Hello, Friends!
Call me Seraphina. I’m a queer, chronically ill adult who talks about a lot of seemingly random shit. Feel free to follow me (or not-I don’t mind!) or even say hello, but be aware that I occasionally post things of an adult nature, including human and veterinary medicine, history, neurodiversity, queer representation, fandom, and sex. I swear a lot, too. Sorry, not sorry.
I am a history and graphic design/studio art major, with a (accidental!) religious studies minor. Yes, I am exactly that ridiculous. I’m attending a tiny midwestern college. If you’ve figured out which one? No. No, you haven’t.
I hope to go to grad school for museum studies, with an emphasis on curation. I’m doing an undergrad research project with my college library, digitizing a portion of their archive.
I’m multi-fandom as hell, and bounce around like a ping pong ball at a frat party. My primary fandom are Sandman, The Vampire Chronicles, Supernatural, Witcher, Teen Wolf, Sailor Moon, Lord of the Rings, Disney, Hunger Games, Star Trek, Doctor Who, and Game of Thrones/A Song of Ice and Fire.
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I’ve got a few dozen OCs, and fan-characters that I’ve stuck over on Toyhouse. I’m also working on cleaning up my deviantART account. Or you can poke me on discord.
I’m making a valiant attempt at animating the tale of Beren and Luthien. Or, at least, a portion of it.
Like I said-ridiculous.
twunkish-cleric:
sweetwithheatwriting:
tinyyellowflowers-blog:
I have been thinking a lot about what a cancer diagnosis used to mean. How in the ‘80s and ‘90s, when someone was diagnosed, my parents would gently prepare me for their death. That chemo and radiation and surgery just bought time, and over the age of fifty people would sometimes just. Skip it. For cost reasons, and for quality of life reasons. My grandmother was diagnosed in her early seventies and went directly into hospice for just under a year — palliative care only. And often, after diagnosis people and their families would go away — they’d cash out retirement or sell the house and go live on a beach for six months. Or they’d pay a charlatan all their savings to buy hope. People would get diagnosed, get very sick, leave, and then we’d hear that they died.
And then, at some point, the people who left started coming back.
It was the children first. The March of Dimes and Saint Jude set up programs and my town would do spaghetti fundraisers and raffles and meal trains to support the family and send the child and one parent to a hospital in the city — and the children came home. Their hair grew back. They went back to school. We were all trained to think of them as the angelic lost and they were turning into asshole teens right in front of our eyes. What a miracle, what a gift, how lucky we are that the odds for several children are in our favor!
Adults started leaving for a specific program to treat their specific cancer at a specific hospital or a specific research group. They’d stay in that city for 6-12 months and then they’d come home. We fully expected that they were still dying — or they’d gotten one of the good cancers. What a gift this year is for them, we’d think. How lucky they are to be strong enough to ski and swim and run. And then they didn’t stop — two decades later they haven’t stopped. Not all of them, but most of them.
We bought those extra hours and months and years. We paid for time with our taxes. Scientists found ways for treatment to be less terrible, less poisonous, and a thousand times more effective.
And now, when a friend was diagnosed, the five year survival odds were 95%. My friend is alive, nearly five years later. Those kids who miraculously survived are alive. The adults who beat the odds are still alive. I grew up in a place small enough that you can see the losses. And now, the hospital in my tiny hometown can effectively treat many cancers. Most people don’t have to go away for treatment. They said we could never cure cancer, as it were, but we can cure a lot of cancers. We can diagnose a lot of cancers early enough to treat them with minor interventions. We can prevent a lot of cancers.
We could keep doing that. We could continue to fund research into other heartbreaks — into Long Covid and MCAS and psych meds with fewer side effects and dementia treatments. We could buy months and years, alleviate the suffering of our neighbors. That is what funding health research buys: time and ease.
Anyway, I’m preaching to the choir here. But it is a quiet miracle what’s happened in my lifetime.
@hopepunk-humanity
This reminds me of my paternal grandmother, Doris. I never met either of my Dad’s parents since they had died well before I was born, but my Dad loves telling me stories about them, and whenever I hear about the breakthroughs in cancer treatment, I think about grandma Doris.
Grandma Doris died when my dad was only 17, of cancer. I don’t even know what kind of cancer she died of, but my Dad told me that his dad ran himself ragged trying to save her. Grandpa Walter traveled across the entire USA, even into Mexico on his own dime to try and find ANYTHING that could potentially save his wife. Grandpa Walter had served in WW2 and Grandma Doris was who he was fighting for. I imagine that eventually losing her really did a number on the poor guy.
Cancer really was a death sentence. It didn’t matter what you did or where you went, you were going to die. My Dad lost his mom at 17 because of that fact. But that’s not how it is anymore! And that alone is worth celebration.
