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Some things about this post since getting quite a few notes:
1. If you see this post, highly recommend taking it as an opportunity to set a timer for 15 minutes and switch over to ACTIVITY YOU ENJOY. if after those 15 minutes, you want to go back to scrolling, that's okay!
2. Huge shout out to this popping up in my notifs often, bc I do go back to activity.
3. I think there are times where scrolling is fine. Right now, for example, I'm being connected to a machine for two hours to donate plasma and platelets. Yes this is a brag but it is also a time where scrolling is one of the few things I can do. (Though I will probably also read or watch something on phone lol)
The best notes written in manuscripts by medieval monks
Colophon: a statement at the end of a book containing the scribe or owner’s name, date of completion, or bitching about how hard it is to write a book in the dark ages
Oh, my hand
The parchment is very hairy
Thank God it will soon be dark
St. Patrick of Armagh, deliver me from writing
Now I’ve written the whole thing; for Christ’s sake give me a drink
Oh d fuckin abbot
Massive hangover
Whoever translated these Gospels did a very poor job
Cursed be the pesty cat that urinated over this book during the night
If someone else would like such a handsome book, come and look me up in Paris, across from the Notre Dame cathedral
I shall remember, O Christ, that I am writing of Thee, because I am wrecked today
Do not reproach me concerning the letters, the ink is bad and the parchment scanty and the day is dark
11 golden letters, 8 shilling each; 700 letters with double shafts, 7 shilling for each hundred; and 35 quires of text, each 16 leaves, at 3 shilling each. For such an amount I won’t write again
Here ends the second part of the title work of Brother Thomas Aquinas of the Dominican Order; very long, very verbose; and very tedious for the scribe; thank God, thank God, and again thank God
If anyone take away this book, let him die the death, let him be fried in a pan; let the falling sickness and fever seize him; let him be broken on the wheel, and hanged. Amen
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getting lost in boston is fun because I turned around on a street corner three times and some guy yelled "hey stupid! the bus is that way!" very helpful interaction and accurate insult, 10/10 no notes
one time I walked around a building a couple times looking for a bathroom and this guy went "this bitch thinks she's on a merrygoround, where the fuck are you tryna go? bathroom? one floor down to the right behind the door that says bathroom."
My very first time in Boston. I was absolutely miserable, trying to drag my giant suitcase up a lengthy set of stairs in the pouring rain. This guy who had already reached the top looked back at me with the most pure expression of disgust I’ve ever seen in anyone’s eyes, marched back down the stairs, grabbed my suitcase, carried it to the top, left it there for me, and walked away without ever saying a word. I think about him often.
For the people in the notes going "why is Boston like this": a) the insults are a way to show you have no ulterior motives when helping someone (and don't need to be thanked or repaid), and b) Boston was settled by the Irish
also the Italians. mixing Irish and Italian sociocultural attitudes had the effect of multiplying the Sass Levels by the power of infinity, in the sense that you get all of the clever dry wit of the Irish and all of the bitchy gossipy condensation of the Italians rolled into one very stereotypically overly-friendly American package.
also worth noting that who you are to them doesn’t matter. they’ll talk to strangers like that and will also talk to their best friends like that. they’re just Like That.
I have seen a lot of muttering about if shipping these characters is appropriate, namely the confusion around Hornet calling Lace “child”.
The short version: yeah it’s probably fine.
The long version: Team Cherry inserted that change in dialogue as part of an arc that tells us several things about Hornet’s character.
First thing: Hornet is OLD. She is older than most NPCs in either of the games. She has outlived several lovers. And yet she is still easily mistaken to be a “child” herself, probably having the appearance of an elder teen/young adult. Hornet gives every sign of being isolated by her own longevity as well as the various tragedies surrounding her.
Second thing: Hornet has a rather proud and imperious manner to her. She does not like being patronized to. Pharloom is largely preoccupied with Hornet’s maternal/Weaver heritage, but Lace does not seem aware that Hornet is also a half-wyrm demigod. Thus the two characters have an ego clash wherein they both perceive the other as naive and in over her head (and they are both simultaneously right and wrong!).
