Lab Rat
First Prev
Alex was left with a choice with options that he didn’t particularly like. With Eleya’s backing, he was sure that Amara’s unsettling behavior would be kept in check when it came to actually trying to find the problem that Alex believed existed. There was the matter of letting a foreign government have access to top-tier hardware, and he was pretty sure he wasn’t supposed to do that. From a legal standpoint, anyway. As a moral point he found himself indifferent. It was just a machine. Just code. It wasn’t worth the trust he’d put in others, and that others had put in him.
That was informed by his current belief that the Confederation - or at least a subset of the Confederation’s intelligence community - had his wetware modified to spy on... well, likely everything around him. Every word spoken and heard, perhaps everything he had looked at. The questions this thought raised twisted his stomach into knots, that cup of coffee coming to rest in his throat. Admiral Argueta had made it clear that he wasn’t to act as a spy. He thought Carbon was just a Shipmaster at the time, as well. Did they know she was more than that? That she would have access to the Empress because they were related? Given the flight time between Schoen and Earth, they must have known which ship was inbound at the time, and who it belonged to.
Why else would they turn him loose with such a flimsy set of instructions? Ingratiate yourself and learn about their culture. Sure. Here’s the most obvious bait in the world, the exact thing you want, have all you can eat.
Alex gritted his teeth, annoyed - no, he was mad. Angry, for the first time in a long while, at the institution that had lied to him, and himself for falling for what should have been an obvious setup. Cheeks hot with a flush at the humiliation of how eagerly he had walked into it.
He pulled his shirt off and folded it up, handing it off to Carbon. “Let’s get started. See if Zenshen can’t come up and act as a translator for me, or have Neya find those one-time use translators that were in my bag. If the research team here needs help getting anything ready, I can’t think of anyone better for that than you.” Alex forced himself to unclench his jaw and smile a little, pulling Carbon into a hug.
She squeezed him back tight. “It is just one item, we will get it finished before you know it.”
“Two items. Gotta get the PIN and the driver.” He kissed the top of her head and sat on the surgical bed, almost eye to eye with her for the first time in what felt like a long time. The thin layer of padding was the same stuff they used for crash couches, a dense gel that conformed to the body quickly and didn’t interfere with blood flow during high-g maneuvers or long periods of rest. It should be comfortable, at least. “Shouldn’t be a problem for someone who can fix a waverider drive.”
“We will see, but I will do everything to ensure it is expedited.” She returned his smile, soft and sad, before turning to the Administrator. Carbon spoke in slow, carefully chosen Tsla, bright blue eyes boring into Amara.
The Administrator’s smile faded a little, his spine straightening up and he agreed to whatever she was saying a few times. They went back and forth for a few minutes, getting things cleared up.
“He says they will begin with diagnostics on your near-field communication nodes first, as they are least likely to be damaged as they figure out the hardware interface. Someone should be here to translate before they finish with those.”
“They don’t have the software side of things ready, do they?” It made sense. Clearly they had experience working with Human technology - they had repurposed the translator chips instantly, for all intents and purposes. But this was an entirely new system to them, and one not meant to be slotted into any number of places for convenience. It had controlled access restrictions and layers upon layers of obfuscation and defense. They wouldn’t have any experience with it unless they’d been harvesting pilots. “What else did you tell him?”
“They have some ideas where to start. I told them you are an expert on using the implants, not programming them. I hope that is accurate?” Carbon approached him, reaching up and carefully removing his piercings. “As for what I told him... I simply explained how important you are to me.”
“Yeah, that’s my skill set.” There was something missing from what she had said, though, given how long they had been speaking for. Amara’s reaction was a bit too rigid for something so innocuous, as well. “That was an awful lot of words to say that you care.”
Carbon tilted her head just a touch as she looked at him, lips pulled into a subtle smile. She slipped his piercings into a pocket, a little amusement that he had caught that in her eyes. “I also mentioned that as far as I am concerned, your lives and well being are inextricably linked while you are in his care and anything that should happen to you can easily be visited upon him.”
“Suppose it never hurts to be cautious with untested technology.” He was pretty sure she didn’t actually mean that. But the mad scientist vibes the Administrator was giving off were pretty damn easy to pick up, if Tsla’o even had such a concept. “Make sure they’ve got one of the new Human medkits for me, too.”
“Consider it done. I will bring the Sergeant and Neya into the loop and have them both report here. Between the two of them, they should have translation, security, and anything else you might require easily taken care of.” She slipped his hands into hers and gave them a squeeze, leaning in to kiss him. “Be well, Alex.”
He gave her a little wave and watched her depart with a couple of researchers that Amara had waved over as they spoke. Well, no time like the present. He got situated on the surgical table, face squished into the headrest. It was not designed for someone of his head size or shape, but the padding was particularly thick and it felt comfortable enough once it conformed to his face. Less comfortable were his arms, dangling off the sides of the table, also not designed for someone of his size. “Alright, let’s light this candle.”
There was not the sudden burst of activity that he had imagined, though a sterile field popped on and actual medical personnel did come over and start prepping him. Alex assumed they were, anyway, the pants he could see were the same purple the docs and nurses in sickbay had worn. Another pair of purple pants arrived, and they began adjusting the table, adjusting the facerest to get his neck in a more natural position, and unfolding a set of armrests that had been tucked away.
The first one started shaving his upper back along his spine, where the near-field wireless nodes were. A quiet buzz accompanied by cold metal sliding along his skin, and gentle suction to whisk the now loose hair away. He’d never been prepped for surgery before, despite having been operated on at least four times, depending on how one wanted to define being operated on. Not like this, anyway. Getting on a mediboard was a very straightforward affair.
His mind wandered as he got the worst haircut ever, the nurse only shaving away where the PINs would be inserted. Would you count each item implanted? Each part restored to functionality? Getting his new Amp, the Whisper, and the Immersion Translator would have netted him eleven, as long as the translator coprocessors counted individually.
It was sort of a fun exercise until he really thought about how much had been broken on the Kshlav’o. The pages of things left to fix after he’d been on there for a week. Hundreds if you deigned to count the individual repairs.
Cold liquid being dabbed along the freshly shaved areas brought him back to reality, the skin beneath going numb a moment later. The nurses working on him conversed between themselves. It sounded professional, not rushed at all. One of them left, the sterile field crackling as they passed through it. The one that remained stepped back, a hum coming from the ceiling alerted him that a surgical arm was underway.
It tapped his back, a bit more firmly than Alex particularly enjoyed, like a pen jammed into his skin. The nurse sighed with relief - not the most encouraging sound - and marked the spot just to the side of his spine where his number seven near-field node would be, embedded in the transverse process of the T4 vertebra. The arm then withdrew, and tapped the other side, where the number eight was.
The arm was calibrating as it went, the nurse working with it to notate where every socket was located. It was getting better rapidly as it worked its way up his spine and touched every spot that they would be inserting the interface needles. By the time it had reached his skull each tap was feather-light and barely registered to him.
Amara said something to him, Alex catching a ‘Sorenson’ amidst the Tsla. It was a question, and immediately followed by the sigh you’d make when you realize you’ve been talking to someone that can’t hear you.
“If you’re asking if I’m ready to start, I am.” It felt like what he’d asked, at least. “If it’s not, find me a translator.”
“Te.” He answered in the affirmative, then immediately started conversing with the researcher beside him.
Alex was pretty sure they ran the first interface into number seven. It was a gentle pressure, thanks to the numbing agent, the hum of the arm coming to a stop after a few seconds of pressing the needle through his skin and into the interface below.
Then there was a brief flurry of activity, but it was very quiet. He could hear several of them talking - whispering, really - the conversation rushed and a little panicked. This didn’t seem great, or even good, for that matter.
Amara spoke to him again, so very calm and collected and the exact opposite of how he’d sounded mere seconds ago, and the arm pulled away.
The PIN had missed its mark and poked into his spine. Not by much, though, as it had been inserted into the bone. This was a guess on Alex’s part, but it was informed by the way the surgical arm stopped moving because the needle lodged in his vertebra wasn’t coming along, the hum intensifying as it increased tension.
The topical anesthesia didn’t do shit for having his T4 rotated in place, neither did tensing up and trying to jerk his spine away from the surprise pain. “Stop. For fuck’s sake, stop! Stop.” Pretty sure that was the word for stop, but the angry tone and waving arms should make it pretty clear what he meant if it wasn’t. Adrenaline spiked and a string of the most creative expletives Alex could muster punctuated the needle separating from the bone. He was sure he heard a twang as it went.
The quiet thrum of a datacenter’s worth of servers were the only thing making a sound after Alex stopped. Ah, right. He technically had the authority to destroy their lives - literally or metaphorically - with the combo multiplier of being from an alien species that was supposed to be barbaric. They didn’t know he wouldn’t just... erupt into violence at the drop of a hat. Probably. He closed his eyes and exhaled slowly, the sharp pain ebbing slowly.
Alex held up a hand and put on his single most tactful voice possible. “Let us wait until a translator gets here. Withdraw the arm all the way, I am going to sit up.”
Another quiet conversation, and the arm retracted further, parking with a quiet clack. He did as he said he would, sitting up on the table and sliding down to let his legs dangle off the end. The nurse looked absolutely freaked out. Covered head to toe in the purple version of Tsla’o surgical scrubs, only a pair of eyes visible through protective lenses. Those eyes were wide as dinner plates, the gentle tremble of the tablet he was holding indicating that he was white-knuckling it. Alex gave him a little wave and a thin smile. “Hey.”
His first instinct was to pop his phone out of his pocket and complain about this to Carbon. This was a bad idea, of course. This clearly hadn’t been intentional, but she might not see it that way. Having Neya bring his tablet up so that it could also be checked over for spying equipment was a good idea, though, and he could see if she was on her way yet. Alex dug the little phone out of his pocket and unlocked the screen, then remembered that he couldn’t actually read or type Tsla.
Mostly. Alex knew how to navigate to the messaging app, and could even discern Carbon and Neya’s names... But that was about it. He cussed under his breath again and hit the lock button, then put it away.
Waiting was just as boring as one might imagine. He kicked his feet idly and tried to make small talk with the nurse. “So, uh... You work here? With the Resource Integration team?”
The nurse had calmed down a little bit. He nodded in agreement, but that was all he did. Must have had a translator, or just didn’t want to disagree.
“Are the hours good? Humans work like six or eight hour shifts, usually. Couple of breaks in there. Not sure how it is for Tsla’o.” Had he always been this bad at just chatting with someone? It would probably help if the someone wasn’t afraid of him and could for sure understand what he was saying.
Administrator Amara stepped into the sterile field, fur puffed up slightly from it. He brandished his own tablet and held the screen up for Alex. We have called a surgeon in. The Sergeant has contacted us and stated she will be here in about forty minutes.
“Wait, you all were cutting on me without a surgeon? Is there even a doctor - like a medical doctor here? It’s not just a bunch of scientists poking me with surgical equipment?” Technically there wasn’t any cutting to be done, no, but those surgical arms could clearly do some damage. Yes, the handful of times he’d needed calibration work done with his first Amp didn’t require anyone that was medically trained. They were using equipment that had gone through generations of refinement at that point, though.
Amara and the nurse went through a gamut of emotions that said that they were in fact cutting on him without a surgeon, there was no doctor of any sort present, and yes, it was just a bunch of researchers stabbing him with surgical equipment. He pulled the tablet back and began scribbling something else to be translated.
“Wait, wait. That came out a little harsher than I intended.” It hadn’t, in all honesty. “I’m just alarmed by... Everything that I just said. Particularly with prototype equipment. It would be prudent to have experts on the use of the machines on hand, and someone trained on the ins and outs of the living body. It is my understanding that the Tsla’o have not applied machines to themselves in this manner before?”
The next statement was more carefully applied, Amara turning the screen towards Alex again. Correct, on all counts.
“I’m not above saying that I got ahead of things too. I should have been more concerned about the functionality of this.” He gestured to the surgical arms looming behind him. “But I was preoccupied with thoughts of betrayal. So, while we have the time, perhaps you would double check to ensure we have all the experts we might need on hand?”
The writing resumed, the reply quick this time. Of course, my Lord.
Alex had thought the titles were bad when spoken. It was even weirder to see in writing. He gave the Administrator a little nod and Amara scuttled off, already delegating tasks as soon as he stepped out of the sterile field.
And so, Alex resumed menacing the nurse with superfluous questions. “So what is there to do around here after work? Like if you wanted to go on a date with somebody? Are there like, I don’t know, clubs or something? I’m not much of a dancer, not a great sense of rhythm, but I don’t mind the atmosphere now and then.” Would any of that make it past the cultural barrier? Did Alex care if any of it made sense at all? Would Carbon even be interested in going to such an establishment?
The nurse shook his head.
Maybe he didn’t have a translator. Maybe there just wasn’t any nightlife onboard. Alex could also be talking to the single most boring Tsla’o in history. “Hey, if I’m making you nervous you don’t have to stand here with me. I don’t mind. Probably just don’t wander off, they’ll need you again at some point.”
He stepped out of the field and slumped into a chair in the corner.
That was either the biggest coincidence in history or he had a translator. Alex sighed to himself, a little annoyed but trying not to judge the guy too much. He refocused his attention to other things he couldn’t control: Zenshen was forty minutes out. That by Tsla’o reckoning, of course, so it was probably closer to twenty-five minutes as he was used to it.
Fuck it, he was going to take a nap. The gel padding was comfortable, and while he was sure the lights would prevent him from actually getting to sleep he was willing to give it a try.
“Well damn, I haven’t seen a half-naked Human since the last time I hung out with the Marines.” Zenshen announced this loudly, standing just inside the sterile field and clad in the standard gray military uniform.
“The fu-” Alex struggled to sit up, bleary eyed and a little confused about how the Sergeant had gotten here so fast.
She laughed, a single sharp cackle that sounded like something a person who hung out with Marines would make, and reached out to grab his hand and pull him upright. “Sorry I couldn’t get here sooner, was doing medical stuff myself. You know how docs get.”
“Yeah, no worries, I was catching up on some sleep I guess.” He exhaled and looked around, nodding his head at the Administrator. “You talk to him at all yet?”
“Amara briefed me, figured I’d let you sleep until they were actually ready to start up again.” She pointed out a couple of people. “A technician that specializes in maintenance of these surgical tools. The surgeon. She’s set up and mad about a couple of things. Something about the live sensor feed not being looped into the motion controls right, which apparently is why they stuck you. She’s pulling double duty as the medical doctor for you, but we’ve got an emergency med team standing by in the hall too - they are aware of who they’re here for and have Human supplies at the ready.”
“Oh, well. Sounds like a professional operation now.” He sighed again, a bit of relief kindled in his heart for once.
“About as close as we’re getting. You ready?”
“One thing.” Alex dug his phone out and unlocked it, holding it out to her. “Get in contact with Neya, find out where she is. I’m kind of surprised she didn’t beat you here.”
Stana held up her hand and shook her head. “I got her contact this morning, I’ll get on it once you’re underway again. Sound good?”
“It does. Let’s get going.” He pocketed his phone and flipped over, getting himself situated again. Staring back down at the deckplate.
Zenshen walked out of the sterile field and clapped twice to get everyone’s attention and started hollering orders like she was running the show. The nurses hustled back in as the background conversation settled down. They numbed his back again, and the robotic surgical arms returned to life.
With an experienced hand at the controls, things went so much smoother. He didn’t even feel the first pin until it had bottomed out in the interface, and that was a gentle pressure. The next one was a surprise, just as delicate but mere seconds after the first - the surgeon was running multiple arms at once.
Now that they had access to his hardware, albeit just the near-field communications ports, the quiet conversations he couldn’t really hear picked up intensity again. Alex understood the parts that could contact his Amp and the diagnostics interface as being carefully disconnected from each other - the window between the two portions was just large enough to slip numbers through, and sometimes even a decimal point. The team working on him could do little more than check for functionality and adjust a few transmission parameters. Enough poking around and they could get locked out of it, he supposed.
Either way, it was experience accessing the less important parts. He assumed they didn’t have any of that so far. This was learning that would make dealing with the higher security pieces easier when the time came.
As much as Alex would prefer they find nothing, that this would turn out to be some sort of bizarre misread of a hiccup from Lyshen’s jury rigged computer... He had talked himself out of any hope of that already.
Now all he wanted was a smoking gun, pointing at someone to blame.
 
