...IF a streamer who regularly used the R slur wanted to abort their disabled fetus then let them! Imagine what would happen to the child if they keep it
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This would have had me crucified on tumblr 10 years ago but maybe we are ready for this conversation now:
If you are a socially anxious person, you have to socialize. Your panic/anxiety attacks will only get worse and trigger more frequently if you constantly avoid contact with The Public. Not saying that you need to be a social butterfly- but there is a genuine problem with not being able to order your own meal at a restaurant. And it cannot be solved by always having someone else do it for you.
This is a PSA to about 3/4s of the Portland Youth populace
everyone who reblogs this and is like "I ordered my own tea this week" or "I only barfed once when I had to give a presentation'- you are doing amazing sweetie. Have patience with yourself, you are relearning a skill so difficult that people get 4 year degrees to do it professionally.
@kantama asked this in a reply one of my #miro’s advice column posts:
Any advice on what to say if asked why I'm leaving one company to apply at a similar company? I actually got fired from the one but the other doesn't need to know that~
I’ve previously given some advice to a friend who was interviewing after only having short stays at jobs. I think that post is worth checking out for this scenario too.
Because ultimately my advice is pretty similar. People leave jobs for very good reasons every day. As an interviewer, I want to know that you were not the problem OR, if you were, that there are concrete reasons why you wont be a problem for me.
First, this might sound obvious but I have conducted enough interviews to tell you that it’s not: don’t bring up the job you got fired from unless your experience there is directly relevant to a question you were asked or the interviewer asks you about that job. If they ask about the job, talk about what you did there and what you learned, and what your successes were. I always ask people why they left their previous jobs but not everyone does this! Don’t volunteer this information unless you’re asked for it.
Second, you do not have to say that you were fired unless they ask that specifically, but DO NOT LIE. Many employers will do an employment verification with your previous jobs. If you say you quit but then the person verifying your employment says you were fired, you will not get the job you’re going for.
Third, when talking about why that job didn’t work out, as I said above, you have two options: 1. you were not the problem, or 2. you were the problem but it won’t happen at this company.
Some examples of you were not the problem:
- toxic workplace (I have specific suggestions for what details to include on that other post)
- inexperienced or incompetent manager (give specific examples of this so it’s clearly not just personal dislike)
- layoff that was not performance-related (ie the company was struggling financially)
Some examples of you were the problem but it won’t happen at this place:
- you were not good at that job but this is a different kind of job that you’re definitely good at
- or even there was one part of that job that you struggled with but that thing isn’t in this job description
- you weren’t ready for the level of responsibility in that job but you learned a lot there and this job seems like more your speed (I have offered a job to someone who flat out told me that she was not a good manager and she just wanted to do the work and not tell other people what to do)
I hope this helps and I’m happy to answer follow up questions if you have them. Good luck out there!!
While I’m a diehard DunkBaelor girlie, DunkMaekar would be absolutely hilarious.
They don’t even like each other. They’re coparenting. They caused each other irreparable physical and psychological damage, but not on purpose. They were so rude at the first meeting they shocked the other into silence, also not on purpose. Maekarlings are fighting for Dunk’s attention. They’re that old couple that bitches at one another but never parts.
i know they didn’t have time or budget for it but i WANT shane’s personal team to be there in every off-ice shot. i want his publicist to be showing him captions to approve, i want his PR manager asking him to okay charity events, i want his contract lawyer and his financial advisor buzzing his blackberry constantly, i want his personal assistant to be reminding him of his appointments and i want his nutritionist to be dropping off his meals and i want him lying passively on his back on a mat while his physio assesses his dorsal flexion and shane types out emails on his phone. i want the demonstration that shane is not shane hollander, shane hollander is a multi-million dollar joint business asset that shane happens to be puppeting around.
