Just watched Gaga Five Foot Two and it made such an impression on me. I knew that it was going to be personal, but wow… It was so strange to see her like this. I thought I kind of knew her, through her music and following her carreer for so many years, but seeing her actual daily life was so different. It made me sad to see that she goes through so much pain on a daily basis. But also so proud that she keeps going, ‘cause she’s doing what she loves most. Making music for her fans.
She’s one of the world’s most famous people and you assume that that means that her life is perfect and that she is happy, ‘cause why wouldn’t she be? It was eye opening seeing a woman of her status go through her daily life, dealing with so many struggles and still marching on.
It was inspirational, sad and funny. I feel like I’ve learned so much about her as a person and I’m so grateful that she’s willing to share this side of herself with the world.
I hope that she’s taking all the time that she needs to heal before going back on tour. I wish that I could tell her that she isn’t dissapointing her fans and that al we want is for her to feel better. I’m even more excited to experience her live again when she’s ready for it. What a woman. I’m proud to call myself a Gaga fan and I’m excited to spend the rest of my life supporting her and her carreer, if that means that I can pay her back even a little bit of the love and comfort that she provided for me through her music throughout the years. Wow.
It’s our first time playing DnD, Me a wood elf ranger (chaotic-neutral), a dragonborn claric (lawful-good), and a half-elf bard (neutral-good) end up tracking down a group of goblins to there camp. We end up picking them off silently until we end up with one goblin left. We end up tying him up and we start asking him questions with no luck.
Claric: If you tell us where our friend is we will let you go.
Goblin(DM): Scrall has no idea who you’re talking about!
Me(Ranger): Yes you do! *I punch him*
DM: You punch him?
DM: Umm alright… *giving me a concerned look* You punch him.
Goblin: Nooo! What did Scrall do?!?
Me: I punch him again
Dragonborn: I don’t think this is the right approach.
Context: On the birthday of every player in the group my DM gives us a birthday wish of anything we want that isn’t game-breaking. And since our game has become a kingmaker campaign of sorts there are very few things that could actually do that. So on my birthday I decide to wish for something to put me on equal terms with the noble of our group.
DM: “As you’re discussing court politics you get an urgent message that there’s an army outside the walls.:
Player 1 (Noblewoman): “Get the horses, we’re going to the walls!”
DM: “As you get to the walls you see a legion of 60,000 Elven fighters in rank and file formation. They’re carrying long blades and arrows with full quivers.”
Player 2 (Wizard): “How did they get here?”
DM OOC:*shrugs* You didnt hear anything until just now. As one of the city’s Mercenary leaders walks up to the fighter (me) and tells him to sign a form.
The party begins to shout and yell in disbelief, demanding an explanation. I take a moment to collect myself after the paperwork while they lament.
Player 1: *death glare* “So you wanted to take a small district huh?”
Player 2: *screaming* “What did you do?!”
Me: *completely straight faced* “I figured it was time to get the respect I deserve around here and this seemed like the best way to do it.”
The DM loses his shit while the whole group is dumbfounded except for our noble who is still pissed.
DM OOC: Well all the city’s noble guards are pissed, and while the city guard is seperate from the nobles they don’t like the idea of a siege going on outside their walls. So the captain of the guard walks up and yells “Who the FUCK is responsible for this?!”
And of course my party points directly at me.
Me: “No need to fear, I’m just a travelling noble, my personal guard is just reluctant to leave me alone.”
DM: “Personal Guard?”
Me: “Yes, we are very cautious but we are a peaceful people.”
DM OOC: He looks over your shoulder at the fully armed Elven legion behind you.
Me: “Within reason.”
DM OOC: This is going to end badly for you.
Me OOC: This is going to end badly for anyone.
Noblewoman OOC: I send my sappers to fire bomb his forces.
DM OOC: All the other nobles rally to support you.
The siege ended very badly for me, and the city’s fields and forests.
Like another big thing wrong with telling asexuals that our sexuality is actually just a disorder is that this parallels with straight people telling gay people that crap for the longest time (and this thing still happens). The DSM had being gay as a disorder until about over 40 years ago.
So yeah knock it off with trying to say certain sexual and even romantic orientations are actually derived from disorders because that crap has and still is being used against the LGBT+ and it needs to stop.
sometimes i just randomly remember that the McElroys got me to genuinely CARE about a wizard that’s literally named after a goddamn taco, a punchboy whose facial hair is groomed in a very specific and utterly ridiculous fashion to go with his name just right, and a cleric whose last name sounds like he just kinda made it up on the spot based only on the fact that he is, in fact, a cleric
So I’ll just come right out and say it, because no one in the Ichihime fandom seems to be stepping up to the plate.
Whoever it is that feels the need to spam Ichiruki fans with the same asks needs to check themselves. Think real long and hard about what kind of person you are, maybe even try think about what you’re saying in the first place. It’s immature, and only makes you (and the rest of the fandom by reflection) look like a fucking moron. While I’ll admit part of me would like to think “Well, we have had IR fans pose as IH fans and do stuff like this in the past”, another part of me recongizes that both sides of the Bleach fandom has some pretty shit people in it. So it’s not outside the realm.