First Prev
Royal Road
*****
Alex has met his match in the field of impulse control problems, and it's the guy trying to give him computer acupuncture.
Art pile: Carbon reference sheet. Art by Tyo_Dem

BE HONEST.
I know, I know, we're all too 😎 to worry about being cool, but...
Looking back I would do a lot of things differently (who wouldn't?) but my number 1 would be to care a lot less about my jeans, shoes, haircut, and other superficial stuff we teased each other mercilessly about.
Tbf, it's tough facing peer pressure for the first time in your life so I'm patient with young me, but holy fuck what a waste worrying if I was going to get Levi's or have to wear Toughskins until Xmas. There was a lot of cool stuff happening when we were young and worried about if our feathered hair was feathered enough.
"Life moves pretty fast..."

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Hello, Boothill mains! So, as the title suggests, I plan on drawing some good ol' Boothill angst. I specifically want this art piece to be about the loss of his adopted daughter, however, I don't really play HSR, so I don't think I have enough information about Boothill or his daughter to depict them accurately enough in my drawing, so I do have some questions.
So, I plan on splitting up this artpiece into two frames; one frame will be more fluff than angst, with a nice, sunny sky while Boothill's watching his daughter take her first steps. And then for the second part, I want to draw him during the cataclysm reaching out to his (now deceased) daughter.
I do know that at that point, he wouldn't have had any robotic parts or any of his current clothing attire, so I was considering drawing him in regular cowboy attire (denim jeans, button down flannel, belt, boots and his cowboy hat)
I also noticed that on Boothill's hat, he has a feather and I thought it'd be adorable if I drew his daughter with that feather in her hair or something like that.
Some things I'm unsure about are,

1. What should his daughter look like? I know that she's adopted, so that most likely means she doesn't have much physical resemblance to Boothill. That leaves a lot of room for creativity, but I'm not sure how similar or different I should make his daughter to him for the drawing

And 2. How similar would Boothill look to how he looks currently? Would his hair be styled differently? (different length, color, haircut, etc.) What details from his current model should I keep in the version of him I plan on drawing?
I had the idea to draw Boothill angst about an hour ago and these are all of my current thoughts. Feel free to add to anything I've written down or just add in general. As I said, I'm not too knowledgeable on the game itself so there might be some details I'm unaware of.

