“Did you ever keep a diary as a kid?” You want to know, rifling through Tadashi’s nightstand to find the book you’d left last time you slept over.
“I mean, I had them,” he says, response slow like he’s trying to remember. “I wasn’t really good at keeping up with it, though. I think I had like five at one point that all had only two or three entries. I just didn’t want to ruin that nice new notebook, you know?”
“Yeah,” you say thoughtfully, pulling out the tome you were looking for with an expression of triumph. “I don’t think I ever managed to do it consistently until like, last year.”
“That’s better than most people,” he shrugs, hauling you back by your hips next to him on the bed, where you settle your head on his shoulder, enjoying his clean, fresh-detergent smell and light touch. “What do you journal about?”
“Kind of whatever,” you shrug. “Mostly what I did that day as a memory exercise. I like going back and rereading stuff from the beginning of our relationship sometimes.”
“You wrote about me?” His voice is soft, shy. You pat his cheek.
“Yeah, definitely,” you laugh, “I think I went home and wrote poetry about you two dates in or something. Yeugh.”
Tadashi looks up at you, and it’s almost alarming how fast the blood rushes to your cheeks. “You’ve written poetry about me?”
“I didn’t mean to say that,” you say, all your breath caught in your chest. “Oh, my God, you did not hear that.”
“No,” a slow smile spreads over his face, putting dimples in his freckled cheeks. You lean back a little as he leans forward, showing you the little gap between his two shiny white front teeth. “I did, actually. And as your muse, I have a right to read it.”
“Nooo,” you moan, sliding from your seat on the bed until you’re staring up at the ceiling and your bent knees are holding you in a bridge position. “It’s not even, like—I barely knew you and I think I was kind of tipsy, when I wrote it, I mean—I’ve written much better poetry about you since then—fuck!”
You slap a hand over your mouth, but it’s too late. He’s crawling over you, crowding you until you’re comfortably laying on the bed, arms up by your ears and deceivingly sadistic sweetheart of a boyfriend hovering over you, his body burning you everywhere he touches.
“I wanna see it,” he says, voice quiet and teasing. “Pretty please? With a strawberry on top?”
You can’t even look away from him, batting his lashes, trying to charm you into giving him what he wants. He’s got a little victorious spark in his eyes, like he already knows he’s won. How are you supposed to say no?
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a man self immolated in front of the israeli embassy in washington dc yesterday. not just any man. an active member of the us air force. he live streamed his death, and said that he refused to be complicit in a genocide any longer. he said that compared to what palestinians were facing every day, setting himself alight was nothing.
let me reiterate. an active duty air force member burned himself alive because he was so disgusted by what the us government was openly supporting. he live-streamed his own suicide, so the whole world could bear witness as a man in his military uniform set himself on fire to protest his government’s complicity in the horrors that we have all been forced to watch happen in real time. he became a new horror. footage of the immolation blurs him out the moment the fire catches, but you can hear him. it is over in seconds, really, but you can hear him screaming. he shouts “free palestine” until his body physically cannot make any sounds other than guttural screams of agony. and then he falls silent. a police officer arrives and points a gun at his still burning body, shouting at him to get down on the ground. and it is over.
his name was Aaron Bushnell. he was twenty five years old. and he isn’t here anymore because the political ruling class has decided that genocide is perfectly fine as long as it preserves imperialism. in the coming days, people will try to discredit him. to say that he was mentally unstable. they will try to bury his actions to save face and defend israel’s propaganda. do not let them. aaron knew what he was doing. he knew what he was doing when he put on his military uniform, set up his twitch stream, and made his final walk up to the embassy. he knew what would happen to him when he flicked that lighter. do not let them forget. aaron’s blood is on the hands of the political ruling class.
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"he would not fucking say that" but its about a character being a leftist. he would not fucking believe that
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I seen a lot of people argue at Percy is too smart in the show but One, Sally Jackson used Greek myths as bedtime stories, she took him to museums, she did her best to teach him about the God's and monster's that were gonna come to hurt him, was he ment to not learn anything? And Two, Perseus Jackson isn't an idiot! The books are from HIS point of view and he's is an unreliable narrator that THINKS he's an idiot. He's not ACTUALLY an idiot.
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Guys.
Y’all.
I…
I just. I just… i have discovered something. And I have laughed too much. I have laughed every time I have tried to explain it to someone. I cannot get through this.
Look. Okay.
There are two things you need to know, here.
First: There’s a style of Greek pottery that was popular during the Hellenic period, for which most of the surviving examples are from southern Italy. We call them ‘fish plates’ because, well, they’re plates, and they’re decorated with fish (and other marine life).
Like this one, currently in the Met:
Or this one, currently in the Cleveland Museum of Art:
They’re very cool. We’re not 100% sure what they were for, because most of the surviving ones were found as grave goods, but that’s a different post.
The second thing you need to know is that when we (Classics/archaeology/whatever as a discipline) have a collection of artefacts, like vases, sculptures, paintings, etc. and we do not know the name of the artist, but we’re pretty sure one artist made X, Y and Z artefacts, we come up with a name for that artist. There are a whole bunch of things that could be the source for the name, e.g. where we found most of their work (The Dipylon Master) or the potter with whom they worked (the Amasis Painter), a favourite theme (The Athena Painter), the Museum that ended up with the most famous thing they did (The Berlin Painter) or a notable aspect of their style. Like, say, The Eyebrow Painter.
Guess what kind of pottery the Eyebrow Painter made?
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Other Voice Actors: hey guys here's my obligatory social media presence (:
Other Voice Actors: thanks for supporting my project (:
Other Voice Actors: I'm going to pretend like the fandom doesn't exist for my own sanity (:
Cody Christian, the voice of Cloud Strife:
Homie showed up to the ship wars with a bat and is just taking out kneecaps.
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people are drawing Steamboat Willie Mickey doing all this crazy shit and whatnot, but you could always do that. you can do that now, with current Mickey, just fine. it's fanart and it's legally protected. hell you could take Disney-drawn Mickey and put a caption about unions or whatever on it and it would still be protected under free speech and sometimes even parody law.
what is special about public domain is that you can SELL him. you could take a screenshot and sell it on a tshirt. you can use him to advertise your plumbing business. people have already uploaded and monetized the original film.
you could always have Mickey say what you want, but now you can profit off it.
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