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cackling about the idea of the ottawa team doing challenges for social media because shane's first question would be, "how many did rozanov get?" and ilya's first question would be, "how many did my husband get?" because they want to beat anyone, but they ESPECIALLY want to beat each other
which means that over time, new challenges for each of them get prefaced with, "and your husband has not gone yet" or "your husband got X" because it is a GIVEN that they're going to want to know how the other did so they can try to beat him
and it's really just another point of evidence that at NO POINT did either of them ever consider letting the other person win ANYTHING
you think the motherfuckers locking the FUCK in to catch the most ping pong balls blindfolded are going to let the other win a deciding match for the cup?? be SO fucking for real
Actually, I do want season 2 to blow its music budget on a mainstream song. But it’s not Diamonds by Rihanna, and not even because I dislike the placement of that song. I want them to blow all their money to get the Centaurs’ goal song, DJ Khaled’s “All I do is Win,” because I want the absolutely rancid vibes of Ilya scoring a hat trick and then just skating dejectedly back to the bench while that song plays as their fan (1) cheers, because yeah Ilya got a hat trick, but currently the score is 10-3.
so ive been trying to write this dunk time travel thing where he gets sent back after summerhall to a year before the blackfyre rebellion and meets/falls in love with young!baelor, and ive been struggling to write this one scene. and i woke up this morning and realised it's because i was trying to write it from dunk's perspective. when what the scene really needs is to be written from the perspective of a somewhat bratty, lovesick princeling
As he expected, Baelor finds Duncan sitting in the Godswood, despite the summer rain battering the leaves. It is always quiet here, shielded from the noise and bustle of the Red Keep by thick stone walls, and generally empty unless Brynden or his sisters are visiting from Raventree Hall. For all that he does not keep the old gods of the north, the hedge knight seems to take comfort in the place.
Baelor can well imagine why Duncan feels the need for the comfort of the Godswood, after his refusal of the white cloak. He must have known that it was Baelor’s offer, for all that his father had been the one to speak the words. His rejection is an insult that Baelor cannot understand, from a man who has taken every opportunity to assure Baelor that he is his man. My man. If only that were true.
He has made his feelings for Duncan quite clear, over these past months, but he is not going to throw himself at Duncan’s feet and beg him to stay. If his knight wishes to be gone, then he is welcome to leave. Baelor will be well, even without his knight. He has his family, his brothers, his two young sons. If Duncan would leave him — even for the arms of another — then Baelor will let him go. He will not pine for his lost, rejected love like something out of a Volantene romance. For all their shared dragon blood, Baelor will be nothing like his grandsire — the choice of whether to stay or leave is Duncan’s alone. Baelor only wishes to understand.
Duncan doesn’t seem to care about the rain, even though the old Elm he’s sheltering under doesn’t do half so good a job at protecting him from it as a nice stone roof would have done. But if a hedge knight can brave this weather, then Baelor, a prince of the realm, can do likewise. He is soaked to the skin when he finally reaches Duncan, though given the stifling heat that has been smothering Kings Landing for the past few weeks, it’s as much a relief as an inconvenience.
Duncan stands as he approaches, his shoulders set in a wary line. He knows, Baelor realises. He knows what I have come here to discuss.
“My father tells me you have declined his offer,” Baelor says. “He plans to give the white cloak to Ser Willem Wylde.”
“A fine choice,” Duncan says. His tone is mild, but Baelor isn’t fooled. Duncan has no wish to continue this conversation. How unfortunate for him.
“He certainly thinks so,” Baelor snaps. “In truth, Ser Willem is the man he wanted all along.” It had taken Baelor days to persuade his father to offer the position to Duncan, but he had done it, finally, after coming close to begging. The look on his father’s face when he told him Duncan had declined the honour of a place on his Kingsguard is one that Baelor will not soon forget. Already, his father has commissioned a new set of white armour for Ser Willem, and hopes to hold his investiture in the next week. Doubtless, Baelor will have to attend, and be seen to welcome the man, for all that it will infuriate him to see Ser Willem take the white cloak in place of Duncan. Only the Gods know when next a position will open up on the Kingsguard, and if Duncan has refused him once, who is to say that he will not do so again?
“This does not surprise you?” Baelor presses the question through gritted teeth.
“I thought as much myself,” Duncan says steadily.
Duncan is not lying to him, but he is not telling the whole truth either. Baelor shakes his head at himself, disgusted, because there is only one explanation for Duncan’s behaviour here. Baelor had wanted to hurt him when he mentioned that Duncan was not the King’s first choice for the vacancy on his Kingsguard, but it is clear now that Duncan knew that already, and there is only one way that he could.