The first few comments relate to this, supposedly from the Commonwealth Games in Auckland 1990 (or maybe after Great Britain won the gold medal in the 4x400m relay at the World Championships in Tokyo in 1991):

This reminds me of a television interview I saw many years ago. A reporter from one of the major US television networks (I forget which one) was interviewing black British athlete Kriss Akabusi after being a member of the 400 metres relay team that took the gold medal at the 1991 Athletics World Championships. The interviewer started off with:
"So, Kriss, what does this mean to you as an African-American?"
"I'm not American, I'm British"
"Yes, but as a British African-American ..."
"I'm not African. I'm not American. I'm British."
This went on for some time before the reporter got so flustered that she gave up and went to interview someone else. I guess more than anything else it demonstrates the potential absurdity of political correctness -- this reporter was so tied-up with the idea that the "correct" term for someone of afro-caribbean ancestry was African-American and not Black that she couldn't cope with the fact that many black people are neither African nor American.

Hello all,
I was interested in this story and the lack of Primary Sources. So much so that I emailed Kriss via his website and got confirmation that the story is indeed true and actually took place during the Commonwealth Games in 1990:
Hi Ted, Thank you for your interest. The said interview was during the Common wealth games in Auckland 1990. Hope this helps? Kind regards,
:)
Awooga!

The Akabusi thing absolutely happened, I saw the vid on tv on a couple of occasions, and distinctly remember his face and also the insistance and utter non-comprehension of the interviewer. It is a classic. I have looked for it online to answer similar questions in the past and I cannot find it. It is from a long time ago, but has been on uk tv in the last few years, maybe 3. I find it VERY remarkable that it is not available to be found online anywhere. At least not with my google foo. And I really really tried.

I definitely saw this video online, but I can't seem to find it? Strange.

In the sub chapter "conspiracy from large organizations" it seems easy to me to think that the large tv company in question probably had it [the footage of the Kriss Akabusi interview] nuked. i have no basis for this, except that things don't disappear that way from the internet. It is becoming a legend on the web, but was on a funny tv prog in uk less than 36 months ago ...

I saw this EXACT exchange, but it was Seal, being interviewed on MTV in 1994, when his "Kiss from a Rose" went multi-mega-platinum or whatever it did to make a kajillion dollars.
It was a short interview, and I don't remember who the MTV kid interviewer was; I remember it was a young lady. It may have been Kennedy.
I have no proof of this; can't find any video, and Kennedy doesn't mention it in her new book. I just remember it happened to be on the TV late at night, and I was thinking, "WOW that's awkward - this American kid has no idea how to discuss race, and is trying to discuss race."
The question was something like, "what's it like being such a prominent African-American artist?" and Seal was very gently trying to tell her that he's not American, nor is he African. "I'm British," he kept saying. "No, I'm black, and I'm British.."
I was frankly in awe of his patience.

OK, now the rest ...

I remember watching the 2006 world cup during my senior year in math class. France was playing one of their bracket matches and my girlfriend at the time watches about 45 seconds of the game and says "Wow! France has a lot of African Americans on their team!" I didn't even say anything. I was hoping the silence would give her time to let that comment sink in. It never did.

I've heard fellow Americans refer to Nelson Mandela as an African-American.
Shit's insane.

... the principal of my prestigious high school referred to Nelson Mandela as African-American.

I think a lot of Americans genuinely haven't contextualized the two words "African" and "American" in African-American. For them it's simply a nicer way of saying "black". Ergo, all black people worldwide are African-Americans as well.
It's bizarre but apparently true.

I witnessed a similar situation in London. I was studying abroad and heading back to the dorm on a nightbus with my other classmates, all of us being from Florida. One girl in our group sits next to a black guy and being that she's drunk she gets chatty. She asks the guy "what is it like to be African-American in England?" his response was "I'm not African-American" "oh right, yeah, I mean African" "I'm not African!" "Then what are you???" "I'm British!"

African american is a fucking stupid and unnecessary euphemism. I used to have a coworker that was from South Africa. This is in Argentina, which, as much as the US likes to call themselves "America" and pretend the rest of the continent is not there, is "America" (that is, everyone in Argentina and other south american countries identify themselves as American, living in America, the continent). So, I always talked about him as "Afroamericano" (African-American). Then they met him, and realized the guy was whiter than cocaine. Technically correct is the best kind of correct.

This is just like when Chiwetel Ejiofor, at the Academy Awards, someone asked him what it feels like to be the first ever African American to be nominated as best actor.

This reminds me of when we read Athol Fugard's play "Master Harold...and the boys" in high school. To summarise, it is about race and class relations in apartheid era South Africa. My teacher lost his shit because everyone kept calling them African-Americans. An abiding memory is him nearly yelling, "they are ALL just AFRICAN."

Back in the eighties when we started using the term "African American" I had a friend in college who was from Kenya. He came up in conversation one day and someone asked me who I was talking about. I said: "you know so-and-so, the African guy." A very politically correct friend told me my language was very incorrect and I should refer to him as African American. I said that he wasn't American at all, he was from Kenya, Africa. Silence ensued while they digested this tidbit.

Me sister told me recently that she had a discussion about why black people in England are not called African Americans. It was with my seven year old niece...

This also happened to a Black Canadian hockey player. Can't remember who though...

I remember reading a financial news article. The article talked about second quarter earnings being in the red for a company while 3rd quarter earnings were expected to be in the African-American. It was a a professional news source with proper journalists and everything. Pretty fucking sad. I know I facepalmed reading that.

My favorite was when I heard a white lady on the news refer to Nelson Mandela as ‘African-American’. No, honey, he’s just African.

one of my history teachers in high school once talked about "European African Americans"

My history teacher said Hitler discriminated against Jewish people, LGBTQ people, disabled people, and instead of black people she said African Americans... in Germany and countries around it, so many African Americans.

In my 9th grade French class one of my classmates saw a black person in our textbook and exclaimed, "They have African Americans in France??" 🤦🏻‍♀️

I'm constantly called african American even though I've never stepped a foot in America.

My fourth grade students were reading a book set in Botswana. They kept referring to the characters as African American. I spent way too much time that day explaining that people from Africa are just African, and that it’s okay to say the word black.

I told a Columbian friend I was going to ask out a Spanish girl and he was like "oh nice, Latin American"...

I recall a TV announcer during the Olympics refer to the European black people as African Americans.

Unrelated, but during one of the Summer Olympics a few years back, one of the American announcers breathlessly declared that this was the first African American from X (where X is an African country) that has ever won this event.
I think they just universally substitute "African American" for "Black" in their mental dictionary and go from there. It's actually quite racist in itself, when you think about it.

When Lewis Hamilton won the F1 championship a few years back the American press services replaced him being the first black world champion as being the first African-American world champion. They issued an apology the next day

I remember several years ago, before the Atlanta Thrashers had moved to Winnipeg, CNN kept referring to all the Black players on Atlanta as African-Americans even though only one was American. One was Swedish and the rest Canadian. Yet for whatever reason CNN insisted on referring to them as African-American.

Who is the richest African American? Elon Musk

Technically Charlise Theron is African American

Another "funny" point. White Americans originating from Africa also get chastised if they identify themselves as "African Americans".
Read this: http://abcnews.go.com/US/story?id=7567291&page=1#.TyvhtONHhU0

Had a boss once that was born and raised in Morocco.
He became a US citizen in his 40 and would tell everyone he was an African American. He looked like he was from Spain.
He loved correcting his employees who used the term wrong.

'African American' is a term that has been divorced from its linguistic underpinnings in the United States almost entirely as a result of the culture of political correctness that has, in some ways, muddled racial dialogue in popular culture.
'African American' was ushered into favor in popular culture on the belief that it lacked any of the negative, racist, and/or superficial characteristics of terms used in the past. It was widely adopted for these very reasons. But the term's broad adoption is problematic because It designation as an appropriate term also had the effect of de-legitimizing other, more broad terms, rendering them implicitly racist or, at the very least, inappropriate. As a result of our society's desire to overcome racism and to be racially sensitive and politically correct, the term has become a favored blanket term to describe anyone that is Black, regardless of nationality, which leads people who are trying to be racially sensitive and politically correct to make minor gaffs like this all the time.
Ideally, culture should, in part, look to the speaker's intention when discerning whether a statement is racially offensive, rather than the word itself. This is not to say that the listener has no say in what is offensive - they certainly do, but a listener-centric system can have negative consequences on how we communicate. We allow for interpretive nuance in almost every other aspect of communication, but we are apprehensive to do the same when it comes to race. This is completely understandable given the history of race in the United States, but I can't help but feel that this apprehension, while having a positive impact early on, has limited constructive dialogue. This stymieing effect is, in part, illustrated by Mr. Elba's point.

I studied in London for a semester in college, and two of my (also American) flatmates once had a long conversation about differences between American African-Americans and English African-Americans. They were totally unaware they were describing English people as "-American"; It was clear that "African-American" was simply a word that meant "black" to them.

I've noticed Americans call all black people regardless of whether they're not American or African or either an African American, and it really ruffles my feathers. I remember seeing someone refer to a British Jamaican as an African American a while ago, and it's been playing on my mind ever since.

