddenly struck with nerves, when you pass your thumb softly over the glistening head of his thick cock. The precum catches the flickering light from the fire, and you get lost in how light and shadow play over Joel's skin; the dark dip of his navel, the hills of his soft pecs and stomach illuminated, his cock rising proudly from a thicket of dark hairs towards the light, the fuzz of his thighs. The embossed skin of a scar reflecting the warm light. The way his skin rises in goosebumps at your touch...

"Darlin'?"

You blink, and meet his wry, amused smirk.

"You with me?"

"Yeah, sorry. I just... was looking at the light."

"How you'd paint it?" Joel seems to catch on immediately, having listened to you rambling on about The Light several evenings. Yod nod and run one finger along the length of his cock before continuing up his happy trail, swerving around his navel.

"There's so much to see on the human body, if one just knows how to look."

"Lemme try that."

Joel pulls you down and rolls you onto your back, propping himself up on one arm next to you. You blush a little as he inspects you, his hand following the dancing shadows on your chest and stomach.

"Yeah," he murmurs, "I can see it alright."

"Yeah?"

"M-hmm. Hold on."

He rolls to the other side, looking in the dusky room for something. When he returns to your side, he's holding one of the brushes he made. With a feathery touch, he touches the brush to your ribcage, right underneath one breast.

"Here's light," he mumbles, carefully tracing the brush along a rib. "Right next to the shadow of your breast."

You exhale in a soft moan as his knuckles brush up against your breast, knotting the nipple. Joel's tongue slips out to lick his lower lip before he goes on tracing the lines that only he can see on your skin.

"What are you painting, Picasso?" you ask hoarsely.

"Hush," Joel tells you curtly yet not unkindly. You smile and close your eyes, shifting a little so that you can drape your arm around his shoulder. His hot breath is on your breast, his whiskers tickle you before something warm and wet disturbing your nipple tells you he's licked it. A shiver runs through you, and you push your chest out, asking him wordlessly to do it again.

He latches on and suckles steadily, but your shout of surprised pleasure has barely died down before he releases you and continues down your stomach with the brush.

"Joel," you whine, blinking up at him, but the focus in his eyes is so intense that you don't say anything more. Instead, you watch him figure out the fundamentals of visual art: how the light changes everything, how to handle the brush, how to angle the hand. His brush may not have any paint on it, but he paints your pleasure with sounds from you: gasps, hums, a hiss when he passes over a ticklish spot. With the brush trailing through the thicket of your pubes, your legs fall open and your lower lip catches between your teeth. Your pelvis rises to meet the soft hairs, and you moan when Joel dips the brush through your slick folds. He moves the brush to your nipple, circles it to wetten it with your arousal, then ducks down to suck it into his mouth. Your back arches, your inner thighs are wet, your heartbeats echo in your pussy, and you need him to understand just how desperately you need him.

"Fuck me," you keen, "Joel, I need you to fuck me."

He hesitates, coming up to slot his mouth over yours and steal your breath away. You rub yourself against him, find his cock and tease it, make him moan just as needily as you.

"I take it you ain't a pregnancy risk?" You hear from his tight voice how close he is to snapping. Fuck, but that's hot.

"STDs are our only concern," you try to joke, but it's not funny. Before coming to Jackson, you spent years in a quarantine zone as a nurse, and the common sexually transmitted infections ran rampant. Without proper testing equipment, it was hard to tell the scale of it.

"I should be clean," he tells you, and you're too far gone to doubt him.

"Me too."

He kisses you again as he rolls on top of you, his width and weight blocking out everything else as he plunges his tongue into your mouth. Your hips rise to meet him when he leads his cock against your entrance, and you almost bite him when he starts to push into you. Your nails press into his shoulders, the fit is impossible, and Joel stops.

"Fuck," he mutters. "You okay?"

"It's big, it's been a while."

He growls and pulls out, cupping your cheek when you whine.

"Don't wanna hurt you."

"Just get me wet, Joel."

"You're plenty wet already."

"And you're hung like a goddamn moose, so get me wetter," you snap, and Joel chuckles.

"Relax, darlin'."

"I'm trying."

He kisses you again, hand between your legs, two fingers slipping through your folds and drawing out the slick to a slow circle around your clit. Sparks run up your spine and you bury your fingers in his thick, greying hair.

"You always try to cram it in before finding a girl's clit?" you mutter, but your smile shines through. Joel slips a finger inside you.

"I told you, it's been a while." He trails kisses down your neck and moves his finger inside you, seeking the right, spongy spot. You mewl and writhe, needing more but not getting it. One finger is not enough. An idea forms in your head.

"Take the brush," you ask him breathlessly. Joel stills, finger slipping out as he studies your face. You roll your eyes.

"It's not a commentary on your skills. Get over yourself."

"You were the one who were in such a such a hurry a minute ago," he teases before looking around for the brush. Finding it, he brings it to your tits, but you shake your head.

"No, use it on me."

His brow rises quizzically. You push his hand down.

"Fuck me with it, Joel."

You expect an objection, or at the very least surprise, but all you get is a strangled sound and a searing kiss. The handle, so smoothly polished, is thick and curved in a way that bears resemblance to a dildo - not that you've used one in twenty years, but the thought is there now and you have to try this out.

The handle slides in easily, filling you better than his finger but without the intensity of his cock.

"Fuck," you keen, directing your hand down to rub your clit as Joel slowly pulls out the handle before pushing it back in. "There, fuck, Joel, that's good..."

He's breathing audibly now but you don't look at him anymore, you close your eyes and let him help you find all those buttons and spots that you had almost forgotten that you had anymore. When your toes start to curl, and you moan "Faster, Joel, faster!" he complies, rough whiskers scratching the sensitive skin of your tits as he fucks you with the paintbrush that he carved with his own split-knuckle hands to spare you your aching ones.

You barely know what an orgasm feels like anymore, but there's no mistaking this one. The rise and the tightening of muscles, the holding of breath before releasing it in a choked moan, the loosening of limbs, the pounding heat of your pussy.

"Jesus, but that's beautiful," Joel sighs, gently sliding out the brush and putting it to the side before kissing your flushed forehead. "Darlin', you're killin' me."

You chuckle huskily and pass your hands over your face.

"I think it takes a lot more to kill you, Joel Miller."

"I wouldn't bet on it."

The bedding underneath you may keep the draft of the floor at bay, but offers no suspension, so when he edges into you a second time and bottoms out, it's like being split in two between a rock and a hard place. But you can take him, and you cling to his broad shoulders with breaths coming out as hissing.

"Relax," he murmurs, petting your hair as if you were a skittish animal while slowly moving in you. "Sweetheart, you can take it, you're doing it already, you're doing it so well, it feels so good..."

You keen as he spears you again, slowly but steadily, his muscles trembling from the effort of keeping himself from crushing you. Your legs wrap around his thighs, arms around his shoulders and you pull him down, you want to be crushed, you need him like this, steady like a train and sharp like a razor, his breathless kisses on your neck, the groans that may come from pleasure or discomfort from being on the floor, you have no idea, but you need him just like this.

"Come, Joel, come," you gasp into his ear, the good one, and he endures, unwavering in his effort as he digs into you, deep, thorough, devastating.

His climax is a relief and a sadness. You don't want it to end, but you also couldn't bear one more second of it.

Joel slumps to the side, gathering you into his arms as he draws a deep, shaky breath. In the faint light of the embers that are left in the fireplace, you trace the scar on his right cheek and watch his eyelids press shut more firmly before he turns his head to kiss your fingers.

The temperature in the room seems to drop as the heat dies down, and you carefully untangle yourself from Joel's firm hold to put another log on the embers. When it flares up, you return to Joel's side, now finding him watching you.

"You okay?" he asks when you pull a blanket over both of you. Making yourself comfortable, you nod with a little smile and a kiss to his lips.

"Perfect."

"That thing with the brush was... interesting."

You blush. "I don't know what happened."

"Glad it did."

"Joel, I... haven't had sex like that... at all... in decades," you blurt out. "And this was... perfect."

He hums, glances down, and to you it's glaringly obvious that he is conflicted. Your heart sinks just as he speaks up.

"It really was perfect."

"But?" You can't help yourself: there's a slight edge to your tone. Joel leans his head back a little to take a good look at you, the usual disapproving frown back on his face.

"But there was someone," he starts, "for years. And we never had this. Time and place wasn't right."

You exhale in relief. History and baggage are easy to deal with, rejection is not.

"I'm sorry."

He shrugs with a little sound, forehead smoothed out.

"Was she... Ellie's mom?" you dare. Joel shakes his head, and his hand slowly passes over your back, fingers strumming the bump of your spine.

"I didn't know Ellie until a few months ago. This was... someone else. A partner. She took Ellie on, really. I was against it. And she... didn't make it."

You don't want to say that you're sorry again, but don't know what else to say, either. So you kiss him, because you want to, because you think he needs it, because there are no words. Your hand is splayed open on his cheek, his lips and mouth are dry and so are yours, but the kiss is sweet and gentle, and the things you can't find words for are carefully passed on to him. He exhales in a soft sigh onto your cheek, then tilts his chin up to kiss your forehead before burrowing his nose against your hair. It's clear to you that he wants to sleep, but you're buzzing with unexpected energy. Carefully, you slide away from his arms, smiling at his frown, and get up to tip-toe to the desk, where you pick up paper and coal. A faint blush colors your cheekbones when you feel his cum seep out of you, and you hurry back to the makeshift bed, sitting down by Joel's feet.

"C'mere," he barks, but you shake your head.

"Just stay still."

He complies with that frown of his, and you settle down, putting the piece of coal to the paper.

You know how you want to draw him now.

#joel miller #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #the last of us fanfic #my fic

[ofoceansandtombsanew]

I Cherish You, Halcyon Days: prologue.

“You’re gonna die, kid. In the worst way possible.”

tags: afab!reader (she/her), angst, slow burn

pairing: gojou x reader + onesided!getou x reader

summary: You’re 15 years old when you’re told you’re going to die. You’re 17 years old when you realize who your killer will be. And you’re 17 years old when you make peace with the fact you wouldn’t want it any other way.

index | next chapter

In the summer of 1997 when I was 7, I almost drowned at the beach.

It was one of those summers where you watch a movie and things felt whimsical because you watched one movie about a group of kids going on a life-changing adventure you’d never go on yourself. You looked for magic in your daily life because even the smallest thing could be what led to you stumbling upon a new journey. My life-changing adventure movie? Free Willy, the movie about that foster kid and an orca. My aunt, a marine biologist, who showed me the movie always said the ocean was her greatest love. I got what she meant when I saw that movie. So that summer I spent at my aunt’s place in Enoshima was the summer I decided I’d go on some sort of adventure myself.

My expectation? Freeing Mina the beluga whale and swimming on her back to wherever the beluga whales came from. I would have even taken Kukki the dugong who I sometimes fed extra fish to when no one was looking.