I know that Grandma Doris would be so happy that people are surviving cancer easier and easier nowadays. I feel like both her and Grandpa Walter are probably embracing each other in heaven about it. Celebrate these things guys, because they weren’t always this way, even a couple decades ago. All wins matter
elodieunderglass:
elodieunderglass:
sufficientlylargen:
sufficientlylargen:
elodieunderglass:
Oh I forgot to say.
Bug (4) is going to start school now so we’ve been doing literacy practice. One set of exercises was about “opposites” and I drew a card reading “fat”. Ok what’s the opposite of fat.
Bug thought about it and then said dreamily: “meat.”
Other fun opposites to teach kids include that the opposite of “white” is “yolk”, the opposite of “up” is “asleep”, the opposite of “down” is “happy”, the opposite of ‘in" is “unfashionable”, and the opposite of “fast” is “eat”.
When I was a kid I had a book of word puzzles (well, I had a bunch, but this one in particular stands out to me), and one of the puzzles was exactly the above - it just gave a bunch of words and asked for opposites of specific lengths, like “Opposite of fast (3 letters)”.
And I was absolutely stumped. The puzzle text assured the reader that they were all common words - no archaic lost words or anything like that - and I spent FOREVER trying to figure out a three-letter word for “slow”. The book had Will Shortz’s name on it, so there was no way they’d accept something as sloppy as “slo”, and obviously the opposite of “fast” had to be something that meant “slow” so… what could it possibly be?
Eventually I gave up and looked at the answer in the back the book, and saw “eat”, and I was like
Like my third eye just blew the fuck open and I could suddenly see that language is sounds and symbols and they have no meaning except that which we assign and agree to, and a word without a context is just a noise I make with my face, and the opposite of “fast” is a reflection of it across an axis, and it’s is “slow” when you talk to a driver and “eat” when you talk to a dietician and “loose” when you’re holding a screwdriver and “unfaithful” when you’re telling your new best friend about your former best friend and “impermanent” when your laundry is now pink and “sedate” when you’re talking about how people live and “lightly” when you’re talking sleep and “feast” when you’re celebrating Ramadan and all of these are just thoughts that people before us wanted to share and so they gave sounds and letters to them and “fast” could be a kind of refrigerator or the feeling of pain in your gallbladder or a dance with a carp if people wanted it because words aren’t things, there’s no platonic ideal of “fast” there’s just my “fast” and your “fast” and his “fast” and their “fast” and a million million other “fast"s and we even each have many "fast"s ourselves and a lot of the time they mostly align but nothing is ever perfect and "a language” isn’t a thing it’s just a map we each made up on our own to try to understand the territory and we made up the territory too.
Thank you for telling me this story!!
Pretty accurate to being 4 or hanging out with people who are 4
tragedy-machine:
dear-lucrow:
thechangeling4:
dear-lucrow:
poolofunidentifiedfluid:
i love being in a fandom small enough that when you see a small detail in a fic that youve seen in another that you know they took it from the other one. its so fun if feels like a little inside joke i love it here
We as the dbda fandom should come up with a whole ass spreadsheet about all the things Charles has in his bag of tricks in all the fanfics so he has them with him in every story. It IS a pocket dimension after all. If I put something silly in there (like the cursed crow bar that melts faces) I want ya’ll to have access to it!
this implies that the bag is a pocket univers that is accessable from all realities in which its exterior form exists. which means that you can use it to cross beween realities and also explaines why charles sometimes can’t find something he’s sure he put in there or finds something he doesn’t remember putting in there.
EXACTLY! Because my Charles might be looking for something, but maybe @tragedy-machine s Charles is currently using it 😂
my Charles is currently using the stale baguette, sorry guys! It’s gonna take a while
biggest-gaudiest-patronuses:
honestly i knew the End Of Days was on the horizon the moment they warned us that low-rise jeans were coming back in style. truly the harbinger of a zeitgeist of an age that refuses to learn from the mistakes of the past
hjartasalt:
alienseason:
alienseason:
On my local weather channel theres this small 20 somethings guy who does the minor weather and my family is so enchanted by him. He wears the most egregious suits and ties that make my grandparents go off the rails. Sometimes he blends in with the green screen and my grandparents go farther off the rails. My entire family calls him “sheldon” because any skinny white geeky guy is Sheldon Cooper to them. There is currently a huge tornado on the way and they sent Sheldon to go check it out. Sheldon sounds like he’s crying in the middle of this horrible rain and my grandparents are so upset about it. Sheldon could die out there. Why did they have to sacrifice him? Sacrificing their young. My grandmother has started a grudge against the main weather man for abusing poor poor Sheldon. I will update if Sheldon survives.
Just learned sheldon goes to my parents church and his name actually is sheldon. What.
World’s most accurately named man
intrinsicallydisordered:
Hope has two beautiful daughters; their names are Anger and Courage. Anger at the way things are, and Courage to see that they do not remain as they are.
St. Augustine of Hippo