Blacks in America need to be called something.
The things they have been called have typically originated with those who are not black.
"African American" was popularized by Jesse Jackson during a period in which he was the leading black political figure in the US.
The term was picked up by the press, and there you go.
The term originated in this poem, which is based on word play involving the ends of both words, "ican", which is re-styled as "I can".
Whenever I hear the term I think of Jesse Jackson, who seems the type to discard a single syllable term in favor of a seven-syllable jaw-breaker.
Prevalence of the term has the amusing side-effect of causing Americans to become fearful of sounding racist when they have to refer to blacks who are not American, because there is a (mistaken) perception that "black" was discarded as racist. It just went out of style for political reasons.

I worked with a woman who was black and originally from England. I asked her if she would be considered 'African British'. She said, "we just say black".

Seppo exceptionlism. There was a KFC ad promoting an Australian cricket tour of the West Indies.
The white Australian guy wins over the locals, sharing his bucket of chicken. Americans got hold of it, and it's all African American this African American that.
Lost on them that the only American thing was the chicken brand. No comprehension that their stereotypes are not followed worldwide.

Didn't interviewers call John Boyega a "British African American"?

Not ethnicity related, but an example of the same /ImTheMainCharacter syndrome that exists a lot across the pond...
John Lennon was being questioned by a reporter in an interview who said something like, "There are people here in America that haven't taken to the way you look, some people have said that your haircuts are very unamerican."
John replied, "Well, that's very observant of them, because we aren't American".

One of the funniest things I've ever seen was a news anchor in the US talking about the riots in France and the French African Americans.

That's because in the US we are told not to apply critical and independent thinking but just use the label that we were most recently was told was correct or we are racist.

When Star Trek: Voyager was released, the Vulcan character Tuvok, played by Tim Russ, was described as an "African-American Vulcan".

Tuvok was a full blooded vulcan on both sides iirc, which means this makes even less sense than say, a half Vulcan character. Neither side of him is African OR American, never mind a combination of the two.
Still a great character tho.

Vanity Fair once published an article that said “Idris Elba would be the first African American James Bond if selected for the role.”

My mates parents are from Jamaica, but he was born in England, see himself as English but has a affinity to Jamaica. Ask him and he will say he’s English.
PC manager at work called him African American, pissed him right off, was calm and tried to explain he’s neither American nor African and not to call him that, he’s English, or if he wants to refer to race he’s black.
PC manager complained to HR, and my mate had to take nearly a hour to explain to four grown adults how Jamaica isn’t African and he’s fucking English.
It’s just horrible ignorance from people sometimes.

There's something really fucked up about someone trying to be politically correct and effectively telling your mate that his ideas about who he is are wrong.

Yup, was fuming afterwards. Talked about taking it further but he felt he finally got through to them and hoped it would never be repeated. We both fucked off not long after.

I would have reported to HR about the incident. Oh wait

I once met a girl from a country in Africa who told a similar story. She got called an African American at the airport (why this happened so casually is a terrible and dumb faux pas and I still can’t figure out how it was appropriate). Well, she completely confused the lady by responding with “No, I’m African African.”

Imagine how easy it must be applying for residency or citizenship when you already have American on your form.

I had a black friend at uni from south London. It was a while ago but I think his parents were Ghanaian. He would refer to himself as Anglo Blaxon.

When I was in the US I lived with a Jamaican guy who was offended every time he was called African American.

If I do a Google search for 'first black person in space', Google tells me that Guion Bluford, Jr. was the first African American in space.
He was indeed the first "African American" in space. However, he was not the first black person in space. That was Arnaldo Tamayo Méndez, an Afro-Cuban man who participated in Soviet space missions.

I worked in Afghanistan on a NATO base. One day the gate guards saw a black civilian contractor walk out of the gate and get snatched up by the Afghan Security Forces. The (American) security forces put out a call to everyone on base “Check your people, an African American man just got swept up and we need to know who it is”. Four hours pass with no response and then the British unit on base reported that one of their contractors hasn’t come back from lunch. The Americans said “why didn’t you respond to our urgent call???” To which the Brits obviously said “….. you said it was an African American.”

Yeah they are like that.. I have a friend he is black. He was being called african-argentinian by an american we know.
We tried to told them that here in argentina we don’t use the xxx-american like they do. Here you are either argentino or not, if you are white, black, yellow, pink is not a factor.
He said that it was racism, that we were trying to erase his roots….

I have a friend who is half Carribbean, half Swiss, but born and raised in the UK. She went to the US and got referred to as African American, and when she corrected them that she was neither African nor American they apparently got very angry at her and told her she was "denying her heritage". Smh.

The most uncomfortable meeting I ever attended was a global one, we went around the room introducing ourselves, great mix of cultures and experience, until it came to an american dude.
American Dude: I am an African American blah blah blah
Nigerian Dude: Excuse me Can you stop using that term please its offensive to me, your American
American Dude: WTF NO I have traced my heritage back to a tribe in central africa, I am a proud african american whose ancestors were sold into the slave trade by evil white colonists
Nigerian Dude: (big Nigerian belly laugh) Your ancestors were either to dumb or too slow to escape my tribe, we sold you to the white man. (more laughter)
and on it went. I was so glad that meeting ended.

I, as a american black person, hate those labels. I was born in America 42 years ago. Why can’t I just be an American? White people aren’t called European Americans. I’ve never even been to Africa and can’t tell you what region my ancestors from Africa come from. My family history, as far as I can trace, are all American born citizens. Doesn’t that just makes me American? I’ve never heard British American, Spanish American, or anything like that. I even hate the term Native American because I’m sure American wasn’t a thing when they first arrived there. If you’re born in America, just be American!

I had an American get angry at me when I described a friend as 'African' because he was from Nigeria.
"It's AFRICAN-AMERICAN you racist."

My coworker is from Haiti. Works 3 Jobs. He always wants to punch someone in the face if he is called African American.

I once argued with an American that Australian people of African descent were not in fact 'African American australians'. Its BIZARRE.

I corrected my boss for calling a woman African American when she was clearly English, but a black woman. He said that it was racist to call someone black… I can’t speak on behalf of the black community, but surely it’s more offensive to call an English person African American just because they’re black rather than calling them black???

I took an African American Studies course in college; for our final project I did a presentation on Dr. Daniel Hale Williams, an American surgeon. One of my classmates chose to do a presentation on Usain Bolt, who is Jamaican

This happened to Stephen K Amos:
"So you're African American?"
"No, I'm British."
"But you're black?"
"Y... Yes?"

Being called American is a slur tbh

Lenny Henry (English comedian) was once doing a gig in America and the announcer wanted to introduce him as African American. He pointed out that he is neither of those things and asked to be referred to as black instead. Announcer refused because it would be offensive.

YouTube Chris James - Black British accent (stand up comedy)

Gina Yashere Stopping the Police - Live at the Apollo - BBC One

Americans have a weird fetish about their roots and lineage

My first wife (who was American), once referred to a black squirrel as an 'African American Squirrel'. I still think about this.

 
The comments are from ...
AskReddit Black People of the U.K., what are your views on culture and black people in the U.S.A.?
self Stop calling me African American. I’m not fucking African American
tipofmytongue Looking for that youtube video that a reporter calls a Black British guy "African American" and he replies I'm not African or American, I'm British
tipofmytongue [VIDEO] An American reporter calls a foreign guy (european?) African-American, and he is dumbfounded
tipofmytongue [Video] Black, British Olympian corrects American reporter
worldbeyondyourown Idris Elba frequently points out this difference when Americans call him an African American
questionTimeELIF Why use the term African-American?
britishproblems Being called 'African American' when you're from Sheffield [in England] and have never been to the States
DoYouTrustToothpaste "African American male with an Australian accent ..."

On my third time trying to grow my hair out, and I'm wondering if feathering and layering my hair would take it out of the "overgrown shortcut" stage and into something more presentable
For people who grew their hair out, how did you keep your haircut nice?