What I actually got? Getting caught up in an undertow at Higashihama Beach.

Yeah, not my dream summer experience.

Undertow wasn’t a concept foreign to me at that time. Auntie warned me all about itー about how sometimes the currents below and above the surface went in separate directions.

“Don’t fight it when that happens,” she told me. “You’ll tire yourself out and drown. I know it’ll be scary but if you ever get caught in undertow, don’t fight. Go with the current and once it subsides, that’s when you swim back.”

That advice was far from my mind when I actually got caught in one though.

I screamed and thrashed and fought and fought, I probably pissed in the water twice too to boot.

And yet ー and I’m not entirely sure why ー a calm suddenly fell over me and I remembered Auntie’s words.

It would be scary, but don’t fight it.

Five minutes later, I swam back to shore and cried for ten minutes while my aunt held me.

Scary was one hell of an understatement.

I swore up and down I’d never go to the beach again. I never wanted to feel that scared again, never ever. My aunt didn’t disparage me for it, though. Didn’t tell me to toughen up. She simply took me to get shaved ice when I calmed down; said when you conquer your fear and come out on top, you should always treat yourself to something nice.

“It’s okay to be scared, [First],” she smiled softly. “Some people might say otherwise, but you know something, Auntie doesn’t think fear is a bad thing. Fear can be really good sometimes. Fear is what tells you not to do something that could lead to you getting hurt. It teaches you when not to do something stupid or dangerous. Sometimes, fear is what you should listen to instead of the ‘what if things actually go right’s. Fear only becomes bad when there’s too much of it. When you let being scared rule your life so you don’t live it.

“So it’s okay to be scared. Just promise auntie that you won’t let fear stop you from moving forward. Whether it’s rejection, worries a leap of faith will lead to you falling completely on your ass or that it might not be okay to say something when you know you should.

Live like you feel it and love like you mean it.

Don’t let the fear get to you.”

It took about a week before I was diving right back into the deep blue all over again.

Name: [Full Name] ♀ D/O/B: December 9, 1989 Age: 15

Sorcerer Lineage: Non-sorcerer lineage Enrollment method: Scouted

Recruiter: Yaga Masamichi

Notes: Student was encountered May 5, 2005

Testimony of the recruiter: At the site of Tsubame High School’s test of courage, a second grade curse appeared. [Last] activated her innate technique to protect herself and her fellow students and was able to keep the curse at a standstill until sorcerers arrived on the scene to exorcize the curse. While there were students injured, none of the injuries were fatal mostly due to [Last]’s quick application of her ability. According to the student, she began being able to utilize her innate technique around the age of 10.

Jujutsu

Student’s Innate Technique: Shields

“Rejection” Student’s abilities manifest as her cursed energy condensing into an object that rejects negative events outside of it effectively, creating shields of various sizes. This ability is one that is purely defensive and does not seem to have any offensive capabilities. As it stands, should the student make timely progress during the initial stages of her enrollment during this first year ー  should she not disenroll or meet an untimely end ー it isn’t recommended to give her solo assignments.

Notes: “Rejection” is what the student in question chooses to refer to this ability as.

Interview Question Answer: “Why I want to enroll? Because I’m scared of this curse stuff.”

index | next chapter

#look she's writing #jjk x reader #gojou x reader #gojo x reader #getou x reader #geto x reader #i cherish you halcyon days #shout to my girl orihime for the power inspo i love you bbygrl

[theemporium]

[1.3k] late night dinners, home-cooked meals and wayne munson realising his nephew’s girlfriend makes the trailer feel like home.

.

Wayne Munson was not a good chef. 

He could read the instructions on the back of the package. He could whip up basic meals that didn’t require more than three ingredients. He had the number of his favourite local takeaway memorised. 

He never really cared about nutritious meals and all that five-a-day crap, not until he had his young nephew thrown at the doorstep of his trailer with no parents and big brown eyes that could melt anybody’s heart. 

So yeah, it was fine that Wayne Munson was not a chef when it was just himself he needed to worry about. But when little Eddie Munson came into his life, he knew he needed to make more of an effort. 

The microwave meals and the takeaways never really disappeared though. Wayne worked night shifts and it was easy to just leave money on the counter for Eddie to grab what he wanted. And when he came in in the mornings, he was too tired to make anything more convoluted than cereal. 

Wayne knew it was bad, and he knew he wasn’t exactly teaching Eddie any good habits, but there wasn’t much else you could do. 

He just had to deal with the hand he had been given. 

Then the Munson boys met you.

“You don’t get it, Wayne, she’s…” Eddie had trailed off one day, oddly bouncy and on some sort of high he knew wasn’t from anything in that metal lunchbox. He had sprawled himself on the couch, eyes shining with an emotion Wayne had never seen as he continued to ramble to his uncle about his day at school (something he had never done in his life). “She’s fuckin’ perfect, I’m telling you.” 

And as bad as it sounded, Wayne didn’t really expect much to come out of it. Hawkins, Indiana was full of narrow-minded people who didn’t understand his nephew, who were superficial and couldn’t look past the wild curls and theatric persona. He knew how locals viewed Eddie and as much as he hated it, he knew that there was very little he could do to change their minds. People were just bastards like that. 

But much to Wayne’s own surprise, he had walked in back from work early one morning, dragging himself through the door with plans to just make it to his bed before he gave into the exhaustion—only to find you in their small kitchen, clad in one of Eddie’s shirts with a sheepish smile on your face. 

“‘m sorry,” you murmured, cheeks heating up in embarrassment as you looked around at the kitchen counters. They weren’t messy by any means. Hell, they probably looked cleaner than when he left. “I made pancakes…if you want some.” 

The Munsons became quite smitten for you pretty fast. 

Wayne thought it would be weird having another young adult in his space. The trailer wasn’t fooling anyone and he knew it already felt cramped some days with him and Eddie, he didn’t know what it would be like adding you the mix considering you spent a generous amount of time at the trailer (not that he minded). 

But the truth was Wayne couldn’t bring himself to even care if the small couch was a bit of a squeeze for the three of you on movie night because you made his nephew happy in this deadbeat town and that was truly all he could ask for. 

And maybe Wayne hadn’t realised what a family unit you three had become until he pushed through the door after a long shift at the construction site, shaking off the snow and the cold, only to be met with the mouth-watering smell of home cooking. 

He was somewhat convinced that he was hallucinating the smell until he popped his head around, knocking the trailer door closed with his foot and the sounds of one of Eddie’s tapes playing through the trailer, mixed with some snickers and giggles. 

“Eds, leave it!” 

“I’m just taste-testing it!” 

“Are you questioning my culinary skills?”

“Never, baby.” 

Shrugging off his coat and leaving it abandoned on the back of the couch, he made his way towards the kitchen to really take in the sight in front of him. Pots and pans and dishes sprawled around the kitchen, vegetables being boiled and desserts being made and, fuck, he was pretty sure he could see a turkey in the oven. You and Eddie were pressed up against each other, with you hovering by the hobs and Eddie right behind you because god knows that boy couldn’t stand to be away from you for a second. 

“What’s going on here?” His gruff voice broke through the picturesque moment and he almost winced at the way both of your heads snapped around. 

But you just smiled brightly at him, not a care in the world as Metallica’s Ride The Lightning was filling the space instead of cheesy Christmas carols. “Christmas dinner!” 

Wayne never considered himself a Scrooge or anything, but usually there were just more pressing matters on his mind whenever the holiday season came around. But this—sitting with a plate full with a loving, homemade meal,  some trashy movie playing in the background as he sat with his nephew and his nephew’s girlfriend—maybe this was the closest Wayne ever got to feeling festive. 

“You, baby, are a fucking godsend,” Eddie grumbled with a mouth full of turkey and potatoes. “A magician in the kitchen, I swear.” 

“It’s just some turkey, Eddie,” you said with a roll of your eyes, though it didn’t stop the pink tint growing on your cheeks. “Nothing special.” 

“It’s the first time I’ve ever had turkey,” Eddie commented so casually, not seeming to notice the way you paused in your meal. “Now I get why the snobs over in the west side never shut up about this stuff.” 

“I’ll make you turkey whenever you want,” you said to him, voice a little thick but before Eddie could even question it, you were leaning over to press a kiss to his cheek. 

“Careful, sweetheart, sounds like you’re signing yourself up to deal with this buffoon for a long time,” Wayne piped up, causing a snort to leave your lips and an exaggerated sound of offence to leave Eddie. 

Eddie puffed his chest out. “Oi, I happen to be quite the charmer.” 

You snickered. “You sure about that, big boy?” 

“I got you, didn’t I?” Eddie retorted as he threw an arm around your shoulder, pulling you into his side so he could press a loud, wet smack against your cheek. You let out a small shriek but you didn’t move away from his touch.

“Keep her around then, will you? Don’t think I can go back to that dodgy mac and cheese you make in the microwave after this,” Wayne joked, watching in amusement as your face brightened and his nephew’s face blushed in embarrassment. 

“It was one time, alright?” Eddie huffed in his own defence. “I didn’t even know you could get food poisoning from pasta and cheese.” 

You barked out a laugh, a sound so full of love and warmth. You placed your hand on Eddie’s cheek, grinning when the boy leaned into your touch. “It’s fine, baby, I’ll give you some lessons.” 

“God knows he needs them,” Wayne coughed under his breath. 

“Hey! You too, old man!” 

But your smile didn’t drop as you shrugged, your eyes meeting Wayne’s from across the table. “I’ll teach you both then, since you’re just as hopeless as each other.” 

Eddie tugged on the end of your sweater, your attention returning to him once again. “Think we can learn how to make those chocolate pudding things you put in the fridge first?” 

Wayne Munson was not a good chef, and maybe he never would be. But in his little family of three, he didn’t think it was the biggest deal.

.

#eddie munson #stranger things #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson one shot #eddie munson fic #stranger things x reader #stranger things x you #stranger things x y/n #stranger things one shot #stranger things fic

[alpaca-clouds]

How to Research Pt. 1 - Google-Fu

Alright. I have decided to make a little tutorial in how to use different ways to access information, especially scientific information. The reason for this is, that... Well, research has found that a lot of Gen Z and especially Gen Alpha struggle with doing online research, mostly due to being so used to use the internet via Apps. And having had to do a research project at university, where my fellow students massively struggled to find anything on the requested topic.

So... Let me start with the most obvious topic: Google.

Funnily enough I gotta say, that even a lot of my fellow Millenials struggle with google. Mind you, Google has become a lot less user-friendly over the years. Ten years ago it was a lot easier to google stuff, because Google pushed less advertisement.

It should be said, that these techniques also work with most non-google search engines. So, let me go through it.

How to Google

For reasons the question I will use to demonstrate this entire thing will be: "How many biological sexes are there?" Just because I had to show research on this in online discussions too often. (Me, that is, as an intersex individuum.)

The most intuitive way would probably be to directly ask google.

Now, on the first glance the results of this search do not look that bad.

