Silver

The thing is, there’s no way to know where these people are coming from. In the before, when fandom was more in the corners we all knew about, you could search LJ or a message board or whatever social bookmarking site we were using. You could join the community and participate.

You could get a little dopamine hit by seeing someone tell their friends why they loved your story.

Anymore, those recs are hidden in discords, or in tiktoks or instagram slideshows that you can’t search for. They’re inaccessible, not discoverable unless you’re already there. You may never know why 27 people left kudos on an old story of yours, what they liked and found in your writing. You just get the thumbs up and a kinda lonely feeling, cause these could be your people. You could like them, maybe. You could be friends.

But you’ll never find out why they stopped by, or what people are saying about you behind your back, and that’s sad.

It helps me to actually sleep to know that just lying down with my eyes closed is still doing me some good, and helps me to not freak out/beat myself up when I stay up later than intended. Any amount of rest is better than no rest!

we're looking to create an AI policy, and when we were talking about this, my boss (older millennial) was genuinely shocked to hear that younger people do not (seem) to view AI positively (a la the recent commencement speakers being booed)

please rb for larger sample size!

Question 1/3

Thank you for helping with this data collection. Please rb for as big a sample as possible!

in aotearoa, june isn’t our pride, it’s theirs. marsha p johnson and sylvia rivera are their historical figures, not ours. the phrase that “you owe your rights to Black trans women” is true there, but here we owe our rights to (mostly) Māori historical figures. i have the freedoms i do because of the legacy of an entirely different set of people operating in an entirely different context at entirely different times.

But because of american cultural imperialism, most queer people in Aotearoa don’t even know our own queer history. Carmen Rupe, Ngahuia Te Awekotuku, the Dorian Society, Gillian Laundon, Georgina Beyer, and the Wolfenden Association are some of our queer history. We should know their names! we should know what they did for us! but because of the power of the american imperial machine, we don’t.

our national pride month should be july, the month that the Homosexual Law Reform Act passed in 1986. our two largest cities hold their pride festivals in february and march, respectively. american queer history has very little (or nothing, depending on who you ask) to do with our queer history. anecdotally, from my own queries, queer youth in aotearoa know more about american queer history than our own.

There’s a raven-haired boy, college aged, wearing a blue shirt, walking into his dorm room. We don’t ever see his face, but the room tells us everything we need to know. There are two messy beds, each on opposite walls. One has a blue blanket and sheets sprawled about, a poorly stitched pillow pet off to the side.

The boy looks out the window briefly. A beautiful plant sits in a flower box in the window. There are rolling hills in the distance, a whole town sitting on them. Parents walk with their kids on the worn paths, many of the teens are wearing purple for some reason. In the sky, birds are flying, but they seem oddly big.

The raven-haired boy then takes a seat at his desk. It’s even messier than the bed. It’s covered in various books, papers, and knickknacks that seem meaningless at first glance. On the wall there is a cork board, covered in various pictures. A  mother hold her baby, a young blonde girl staring in awe at the Statue of Liberty, a curly haired boy, wearing a hat, and so many more, but none of the boy in question.

There’s a bag of assorted candy to the side on the desk, all the contents blue. He grabs out a piece of taffy and bites into it. He begins clearing out a small spot and sets a blue notebook there and a dictionary to the side. Taking another bite, he grabs a pencil and you notice a strange tattoo on his arm, a trident with a line under it.

He opens his notebook. The page is blank for a while, the raven-haired boy tapping the pencil against the paper, thinking. Finally, something is written down.

                                   “Hi, I’m Percy Jackson”

#THELIBRARIANS: THE NEXT CHAPTER: SEASON ONE. "It's not unusual..."