So, get your 12 year old ass off of Tumblr for a few weeks, go drink your apple juice in a corner, and come back when you’ve grown up. That goes for everyone who has ever done something so petty and stupid. On BOTH sides.
I’m done with the “fandom war” bullshit. EVERYONE is. All its done is ruin Bleach as a whole, and stop people from wanting to join the fandom entirely.
In the end, we all should have stepped up and stopped this sort of behavior. Maybe we would have gotten a more complete ending. Maybe the anime would have come back. Maybe Kubo wouldn’t have felt so shitty regarding something he put 15 years of his life into.
It’s a year late, but how about we all stop bitching and use our heads. Get along even if you gotta grit your teeth. Show that we DESERVE the data books, the movies, and the Anime we all (or most of us) want so badly.
STAHP. This is already the third ask I’ve had this morning about this. You don’t have to like it. Harry likes it. And I fully support my zero fucks to give, french courtesan, vegas high rolling, harlequin son’s tomfoolery in whatever way he wishes to express it. Who cares what other people think, he obviously doesn’t. It’s his life, he seems to be loving it, so let him live it. Take a leaf from his book and stop taking everything so seriously. Lighten up and enjoy the ride, it’s fun!
Oh, Nonnie, I really actually do want to write a Kylux fairytale AU! I’ve made a couple of moodboards for one, featuring witch Kylo and villager Hux, here.
The old witch had died early on in the fall, and there was talk in the village of going down to her emptied hut with torches, ridding the land of the wicked influence once and for all. It was all mostly talk; there was hunting and harvesting to do, and supplies to be stored for the winter, and the old crooked hut was a ways out of the village, a bit beyond the forest edge, too close to the treeline, to the old dried up copse of crab-apple trees. The summer had been dry, the grasses parched and brittle and too dangerous to let catch fire, and there was scant water in the stone well in front of the sagging porch, and who did it bother, truly. The hut would collapse soon as it was, even left alone, and so it all remained just talk. Over the winter, there were things more pressing to worry about, but in the spring, suddenly rumor had it that someone was living at the old witch’s homestead again: a man they said rode through on a black horse, its jeweled tail and his black braids sweeping the ground behind him. His eyes black and his cloak black, and the fiery hooves of his horse sparking and turning the ground black in his wake as he passed – if one were to believe such nonsense.
(and it is nonsense; Kylo’s horse is just a regular horse, its hooves needing to be shod much like any, at the village blacksmith’s; and his hair is long, and he wears it in braids, beads and charms woven through here and there, but it is certainly nowhere near long enough to sweep the ground all the way from horseback; and he hasn’t blighted much of anything yet)
I keep wavering between something featuring Kupala Night, which would be a more “realistic” story, using the premise of bonfires all through the village, the young folk jumping over the flames, tossing their flowered wreaths into the river to divine the future, singing and dancing and celebrating – but there wouldn’t necessarily be anything inherently magical about the goings on. I haven’t been to a rural Kupala Night celebration since I was around 10; Hux obviously would be much older; he doesn’t really believe in magic, not anymore, he’s too jaded for it, too disappointed. He’s been to the city with his father, he’s seen what he feels are bigger and better things, and he feels unmoored and unsure back home.
He puts his flowers in the water with his half-sisters partly out of habit, to make them happy, and partly not to stick out. But he keeps on the edges of the festivities, and wanders off a bit. His youngest sister had picked flowers for him and practically shoved the bouquet into his hands – something like 19 or 20, for his age – you have the flowers, and you spin around, and you look into a well to see the face of your intended in the water. You’re supposed to pick your own flowers, but Hux’s sisters wisely decided he was unlikely to do it for himself. He’s walked farther off than he planned, his feet carrying him almost unthinking to the edge of the forest, the smoke from the bonfires still sharp in his nostrils. The scent of the forest is spicy, damp earth, that slightly rotten smell, tamped down leaves and bog and mushrooms and herbs – and it feels good, to breathe it in, feel it mix with the flowers in his hands, honey-sweet. There’s the old well, suddenly, and what the hell: he spins around, almost laughing at himself, and throws one of the flowers in, and then another, and looks down, and in the dark water, he sees his own reflection. Next to his reddened cheeks and messy hair, there is another face, that of the witch, with his dark hooded eyes and his dark braids, the ripples in the water making them sway around his face like snakes, and Hux recoils, suddenly realizing just where he’s walked to. He spins around and there the witch is, standing behind him, studying him, head cocked.
But I also just want to do straight up magic, the classic Baba Yaga and Vasilissa set-up where Hux’s stepmother sends him to the witch’s house for fire, or some other “go here, I don’t know where; fetch me that, I don’t know what” premise. And Hux making his way on a stormy night, through the almost unnaturally darkened village, in the wind and rain, all the way to the forest edge, through the dark guardian trees, to the copse of crab-apples and the old well. The moon comes out suddenly, brightly, like it had never been gone, and there the witch is, sitting on the porch, brushing his long black hair with a comb made of bone.
Or a plain horror thing, yes, still set somewhere in the Russian countryside, where the very un-Russian Hux suddenly, unexpectedly, comes into an old house when it turns out his eccentric, recently deceased boss has left him one in his will.