I'll start by saying I'm thankful to have found this forum, which I stumbled across while Googling the symptoms I was experiencing. Reading the stories that were mirrors of my own lead me to identify and eliminate the problem, as well as the peace of mind from knowing my situation was far from unique. I'm writing this out to hopefully leave for someone else to stumble across that's in the same position, or for those on the fence about quitting, or people needing the motivation to remain off nicotine.
40 year old male, and have had a fairly extensive history with nicotine. Started when partying in my 20's and would bum a drag from a cigarette, to bumming whole cigarettes, to eventually buying my own packs. I never picked up a regular smoking habit, as I refrained from doing it at the house or in front of certain people. But if I was drinking and/or around others who smoked I could really tear through them. Could still easily go days or a week without one. They smelled terrible, have the negative stigma these days, and not terribly convenient. I then explored other things like vapes, dip, snus, and eventually pouches.
I didn't initially like the pouches, as they didn't give the "hit" of taking a drag of the cigarette. I used them as a way to stop the "nasty" habit of smoking and replace them with the "clean and healthier" nicotine pouches. They VERY quickly took over though. Where I wouldn't smoke in certain situations, I could easily pop a pouch in. Eventually and in very short order, I went from an occasional social smoker, to having a 6mg nicotine pouch in pretty much every waking hour of the day. From the drive to work with my morning coffee, until it was time to brush my teeth and go to bed I had at least one in. Eating meals was seen almost as an inconvenience, and I'd sometimes finish as quickly as possible so I could put another pouch in. Wasn't out of ordinary to have the majority of a can finished in a day's time.
Early on, I started noticing I was clenching my jaws a lot, and would get some tension headaches. Seems like I started noticing the veins in my temples bulging quite often. My quality of sleep went to hell. If I could manage to stay asleep through the night, I'd still not wake up feeling refreshed. I have a physically demanding job and lifestyle, and noticed certain activities that were never a problem were becoming more difficult. I'd be winded and sweating, heart pounding from things that wouldn't have phased me prior. Foolishly I wrote these off as just getting older. I also started to get tightness in my chest, and it became seemingly difficult to take deep breaths. This one creeps up on you, and you don't really notice and even become used to it after it becomes ever-present.
Heart palpitations, and occasional racing heart for no reason began next. And the anxiety, which I had never ever experienced before. I had to look up on the internet what I was feeling because it was so unfamiliar when experienced out of context from situations where anxiety is normal. Literally the same feeling as I had waiting to jump out of the plane the first time I went skydiving, but happening at random for seemingly no reason. The frequency, and the intensity of these episodes began increasing to the point I began to worry. Eventually leading to a full panic attack where I thought I was having a heart attack and was going to die. If you've never experienced such a thing, it's one of the most horrible things you can suffer through, and you'll never forget it. You feel completely helpless, confused, scared out of your mind, and just want to crawl out of your own body to get it to stop.
Despite these symptoms, I refused to acknowledge the possibility that the insane amounts of nicotine i was administering to my body 24/7 had any relation to what was happening physically and psychologically. I got to the point I could feel one of the episodes coming on, and out of instinct (or learned behavior) would spit the pouch out, drink a lot of water, and would get eased out of it before it totally took me over. Then of course as soon as I felt better I'd throw another pouch in.
Until one day last week, I felt the anxiety coming on, but nothing I did could shake it. I was light-headed, nauseous, clammy skinned, cold sweating, heart racing. And it wouldn't stop. I had to have a co-worker drive me home because I didn't trust my driving. Checked my BP and it was 148/94, heart rate 98 with detected irregular beat AFTER I had calmed down some and was feeling better. Symptoms continued on into the next day, where I eventually found this forum while doing searches. That was last week, and I've been 11 days with no nicotine.
First few days were brutal, and I thought I needed to visit the ER a couple times. Anxiety was high, couple panic attacks scattered in where I again thought I was having a medical emergency. Slight nausea and low appetite at first, pretty much had to force myself to eat, and when I did it made me slightly sick. The "brain fog" talked about on here is very real. It's like being completely disassociated with your mind and body. Tasks you do feel like you're on autopilot. You don't trust your cognitive abilities. Monitored my blood pressure regularly during this time, and it would be all over the place. Didn't take much to get it and my heart rate way up, which of course makes you feel bad and increases the anxiety. Could only fall asleep with the help of sleep aids, (Unisom). Muscle aches and fatigue, chest pains and tightness from the constant anxiety. Simple things during this time have been able to trigger an anxiety attack. Riding in a vehicle with someone else, frustrated with a project, and even getting a haircut. Just the fear of being "locked in" to the barber chair and not being able to get up and walk off an anxiety attack if I needed to, was enough to actually trigger one. Blood sugar was also all over the place and I was snacking like crazy.
I feel like I'm on an upward trajectory now, though. My appetite has returned. The anxiety is still present, but nowhere near the levels of last week. I'm also starting to be able to better control it. I feel like a weight has been taken off my chest and I can finally breathe fully. The palpitations/irregular heartbeats were very present the first week, but have tapered to almost non-existent now. Still monitoring my BP and HR, and while I'll still get some spikes, are more consistently low and getting better every day. My physical stamina is returning. I was weedeating a steep bank at the house that I've been slogging through for a while, and noticed that I wasn't even breaking a sweat or breathing heavy, weedeater felt light as a feather. Seriously felt like I was superhuman compared to just weeks before.
Sorry for the wall of text, just wanting to get my story out to hopefully help others the way the stories on here helped me. If you're thinking about quitting, do it. Especially if you're starting to notice some of the symptoms like I had from heavy use. It's not a "safe alternative" when you have your body constantly subjected to a poisonous stimulant 24/7. Read this story, and search others in this community with the terms "heart", "panic attacks" or "anxiety".
Looking forward to hopefully continued improvement the longer I'm off these things. Reading others accounts, it may be a longer and much tougher road than I anticipated, but the memory of those severe symptoms is much stronger than any cravings for a nicotine buzz.

So, yeah, talking about the only, and I mean only, officially-released Lord of the Rings-related modern work of media that I subjectively despise.
By now, news has circulated about how poor the work conditions were and just what led to the massive delays, regressive gameplay mechanics and general lack of focus in all aspects. So I don't really feel right in giving the designers that much crap after what they've been through and I hope they do find work again on better, fairer projects.
However, I've been more interested in the questionable design choices for story and character design than gameplay as well as voice-acting. Because, honestly, in something connected with Lord of the Rings, I think people would have been more forgiving (Probably not enough to save it but at least give it a better chance) if the story, characters and performances were interesting despite the horrendous gameplay.
But...well...they're not.
(Keep in mind that I don't actually know how to bring up the images online without getting flagged for something so whoever hasn't seen the designs for the Gollum Game's Gollum, Gandalf, Thranduil, Mouth of Sauron and Shelob, please find at any general game publishing site or just do a quick sweep of Google Images. If there is a way to show up the images with no worries, please tell me.)
Let's start with Gollum himself. Now, what's weird about the Gollum Game is that they seem to be trying to emulate the Peter Jackson/Andy Serkis Gollum in all but the things that actually makes the character work. Let's get this out of the way, yes, that version of Gollum is the best we're ever going to see and nothing can top that. But it is still possible to make your own Gollum work with little relation to the most popular adaptation. Before Lord of the Rings was popularised, Gollum tended to resemble a sort of swamp-thing. The Rankin-Bass adaptation and 2003's The Hobbit Game make him look froggish, almost Morlock-like, which rather suits the themes he gives off. Admittedly, these both came before the Peter Jackson films but still, they worked with the character.
The Gollum game instead seems to resemble a copy of Andy Serkis's Gollum if someone just changed their mind half-way through. Everything about his appearance screams 'We Just Weren't Sure Anymore!'. Even getting past how his facial expressions barely work and the godawful affair that his his hair, he just comes out looking like the OG Gollum's edgy tween cousin. In a way, the more human/hobbit he looks, the less appealing he looks. Compare him to the more froggy-looking Gollums he's just unpleasant to look at and not in the way the character should be. What's sad is that early designs make him look better, more 'Grey-Alien'-ish which probably would have been easier to model.
So yeah, Mearas falls at the first hurdle on that front. Let's talk about the less-meme-worthy character designs and their stories, such as they are.
Gandalf. Hoo boy. Where exactly do you go from once you've decided to make Gandalf the Grey a goddamn brunette?! Did you just not want Gollum to feel left out in the stupid hair department?! Admittedly, that may be more a problem with the graphics than the actual design, he is grey-bearded in concept models. But disregarding that for a moment, Gandalf's apparel just doesn't seem to work. He seems to be dressed in almost Nomad-looking garb with a hat that looks folded in on itself and adorned with baubles and feathers, a furry-collar around a rough-spun cloak and a curved sword (CURVED...SWORD! There, I said it). I might be getting the wrong vibes here but he looks way too rustic and weathered to really suit the aesthetic Gandalf is supposed to give off. He looks more like how Radagast might look in a non-movie-related work. In fact, a lot of people might prefer this design over the one in the Hobbit Movies (I wouldn't. I loved McCoy's Radagast but I understand I might not be in the majority there).
Worse still is that there wasn't really any reason for this. The long grey beard and pointy hat are entirely canon with the Tolkien-verse. You could have just gone with a regular-looking wizard-type appearance and it would have worked better. It wouldn't have looked very original but that's the least of your worries!
And then Thranduil. Now, admittedly, this is not the goofiest-looking design for the King of the Wood Elves, Rankin-Bass still holds that honour. But that's still not a good enough reason to make your character literally look small trees are growing out of his head! Yes, I realise that the intent is for him to look like he has stag horns and leaves and flowers are growing over them but it just doesn't work. The fans on the side of his shoulder-blades look for all the world like toadstools from a certain angle and he seems to actually have the same 'curved...sword' as Gandalf and in almost the exact same position to the point where I'm fairly certain it's a copy-paste job. But what really lets the whole thing down is his face. Looking at that face, what springs to mind, because when I see that, I imagine him as the Elf-equivalent of the Squeaky-Voiced Teen. The modelling on his face makes him look like one of the more dorky characters from Fable, combined with the Goldilocks haircut (What is with this game and hair?!) and you have a character we just can't take seriously.
And that's the main problem because this game is demanding we take it seriously. With the bleak, edgy seriousness of the game, the over-the-top design doesn't really fit. In fact, to some extent, the fact that he looks less goofy than Rankin-Bass is a downside because the vibes are telling us he shouldn't look goofy at all. Then at least we'd know where we stood in terms of intended atmosphere.
And finally, the Mouth of Sauron. Now, he's hard to get down, honestly, he's sort of an enigma in Middle-Earth and that's one of the things that makes him so interesting and I was actually pretty interested in the idea that we'd see how he oversees his domain first-hand. So I don't know what exactly I was expecting from his general appearance...but I was not expecting this! What do I say to this?
I mean, where's his tall, black helm? That's in the book, that's part of who he is, literally, all but implied that his suit of armour has sort of become his prison. This guy has pointed ears. Isn't he supposed to be a human? I admit, I kind of like the whole Nosferatu-ish look he has with his spindly build and ornate, vampirish collar but I just don't think it suited The Mouth of Sauron. This guy probably would have made a more interesting secondary villain in place of the Candle Man.
I can honestly say I rather liked the Shelob design. She's the only character in this game that doesn't like a Horizon Zero Dawn concept art exhibition threw up. I got almost Starcraft-ish vibes off of her but it works, she's alien, she's unnatural and she's intimidating.
You know what's sad? These designs are all interesting in their own way, it's all quite intricate and probably had a lot of work put into it. But it all makes it less relatable and, ironically, almost less interesting. And I wouldn't be surprised if the overly elaborate designs hurt the frame-rate all the more. You probably could have toned down the designs and made them look more grounded and it would have improved things.
I do want to put it on record that these designs aren't bad in themselves. To be completely honest, I'm quite impressed by them. As art, it's actually really good and there's a post from TheGamer from someone who was present for the Digital Art Exhibition for the Gollum Game who pointed out that whoever was doing the design certainly cared a lot more than the game's lead-developers and publishers. And it's very likely that the shortcomings the game had in terms of graphics and modelling hampered what could have been impressive character design. But in terms of tone, it's all over the place. With the very stripped-down gameplay and vague story, the over-the-top designs just feel out of place and highlight just how poor the priorities were here. I like it on its own but it just doesn't work with the game.
So that's the recognisable characters at least. If I do make a part two of this post, it'll be about the OCs, such as they are. And I am working to find something on the lore of these characters without having to purchase the DLC because I absolutely refuse to go down that route. So there you go, my two-cents.