Third (most interesting imo) thing: Hornet realizes that Lace is a homunculus from the start, and this reminds her of her siblings. (I also think “pale one”, an epithet frequently given to Ghost/the Knight in game one, is a deliberate emphasis on this). Hornet pities Lace, because she knows that a lifeform made to serve another’s purpose can only have a very limited scope of the world. Hornet is thinking of Ghost and the Hollow Knight when she acknowledges Lace’s personhood, but laments that Lace is still the pawn of a higher being.
In closure, if I had to guess, both Hornet and Lace physically appear the buggy equivalent of 19-21 (despite both being functionally immortal for different reasons). Hornet calling Lace “child” isn’t just smack talk, but more a statement on Hornet’s feelings re:the vessel experiments. A sentiment of “you are Alive, but [like my siblings] you never really got to live”; a parallel that feels especially clear in the Sister of the Void ending.
Ship discourse aside, we get a compelling window into Hornet’s inner world— she was and still is deeply emotionally affected by her siblings’ fates, and feels both grief and anger over how they were wronged. And if LaceNet is read romantically, the aforementioned SotV ending fully realizes Hornet’s arc: closure with her family, and the end of her isolation via a partner that matches her lifespan.
Sup. I don't really expect anyone to give a damn about this but fuck it I'm posting anyway. Here's my new D&D oc for a curse of strahd campaign I'm doing!
I attempted to render an image I originally made using @maetheellen's picrew. Rendered version is first, original image is second.
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Summary: John has been lost in the Lonely, and only Martin can bringing him back.
—
After walking in the fog for what felt like hours, Martin finally found it. His chest heaved, his body was soaked with sweat, and his joints ached, but he kept putting one foot in front of the other. As much as he wanted to fall to his knees, he had to keep going. After empty beaches, lighthouses, and forests, he’d finally found a large, desolate looking manor. The windows were all black - it wasn’t clear if it was through darkness or to cover them up - and the brick was a dull grey. Martin felt as if his body had become triple its weight, as he put one foot on the front steps, and kept pushing himself upwards. Those three stairs felt as if he’d pushed himself up a whole flight. Finally, he got to the door. The cold brass knob on the door was damp, making it difficult to grip, but when he covered his hand with his jumper and turned it he almost stumbled at how little resistance there was. When he entered the hall, he blinked quickly - thrown by how colourful the inside was.
So far, everything in the lonely had been dank, lifeless, and empty. This house was… Different. The walls had scenes painted on them, on the right there was a workman fixing a grandfather clock, on the left was five children chasing each other. On the far wall was a door frame looking out into the kitchen. Martin expected warmth and noise from the appearance but he received the opposite. There was colour but no life, and it took a moment to realise but the faces his brain had almost filled in weren’t there. The children had no features, neither did the workman. The house was brutally silent, he couldn’t even hear the false wind from outside.
“John?” Martin called. He took a few tentative footsteps forward, his voice didn’t echo through the house. It felt as if he’d thrown noise into the world only for it to falter and not travel anywhere. All that was there was silence. Oppressive, gigantic, silence. “John?” He repeated as he entered the kitchen. Or what the paintings said was a kitchen. There were no units or furniture, they were all painted on the walls. By the image of a stove was a stern looking older woman with grey tight curls and a familiar looking frown. He shook himself and looked again, there was no frown, of course there wasn’t.
Martin turned away to see in the far corner, something he’d almost missed as a painting itself, a small, fragile man sat cross legged on the floor, his hair hanging in his face. “John!” He exclaimed in relief. This one John finally seemed to hear, he looked up with a blank, distant expression. His eyes were half lidded and unfocused, he frowned a little as he took in Martin’s appearance.
“Who… are you? Did grandmother invite you here?” John asked, his voice small and far younger than his appearance suggested.
“Your grandmother?” Martin asked, he swallowed around a knot in his throat, trying to make the stabbing pain in his chest from how much not being recognised ached.
“Yes. She’s cooking right now. But I’m sure she’ll see you in a moment.” There was something off about John’s voice, it was younger, but also so formal.
“John. Where are we?” Martin desperately did not let his pain seep through into his eyes and voice. Instead he tried to stay grounded, John needed him not to fall apart right now.
“We’re… at my house?” John looked at Martin with a look of alarm and concern. “Are you alright?”