Again, I am intersex. I am definitely not a male or female based on my biology. And obviously, as such I have read quite a bit on the topic before.

Now. One of the things you need to do, when doing research, is to be able to judge a source.

Scientific American is somewhat reliable as a starting point, but it is popscience, hence you should definitely not cite it if there is any other way.

The NIH is usually a reliable source. But, if you just look into the preview text (or read the abstract on the side) you will find, that the scientist completely just mixes through sex, gender and sexuality. Which... might not make for the best source.

The next one - from the Arizona State University - also is a bit too much on the gender part, and too little on the sex part. And if you look at the preview, you will also find something else there: Google has marked "gender" as an "exact result" by using bold fonts.

And lastly we have a result that is the private blog of some economics guy. Which... might not be a good source for this.

And if you scroll just a bit further down, you will find openly trans- and interphobic sites like Women UK and Emma.

This is the point where you should realize two things:

Maybe we should change the search

You really gotta be careful with what pages get brought up, when you use your google-fu.

See, here is the thing. Why in the nine hells is the 4th (!!!) result of the search some private blog of some dude? I can tell you: Google is basing the results partly on the SEO of the pages. And it just turns out that some economics blokes are actually really good at SEO stuff. That is search engine optimization.

Other than that, Google also basing stuff on traffic and how many people clicked at what link and probably some other stuff that us normal mortals will never understand.

So, how can you change the results? Well, you use the tools that google gives you.

Using " around a group of words or a single word tells google, that you want this exact group of words in the result and no variation of it.

Using - in front of a word or a group of words marked with " before means that you want to exclude these results.

And using * somewhere means, that a word can end differently and you will still accept it.

So, what have we learned from the other results before? Well, for one: We should definitely tell google, that we want to know about biological sex, not about gender. So we should probably mark "biologial sex" as an exact group. It probably would help also to include something like "intersex" because that way we give google something to go off on. Lastly: A lot of supposedly "feminist" sites will actually push their TERFy agenda. So, to exclude them, I will tag this search also as -"women's rights". And because I am not interested in someone's blog, I will also use -blog.

Hence we get the search term:

And look at the results I am getting:

Now, this might not be perfect - but it is much more like what I was looking for, right?

So, that is a quick primer on how to google-fu.

Tomorrow I am gonna talk a bit about Wikipedia.

#research #scientific research #science #how to #how to do resarch #google #how to google #lgbtq #intersex #transgender

[youareinlovetv]

one of the best things that happened to me in 2023

getting a tumblr really was one of the best things that ever happened to me in 2023

let me explain

so i have very… sheltering parents. they like to control what im watching and listening to, they don’t like me having social media. not an insane amount, but just like… to make sure i don’t see or hear anything completely appropriate, cos i am 13 years old. maybe control is the wrong word. but you know what i mean.

the problem with this is, it means that i don’t tend to know about current affairs/events that happen in the world/any major issues going on. not like in a way that lead me to have wrong ideas about anything, like for example the LGBTQ+ community, but in a way that means that i don’t know anything about that community… at all. i didn’t know what the word gay meant until much more recently than probably anyone else on this site. i don’t hear anything about the Palestinian occupation, because my parents will always turn the radio off if it’s talking about something “upsetting”. i mean fuck, i barely knew anything was going on in the middle east until i got a tumblr.

its not that i had the wrong opinion, it’s not that i support israel. i just didn’t have an opinion. full stop.

so when i got a tumblr, i had to very quickly catch up on everything that’s happened… ever. like yes i updated myself on the Palestinian occupation, i learnt what the rest of the letters in the LGBTQ+ acronym were, what they stood for, and what those words meant. but the way i grew up meant that i never heard very much music on the radio, just whatever my parents wanted to listen to. which would’ve been fine, because we have similar music taste. but it was getting genuinely ridiculous. to give an example, i never heard the song Blank Space until 2023.

2023.

that song came out in 2014. hell, it was RE released in 2023. people would sing popular songs and ask me why i didn’t know them. what was i supposed to tell them? that my parents didn’t listen to that music, so i didn’t either?

so why did they act like that? were they scared, for example, that i would become LGBTQ+ if i ever found out that that community existed? nope. i came out at bisexual to my parents February 2023, and they were both pretty ok with it (it was awkward and still is, but they’re not homophobic). were they worried id upset myself by finding out about the horrific things happening to innocent Palestinians? well, even if they were, it’s better that i know, so that i can try to do something about it. nothing can change if we’re all kept in the dark, right?

so. in November 2023, i got me a tumblr. found out about it from Pinterest, which my parents would also kill me for having. i love this site. i love my moots. my parents will never know.

thanks for reading, i guess. i don’t really know where i was going with that, but i am pretty pissed at my parents for not letting me find out about fucking current events. letting me listen to normal pop music like a lot of teens do. i may only be 13, but im not stupid. and they’ll never find my tumblr.

love you all <3

#tumblr #free palestine 🇵🇸 #gaza #fuck israel #sheltering #idk???

[olivia-anderson-fanfic]

Have you never heard of such a thing, darling?

(The Timari Buzzfeed Unsolved AU)

Chapter 2: The Mysterious Case of Haly’s Circus

The video opens, as always, with Tim sitting on the couch, ramrod straight despite the apparent comfortableness of his cushions, smiling in a way that he knows will set people on edge.

People who have been watching Tim’s channel for a while are suddenly struck with the same feeling that new viewers endure when they open one of his videos for the first time. There is something wrong here, though they can’t quite put their finger on what, exactly, is off.

It is never quite scary. It is hard to be scared of a teenage boy. But it is certainly unsettling.

The reason becomes apparent soon enough: the couch is not pressed to the wall as much as it usually was.

Not that this was an easy thing to realize… until someone pops out of the gap for no reason outside of wanting to be dramatic, smiling widely at the audience.

“I’m back by popular demand!” Marinette says. She leans her arms on the back of the couch. “I’m not sure why I agreed. He doesn’t pay me. I’m being exploited.”

“I literally do pay you.”

“Riiiiight, of course you do,” she says, winking. “Don’t worry, GCPD people watching this, I am well taken care of. There is no fraud going on.”

“I don’t think I like this bit,” Tim mumbles.

“Sucks to suck! I do!”

He huffs. “Why did I invite you along again?”

“Because Alya said that I didn’t complete the bet and you’re lonely?”

“You know, at some point, I’m going to sue you for slander.”

“Public figures can’t really sue for slander!”

Tim’s eyebrows raised. “Is that true?”

“Yeah. It’s why tabloids get away with everything. Probably worth a google.”

He groans and rests his head in his hands. This does not entirely hide the faint smile on his face or the way his shoulders shake with barely restrained laughter. But it’s the effort that counts. Probably.

“Okay. Editor!Me, roll intro.”

The terrible dubstep intro is back, to everyone’s utter dismay. ‘The Gotham Files, with Tim Drake’ bounces around the screen once again, but it ends soon enough, thankfully.

Unfortunately, it is quickly replaced by another intro, complete with a different terrible dubstep song and set of strobe lights, proclaiming that ‘Marinette is also here!!!!!!!!!!’

People who listen closely can hear both of them giggling in the background.

Then, there is a hard cut to the two of them standing outside of what looks to be a run-down carnival. The sign above them declares the place to be Haly’s, but it has long since been graffitied over to say ‘Hell’s’ instead.

Marinette does not seem particularly happy about this change, gripping her new ‘company-provided’ flashlight (Tim gave her a spare he found lying around his house so she wouldn’t drain her phone battery) like it was a lifeline.

Tim pays it no mind, other than a murmur of how cliche it is. He smiles at the camera. “Now, since my intro was so rudely interrupted by Marinette –.”

“Popping out from behind the couch was your idea.”

“– I will explain everything now! We are at the site of Haly’s circus. Twelve years ago, tragedy struck during a seemingly routine circus act. A trapeze line snapped, and John and Mary Grayson fell to their deaths, right in front of their young son.”

There is a moment of silence for the two fallen.

Tim brightens up the moment sixty seconds have finished passing. “And, dear viewers, this particular case is a special one, because I was there when it happened!”

Marinette frowns just slightly.

Tim laughs and waves her off immediately. “I was three, I don’t remember any of it, don’t worry about it.”

She looks somewhat unconvinced, but glances at the camera and decides to drop it. Her concern is wiped from her face like it had never been there at all. She smiles and elbows him in the side. “I guess it’s… a plan to conquer trauma by adding another trauma on top of it. Men would rather visit a haunted theme park than go to therapy.”

He rolls his eyes. “I’m not adding more trauma on top of it, I’m not going to be traumatized. There’s nothing here that can traumatize me.”

“The ghosts are going to make it their mission to prove you wrong, you know.”

“Yeah yeah, my hubris will be my downfall, of this I am aware,” he intones. And then he goes back to addressing the camera. “Now, to this day, people suspect foul play, but police refuse to investigate. Perfect conditions for a possible ghost, don’t you think? So, as always, we are here to solve the mystery of whether the supernatural exists!”

“It does. Can we go home now?”

“Thank you for your investigative journalism,” he says sarcastically, but he slings his arm over her shoulder regardless, pulling her into his side. “Besides, you don’t have to worry. With all the stuff I’ve said to diss them over the years, ghosts – if they were real, which they aren’t – would go for me first.”

“Then could you please let go? I don’t want to be near you when that happens,” she teases.

He huffs a laugh and lifts his arm, allowing her plenty of time to get away. She remains close to his side.

He snickers and lets his arm fall right back into its seemingly perpetual spot around her shoulders. “It’s just an hour.” On cue, bright red numbers appear in the top right corner of the screen, a timer waiting for them to step over the threshold before it could start. “Then we can both leave, yeah?”

“Just an hour,” she mumbles disdainfully.

“Hey, I usually stay overnight. We can do that instead, if you want.”

The video cuts to show… someone, sitting at a desk, in the dark. Their silhouette is rather chunky, it is clear they are draped in one of the biggest, fluffiest blankets known to man. But they are not the focus. No, instead the camera zooms in, to look at the two different computer screens in front of the person. One of them is clearly editing software, and the other is on YouTube. Viewers can see that he is apparently listening to the ChipiChipiChapaChapa song on loop, and has been for at least three hours. Now, though, he finally opens a second tab. The keyboard clacks as they google ‘what time is the sunrise in Gotham’. The mouse circles the time stamp on the bottom of the screen, and the person mumbles under their breath. Apparently doing math, because they edit the timer to say 8:06:45.

The viewers are back to the actual video, where Marinette is laughing.

Tim does not join her.

Her laughter does not quite peter off, but it does gain a slightly nervous edge.

“That’s… a joke right?” she says. “You don’t actually stay in haunted places for hours every time, do you?”

“Well, no, but the only reason I don’t is that there is no such thing as a ‘haunted place’. I do hang out at attractions like this overnight, though.”

“Actually, an hour seems fine.”