''Welcome, my guest, to the palace of Jericho!''
The prince said, waving his hands around, as we made it past the massive doors. Inside, a view very few peasants ever saw in their lives. Of absurdly tall ceilings, of intricate pillars, of statues commemorating past monarchs and high-standing officials. I Dieudonné couldn't believe my eyes, and followed the prince, savoring every sight and every second.
''Tell me, where would you like to have tea? We can go to the royal terrace, the balcony, the inner gardens...'' The prince asked me, as we made our way up the stairs of the atrium. I scratched my head and wondered, what would be the smartest answer?
''Well you see, I've always wanted to see what a prince's chamber would look like... If that's not asking too much of you, my liege.''
The prince turned around, with an annoying look on his face. ''Listen, you don't have to be so formal. Let's just be friends and enjoy ourselves.''
I jumped on the opportunity and raced to him, slapping him on his back, telling him how glad I was. ''But I don't want to be your friend just because you're the prince, don't get me wrong. I just like clever people is all'' I told him, and I saw him smile, through his nose and eyebrow gold chain, scintillating in the light of the hundreds of candles and torches around us.
Alone in the private chamber of the prince, I sat on the pillow on the ground, next to a low wooden table. My new friend the prince poured water in a kettle and put it over the fire. I wondered, why in the world would he make his own tea?
''Tell me, why not ask a servant?'' I finally asked him.
''Well I wouldn't really be treating you for tea, then, would I?'' He replied, walking toward me with a wooden box.
I made sure not to show any greed on my face, yet I couldn't stop wondering if that box was a present for me, considering the sheer luck I had of meeting the prince by chance, and becoming his friend as well. The prince put the box down in front of me, and opened it, revealing dozens of compartments, each holding fine quality ingredients, such as colorful powders, seeds like anis and cardamom, cinnamon bark and so many others I had never seen before.
''Tell me, what's your favourite tea? Do you like sweet, or bitter, hot or cold? Spiced or not?''
I Dieudonné was outmatched for once. I admitted I had no knowledge in tea whatsoever. ''I only know the dry, black one, that you break appart..''
The prince had a surprised look on his face; ''You mean tea bricks? I didn't think you'd be one of those types...''
I asked him what he meant by that, and he explained that people's taste in tea reveals a lot about themselves, who they are truly. I thought it incredibly funny how he needed tea preferences to tell the nature of people, when all I needed was to look at their face. But I rather enjoyed his little trick, this prince wasn't as stupid as people are usually...
''If I could have any tea, I'd have orange tea. I just don't think it's appropriate to ask for that, since you've already been so generous to me.''
For once I was being honest with him. I wouldn't dream of telling him the whole story about my father and the orange, the incense, but it felt good for once to tell the truth. The prince smiled and closed the wooden box, its overwhelming aroma taken away. He rushed out and left me all alone, in his room. For once in my life, I heard it. Complete silence. If not for the occasional crackling of the fire.
I Dieudonné closed my eyes and relaxed. I couldn't wait to sip on orange tea! Insidiously Greed got a hold on me once more, and I got up on my feet, remembering my plan, my princely plan...
I stepped around the room, looking at everything. The comically large bed, the white silken bedsheets, the pillows filled with feathers. The bookshelves full of not only books and scrolls but also of trinkets like a globe of the earth, a telescope and most intriguing of all a tiny chest, half-opened. I could see, if I got close enough, coins perhaps?
I kept listening to any coming footsteps, so as not to be caught in the act, but the kettle started boiling and whistling. I had to get back to my seat but my body was moving on its own! Only one of these gold coins would give me the life of a prince, if only for a single day... And the door opened. I shifted my gaze to the telescope, pretending not to hear the prince coming in, to be fascinated by the instrument.
''Tell me, do you look at the stars sometimes?'' The prince asked me, in his hands, a bowl, filled with orange powder.
''I don't think I've spent a single night not looking at the stars'' I lied, looking at him smiling.
He placed the bowl on the table, brought over the kettle, as I took my seat once more, just before stealing a last look at the tiny chest in the bookshelf. From under the table he took out a tea making kit, with a few cups, a tray and two peculiar statuettes, representing a dragon and a sheep.
I sat there and looked at my new friend, the prince of Jericho, brew orange tea. He gave me a tiny hourglass, instructing me to flip it over once he pours the boiling water on the tea. Instantly the aroma filled the chamber, and I noticed we both started smiling. I brought my cup closer yet to my surprise he poured the tea over the statuettes, wasting the tea.
''Why waste it?'' I couldn't help asking. He laughed and explained how the first steep is merely to wash the tea, and is offered to the tea pets. I sat there, nodding, arms crossed. Ah yes. It seems the prince is a tea connoisseur! I couldn't help but think he just wanted to show off to me, his new friend.
The prince poured the water once more, I flipped the hourglass once more, and he offered me the first cup. I brought it to my nose and Heavens did it smell good. I dipped my lips into it but at that instant I thought about Daysha, how happy she would've been to be here right now, and what she was doing instead, for my sake..
The tea was surprisingly bitter, yet so aromatic! The prince laughed and laughed, and poured himself a cup. His laugh was surprisingly familiar, much akin to the ones of my neighboors back in my hometown. He gulped down his tea and got up, clapping his hands. I did the same and saw him run to the telescope. He brought it over to the window, and gestured me to come over. Stargazing now, are we?
He took a few minutes to set everything up, while I waited outside on the balcony. The view was already incredible, overlooking the inner palace and most of Jericho as well. From here I could see the plaza, but not beyond the tall walls. The prince finally said it's ready, and I got closer, curious as to what that tool could show me that I couldn't see with my eyes. Stars are stars after all.
But what I saw, in that strange little tube was not a star but an orange, stripy ball, with some bright dots around it... What in the world?
''That, my friend, is Al-Mushtari, as the arabs call it. We call it Jupiter, the greatest god of them all!''
To gaze at gods themselves! I fell on my butt, suddenly dizzy. The prince laughed and looked through the telescope as well, smiling ever more. At that moment I really wanted to leave, but also to make sure I'd see the prince again, for my plan hinged on that.
''My prince I must thank you for your hospitality. What pleasure to share tea and spy on the gods with his majesty-'' I started, but he turned toward me with a puzzled look on his face.
''Don't tell me, you're off already?''
I explained to him how I just got to Jericho today, and that I had to get back to my sister and uncle, and he stopped me once more;
''Well remember, then. I'll meet you tomorrow morning at the plaza. I truly wish to meet this family of yours, and offer my blessings. Take care now, my friend.''
And for the first time in my life, the man I was talking to had the face of a friend, and I didn't know what to think for a while. He walked me out in silence, and shook my hand, leaving in it a tiny bag. I smiled and walked out, escorted by the palace guards, inspecting in my hand yet another present from the prince; more of that orange tea powder.
Standing there in front of the metal gate of the palace, that closed behind me, I felt somewhat alone, if only for an instant. I am, after all, Dieudonné, a man that is truly free. Yet I couldn't help but look forward to meeting my new friend again, the prince. And gifting the orange tea to my foolish sister, as an apology. Yet beyond that, the dark clouds that were my princely plans loomed over all.
Making my way back to the fruit shop, I couldn't help but think back on Daysha and that tall man Lemarcus. As much of a fool as she is, my sister truly saved me there, and made it possible to meet the prince as well. This present may not be much, but I hope it'll show her how grateful I am of her help. Though she did owe me one...
The streets of Jericho were unusually quiet and empty. Some loners were here and there, smoking and drinking. Others were hurrying their steps, as if late to some important meeting. How miserable. At that moment I Dieudonné realized I was one of them! One more of these rats, scurrying about in the dead of night, hurrying toward the void that is their lives!
No matter what face I have truly, that of a prince or of a peasant, what matters are my actions. No more of this! I know what to do, to become prince at last, and fate itself landed me a hand! Yes, I will go forth with my plan, no matter what. For the life of a prince is the only life worthy for me.
I passed under a low banner and in this dark alleyway I thought back on Daquan, that guard I had poisonned so cleverly. I couldn't help smiling, and I didn't really like what that meant about me. Is killing a man that simple? Behind me, a fool, coughing and stumbling, his breathing raspy and annoying. I hurried my steps, as I was close to the fruit shop, but it seemed like the sick fool behind me hurried as well. I turned around briefly, and in the feeble moonlight I saw his bearded, scarred face, no longer that of a gambler, but that of a vengeful killer. We crossed eyes and he yelled ''Dieudonné you peasant!''
I didn't like that. I faced him, separated by a few dozen meters, surrounded by boxes and garbage bins and low hanging banners. We were completely alone here in the alleyway, and the only thing I could hear was his struggling breathing, and his coughing, as he was hurrying toward me, holding something in his hand, what, a knife?
I Dieudonné had enough of that man. No matter how grateful I was of the hand of fate, bringing me closer to my goal using that despicable man, I decided to finish what I had started.
''What, you want to kill me, good guard?'' I taunted him, looking at his curved dagger in his shaky hand. Daquan coughed once more and leaped toward me, screaming, murder in his eyes, but he was so slow from the rat poison. I punched his arm and his dagger fell on the ground loudly. ''What did you do to me?'' he shouted, his face so close to me I could smell his incoming death. I remember just how ugly and pityful he seemed to me. He had the face of an angry child, throwing a tantrum for having his favourite toy taken away.
''You deserve this, you failure of a man..'' I whispered, as I grabbed him by the neck. His bloodshot eyes then filled with fear, with dread, and at that moment I let go of him, frightened. What was I trying to do?
But Daquan reached for his dagger once more and I remembered my vow. To do whatever it takes. ''I can't die, for I become prince tomorrow.'' And so I kicked his face and his belly, I turned him on his back and pummeled his face, his gambler face, and ignored whatever he was trying to say to me, until his weak arms couldn't stay up anymore.
I didn't notice rain had started, and I got up from down there, my fists bloodied in red, my head aching. I looked down at the dagger and laughed, what a ridiculous tool. I pushed Daquan to the side of the alley, under a few boxes and a fallen banner, and I spat on him, as he extended his hand to me, begging for help. ''Die as the rat you are..''
I ran away from there, back to the fruit shop. I didn't know if I wanted to laugh at the top of my lungs or collapse and cry. All I wanted was to be alone. I made it to a crossway, and looking around I- well I was lost. Where the hell am I? What am I doing here?
Tall dark buildings. Banners whirling in the wind, wires flailing about, crows cawing, flying around high above me, under the feeble rain. I looked to one side, and the other, I couldn't tell the difference! Where is Daysha, where is the black lake, and my hometown? Why am I here, in this hellish city, alone, my hands stained with murder?
I noticed I was shaking, and couldn't breathe properly, and my mind was spiraling, how dizzy I felt. I sat down, there in a dark corner of an alley, and I placed boxes over me, and covered my feet with a fallen banner, and tried to sleep, just to escape. I tried to sleep just to see if all that really happened. I tried to sleep and realized once more, I was nothing different from Daquan! Here I was, same as him, except I'm to keep living in this shithole of a life I have been so proud of living.
I, Dieudonné, thought of suicide for the first time that night.
The crows woke me up once more, not their cawing but their beaks! I jumped awake and chased the black birds away. Did they think I had died? As if I would die such a meaningless death... My head was aching all the more, and I got up, trying to piece out where I was exactly. I was just a few buildings away from the flower shop actually. All around me, the bustling life of Jericho had started anew, in the early hours of the morning. The sun had just started to rise, and a soft breeze washed away my worries, if only for an instant.
I Dieudonné entered the fruit shop, nonchalantly, my hands in my pocket, for they were still bruised. But no one was there. I was expecting Daysha, ready to jump in my arms, and the tall Lemarcus to be standing in his doorframe in the back, reeking of tobacco. Only the parrot greeted me, with his usual ''Thief, thief, thief I say!''
But I had had enough of that, and as I made my way to the back of the shop I shooed the bird with my hands. Upon seeing my bloodied, bruised knuckles the parrot flew away screeching ''Murderer! Thief! Murderer!'' and I froze. Did I really kill that man? And not by poison, with my own two hands? I walked in the bathroom there, and I noticed a big tall mirror. I made sure not to see my reflection. I jumped in the shower and washed away the dreadful night, to be ready for the dreadful day I become prince at last.
All ready I walked to Lemarcus's door, and knocked quietly. ''Daysha?''
I heard some rustlings, a few steps, and my sister whispered as well from beyond the closed door. ''Go away Dieudonné. I don't want to see you ever again. What a brother you are.''
Her words hit me like a brick. I kneeled down and slid under the door the little bag of orange tea, the prince had given me. ''All I want to say is, I'm sorry.'' I told her. And I meant it.
I heard her pick it up, and scuffle back to the bed. I heard Lemarcus's voice, and Daysha's voice, such loving words, and I was taken aback. I thought she would hate him!
I stole some lotion in the bathroom for my knuckles, thank you Lemarcus. I made haste for the plaza, for the prince himself was waiting for me. On the way there, I could hear faint music, festivities, growing louder and louder. I hurried my steps, much like a child would do, and low and behold a full on festival was taking place, with dozens of musicians playing drums, flutes, lutes and others singing. Dragons and sheeps were dancing to the music, their big colorful bodies going up and down, moved by the many feets beneath them. Kids were running around, petals were falling from Jericho's sky and a new, bold banner was erected, its calligraphy impeccable : Tea Festival.
And there, standing alone at the entrance of the plaza, the prince. Approaching him I noticed his smile, and how relaxed he looked. I took the time to really look at him, at the gold chains on his face, at his crown, at his clothes so elegant. On his face I saw the face of a happy man, and I didn't like that.
He saw me at last and ran toward me, smiling, his eyes full of life. I noticed around him, the people, recognizing their prince, and smiling, and bowing, and I could see how respected he was. I thought, back then, about just how badly I needed that, just how badly I needed everyone to look up to me, to worship me. My vow strenghtened once more, and hugging my new friend smiling I could only think of murder, of deceit.
We entered the fruit shop, and it was still empty, the closed door of Lemarcus in the back there made me wonder if they were still in or out. No matter. All I needed was a few minutes. ''I'd like to treat you to tea, as well, as we wait for my family.'' I told the prince, and he sat down. How glad I was of the parrot not being there, that irritating creature. To my surprise the prince said ''I always wanted to taste that tea brick of yours!'' and I couldn't help laughing.
The kettle whistling, just like it did the day before at the palace, I poured into it the harsh bits of black tea. A far cry from the expensive ingredients of the prince. I told him to bring over a few blackberries, how nicely would they go with our black tea. In the meantime I poured myself a cup, and quickly threw in the rest of the rat poison I had bought the day before in the kettle. I exhaled and closed my eyes for a second. The prince came back and pretended to throw a berry in my mouth, laughing. And he did, a perfect throw! How oblivious can the prince be?
''So, my prince, what are you planning to do today?'' I asked him, pouring down his death sentence in his tiny cup.
The bitter, almost poor aroma of the leaves surrounded us, and as he lifted his cup he told me how he didn't have much planned today, and that they could perhaps spend time at the tea festival. I looked deeply in his eyes, waiting for him to drink his tea at last.
Right then the backdoor opened, and tobacco filled the air, to my annoyance. The prince put down his cup and got up, bowing to the tall man and the curly woman looking at us. Right there I cursed the heavens, and slammed my cup on the table.
''My sister Daysha, uncle Lemarcus, please meet my new friend, the prince of Jericho!'' I proclaimed, a bit too loudly.
I remember the look on lemarcus's face, his squinty eyes, pinning me down, I could tell he didn't like me. Once again Daysha proved to be a useful fool and grabbed his arm, dragging him toward us.
The prince sat back down, and offered them to share tea with us. I got up and took the kettle, saying how I'll just make a new batch, but the prince insisted. ''As you told me yesterday, why waste it?''
Of course I wanted the prince to drink it and die, so that I could take his place. And I didn't mind if that man lemarcus dies, for I despised him. But I didn't want Daysha my sister to die such a meaningless death!
''Very well, but Daysha, you won't like it. Why don't you bring us some refreshments instead?'' I proposed, trying to get her to look me in the eyes, and notice what was going on. But the fool was clutching at lemarcus's arm, smiling, and told me she'll just add my present to the tea, that she took out.
The orange tea I gifted her! And so the prince took it upon himself to pour two more cups to Daysha and Lemarcus. She added the bright orange powder to her cup, and also to everyone's cups, smiling.
Daysha asked a few questions to the prince, as they ate berries, holding their lethal cups, warming their hands. I Dieudonné sat there, and debated if I should just flip the table and maybe punch lemarcus, as a pretext to stop everyone from drinking the tea. After all, I'd get another chance sooner or later.
I looked down at my cup, and catched a glimpse of my reflection, amidst the scintillating of the orange powder, much akin to the prince's golden chains on his face, and at once the fountain of greed within me sprang anew. Damn it all!
She's a fool, he's a lustful man, and he's the prince I'm meant to be!
''Now, let's drink to our new friendship!''
And I burned my throat, gulping down the tea, not even tasting it. I slammed the cup on the table, and to my horror, to my bliss, they all did the same.
With how much rat poison I had put in the tea, the effects would start rather soon. My sister, with rosy cheeks, asked me ''Dieudonné, you told us your friend is the prince, yes, but you never told us his name?''
And at that I couldn't hold my laughters, it was too much for me.
''Yes, you never did ask for my name, even after you told me you didn't care about me being prince...''
We all grew silent. The prince added, smiling, ''Tell me, are we really friends?''
This is when they started dying.
Coughing, and retching, and all that. I dragged Daysha and Lemarcus to their room, making my best impression of someone worried for his friends, for his sister. She held my arm, and in her eyes, the same fear in saw in Daquan the day before. She whispered, in my ear, how she wanted to give me a present, as thanks for bringing her with me here to Jericho. She placed in my hand, orange incense. We both got teary eyes. I told her, once again, for the last time, ''I'm sorry.''
I closed the backdoor. Alone once again with the prince, I towered over him. He was asking for a glass of water, and to go fetch a guard, to bring him back to the palace.
I lied to him once again ''Now, my friend. I have an antidote, but first you have to tell me everything I need to know about you, about the prince of Jericho.''
He was shocked, and couldn't breathe for a few seconds. I fell to my knees and slapped him. I told him ''You see, my friend, I'll take your place as prince, and become the man I was always meant to be.''
At that the prince struggled to laugh, holding my arms; ''I was never the prince! I did just like you, Dieudonné my friend. I took the jewels and the clothes and the knowledge of the last prince, and I made myself prince.''
I got up, and stared him down. He added ''And the prince before that! All pretending, all greedy, all imposters!''
He struggled to get up, fell to his knees, and whispered to me, holding my legs ''I have only ever showed you kindness, generosity, friendship... And you would kill me, and take my place?''
I saw, at that moment, the prince had the face of despair. I pushed him down on the ground, and I couldn't help but cry as I removed his clothes, his crown, and painstakingly removed his golden chains, the true symbol of his majesty.
All the while the prince was laying there on the ground, staring at the ceiling. He tells me, his voice raspy and his breathing short; ''So you'll get my haircut, get some new piercings, wear my clothes and my jewels... So you'll be the new prince of Jericho... Will that satisfy you?''
I froze. I looked down to him. he added, pleading;
''Will you at least spare me, your friend? I'll tell you everything you need to know, the name of the servants, how you should act, secrets, all of it. Just give me the antidote, and give Daysha and Lemarcus the antidote. And go, I'll forget about you, Dieudonné, the man I thought was my friend.''
He told me everything, and I lied to him once more, about how the antidote will save his life. I made him drink some of my tea, and he smiled. I asked him his name, and he told me, crying.
But I forgot.
As I walked out, the parrot rushed in, yelling ''Murderer! Murderer! Thief!'' Once more.
The next day, I was walking down the main road, on my way to the palace of Jericho. On my face, the gold chains, on my head, the crown. And adorning me, clothes beffiting of a prince. And on everyone's faces, admiration, love, respect.
I held my head high, and smiled broadly, for at last I was a prince, with the face of a prince. What bliss.
I entered the palace, and made haste to my chamber, where a few days ago I drank tea and laughed with the previous prince. I jumped on the bed, took a nap. Never slept better in my whole life. I awoke and filled my pockets with gold coins, emeralds and ivory. I demanded a servant to make me some orange tea, but I didn't drink it, I wasted it.
I pushed open the bathroom door, avoiding the mirror once more. And there, the bathtub of a prince, with lotions and soaps and warm water on tap. I poured myself a bath, filled with all the luxury products I could find. I reached for my pocket and took out the orange incense Daysha had given me, before dying of my hand.
I placed it down on the counter, in front of the mirror, and lit it, its fragrance, taking me all the way back to my hometown, to little Daysha and my family.
I glimpsed at the mirror at last, looking at my perfect reflection. Never before had I seen my face so clearly, if not from the still surface of the cursed lake. In the flickering of the candles, I saw the face of a murderer. I saw the face of a thief. I saw the face of a spiteful man.
I couldn't take it anymore, I punched the mirror, reopening my wounds on my knuckles. The mirror cracked, and my reflection was mutliplied. I looked at my bloodshot eyes, at my golden chains, at my stupid haircut, and I grabbed the golden chains and screamed as I tore them with all my force. Blood gushing out, pieces of my nose, my ear and my eyebrow, at the tip of the golden chains. I threw away the crown and tore down my clothes, drops of red staining the royal floor, as I ran away toward the exit, toward the roads of Jericho.
Outside, I walked around, aimlessly, my mind, numb. I was just so tired of it all. So what if I was prince at last?
There, walking toward me, peeling away his orange, the tall man in the white hat, the blind man, the man with the wise face. He puts a hand on my shoulder, and says, as if to himself :
''Ah! There is the man with the cursed face. Welcome to Jericho!''
Thank you so much for reading, please leave a comment! I would love to read your thoughts-

