Whenever I get a puncture wound I feel so smug towards any tetanus that might be in there. They have no idea about my sick ass vaccinated immune system. While you were crawling in soil my cells were studying Tdap. Now die by the hands of my learnéd warriors.

Look, with very few exceptions no one sets out with the intention of being a shitty abusive parent. A lot of shitty parents think they're doing it right. A lot of shitty parents think they're doing their best. A lot of shitty parents think that abusive shit they do is not really abusive and for the greater good of their child.

A lot of shitty parents love their kids, and would die for them, but they can still be abusive and shitty parents because they do shit they learned from their parents and don't pause a moment to think they may be doing it wrong because "I love my kid, abusive parents don't love their kids, so I can't be an Abusive Parent, not me, I'm good". A lot of shitty parents have their good moments, their good sides, and their kids can love them for it and then be doubly hurt when the good moment ends and things are shitty again.

Shitty parents are complicated people, the kids they raise are complicated people, and human relationships as a whole are a complex hot mess. There is not one right or wrong way to respond to abuse or choose how to handle the relationship to a shitty parent. No we don't wanna hear how you'd personally handle it in our shoes. You're not in our shoes. STFU.

BTW this is not some weird defense of shitty and abusive parents but for Christ's sake, this attitude that Shitty Parents - either real or fictional - are monsters out of a scary story who are contractually obliged to be shitty 100% of the time, all around, in every aspect of their lives, is actually harmful. It's untrue. It's stupid. It will lead kids of Shitty Parents to think that well, THEIR parents are not 100% evil and dastardly all the time, therefore they're not Actually Abusive, I must be exaggerating.

Shitty parents are not old school Disney villains breaking into song about how they love to do evil deeds to hurt their own children. They're people. Learn to tell the two things apart, for fuck's sake.

big sisters don’t go to heaven

Finding a new favorite fictional character is like, will you be temporary or will you become a permanent part of my personality for the next 10 years?

The problem with going outside is that’s where the bugs are and they all want my blood So Bad

I feel really dumb asking this but if I don’t I’ll never learn.

I’ve been rummaging around looking at art commission posts because I’m thinking at some point I’d like to commission some art and I want to know what I should be ready to pay:

1) a lot of people don’t seem to have price lists that are easy to find/at all. Does this fall under ‘if you have to ask you can’t afford it’?

2) this one sucks, but how do I make sure coins are going into an artist’s pocket and not an AI-scraper?

the common name "fools gold" for iron pyrite is funnier than we give credit for. imagine scientists discover a new metal and they're like "We're calling this Copper for Idiots"

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so y'know how writing is just the worst snitch and if you sit down and think too hard about any given story or any collection of stories the motifs will just start screaming all your personal details out loud? there's a little superscript yelling "this author has ADHD" and "hmm that's a specific kink" and " this is where they put the unprocessed trauma".

well

i found another one

this mama does NOT absorb spoken information well at all and if i have to write dialogue of one character explaining something to another all that comes out is unhinged bullshit because that's all i ever hear when I ask for an explanation

for a while i lived in an old house; the kind u.s americans don't often get to live in - living in a really old house here is super expensive. i found out right before i moved out that the house was actually so old that it features in a poem by emily dickinson.

i liked that there were footprints in front of the sink, worn into the hardwood. there were handprints on some of the handrails. we'd find secret marks from other tenants, little hints someone else had lived and died there. and yeah, there was a lot wrong with the house. there are a lot of DIY skills you learn when you are a grad student that cannot afford to pay someone else to do-it-for-ya. i shared the house with 8 others. the house always had this noise to it. sometimes that noise was really fucking awful.

in the mornings though, the sun would slant in thick amber skiens through the windows, and i'd be the first one up. i'd shuffle around, get showered in this tub that was trying to exit through the floor, get my clothes on. i would usually creep around in the kitchen until it was time to start waking everyone else up - some of them required multiple rounds of polite hey man we gotta go knocks. and it felt... outside of time. a loud kind of quiet.

the ghosts of the house always felt like they were humming in a melody just out of reach. i know people say that the witching hour happens in the dark, but i always felt like it occurred somewhere around 6:45 in the morning. like - for literal centuries, somebody stood here and did the dishes. for literal centuries, somebody else has been looking out the window to this tree in our garden. for literal centuries, people have been stubbing their toes and cracking their backs and complaining about the weather. something about that was so... strangely lovely.

i have to be honest. i'm not a history aficionado. i know, i know; it's tragic of me. i usually respond to "this thing is super old" by being like, wow! cool! and moving on. but this house was the first time i felt like the past was standing there. like it was breathing. like someone else was drying their hands with me. playing chess on the sofa. adding honey to their tea.

i grew up in an old town. like, literally, a few miles off of walden pond (as in of the walden). (also, relatedly, don't swim in walden, it's so unbelievably dirty). but my family didn't have "old house" kind of money. we had a barely-standing house from the 70's. history existed kind of... parallel to me. you had to go somewhere to be in history. your school would pack you up on a bus and take you to some "ye olden times" place and you'd see how they used to make glass or whatever, and then you'd go home to your LEDs. most museums were small and closed before 5. you knew history was, like, somewhere, but the only thing that was open was the mcdonalds and the mall.

i remember one of my seventh grade history teachers telling us - some day you'll see how long we've been human for and that thing has been puzzling me. i know the scientific number, technically.

the house had these little scars of use. my floors didn't actually touch the walls; i had to fill them with a stopgap to stop the wind. other people had shoved rags and pieces of newspaper. i know i've lost rings and earring backs down some of the floorboards. i think the raccoons that lived in our basement probably have collected a small fortune over the years. i complain out loud to myself about how awful the stairs are (uneven, steep, evil, turning, hard to get down while holding anything) and know - someone else has said this exact same thing.

when i was packing up to leave and doing a final deep cleaning, i found a note carved in the furthest corner in the narrow cave of my closet. a child's scrawled name, a faded paint handprint, the scrangly numbers: 1857.

we've been human for a long time. way back before we can remember.

we’ve been human for

a long time. way back before

we can remember.

Beep boop! I look for accidental haiku posts. Sometimes I mess up.

Modern Pride and Prejudice AU where Mrs. Bennet is obsessed with getting her daughters employed and all of the proposals are job offers.

Elizabeth turns Darcy down because he's the last man in the world she could ever be prevailed upon to work for (if he's such a jerk as a neighbour imagine what he's like as a boss).

Then she visits Pemberley Head Office and everyone is talking about what a great boss Darcy is and how fantastic their benefits are and she's like "...hm."

Everyone in the family is relying on Jane because she's got some easily marketable talent and Bingley was really enthusiastic about it and wanted to go into business with her but Darcy talked him out of it because he didn't get the vibe that Jane was all that invested in the project (she was).

Mary is that kid who's doing 5000 different clubs because it'll look good on her college applications, but all of her personal essays sound like they were written by chatgpt (she would never use it, her writing is just that unimaginative).

Lydia and Kitty are teenage tiktok influencers and Elizabeth is begging her parents to assert some discipline because the girls are exposing themselves to an extremely wide audience and have absolutely no guidelines for safe and appropriate internet behavior, but Mrs. Bennet is just like "well at least SOMEONE in this family is successful" and Mr. Bennet is like "let them get it out of their system, no one will remember when they're older"

Mr. Bennet runs a company but it's been barely breaking even for years because he's not really very good at investments or planning ahead and then in comes tech bro William Collins who won't shut up about cryptocurrency at dinner and has a reference from Catherine De-frickin-Bourgh and the board is heavily hinting that they want to replace Mr. Bennet and Mrs. Bennet is panicking