The video pauses. Editor!Tim heaves a deep sigh and the clock changes back to its original one-hour-long countdown.

“Also, you’re the most stubborn person I’ve ever met,” Marinette huffs when time returns to normal. They finally step into the carnival together, and the timer starts ticking down. “At least try and pretend like you think ghosts could exist, to make things fair.”

“You think that this place has a house of mirrors somewhere?” he asks. “Because I would like to introduce you to the most stubborn person to exist.”

She huffs. She might have rolled her eyes, but she was too concerned with drinking in every detail of the world around them, searching for anything amiss.

There was a lot amiss about the place, to be fair to her. Old popcorn bags lay forgotten on the ground, abandoned in a rush and trampled under hundreds of feet, their previously bright colors muddied by the elements over the years. What had once been gleaming, colorful rides were now rusting. A family of opossums peers at them suspiciously from behind a couple of molding stuffed animals, their eyes gleaming hauntingly when their flashlights turn on them.

But nothing supernatural.

The longer they go without finding anything of note, the more Marinette relaxes.

She tugs at Tim’s backpack, and he gives her a mildly questioning look, but lets her open it and pull out a spray can of bright red paint.

“How –? When –?”

“A lady never reveals her secrets,” she says, smirking, tossing the can from hand to hand.

“Isn’t that saying supposed to be about – uh – demonitizable things?”

“Probably,” she shrugs. “Not my problem, though.”

“Uh. I think it is, actually,” he laughs. “You’re going to give the viewers the wrong idea about you.”

“Oh no. The supernatural-obsessed, parasocial people in your comment section are going to witch hunt me. Oh nooooooo.”

“You know, they’d probably be happy if they managed to kill you. More things for me to investigate – and with a personal element.”

“They’re just mad because they get no –.”

No one can guess what word is bleeped out here.

He groans, but he is still grinning widely. “Don’t insult my audience and their lack of... dates! You know how important my viewer retention rates are to me!”

She sticks her tongue out at him, slipping out from under his arm and walking over to the nearest contraption. It’s a gravitron, from the looks of things – one of those rides where they spin you around so quickly that you can stick to the walls.

Marinette tugs her shirt up to cover her mouth and nose (Tim quickly shifts the camera upwards at the sight of the barest sliver or midriff with mumbles of ‘demonetization’) and spray paints the words ‘Marinette and Tim were here’.

She looks at it for a moment, seemingly thinking hard, before adding a tiny heart next to their names.

Tim groans. “You’re going to make the shippers freak out.”

Her shirt falls away from her face when she tips her head back in a laugh, and she tosses the can into a nearby trash can. It thumps against something inside, but no pissed-off animals come seeking revenge, so they pay this no mind.

“You can always cut it out in editing.”

“Mmmm trueeeeee,” he says, humming thoughtfully. “But I’d prefer not to. Engagement, you know?”

She gives a little hum of her own before leaning in to press a kiss to his cheek.

His face flushes pink. “What was that for?”

“Engagement.”

He gasps and presses the back of his hand to his forehead, like a Victorian woman who is about to faint over a couch because she happened to catch sight of a collarbone. “Oh of course it’s for the views and not for me,” he pretends to pout.

She grins widely, opening her mouth to respond, but it seems that they are not allowed to enjoy themselves and have fun.

For, in that second, the carnival whirrs to life.

Lights, muted and strangely speckled due to the accumulation of years of grime, shine down on them. The speakers crackle to life, playing songs they hadn’t heard in years. The rides creak as their rusty gears are forced into motion once again.

If you, dear viewer, pay close enough attention, you can see the exact moment the light in their eyes dies.

It coincides pretty well with the lights in the park flicking on.

Hence why paying close attention is vitally important.

Needless to say, the kids are stressed. Probably because the abandoned amusement park does not seem all that abandoned anymore.

“Any chance we tripped a motion sensor somewhere?” Marinette asks.

Tim looks like he has accidentally swallowed a lemon. “Uh… I don’t think that they would still be working after this long…”

“Great! Great. That’s what I thought, too,” Marinette says, her voice squeaking in a way that suggests she does not, in fact, think it is great.

“But – but! There is always an explanation for supernatural phenomena,” Tim says, though he is eyeing the contraption warily. It is hard to tell who he is comforting – Marinette, or himself. Hopefully himself, seeing as he was utterly failing to calm down Marinette. “Noxious fumes causing hallucinations, confirmation bias, a trick done by living people for the sake of monetary gain (a la Scoobert Doo), the wind...”

“You know, at some point this loops around to being in denial,” Marinette mumbles, pressing so close to his side that it starts to look like she is trying to meld with him.

“Shut up,” is all he can manage in retort.

There is a loud bang nearby and the pair of teens scream. Their heads spin on a swivel, and the video is briefly impossible to watch without getting sick. By the time things stabilize, the teens have come up with a solution. Marinette points at the big top, the largest and most instantly recognizable building. It’s the only place that would provide proper cover.

Not that that would do that much good against a ghost, but you have to at least try to survive in situations like these.

“There! C’mon!”

Tim makes a vague sound of protest, but Marinette is already running, and he is dragged along for the ride.

Perhaps that is not the best phrasing, since a kiddie ride they pass screeches off the rails, and they only barely stop in time to avoid getting run over by a roller coaster car.

The ghost is hot on their heels.

Marinette and Tim hop the car, adrenaline fueling them, their feet thudding against the dirt.

Neon lights spark and shatter overhead, raining sparks and gas down upon them.

Marinette’s shirtsleeve catches, and Tim is quick to put it out for her, because she doesn’t even seem to notice, too focused on helping him into the circus tent.

It is as if they have walked into another world. A kinder one, without weird ghosts that are trying to kill them for intruding upon the place they had once died. It is blissfully dark, the only sound their own ragged breathing. After all the bright lights and loud sounds and near murder attempts, it is nice.

Electricity whirrs.

A spotlight blares down on them, briefly, a clear I know you’re here, before it slides away, down to its natural resting position in the middle of the tent.

Now, you may know I am here, too.

A man in a torn circus uniform sits in the spotlight, sobbing into his hands. A tarp lay stretched beneath the long-since broken trapeze, almost mockingly, as if the ghost is making a joke about how easily avoidable their deaths had been, if only they had used a net that night. The dust they had kicked up upon entering catches in the spotlight, making it look as if the air itself is reacting to the ghost, dancing with shimmering lights.

Marinette is physically shaking by this point, her nails digging into Tim’s arm hard enough to draw blood. Tim doesn’t look much better, either, his face an ashy gray color.

Red pools in the sand the ghost kneels in.

“... wait,” Tim breathes.

He moves as if to take a step forward, but Marinette is still holding onto him, and she clearly has no intentions of getting any closer to the ghost.

Tim meets her eyes.

“Trust me.”

She bites her lip, but when he moves again she allows herself to be pulled with him.

They make their way down the steps.

He moves to make his way over the railing and jump down into the sand pit, but the lights flicker and go out.

The hand Marinette has on him is the only thing that stops him from braining himself on the ground. He wouldn’t have died, probably, but it still would have been quite an embarrassing moment to have caught on camera.

When the lights turn back on, Tim sends her a grateful smile.

Marinette doesn’t return it. Her eyes are locked on where the ghost is.

Or, was.

She doesn’t seem much more relieved by the lack of it.

Tim jumps down and helps her come down after him. Slowly, they make their way over to where the ghost had been.

He crouches to squint at the pool of blood. Marinette gags and drags her shirt up to cover her mouth and nose again. Tim looks like he very much wants to do the same, but he has other things he needs to do, first. He rifles through his backpack, his eyes never leaving the ground.

“Tim…” she says, quietly. “We should go.”

He sends her a hesitant smile. “I want a sample of this.”

He pulls out a flashlight and points it out into the darkness provided by the tarp.

There stands the ghost.

Well, it isn’t a ghost. A ghost wouldn’t cringe away from a sudden bright light being shone into their eyes. Nor would it be wearing stage makeup.

The grimy-looking clothes check out, though. A+ for effort on that, that trapeze outfit definitely looks like someone died in it.

The man glances behind himself briefly, as if considering running, before his shoulders slump in clear defeat.

He groans. “What gave it away?”

Tim points at the blood on the ground. “It should be dry by now.”

“It’s –? I’m supposed to be a ghost? The blood being wet is not the most unbelievable part?”

There was a long beat of silence.

“Oh,” says Tim.

The man – Dick Grayson, the sole surviving member of the Flying Graysons – looks like he wants to scream. Which he does, but not in the traditional way: “Jay! Cass! Come out!”

Two people step out into the light, looking just as irritable about the whole situation.

They, too, are wearing ratty clothes.

Oh. Praise revoked. The clothes are not a Choice. They are simply poor.

Marinette groans and slumps into Tim, burying her face in his shoulder as if she can’t bear to see the world anymore. He loops his arm around her, dragging her ever closer.

“Ready to stop believing that ghosts are real, yet?” Tim teases softly.

She groans. Again. Louder. She beats her fist against his chest, but there is no real power or anger behind it.

And then she fixes the three homeless people with a tired look. “I understand why you’re doing this and all… like, the economy sucks, get that bag – or free housing, I guess… but…”

There is a long string of beeps as Marinette lets loose a frankly impressive number of swears. It’s doubly impressive when one remembers that she isn’t even speaking in her first language. Go her. Clearly, she took her English lessons very seriously.

When she finally feels better, she flashes a smile and sticks her hand out for the second guy to shake.

“Hi! I’m Marinette Dupain-Cheng.”

The guy looks confused, but he shakes it.

The video cuts abruptly. The three homeless people are waving them off as Tim and Marinette head back to his car. The viewers would never get to know exactly what was said that day, but it seems they're leaving each other on well-enough terms.

“Sucks that we went through all of that just to not be able to post any of it,” she sighs. “The GCPD would probably arrest them or something.”

“Nah, it’s fine. We can just cut around it and say it was a front for the mafia. The police hate the poor, but they won't mess with organized crime. Because a lot of them are in it.”

“Oh! Great!” she says. Her tone seems to be almost sarcastic. Almost, because why would it be? It is a great plan.

“I’ll keep the real footage on my Patreon, though. My journalistic credibility shall not be marred.” He winks at the camera. “Say hi to the Patreon viewers.”

While she does lift her hand in a vague wave, she does not seem particularly soothed by his words. Perhaps because his ‘journalistic integrity’ was not at all what she had been concerned about.

“Alright, now, we need to convince the nonpaying viewers that we are scared out of our minds because of mafia b.s., so put on your best concerned face.”

Marinette looks at him.

“Perfect! And we’re rolling again!” He turns to address the camera, all wide eyes and frantic hand movements. “Okay, so, it turns out this place is a mafia hideout. Who knew?”

Marinette’s lips begin to twitch into a slight smile at his antics. “Well, I’m going back to France in a few days, so this is not my problem.”

He gasps. “You’re going to leave me here to die?! After all we’ve been through?!”