“My father told you,” Baelor says.
Duncan sighs heavily. “Aye, he told me. And I’m grateful for your faith in me, my Prince.”
“I don’t want your gratitude,” Baelor hisses, incensed. “I want an explanation. You said that you were my man.”
Duncan blinks. “I am.”
“You said that I could rely on you!”
“Can you not?”
For a moment, Baelor considers stepping forward, drawing his arm back and striking Duncan — in the face, perhaps, or the belly. The knight is strong, far stronger than Baelor, but he wouldn’t fight back, Baelor is certain of it.
“The Kingsguard swear an oath of chastity,” Duncan says. “I find myself unwilling to swear such an oath, at present.”
Baelor flinches. He can’t help it. He should be better than this, should have more control over his reactions. He has to try a few times before he can get the words out: “So there is someone. A paramour?”
Of course, a sworn sword is not obligated to tell his prince all his secrets. But Baelor had allowed himself to believe that he and Duncan were closer than that. He cuts the thought off before it can proceed to its inevitable conclusion.
Duncan shakes his head quickly. Too quickly. “Nothing like that,” he insists, but there is a small smile on his face that Baelor mislikes.
“One you wish to take as your lover, then.” Baelor feels sick at the thought, and at the realisation. Because there is one other he has caught Duncan watching intently, these last few months. But then, Daemon Blackfyre has always tended to be a focus for people’s attention, in a way that Baelor never has been and never will be. People say that the blood of old Valyria shapes men and women of unnatural, inhuman beauty, and there is no greater evidence for their argument than Daemon. Tall, beautiful, with the silver hair and violet eyes of a true dragon. Of course Duncan would be drawn to him.
“You might say that,” Duncan allows.
Baelor’s blood runs cold, his treacherous heart skips a beat. “What has Daemon promised you?”
“…Daemon Blackfyre?” Duncan is staring at him, wide-eyed. Confused. Baelor meets his gaze as well as he can, for all that he’s unnerved by it.
“Is there any other?” Baelor hisses. “I do have eyes, Ser.” And then he adds, because he can’t stop himself, for all that it reveals an unworthy petulance that a wise prince should keep hidden: “I have seen you looking at him.” For all that he has never seen Daemon looking back at Duncan. What can Daemon give the knight that Baelor has not already given? What can he offer that Baelor would not offer freely, gladly, if Duncan gave the merest hint of wanting it? Duncan has Baelor’s trust, his loyalty, his fucking heart. Baelor would honour him above all others, would put a white cloak around his shoulders and usher him into the history books. What could Daemon give Duncan that would compare to that?
But Duncan must find Baelor’s display of petulance amusing, or pathetic, for this startles a laugh from him, like he can’t believe what he’s just heard.
Stung, Baelor warns, “There are those who might call it unwise to laugh at a prince.” It’s the closest thing to a threat that he can bring himself to make.
“Aye, I imagine that there are,” Duncan chuckles, shaking his head and looking up at the sky, letting the rain hit his upturned face for a moment. “Are you out of your mind? Why in the world would I want him?”
“Daemon is —“
“A traitor,” Duncan interrupts, firmly, before stepping forward. His next words are much softer. “And a fool, to treat the family he’s been given as he does.” He is too close now — for safety, for propriety, for any number of things that Baelor should be concerned about. Yet all he wants is for Duncan to take that final step forward, close the distance between them. “But if you think that I would cast my gaze on him for a moment, then you are as great a fool as he is,” Duncan finishes. The laughter is all gone from him now, leaving only sincerity, and an expression on his face that Baelor can’t look away from. “Have I not served you, faithfully?” Duncan actually sounds angry, and he looks hurt. “Have I not shown my devotion?”
“To my family!” Baelor says furiously, and louder than he should have, past caring about foolish things like dignity.
“To you!”
A moment of stunned silence, broken only by the rain and the birds. Baelor goes weak with relief, a terrible, selfish voice in the back of his head still crowing over the evident disgust and disbelief in Duncan’s voice at the thought of Daemon Blackfyre as a paramour. He’s not entirely proud of his feelings — it feels wrong to be so delighted by a sentiment so insolently expressed — but he cannot lie to himself. Perhaps without thinking, Duncan reaches for him. In turn, Baelor dismisses any thoughts that threaten to form, and allows himself to be pressed against the back of the nearest tree. He looks up at Duncan, his heart in his mouth, in his hands, wide open and waiting for Duncan to save or condemn him. He is so very close now, the long line of his body pinning Baelor to the tree.
