Just Girl-best-roommate Things Part Two A Follow-up To Wenclair Kafka Quote My Beloved

My take on Spider!Wednesday

now that sag-aftra has joined the strike, the increase in cold-ass takes has skyrocketed about “why should we support millionaires whining about not making money??”. like my man. my guy. the actors well-paid enough to have name recognition are striking to protect their colleagues. that very name recognition is what the average person is going to notice. they probably won’t care that ‘woman who plays every dead body in police procedurals’ is striking, but someone like emily blunt? that’ll get their attention. besides, would you rather they just… not support their colleagues? because at this point you’re basically saying you’d prefer if they scab than support their colleagues who can’t make a living wage despite both groups being talented professionals who deserve respect. name recognition is a powerful tool for sag-aftra and i hope they wield it with scalpel-like precision against the execs

Not parasocial love nor parasocial hate but a secret third thing where I respect the celebrity for their talents and achievements while acknowledging that I do not have a personal relationship with them and that they are a human with flaws

*cackling*

If OTW weren’t around, this wouldn’t be “scaremongering”: It would be the inescapable status quo.

Wednesday screenshots 🖌️🐺

dancing with their hands

Growing up with your starters

Artist:  esasi8794 / Twitter

What is this nuclear winter Kara we are speaking of 👀

👀👀👀

Being Villagers

Based off this story prompt/fill (X) where you are born with a designation like Hero, Demon King, Blacksmith, etc.

Your name is Dolly. You are a Villager. You, as well as anyone, know what that means.

——————-.

You are sixteen and it is your first day at school.

Your first lesson is that Villagers are the only ones who start so late.

“Because there’s not much to be taught,” a boy says. His clothes are made of finer cloth than your mother’s wedding dress and his hair is as shiny as the brass buckles on his shoes. He grins at you, as proud as a peacock in front of half the class. “Don’t need to ask what your Destiny is, do I?”

You don’t know why he’s singling you out. A quick glance back into the classroom shows the rest of the students sitting at their desks with their heads low. They’re Villagers too. Most of you are. That’s why there isn’t anything special enough about any of you. You look back at the boy. “…are you going to ask me something else?”

“What?”

“If you don’t need to ask me my Destiny,” you say slowly, “do you need to ask me something else?”

“I don’t need to ask anything from a Villager!” the boy cries. He jabs a finger at his own bicep where his mark lies under cloth. “I’m a Lord!”

“Okay,” you say. The other kids behind him are frowning at you. Some of them are Villagers too, but different from you. They’re the children of merchants which is a different sort of destiny altogether. “I need to run some errands for my mother. Will you let me pass?”

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