“Yep.”

Tim looks devastated.

She giggles. “Fine, fine, I’ll stuff you in my backpack and you can come with me.”

He lights back up again instantly. “Ohmygod! We can have The Gotham Files: World Tour!”

“Mmmm, I only live in France,” Marinette points out, which certainly makes the ‘World Tour’ seem less than stellar all of a sudden.

Tim takes it in stride, though. “The Gotham Files: France Tour!”

She rolls her eyes, but her smile is nothing but fond. “Nice save.”

“I know. I’m kind of awesome.”

“And always right!” she adds, in the kind of tone that suggests they’ve joked like this before many times offscreen.

“And always right,” he agrees, nodding along, sage in his always right-ness.

“Except…” Marinette says, smirking. “You were almost convinced about the ghosts for a second there. I think that means that, somewhere, you know the supernatural exists.”

He doesn’t rise to the bait. He shrugs lazily. “I just think that, if ghosts were real and could affect our reality in any meaningful way, white people just wouldn’t exist anymore.”

It is quiet for a solid nine seconds.

Marinette has stopped walking. Tim slows, turns to look at her, mildly concerned.

“Mari –?”

“Fuck, maybe ghosts don’t exist.”

The video ends.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter 3

#maribat #timari #timinette #shutterbug #timmari #tim drake #marinette dupain cheng #ladybug #have you never heard of such a thing darling?

[why-so-serious-lucifer]

K-pop Discography Deep Dives: Only One Of (Supplemental)

A Disclaimer: I was planning, when I first started Tumblr, to be a lurker, but then I began an office job and needed something to listen to to keep myself occupied. And then, I started going through entire K-pop groups’ repertoires, album by album, and jotting down my thoughts. And then, I stumbled into K-pop tumblr and decided, you know what, there’s at least four people on this hell site who would read in depth rants about these discographies and at least five who wouldn’t read it and then get mad because it’s kind of our job as K-pop fans. My lukewarm takes should be taken with an entire silo of salt and the knowledge that this is completely for fun and occupying my very bored, very neurodivergent brain. All this to say, for the love of god, I’m a sleep-deprived student and I don’t have time for internet hate, so don’t kill me. With that being said, enjoy!

So, since I’ll probably be tackling some groups with large discographies, both now and in the future, I thought it’d be good to shine lights on some smaller groups and soloists who either aren’t as popular and/or have much smaller repertoires, so that’s what we’re doing today! These are going to be a lot more chill than my deep dives because they’re really more of a fun break than anything else.

Here are my credentials: I’d already been a fan of SHINee for a while before, but it was actually OnlyOneOf that helped me realize that I wasn’t just a girl group stan and SHINee weren’t just a one-off. I’m mainly a fan of their Underground Idol solos series so I’m looking forward to hearing more of their other titles and b-sides. Let’s do this!

OnlyOneOf debuted in 2019 with seven members: Love, Nine, Yoojung, Rie, KB, Junji, and Mill (Love left in 2021). They’re most known for their…concept in a way? Basically, for basing their music around queerness, while not stating their actual orientations. This is thorny territory, as k-pop is infamous for its shipping and fanservice-heavy culture, which we could argue about until we’re so blue in the face that we’d be mistaken for smurfs. Is it queerbaiting? Is it representation? I know what I believe, but is that “right”? I don’t know. Either way, it’s important to keep in mind (even as I’m going to praise them for the good work they’ve done) that what they’re doing is, at the end of the day, proving profitable.

We start off with Savanna, which has one hell of a music video intro. The song is more subdued than I’m used to from their later singles, but with a similar subject matter. It gives me Taemin vibes with its self-assured sexuality, but speaking of sexuality, what would later make them famous is basically non-existent here. I do like this song, especially the slowed-down reverb and distortion, but it’s not especially unique, and it didn’t have a lot of staying power with me. I love the drama of the visuals though—I’m a sucker for cathartically lighting things on fire. (For the FBI agents reading this, I promise that that was a joke.)

From the Dot Point Jump single, I enjoyed the chill soft-rock of Time Leap, which absolutely did have staying power for me and I added it to my playlist. I really liked that chorus, and by the end of the first one, I was in. I think their voices both blend better and feel more unique in this one than in the title, which is probably another reason I liked it so much. Blossom I enjoyed less but it reminded me more of what I’m used to from them.

Sage is up next, and again we have a really odd MV intro. A lot has changed since Savanna—now, the song has much more sing-talk, feels more disjointed in terms of when the tempo changes, and it has a greater focus on the cyberpunk citypop vibes than before. It also adds a greater sense of drama with the slight strings and the control in the voices. It took me a few listens but I like this one too, more than Savanna, and I can see how the singles are slowly shifting to become the OnlyOneOf they are today.

Line Sun Goodness is a pretty solid EP, and I enjoyed the whistling hook in Boss, the chill guitar in Desert, and the breathy layers of vocals in Only One Of Me (which was my favorite). However, the songs, despite the few quirks I mentioned before, sound very similar to each other. None of them are bad, but none of them stick out either.

Dora Maar goes even further in the direction that Sage began, with its harsh background clanging, its heavy use of percussion, and reliance on more intentional frying in the vocals. I wasn’t as big a fan of this one as Sage, to be honest, because I felt like it went from the calmer (yet still fried) parts to the harsher ones, and I got a bit of whiplash.

Angel was a song that I’d heard before, but I actually had no idea that it was by OnlyOneOf. It’s catchy from the outset, and has a self-aware humor that I could get behind. It’s also softer than their usual titles, and that little bit of vulnerability is a good balance for the flashier parts of their discography. That repeating rap in the pre-choruses caught me off-guard every time, I have to say, and by the time I’d gotten used to the new tempo, we were back to the usual. I have no idea why it's there, because it really didn’t have to be. I really liked Heartbreak Theatre from the single, because I love some drama and that piano was perfect.

A Song Of Ice & Fire pulses with a great energy, and I was nodding my head through the first verse. I was worried they’d go with the dreaded anti-drop chorus and they kind of did in the second half, but thankfully the rest of the chorus is quite strong. I liked this one, but I actually have the opposite comment I have on the rest of their songs, which is that I wish it carried through that great build up through the chorus, because they were almost there…but no. I didn’t have a hidden gem for this single.

Libido is the song that I think most people know from OnlyOneOf, and it’s obvious why: unlike many of their singles, it’s pretty unique. I was surprised that what they’re so known for started here and not before though. Between the choreo, the lyrics, and the music video, it definitely breaks the boundaries of what’s normal in k-pop. It’s a song I appreciate more than enjoy, I’ll be honest, but I do like the pre-choruses. I know the whole point is that the chorus comes out of nowhere, but it’s not for me. I admit though, the “girl I just wanna know” makes me cackle every time, because what girl? Where? There is not a girl within a 10 kilometer radius, folks. If we’re aiming for plausible deniability, that train left the station halfway through the first verse with whatever the hell Nine’s character was doing watching Love take a bath.

From Instinct (Part 1), my favorite was Instinct, because it has good drive and its vocals match perfectly with that distorted guitar instrumental in the background. It’s definitely not a combination I’ve heard before, but it works quite well. The other songs are similar to other b-sides from earlier, in my opinion.

Coy is calmer and more subdued than their usual singles as well, while still keeping the smooth sexuality that defines much of their work. I think it needs more of a show stopping moment, personally, but this isn’t a song for me. I don’t have a hidden gem from this single, but I did like Night Flight.

Skinz gave me a jumpscare right away, I admit it, with that scratching noise grating on my ears. It continues the queer themes from Libido. Unlike a lot of their other work, it doesn’t have enough of a balance between the harsh distortion and the gentler moments, because there really aren’t enough gentler moments for that to happen. It’s just not a pleasant experience on my ears, and not one I want to repeat either. OnlyOneOf has a lot of charisma but none of it carries through enough for this one, and quite frankly, I don’t like it. From the single, I think that Suit Dance would’ve made a better single with its well-flowing vocals and jazzier beat and I also liked Ultimate Bliss.

It’s nothing new for idols to release solo music while still part of a band, but Only One Of’s “Underground Idol” series is absolutely unique. The members were divided back into their branded pairs for this, and each pair told the story of a couple from two different perspectives. Yoojung and KB were the first in Begin and Be Free, Junji and Rie were the second in Be Mine and Because, and Mill and Nine were the last in Beat and Beyond. This series is both where I found them and where, at least to me, a discography that could have been seen as queerbaiting-for-profit becomes something that genuinely means so much to so many queer people, myself included.

Begin, fittingly, begins the solo series, and expertly captures the feeling of boredom expressed in the music video until, of course, we get the meet-cute and literal crash into each other that begins the relationship too. The song is a gentle, breathy city pop sound, and feels both hopeful and resigned (“when you’re free from prejudice, freedom will begin”), reaching a catharsis in its understated bridge (“It’s time, and I know it.”) as Yoojung’s character takes care of KB’s when he’s drunk. Never has a k-pop song title so fit a song, because it’s about so many different beginnings: the relationship, the freedom, and even the journey of coming out itself. I like this one.

Be Free is Begin’s other side, and starts where it left off. As befits the title and its character’s personality, it’s far more open from the beginning and knows what it wants right out of the gate (“Hey guess what?”), while also embracing a funkier, brighter sound that feels more joyful. The relationship continues, and the characters bond deeply in the space of a night (a very queer thing in and of itself), before they end up waking up together, shirtless. Genuinely, the first time I watched this, I was shocked that they were so open about it, despite the fact that nothing is shown, and it was this that began to change my mind on the subject of queerbaiting. The story shown here is given an open ending—we have no idea what happens after that one day—but the final line (“You never know, baby. One more time could make it right.”) seems to hint that it won’t end here. I like this one more than Begin, but it’s not my favorite.

Be Mine starts the second of the three stories, and, again fittingly to the title, feels softer and more romantic with its gentle piano as Junji’s character runs after Rie’s. This duo shows an established relationship between its characters as they have a summer romance that involves dancing, listening to music, cooking, and just spending time together. Its slow and settled melody isn’t for me, personally, and neither is its seemingly out-of-nowhere rap verse, but on the whole, the song is very sweet.

Because was actually the first song I’d heard by OnlyOneOf, since it was recommended to me about a week after it came out, and, as previously stated, changed my mind that I was only a girl group stan. I was surprised by it right out of the gate, and was soon won over by the quite convincing intimacy between its two characters, its quiet folding of paper cranes, and overall bluntness of its subject matter. The song is nostalgic and feels lived in, waffling between comforting and melancholy as the characters have a fight and go their separate ways while all their best memories replay, then reconnect many months later (though it’s left open whether they get back together). It’s genuinely quite touching; I wince when Junji’s character smacks the paper cranes off of the table and I hurt for Rie’s when he’s heartbroken. It was my favorite of their songs when I first watched it and it’s stayed that way since.