“And thats your grandmother? Are you sure?”
“Of course I’m sure.”
“But her face-”
“She’s just angry. She’s always angry.”
“It’s just… Does anything seem strange to you?” As Martin said this, John looked over Martin’s shoulder, who followed his gaze. The woman by the stove had moved slightly, using a frying pan now, but her face just as blank and she was still utterly silent.
“Like what?”
“Well, has she said anything to you?”
“No. She never does. She’s punishing me for something. She’s always silent when she’s angry.” No matter how fake this scenario was, John thought it was real. And hearing such pain coming from his heart made Martin’s own chest feel as if his rib cage was stabbing through his skin.
“Who else is in this house?” Martin asked, pushing through the hurt all the same.
“The children from next door. Mister Preston has come to fix the clock.”
“Have they said anything to you?”
“No one talks to me. I’m annoying. I just bother them.”
“I’m talking to you.”
“Yes. That’s what’s so strange. Wait…” John’s brow furrowed for a moment, a slight hint of colour in his face for just a second before it left again. “Who are you?”
“I’m Martin.”
“Martin. Martin. I’ve never heard any-” Martin’s breath stopped for a moment as he heard John say his name as he always had. John stopped talking and his eye widened. “Wait. Yes I have. I know that-” The recognition left. “No, I don’t.”
“John,” Martin began, his tears filling his throat. He struggled down onto his knees, he forced himself to look John in the eye no matter how painful. “John. You do- you do know me. Try- try to think about how you got here.”
“I… I’ve always been here,” John answered but less certain this time.
“No. No you haven’t.”
“I- I don’t understand. What do you mean?”
“I- I know.” Martin reached into his pocket and relaxed when his fingers touched a tape recorder. The spiders always watched out for him. He took it out and hit play, a statement Martin was taking - it was slow and harrowing and John stared at it baffled by what was happening. Finally however, it happened. Martin’s voice was interrupted by a knock, and in came John’s voice. The spoke a little, it was … Friendly, almost. It had been a year ago, before things got too difficult.
“That’s me,” John finally said in a small voice. He cleared his throat. “That’s me,” he repeated voice stronger and firmer. “You… I… I know you. I know you.”
“I know. I know.” Martin finally let the tears fall down his face as John got onto his knees and wrapped his arms around Martin’s body. He clung to him tightly, terrified that he was just going to turn into fog. Just as it felt the illusion was breaking, there was a click behind them, similar to the sound of a stove turning off. The first sound this house had made, followed by footsteps. “What… what’s that?”
“Grandmother- No. Not… That- that thing. It’s angry. We need to leave. Now.” John and Martin both clumsily rose to their feet, and when he caught a glimpse behind his shoulder he saw that the figure was barely an inch from his face. The thing’s face wasn’t blank anymore. Now it was made of dense fog, it was no longer silent but roared like the fake wind outside.
- The real story owners Layan , Sarah and Adam.. This photo is from when they went to school despite the war. Here is also a full post about that with all the photos.
- I also share with you this drawing that my daughter Laian drew. -
📖 Our Story in Short...
We are a family of six, living through war and simply trying to survive.
Despite all the pain, we’re still standing, thanks to you and your generous donations.
🎓 We launched this campaign to secure our children’s education, so they don’t lose another year to this ongoing war. They deserve a future, not just survival.
🏠 Thanks to your support, we were able to rent a safe home instead of living in a tent on the street, surrounded by rats, insects, and fear.
Today, our children feel safe again. They finally have a clean place to sleep, study, and live.
💔 But all of this depends on you staying with us.
Please take a moment to read our story with care. Imagine our children as your own.
Donate with love and sincerity, and pray that we stay safe.
Let’s close this campaign together with your kindness and compassion. 🙏❤️
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New day new grind:
Goals for today, in the order I plan to do them:
- Complete the knowledge check from last time
- write two discussion board posts 0/2
- Complete a Different knowledge check for more recent classwork
- work on the seven overdue assignments 0/7
- Write two journal entries
- complete notetaking for some past classes and work on some exams
idk what I'll do to reward myself after I complete the tasks but I'm gonna start a load of laundry and see what I can get done before it finishes. Will update then.
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