“I am your man,” Duncan says, swears, like it’s the most important thing in the world. “I have been since the day we met, and I’ll be yours until they put me in the fucking ground.”
“My man,” Baelor whispers to the inch of air between them, and gives thanks to his mother’s blood for concealing his blushes. If he went as bright red as his father — or gods forbid, poor Maekar — the prospect doesn’t bear thinking about. He’s already breathless, shivering from more than the rain that’s long-since soaked them both.
“Yeah,” Duncan tells him. Then he surges forward, and before Baelor can take another breath, Duncan is kissing him, hard and deep, and it’s everything and nothing like Baelor imagined, and it’s all the better for that because it’s real.
“I’ll swear no oath that would keep me from you,” Duncan says when he finally pulls back, only to press his forehead against Baelor’s. It’s that simple thing that makes Baelor realise he’s no longer standing on the ground — Duncan’s hands are holding him up, and his legs are wrapped around Duncan’s hips like they belong there, together, wrapped up in one another, so close they share breath.
Baelor can feel the grin splitting his face in half, but he doesn’t care, he doesn’t care. “I would not make an oathbreaker of you, Ser Duncan,” he tells him, happy and helpless.
“It’s you,” Duncan says in between kisses, beautiful, wonderful words that have Baelor pressing ever closer, as close as he can, tightening his legs around Duncan’s waist to anchor himself. “It’s you, it’s always been you.”
One thing I’ve seen happens in this fandom- and honestly sometimes in real life discussions about Hudson too- is that people end up flattening all POC experiences into one universal experience.
Race absolutely matters. Racism absolutely exists. But different racial groups are stereotyped in different ways, and those stereotypes can produce completely different social expectations.
For example, I’ve seen people criticize Rachel and Jacob for joking about Hudson being unintelligent because he’s a person of color. If Hudson were Black, I would understand that criticism more, because there is a long history of anti-Black stereotypes portraying Black people as unintelligent. But Hudson is Asian. Asian men are stereotyped in almost the opposite way. They’re often assumed to be intelligent, studious, and academically successful. The stereotype is still racist, but it’s a different stereotype. It doesn’t suddenly become an anti-Asian stereotype just because we’ve replaced “Asian” with the broader category of “POC.”
The same thing happens constantly in fanfiction with Shane.
A lot of writers portray Shane as being afraid to fight because he knows he’ll be judged more harshly than white players. I understand where that idea is coming from, but as a black person I’ve never found it particularly convincing.
If Shane were black, that analysis would make more sense to me. Black men are often stereotyped as aggressive, which means behavior that is considered acceptable from white athletes is often interpreted differently when black ones do it.
But asian men occupy a very different place in the racial imagination. They’re frequently stereotyped as passive, non-threatening, weak, nerdy, emasculated, etc. If racial stereotypes were influencing Shane’s approach to hockey, I could just as easily imagine the opposite dynamic: feeling pressure to prove he’s aggressive enough to belong. Maybe he’s fighting TOO much.
But that doesn’t make sense for Shane. He’s the league’s golden boy. He’s polite, media-friendly, and heavily inspired by Sidney Crosby. He’s a superstar. Fighting is often delegated to players lower on the depth chart whose role is specifically to provide physicality. Star players generally aren’t expected to be enforcers. Teams usually want their elite talent scoring goals, not sitting in the penalty box after dropping the gloves.
So Shane not fighting much doesn’t strike me as evidence of racial pressure. It strikes me as evidence that he’s Shane Hollander.
Crosby is a useful comparison here. For years, people mocked him for not being physical enough (and for talking to the refs too much). They questioned his toughness and masculinity. They called him “Crybaby Crosby” or “Cindy Crosby.” Fans edited photos of him in dresses or makeup. The criticism wasn’t really about hockey. The joke was that he wasn’t a “real man.”
And that’s a white player.
Imagine how much worse those conversations could become if the player in question were Asian.