Beat marks the start of the third and last series, and sticks out from the rest of the songs in the solos with its harsh beat and most of the song is either sing-talk or outright rapping. Mill is the group’s rapper, so I do get it, but this one is just too grating for me. The video shows two students falling in love with each other while facing hinted-to-be-homophobically-motivated bullying and dealing with both the fear and the excitement of that love. The song does fit the video, I’ll give it that, perfectly connecting with the insecurity and genuine danger the characters face (“wanna tell them to beat it, beat up, beat out”), and the video ends with Nine’s character falling into Mill’s arms after getting beaten up.

Beyond is the last of the Underground Idol series, and rather than match the harshness of Beat, it goes the exact opposite way, and is quite an understated slow burn mixed with citypop that makes the most of Nine’s smooth and soothing vocals, meaning that I enjoyed this one much more. Its lyrics are quite lovely with how they mix floral imagery (“perhaps it’s withered; my heart is dried up, but you take root”), and openness (“Baby, I wanna make you mine”), and captures the head-over-heels feeling of first love quite well. These two videos don’t push boundaries in the same way as the first two sets do, only because they tell what is a quite well-trodden story rather than breaking new ground, but seeing the characters take care of each other is very sweet. The quiet, mutual moment of realization at the end where they’re lying next to each other and move to kiss feels very comfortable and honest.

The description box written for Beyond on their official YouTube channel states: “How did our music reach you, who are far away? How did our small melody crafted in Korea reach you, who are on the other side of the world? To all those lovers who do not feel like they’ve been given the blessing, we hope our music will comfort you and cheer you up. We hope you’ll dream the same dream as us.” Is it a little cheesy? Perhaps. But does it make me emotional? Absolutely. Does it still matter? Hell yes.

The thing that really felt meaningful to me was the mundanity with which the characters live their lives; they may face internalized or external homophobia, but what the solo series gets across so well is how normal and everyday these people are, no matter who they love. The best way I can explain it, as a queer person myself, is that it feels like another queer person wrote and planned these six songs. They feel very honest and self-reflective, and don’t try to tiptoe around their subject matter, which I really appreciate. Look, I’m not going to speculate on whether any of the members of OnlyOneOf are queer themselves, because I frankly can’t stress enough that unless one of them bursts through my window at 2 am with a megaphone and tells me to share it with the world, it was and remains none of my fucking business.

Seoul Drift is their latest comeback, and similarly to many of their other full-group singles, it’s not that fun to listen to. It follows Skinz; there isn’t really a break in the song, which normally I’d be a fan of, but here it just makes it feel overwhelming and unnecessarily harsh. I like the idea of it—the lyrics are pretty good and the whole idea of loneliness and the intensely fast pace of life in Seoul in the MV intrigues me—but the execution just doesn’t win me over.

From the album, Seoul Collection, Blue Blue Seoul stuck out to me. It’s breathy and soft, and it moves along with an inviting, almost warm feeling. It feels a lot like a song from their Underground Idol series, which is probably why I like it. I love the way the voices are layered and how the minimalistic background gives them a chance to grow.

OnlyOneOf have gained attention yet again this year, not only for their earlier comeback but for their participation in Bump Up Business, a short drama adaptation of a BL webtoon that stars Mill and Nine as two k-pop idols forced to do a “business gay partnership” (basically, act like they’re in a gay relationship with each other), who actually end up falling in love. You can see why this is causing a stir, when their whole concept already has people declaring it queerbaiting.

Personally, I honestly don’t know where I stand, because I do think that they do genuinely important, boundary-breaking work, but they also play into the queerbaiting and the lines between characters they play and the idols themselves are intentionally made smaller. I applaud them for acting in this and having the guts to actually kiss on screen, and despite how toothless the show is, I did watch it and go “aww” at several points.

I’m glad I did this! Even if I didn’t end up becoming a Lyon or a fan, I did still have fun with this, especially watching the series and the solos, and a couple interviews (which gave me some good laughs, so thanks guys). I also learned that Nine and KB are very involved with the writing and composing of OnlyOneOf’s music, which is something I really appreciate that happens to be quite rare in k-pop.

My top 5 songs from Only One Of are Because, Time Leap, Heartbreak Theatre, Be Free, and Beyond, with Only One Of Me as an honorable mention. Only One Of gets a 7.75 / 10 from me. To be honest, I’ve found that besides their Underground Idol series and a few odd b-sides, their music is mostly not for me. I do really appreciate the self-production, the important messages, and the experimental quality of a lot of their work, but at the end of the day, this is my blog and it comes down to personal preference.

Next time, we’ll be doing part two of the Red Velvet deep-dive and next week we’re restarting the one-group-a-week schedule with a boy group. Tschüss!

#onlyoneof #k-pop #review #k-pop deep dive #k pop boy groups #yoojung #kb #rie #junji #nine #wookjin #mill #love #be free #underground idol #bump up business #Spotify

[socks-is-scared]

Ok so as someone who started using this website right before Elon announced taking Twitter, I just want to talk about my take on (some of) the changes since then because, in theory, they should be targeted towards my demographic.

Blazing: I think this was new when I joined, but I didn’t think it seemed bad. You can pay to make your post reach more people, probably to attract brand accounts to the site. I can’t say I’ve seen a lot of brand accounts since then on my dash but I’ve seen a lot of blazed posts for photography. Didn’t really mess with how I had used tumblr at the time, doesn’t change anything now. It’s cool

Buying Checkmarks: taking the piss on twitter, which was funny at the time. However I’ve noticed people with more checkmarks will often have posts on my dash that are kinda cut off? I assume the checkmarks reached a second row and pushed the text out of the post but it’s kinda annoying. This has really only happened to me on mobile and is a pretty rare occasion, but i just don’t understand how this kinda thing happened in the first place? Was it not accounted for that some users would have ridiculous amounts of checkmarks?

Tumblr live: I’m gonna be honest, I thought this was a gaslighting thing from the community. Fucking never showed up for me, but from what I understand nobody liked it. My rule of thumb is if your feature is “opt out” for no reason, you never had confidence in it in the first place.

Side bar: why is it there? Isn’t all the stuff it shows already available on the top of the screen in the desktop application? And why? I honestly liked how tumblr payed out there stuff compared to other social media because it just felt different. It just seems like tumblr is trying to become new twitter, which is not a good look bestie.

Icon hiding: this is the newest one and I hate it so much. Why do I even have a pfp if nobody is gonna ever see it? Why am I able to display stupid checkmarks and badges if they don’t show when I reblog a post? A lot of these changes just feel needless, and this one by far is the stupidest.

Now, for a change of pace, what would be some changes I would actually LIKE to see as a newer user?

Tagging presets: when I reblog a post, or hell even post my own, wether I tag it at all or not depends purely on how I feel at the moment. For me rebloging feels like it should be able to be done quick. To remedy this, I think you should be able to have custom presets near the tag button. Like say I wanna reblog some art, I could click my “art” preset to automatically put down all the tags I would want when reblogging a post like that (Art, Not Mine, Fandom, ect). From there I can add or remove tags if I feel like it, but the point is to just make it more intuitive to reblog with tags. Especially because, from what I understand, that’s the only way a post will get traction.

Likes doing something: I don’t know what the point of likes are for. I think they contribute to your For You page, but I don’t look at that as often as my main dash. Maybe if likes had an effect on the main dash it could also help the problem with reblogging. Though I have no fucking clue what they would do extra if im being honest. Maybe just get rid of them entirely. They are, to say the least, pointless.

If I have any other thoughts I will just add them to this post.

#long post #tumblr changes #serious post

[eclaire-went-bam]

one thing that i've found interesting about narc abuse truthers, is that they very often claim a narcissist won't ever have the capability or self-awareness to search within themselves and understand something's wrong, because they're so full of themselves or they don't want to do the work

while simultaneously demonising the disorder and making it even harder for people to be comfortable with that sort of introspection?

i think in general, our society is really weird about vanity and confidence. you must be confident and have some ego, but if you give yourself too much a pat on the back, even if you're not being toxic about it, it's seen as strange, almost. maybe too much. especially if you don't frame it in some humble way, like "i think i did this well" or "i tried to look good"

most characters portrayed as disagreeable in media have some sort of ego and aren't humble about it, a lot of protagonists are either humble about it or have lower ego, or use it in charismatic quips.

so when someone hears "narcissistic" in "narcissistic personality disorder," there's automatically that "oh, the vanity" type of disgust— even without hearing about "narc abuse" and the like

that being said, who would want to be associated with that on it's own? that pool shrinks even more when most sites online have a very ableist general opinion on npd, or have multitudes of posts about "narc abuse"

if someone turned around and called a self-proclaimed empath a narcissist, would they like it? no? if someone turned around and called your average joe who isn't chronically online a narcissist, would they like it? no? what makes you think someone with undiagnosed npd would like it, especially when that actively makes them look like a worse person?

maybe if you changed the way you spoke about npd and stopped clogging google with narc abuse falsing, more people with npd would be less averse to looking into the possibility they may have it

even in their own ableist worldview, they are part of the problem they're talking about

oh also generally speaking i do think it should be normalised for egotypicals to not need to be modest about something they're super proud of. i feel like that's a good first step that'll just help everybody anyways.

cut for my personal experience. not that i feel uncomfortable sharing it, i don't, i just feel like i've already said what i wanted to say. some people may find this relatable though idk

npd was really difficult for me to consider because of this. i'd done so many hours of research and even then it took me a long time to be able to say this, not to mention even talking about it openly. although i was exposed to pro "scary" mental health conditions stuff before the ableist stuff online (by some miracle), i still did see the ableist stuff. although i knew it was all wrong, i couldn't help but shake the unconscious conclusion that "if i'm not this, then i'm better." i knew what others thought of npd, so my imaginary way of getting on people's good sides was to simply not have it. thats how i'd gain the admiration of others, even if realistically they'd never know this

even after i came to the conclusion "oh jeez i probably have this" — after multiple years of it impeding every aspect of my life in both positive and horribly negative ways — i couldn't bare the thought that i'd be marked until the day i die. i'll have this, until my brain becomes food for the earth. i have this bug, that no matter what, i can't scrape away. and what made it worse (better?), is that the bug was simultaneously saying "oh hell yeah now i'm more interesting and cooler than anyone else in this room !!"

i'm going to be a bad person forever, when i wanted to be admired by everyone. it doesn't matter what sort of way i act, because this is in my closet, i'm just a bad person (Rhetorical)

and now that i have accepted i might have this, i can't even get help for it after reading all the horror stories !!! so like...what now ? what do the narc abuse truthers reasonably expect me to do .

#npd #narcissistic personality disorder #narcissistic abuse #is not real ^^

[scripted-downfall]

I really need to offer my thanks to this entire fandom for helping me to grasp something I never really got before (though I still occasionally struggle with getting it now).

