“how’s The Veganism Work With Your Whole Thing With Vampires” I’m Not The One Eating Blood. Hope

on the way to a house not a home

it fucked up to see people who are around my age live through a genocide and have to market themselves as someone worthy of being saved to get people to donate to them.

it just seems so dehumanising. like is one supposed to worry about their current conditions or think up new marketing strategies.

no aid has been allowed in gaza in 70+ days. people are starving. it's so messed up to have to market oneself during all this in order to afford food.

it's heartbreaking to see young children going without proper food and nutrition.

please help @abdalsalam2000. he's around my age and has nieces and nephews who are very young. they don't deserve to go hungry. his old gofundme was deleted without any reason and he's trying very hard to advocate for his family's survival. please have heart and help him in WhatsApp way you can.

donate here (verified #4)

for a while i lived in an old house; the kind u.s americans don't often get to live in - living in a really old house here is super expensive. i found out right before i moved out that the house was actually so old that it features in a poem by emily dickinson.

i liked that there were footprints in front of the sink, worn into the hardwood. there were handprints on some of the handrails. we'd find secret marks from other tenants, little hints someone else had lived and died there. and yeah, there was a lot wrong with the house. there are a lot of DIY skills you learn when you are a grad student that cannot afford to pay someone else to do-it-for-ya. i shared the house with 8 others. the house always had this noise to it. sometimes that noise was really fucking awful.

in the mornings though, the sun would slant in thick amber skiens through the windows, and i'd be the first one up. i'd shuffle around, get showered in this tub that was trying to exit through the floor, get my clothes on. i would usually creep around in the kitchen until it was time to start waking everyone else up - some of them required multiple rounds of polite hey man we gotta go knocks. and it felt... outside of time. a loud kind of quiet.

the ghosts of the house always felt like they were humming in a melody just out of reach. i know people say that the witching hour happens in the dark, but i always felt like it occurred somewhere around 6:45 in the morning. like - for literal centuries, somebody stood here and did the dishes. for literal centuries, somebody else has been looking out the window to this tree in our garden. for literal centuries, people have been stubbing their toes and cracking their backs and complaining about the weather. something about that was so... strangely lovely.

i have to be honest. i'm not a history aficionado. i know, i know; it's tragic of me. i usually respond to "this thing is super old" by being like, wow! cool! and moving on. but this house was the first time i felt like the past was standing there. like it was breathing. like someone else was drying their hands with me. playing chess on the sofa. adding honey to their tea.

i grew up in an old town. like, literally, a few miles off of walden pond (as in of the walden). (also, relatedly, don't swim in walden, it's so unbelievably dirty). but my family didn't have "old house" kind of money. we had a barely-standing house from the 70's. history existed kind of... parallel to me. you had to go somewhere to be in history. your school would pack you up on a bus and take you to some "ye olden times" place and you'd see how they used to make glass or whatever, and then you'd go home to your LEDs. most museums were small and closed before 5. you knew history was, like, somewhere, but the only thing that was open was the mcdonalds and the mall.

i remember one of my seventh grade history teachers telling us - some day you'll see how long we've been human for and that thing has been puzzling me. i know the scientific number, technically.

the house had these little scars of use. my floors didn't actually touch the walls; i had to fill them with a stopgap to stop the wind. other people had shoved rags and pieces of newspaper. i know i've lost rings and earring backs down some of the floorboards. i think the raccoons that lived in our basement probably have collected a small fortune over the years. i complain out loud to myself about how awful the stairs are (uneven, steep, evil, turning, hard to get down while holding anything) and know - someone else has said this exact same thing.

when i was packing up to leave and doing a final deep cleaning, i found a note carved in the furthest corner in the narrow cave of my closet. a child's scrawled name, a faded paint handprint, the scrangly numbers: 1857.

we've been human for a long time. way back before we can remember.

this fits so well with mike and will i'm gonna lose my mind

THANK YOU.

Bnha canon: Deku is very plain looking

Fanfic writers: HOW THE FUCK DO I WRITE ABOUT SOFT GREEN CURLS EMERALD DOE EYES AND ROUND FRECKLED CHEEKS ON A SHITBRICKHOUSE OF A MAN LIKE ITS PLAIN????

THE FUCKER POWERS UP INTO TURQUOISE LIGHTENING????

HES SO GODDAMN PRETTY??????

Pulled at the thread that is holding me together at my seams until almost all stitches came undone and my heart and lungs and liver were in a neat pile by my feet.

05/07/2025

isabelle i literally have no idea what you’re talking about

Let's talk bnha cannon for a second and how it makes bullying out to be something harmless. There is nothing harmless about bullying. But there is especially nothing harmless about name-calling and labeling. A boy like Izuku… Well. There’s just so much to unpack here but I’m going to focus on the one thing that bothered me the most. A cute, pretty girl says the name Deku is cute and he immediately gets over it? No way. This boy definitely went home and had a panic attack about giving someone actual permission to call him that. Uraraka cannonly does not call him anything else. Not Midoriya. Not Izuku. Nothing else besides the name he’s been tormented with since he was 4. And yeah, that probably helped him get over it enough to officially choose it as his hero name after the sports festival. But there is no way it didn’t hurt at all in the beginning. That’s not how trauma works.