I am NOT OP. Original post by u/throwRA-mywedding in relationship_advice
trigger warnings: ableism, transphobia (misgendering and deadnaming)
mood spoilers: Starts infuriating, but resolved satisfyingly
ORIGINAL BORU POST HERE
EDITOR NOTES: Reposting the original here alongside the updates would make the post too long. I'll include a summary of the posts if you don't want to go back and read them, but I strongly suggest that you do.
The short summary: OOP posts on AITA asking if she is the asshole for not inviting her "mentally unstable cousin" to her wedding. OOP had handed out invites at Christmas to everyone except the cousin claiming that it's because the cousin is "mentally unstable" and that she thinks the cousin has BPD. Her evidence for her cousin's "instability" is a haircut and name change. Now her family is angry at her and the cousin's brother calls OOP a bigot. She is ruled the asshole.
In the next post OOP asks if she's the asshole for inviting her cousin but also planning on hiring security to specifically shadow the cousin at the wedding. She has decided to invite the cousin because her aunt and mother have threatened to pull funding for the wedding for excluding the cousin. Her mother is still angry. In the comments, she says that she wants an "intimidating" person to shadow the cousin. She settles on her fiancé's older brother who "shares many of the same values."
The post after that a self post from OOP. She says that she's going to have her fiancé's brother shadow the cousin, and that the cousin will be turned away from the door if they aren't wearing a dress. OOP also berates people about "assumptions about me and my feelings towards the LGBT community and transgenderism"
From the first post, OOP has been aggressively gendering her cousin as female, constantly calling them a "mentally ill woman.'' Users repeatedly asked if the cousin was transgender and OOP would refuse to answer or dance around the topic. Commenters gathered that the cousin was probably a trans man or nonbinary and the "mental illness" and "breakdown" OOP was so upset about was them transitioning.