When I first heard about the finale and what happened within, I accepted it.  For one thing, I’d expected no different.  Long before I’d even heard about the events of the finale, I’d been unfortunately certain that Sam would get his normal life and Dean would die.  My suspicions — or, perhaps, my fears — were only strengthened during the episode where Sam takes on the first trial, when Dean outright says “I'm gonna die with a gun in my hand. 'Cause that's what I have waiting for me – that's all I have waiting for me. I want you to get out. I want you to have a life – become a man of Letters, whatever. You, with a wife and kids and – and – and grandkids, living till you're fat and bald and chugging Viagra – that is my perfect ending, and it's the only one that I'm gonna get.”  By then, if I’m honest, I hadn’t thought a different ending would happen any more than Dean seemed to.

Additionally, the finale had already happened.  There was no changing it — no point in raging against something that couldn’t be altered, or mourning something that could never have been — and so that was that.  I started watching the show after filming was done — within the last year — so I had no reason to build up theories or hopes; I knew a great many spoilers when I started, and more trickled in as I went.  I made my peace with it because I might as well be content with what I got instead of driving myself mad with what could have been.

But I’ve come to realize — in large part thanks to y’all — that something being expected doesn’t make it good (if that makes sense).  Dean expected the ending he got because he didn’t see a way out of hunting.  Because he couldn’t see a way to a normal life.  Because he couldn’t envision a happy ending that he’d be able to obtain (much less deserve).  He says that’s his perfect ending — and I believe that he views it as such — but only because anything else is, he judges, impossible.  He sees himself dying on a hunt and Sam getting a normal life because he’s the grunt and Sam’s the one to be protected at all costs.  But that doesn’t mean it’s the best ending — the one that would make him happiest — as much as it means that it’s the best he can foresee.

There’s no way that this is the best ending for the Dean Winchester we’ve seen: the one we’ve followed for fifteen seasons, the one who’s been mother and father and brother to Sam and does everything for family, the one who’s one of the preeminent hunters… well, ever.  There’s no way that his best ending would completely wipe out a character — at least a best friend and brother, though quite probably more, in my opinion — from anything but a single line mentioned in passing (Cas).  There’s no way that his best ending would be one that perpetuates the idea that Sam deserves normalcy and happiness, while his brother is relegated to death-by-nail.  There’s no way that his best ending would leave him confined to the Heaven we saw, one too empty for a man as family-oriented as Dean (and yes, I do recognize that COVID seems to be the reason for its emptiness, but, regardless, it is the ending we got, so the point stands); additionally, it’s very notable that he finds out Mary and John aren’t far away, and his immediate response is to get into his car and drive far in the other direction.  

We make jokes about Dean collecting children and “nesting” in the bunker (and they’re accurate and, often, hilarious), but the fact remains that Dean wanted a normal life.  That he’d adopted a dog.  That he had a job application on his desk.  That he’s been shown throughout the show to have this innate desire for something that was ripped away from him with an ill-placed piece of rebar.

And, thanks to the people on this site, I’ve come to realize that it’s okay to be pissed as hell about this.  That I don’t have to settle for what happened simply because it’s the way things shook out.  That the ending being expected or foreshadowed doesn’t make it good; it just makes it expected and foreshadowed.  I’ll admit that I cried the first time I saw some of the scenes of the finale, and I did so because a character I loved had died; now, I’m filled less with sadness at the death itself and more at the futility of it all.  At the way he deserved better than what he got.  At the way we deserved better than what we got.

Anyway, I’m sorry for the very me-centric post — I try to avoid those because it feels… idk, selfish?  Arrogant?  I’m not even sure anyone else feels the same, or if this is completely meaningless to anyone who might happen to read this. — but I’ve only recently come to this realization, so this is my attempt to sort through my thoughts.  It’s also an attempt at expressing gratitude, so… thank you.

#supernatural #spn #spn s15 #supernatural season 15 #dean winchester #sam winchester #carry on #15x20 #spn 15x20 #thank you all #sorry though #probably not an interesting post #i thank you for your patience

[lmamp]

Post #4

I’d like to briefly speak about a slightly disturbing trend I’ve noticed in large platforms such as Twitter and Reddit. This will be part of a string of more political posts I’ll be making (expect a post on Tiktok and Congress soon because oh boy, I got stuff to say). I just want to get my thoughts out there and I am by no means an expert. This is mostly going to be a rant about my issues with what I view to be “capitalism, but worse than usual”, aka owners of large companies screwing over users in hopes of making larger profits. Also, to be clear, while I don’t think I could call myself a socialist, I do think it’s the superior system, at least for the time being. Alas, we are stuck in this capitalist nightmare. Alright, enough waffling. Let's begin!

So, for simplicity’s sake, let's make something clear: there’s what capitalism wants to be and then there’s what capitalism is. Capitalism wants to be a merit-based system that rewards those that put in the work. On paper, this is not a bad idea. You work hard, move up in the system, and get paid more. You come up with innovative ideas, move up in the system, get paid more, and then have more opportunities to innovate. Sounds fair. The problems start with the fact that not everyone has the opportunity to enter the system. I could go on and on about the ways the system pushes down and punishes poorer people, especially minorities, but I want to focus on how it disproportionately rewards those who are born into money. Trust-fund babies can win simply by being lucky enough to be born into a family that was already rich, and these families got rich by exploiting workers and stealing resources (hi Elon Musk Emerald Mine, how’s it going? Yeah, I didn’t forget about you). 

Full disclosure, I bought into the “Elon Musk is a genius” narrative when I was younger. I have sung his praises. But now, with Tesla cars having a predisposition for catching on fire and Twitter alienating advertisers left and right, I regret everything. Elon Musk probably is a very smart person: IQ is somewhat of a bullshit metric of intelligence, but I do think that it says something that his IQ is 150-155. For comparison, Einstein’s IQ was 160, and Einstein was a genius who made leaps and bounds in his field, and to argue otherwise makes you look stupid. But god, he is an idiot businessman. His choices while running Twitter have been baffling. I’m not going to pretend that I’m a genius at business but when your main source of revenue for your company comes from advertisers and you then make choices that alienate those advertisers, I’m going to wonder what you’re thinking. The rollout for Twitter Blue was just as much of a mess. We all know what happened to Eli Lily’s stock. How this genius man (who is also very familiar with how shit-posting and trolling works) could not have predicted how this may have gone bad is inconceivable. Furthermore, the never-ending waves of bad takes from users who have bought into the blue check is at best annoying and at worst nauseating. Not only is he alienating advertisers, his main sources of income, but he’s alienating users too who hate how polarizing the site has become. I literally could not use the site without seeing something vilely misogynistic, racist, homophobic, or transphobic. I deleted the app yesterday because I couldn’t stand it anymore (Which reminds me, I really want to talk about digital self-harm at some point). 

Reddit is another good example. What the hell is going on over there? Well, basically moderators like to use third-party tools to moderate subreddits. However, Reddit is instituting changes to its API (Application Program Interface, which basically allows moderators to use third-party programs to moderate) that creates a paywall to use these tools. This completely screws over moderators and their ability to moderate. And to be clear, most moderator teams are unpaid volunteers who want to serve a community they care about. So, subreddits are going private en masse in protest. It’s pissing off users. I don’t even use Reddit and it’s making me pissed. These moderators are volunteering their time to communities they care about and Reddit, in the name of making more money, is basically cucking them. And they know this! Their API was designed to make moderators’ jobs easier because they knew that they needed tools to manage their communities. If they really cared about their platform and wanted to weed out third-party programs they would create their own tool for moderation. But no, they instead decided to put the burden, both labor-wise and monetarily, entirely on the community. This also stifles the creativity of these third-party apps which will be forced to shut down due to the monetary constraints the company is placing on its communities. “Capitalism encourages innovation!” we are told and then watch as the system literally forces innovators to shut down their projects because they cannot keep up with the increasing demands for profit. These third-party tools were created out of love for a community, and lo and behold, it all turned out to be for nothing. People play by the rules and what do they get?

This is what capitalism actually is: profit over everything. People do not matter: they are at best an inconvenience and at worst an active nuisance, but they are always a cog in the machine. Elon doesn’t care about his users. Steve Huffman, the Reddit CEO, does not care about his users. It is always about profit. This is only the beginning. The internet will become increasingly hostile to its users as companies continue to harvest data (which is an entirely different and dangerous issue) and create policies that put profit over people. Enjoy reality, for you are not a human, but a cog in a machine you cannot even fucking see.

Note: If you disagree with any of this, please feel free to give me a comment! Keep it respectful of course, but I love engaging in discussion. Also, if I got anything wrong let me know! I’m no expert and even if I was I’d still probably get something wrong. Also, a lot of the ideas expressed here were informed primarily from this article: https://www.cbc.ca/news/business/reddit-blackout-1.6873756. It’s a good read and tackles not just things going on at Reddit but also things happening at Twitter, Twitch, Facebook, and Instagram.

lmamp (1098 words)

#post 4 #reddit

[f1]

Norris predicts hell be lapped twice after qualifying third | Formula 1

Lando Norris claimed third on the grid for the Spanish Grand Prix but predicted he will be lapped twice in today’s race. Despite achieving his highest starting position of the year in Spain Norris does not expect his McLaren to keep up with the likes of championship leaders Red Bull who have Max Verstappen starting in pole position. Red Bull’s other car, driven by Sergio Perez, will start in 11th after struggling in qualifying. But Norris expects the second RB19 will rapidly progress through the field and does not expect to give him much of a fight. “I probably won’t defend them to be honest, we’ll just let them pass,” Norris told media including RaceFans. “It’s going to be a tough one, not just with them, they’re probably the easy people to race against. It’s going to be the Ferraris, the Astons, the Mercedes, the Alpines, the Haas… the grid. “Those cars are probably too quick for us and Sergio’s going to cruise past everyone and probably be P2 by lap 10 and we’ll get lapped twice. I’m optimistic when I say that, could be three times. “So, I think we’re still in a tight race with people but our race is not necessarily the Red Bulls.” Advert | Become a RaceFans supporter and go ad-free While Norris qualified in third, team mate Oscar Piastri also reached Q3 but a mistake in the final sector of his last lap left him 10th. Norris claimed his highest starting position since Monza last year The team’s strong showing came after McLaren brought upgrades to the last two weekends following a disappointing start to the year. However Norris doesn’t believe they have made as much progress as it seems. “Nothing’s really changed on the car,” Norris, who finished ninth in Monaco, added. “It just suited these conditions today. I think we both felt very comfortable and I think Oscar would have been up there too. “So I don’t know why. I think just a bit more confidence with the rears and just a bit more confidence to lean on the car, lean on the tyres and just seemed more for us than what it seemed for some other people. “Where we’re going to be tomorrow is a tough one. I think on average we’ve been the fifth-best, sixth-best team, so I’m not really expecting a huge amount better than that tomorrow – we weren’t expecting to be P3 today.” Norris suspects the change to the circuit layout this year, bypassing the final chicane and using the original quick final two corners instead, came to McLaren’s advantage in qualifying due to their strength in high-speed corners. Advert | Become a RaceFans supporter and go ad-free His team mate, meanwhile, was disappointed with his qualifying result. After being sixth-fastest in Q2, Piastri was on course for another good lap in the final session until a mistake on a partly wet and dry track cost him a big opportunity to start higher up. “I was obviously on a decent lap until that point,” Piastri said. “I braked a little bit too late for turn 10, missed the apex a little bit and then hit a wet part of the track and it was game over from there. “I’m pretty frustrated with myself in all honesty, it was a good session until then. Just messed up when it counted. I think we should’ve had both cars up towards the front.” Bringing the F1 news from the source RaceFans strives to bring its readers news directly from the key players in Formula 1. We are able to do this thanks in part to the generous backing of our RaceFans Supporters. By contributing £1 per month or £12 per year (or the equivalent in other currencies) you can help cover the costs involved in producing original journalism: Travelling, writing, creating, hosting, contacting and developing. We have been proudly supported by our readers for over 10 years. If you enjoy our independent coverage, please consider becoming a RaceFans Supporter today. As a bonus, all our Supporters can also browse the site ad-free. Sign up or find out more via the links below: Formula 3 Browse all Formula 3 articles via RaceFans - Independent Motorsport Coverage https://www.racefans.net/

#F1 #Norris predicts he’ll be “lapped twice” after qualifying third | Formula 1 #Formula 1

[weregreatatcrime]

I CANNOT for the life of me remember what the last personal post I had on here was. So I'll just sum up the whole shebang.