That’s the kind of racial dynamic I could actually see affecting Shane, not him worrying about people thinking he’s too aggressive, but people questioning whether he’s aggressive ENOUGH.
There’s a good chance that if Shane fought exactly like many white players, he probably still wouldn’t be viewed as tough enough. Meanwhile, if a Black player fought exactly like those same white players, he might be interpreted as more aggressive.
People often criticize Rachel for not doing much racial analysis in the books. But sometimes fandom fills that gap with racial analysis that feels disconnected from both hockey culture and the specific stereotypes that affect different racial groups.
Not every POC experience is interchangeable.
A stereotype that affects Black athletes is not automatically a stereotype that affects Asian athletes. A stereotype that affects Latino athletes is not automatically a stereotype that affects Indigenous athletes.
If we’re going to talk about race- and we should- we have to talk about the actual racial dynamics at play, not just substitute “person of color” for a more specific analysis.
Sometimes no racial analysis is better than bad racial analysis.
#remember that time a teen girl had sex on a show and it crashed and burned but her father figure was like ‘i think you made a good call’#like legitimately ‘based on the evidence- hitting that was 100% understandable and i support you’#oh - oh you were expecting an ‘i told you so’ or some kind of slut-shaming#LET ME INTRODUCE YOU TO RUPERT F*CKING GILES
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Nothing is better than animal whose job it is to basically exist In a specific space. Bodega cat basically just lives there. Bookshop dog whose most taxing duty is waking up from naps to say hello to incoming customers. Librarian horse that basically just goes for walkies with their buddy everyday. Doctor's office fish that like to follow people back and forth as they move in the office.
All love and appreciation to the critters and to the kindly humans to make sure they live in peace and joy
My mom for a time was director of tourism for the county. Her office was a welcome center in a refitted old schoolhouse. There was a gift shop and there were maps and stuff, normal welcome center stuff.
She found a scruffy orange kitten out back one day and took him in. Named him Jackson. He became the Welcome Center Offical Greeter Cat.
He was WAY more popular than the gift store or the maps. People would stop in SPECIFICALLY to see Jackson.
Anyway mom got driven out of that job for various bullshit petty reasons involving the fact that two guys on the tourism board hated her for various misogany related reasons, and when she resigned she took the cat.
They were very angry about this. As mom pointed out, though, SHE had paid all the vet bills, for food, ect. Legally, she was registered as the cat's owner and they couldn't do a thing. Jackson came home with her and lived out the rest of his very long life (he died at 17) in she and dad's old farmhouse.
The tourism board had to shut the welcome center and are still baffled as to why things fell apart so much after mom left. They still periodically get questions about where the welcome cat went. Suck shit, Tom and Daryl. It's because neither of you can run more than your damn mouth and you couldn't organize your way out of a wet paper bag.
staring at the dessert menu and twirling my hair and going "should I be baaaaddd" until the autistic girl I'm eating with says "there is nothing bad about eating dessert. it is a morally neutral action"
my sincerest wish is that everyone know about the john c. campbell folk school in brasstown north carolina. where you can sign up to take classes taught by folk artists in literally every possible category of folk art. theyve got blacksmithy, traditional beadwork, lacemaking, instrument making, folkloric oral history. you name it, they teach it. literally everyting. its so awesome.
EDIT: you can also take classes online for as low a fee as $10 for a few hours of instruction over video call. they also host an annual folk festival where you can learn the basics for free by going in person <- how i learned to weave
SECOND EDIT: this place is alsp pretty close to cherokee and the ancestral homeland of the cherokee people, so they have a lot of classes and lectures about cherokee folk craft too
Can’t reblog the post going round containing these two screenshots:
So I’ll put my addition here:
This also applies to women who complain about feminism requiring them to work, rather than being ‘ladies of leisure’. Women equivalent to them in the past always worked - who do they think were the maids, housekeepers, cooks, nannies, wet nurses, governesses, washerwomen, spinners, weavers, seamstresses, nurses, midwives, etc - and today’s equivalent of the past’s ladies of leisure can afford to be ladies of leisure now. Feminism fought for women’s work to be acknowledged, valued, and fairly paid, and that fight is still ongoing.
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