I'm not really on the internet anymore. Well I am, but not typically for social things. I don't talk to people as much anymore, and both my writing and art has become very, very loaded with problems.

My health tanked at the beginning of 2022. Tremors, a Tourettes diagnosis, an OCD diagnosis, cataplexy, randomly falling, weakness in legs, severe difficulty walking, balance shot to hell, tic attacks, muscle spasms, difficulty focusing, sometimes an inability to speak, slurred speech, potential nerve damage, memory loss, constant dissociation and brain fog, cognitive decline, and of course all the mental illnesses I was already previously diagnosed with worsening. My depression and emotional disregulation have exploded big time.

I don't know how to explain how horrifying it is to be literally feeling your mind shut down in slow motion. Sometimes I'm fine, and then I forget how to do things that I've known for 10+ years. I can actually recognize some shit I used to grasp but now is too complicated and hard to understand anymore.

Needless to say, I'm having a bad time. I've actually improved a LOT since the start of the year. Trying different medications, changing dosages, and moving to a much less financially unstable situation has helped. I'm disabled full time now, working on getting social security payments set up. Obviously, I can't work because I'm a walking liability and danger. And my poor roommate is having to work VERY hard to pay for both of us, with my mom also helping a lot. The sheer stress of money issues obviously is making stress induced problems worse (: along with scary genetic bad blood pressure for my age

Tumblr has always been a platform I bounce on and off of, but I've withdrawn a lot across all sites. I'll probably only pop in here randomly to look at some art. Creating content is unfortunately beyond me at the moment. Hand tremors and mental difficulties make art and writing too hard, plus major slump

I'm not ditching Tumblr completely but I'm definitely not going to be creating any content, and likely you guys will only see my two queued posts a day that I stock up on when popping in briefly.

Feel free to message me, though I don't check Tumblr very often

#figured Tumblr could use an update #my life sound like a lie #like a very badly done lie

[john-langley-bristol-blogger]

It's Easter Weekend and I'm Stuck on a Crossword Clue. 2 Across - Q. Where Was Jesus Nailed?

It's a Jesus Weekend, and in my role as the ‘Almighty Gob’ I preach comments in typical form from the pulpit of satire. Amen.

Does anyone know what was actually good about Friday? Severe hailstones, perhaps? Our NHS still in dire straits, people continuing to use food banks, and migration sorted?

Never mind, it's all good on Good Friday because Jesus died for us, apparently, and this alone makes all the hardship and misery we now face in the world worthwhile. Knowing what we all know now it should come as no great surprise he was nailed to a cross at that time for what would become arguably some of the greatest crimes against humanity by humanity.

As someone who was brought up as a Roman Catholic, you may well be surprised to read such a bold statement from me. No doubt there will be those who deem me as blasphemous, even a heretic committing the most egregious of cardinal sins, and for this, I should be cast into the fires of hell forever.

To this very day, I still struggle to get my head around the fact that some people in the world choose to believe what's probably one of the best human-control fairy stories ever written. Let alone places called heaven and hell.

Anyway, here we are. It's Easter weekend and I'm stuck on a crossword clue. 2 across - Q. Where was Jesus nailed? This might take a while as it's several years since I last attended church and nearly all memories of religion have since faded. I may well have to put it down to another of the remaining unanswered anomalies. Such as how an ethereal being managed to have a son in real life; so the story goes, through a virgin woman. As stated (among a great many other things) in my book 'The Sexual Philanthropist' such an event nowadays would be a complete sellout at the MGM Grand in Las Vegas.

Better still, it would take one heck of an illusionist to put on a show where he was nailed to a cross, died, and then emerged within a few days full of life and firing on all cylinders as if nothing happened. Pretty damn impressive even by Netflix programme audience popularity. Beat that, Harry and Meghan.

So, what's changed since the Romans vacated Jesus’ territory back in the day? Not a lot really, as two-thousand years or so later quite a few issues related to religion lead the way where conflict is concerned. Such as the location of holy sites and acrimonious divorce-worthy narratives which totally screw the potential for any peace between Islam and Judaism. On one side of the religious divorce battle, extreme Zionists make protestations regarding how the Jewish state should be, while their Islamist co-respondents have their own version of liberating all that's holy to the Zionists, and preach hatred and violence as a means of winning the divorce battle by use of terrorism - and for which they are now proscribed as a terrorist organisation.

All of which brings me on to a growing bunch of airheads who deserve to have their colons cleansed using bleach and wire wool, as it's entirely pointless going any further up their bodies to their heads because compared to the more sane and rational of people in the world, these airheads have spaces in their brains that any alleged signs of previous rationality and commonsense appear to have vacated long ago - if ever there in the first place.

These are the pro-Palestine gormless idiots who espouse the boycott of Israeli goods and services and make two short planks look like the most sophisticated computer technology in the world while using their Apple and Android phones to touch base with other idiots of the same ilk and do their best to influence more normal people into not buying Israeli goods and services, they do so completely oblivious to the fact that the phones they are using include technology developed by Israeli companies. Will these pillocks give up their phones in protest though? Somehow I think not. Oh, and don't use Windows apps either folks. Guess why?

Any chance these lunatics may have a firewall installed on their computers? Take a guess at this too. If your mental capacity has provided you with the means to follow so far and you are not a boycott numpty, it shouldn't take long.

I bet many of them also drive cars, provided they could afford one in the first place. Well, it's more bad news, I'm afraid. It looks like webuyanycar.com and auction sites will be busy in future when the idiots put their cars up for sale because the navigation system was more than likely based on Israeli tech. Oh, and speaking of transport, I wonder how many will cancel their holiday flights abroad this year, since our airport security systems are packed with Israeli technology.

And before I forget. Should any of them, their relatives and friends have cancer they may as well go home, take shit loads of morphine and die in bed. Why? Because it's more than likely cancer treatments offered by the NHS will have been invented in Israel. Equally, anyone who has a stent implanted should get it removed with immediate effect as a boycott protest against Israel, which, by a strange coincidence also invented it.

Ever heard of a 'SniffPhone'? Probably not, but it's a piece of medical equipment that can actually 'sniff out' diseases. It works like a breathalyser and detects cancer of the gastric and lung varieties, as well as Parkinsons, dementia, MS and many other illnesses. What about the 'Pillcam', heard of this? Who'd have guessed it was an Israeli invention in the shape of a minicam that takes photos of the intestinal tract?

Still, as long as the boycott idiots remain all self-satisfied and happily virtue-signalling in blissful ignorance, why should they let facts get in the way of personal feelings and emotional incontinence, huh? Anyway, whatever else these lunatics do, they should not take my sardonic and non-medically trained advice. While remembering at all times that any such attempt at shortening their lives should not be conducted without first seeking the advice of a medically qualified practitioner, and preferably one outside the jurisdiction of Geneva.

With all that said, I now find myself back where I began, whenever that was two thousand or so years ago, and what was good about Friday, again?

#john langley blog #bristol #john langley bristol writer #john langley author #john langley tumblr #google #jesus #christianity #easter #hamas #zionistterror #israel #israel/palestine #boycott israel #satire #humour #sarcasm #Israeli tech #boycotting #islam #kingdom of heaven #roman catholic

[homenecromancer]

i saw Dune: part 2 today and enjoyed it a great deal; also, the fact that i read (and, at the time, enjoyed) every Dune book i could get my hands on when i was in middle school probably explains a lot about how i turned out. (my general advice for those getting into the series for the first time is as follows: read only the books by Frank Herbert, go in publication order, and quit reading once a given book starts annoying you, because whatever you’re having an issue with will only get worse.)

i am definitely one of those people who just generally enjoys movies and seeing things happen on a big screen, so i don’t feel like trying to analyze, like, the changes Villenueve chooses to make from the book. like, the book has been special to me for almost twenty years now; just getting to see it on the big screen is very pleasing for me

anyway here are some cool, striking visuals i really liked:

- there’s a lot of worm riding in this movie — the fact that worms can be ridden at all, and the degree to which Fremen can control worms, is a major part of the plot, so like, of course — and it all looks great. the scale is perfectly realized. worms can become enormous. also there’s a nice development over the course of the film: first you see Stilgar, a mentor figure who knows his shit, ride a worm; later we see Paul, a messiah figure, learn to control one; then we see that the Fremen have so mastered worm travel that they take it for granted among themselves, and don’t seem to think much of many people traveling on one worm; only at the very end, when “the giant monsters are actually controllable, and we can do it” can no longer threaten the Fremen by leaking out, do we see them cut loose and breach the Shield Wall with three worms and a whole bunch of guys.

- this is the half of the book with all/a lot of the drug trips in it, and while it’s not as psychedelic as you’d expect, it does still get a little harrowing

- there’s a sequence on Giedi Prime that was filmed in infrared and it looks soooo cool

- St. Alia-of-the-Knife confirmed, she shows up on screen as unsettling flash-forwards and, uh, as an embryo/fetus because one big change Villanueve made was to shorten the timeframe, so she hasn’t yet been born by the end of the movie

- the equator of Arrakis harbors a lot of dangerous sandstorms, and there’s a scene where the Fremen ride a worm directly into them (to reach the relatively safe southern region)

- seriously they nuke the Shield Wall and then three enormous sandworms slither right through the hole to fuck up the Emperor’s landing site as a giant storm barrels down on everyone, hell yeah

#personal #long post #there are SO many dune spoilers in this post btw #marlowe talks dune