NEW UPDATES

texts February 9th, 2024
[EDIT: pumpkinspicenation had screenshots of the texts, see them at this link]
​
[editors note: only this exchange was visible from the thumbnail]
OOP

I just want to make sure she got it.

Brother:

Then text them instead
But I didn't think [blurred out] wants a pity invite from someone like you just because you got called out for treating them like shit

OOP:

ok but they treated ME like shit for so many years. Can you blame me for being weary about her showing up
But I want to move on and fix things. I feel guilty for singling

[Editors Notes: This post had screenshots of a conversation with her cousin (the brother of the one she hasn't invited) She deleted it shortly after posting, but I can confirm from the thumbnail that was still visible that this exchange was in it]
Other commenters who saw the full post say that it confirmed that her cousin is named Alex and uses they/them pronouns. In it, she repeatedly deadnamed and misgendered her cousin until the brother told her off. It appears that OOP was using their actual deadname for her posts, which is why I tried to avoid using it in the summary. I'm posting the link in case there's any way to recover this, and putting it first to let you know that she is going to deadname and misgender them from here on out.]
How to get my (25F) cousin (25F) to attend my wedding to keep the peace? February 9th, 2024
I'll try to keep the summary short.
Background:
I'm getting married this spring. Around Christmas I sent out the invites to the family I wanted there, but did not invite a female cousin of mine (Rose) because I did not get along with her when we were growing up together and I haven't seen her in a long time. I didn't want her there, and I didn't think she would want to attend anyway. (She's a bit of a tomboy, and I doubt she'd want to put on a dress and spend the day at a fancy party with us)
But my mother is very close to her mother (they're really close in age) and both of them were contributing money to help fund my wedding for the venue I wanted and already have booked. Because I didn't invite her daughter, my aunt said she was not attending along with Rose's brothers and would not help pay for the wedding. It wasn't alot of money, so I could eat the cost for that, but then my mom got upset that her sister and niece and nephews wouldn't attend, and is threatening to not pay unless I invite Rose and apologize for snubbing her.
At first I was really stubborn, but I don't want to switch venues and catering this late into the planning because it would delay so I bit the bullet and sent Rose an invite. But I never got a response from her, and I wanted to check if she at least received the invite. I wanted to show my mom that she was choosing not to go, so I reached out to one of her brothers. But he was very verbally abusive and immediately he blew up at me and wouldn't even consider listening to me or trying to help me out. He also went into unprovoked and classist attacks on my fiancé. (edit: I originally had the texts on my profile to show you how he insulted me, but I just realized I didn't censor private information clearly enough. He just called me a bunch of gendered slurs and called my fiancé a "redneck" while implying that his family takes part in incest.)
How can I convince my mother to stay on my side, and how can I get Rose to respond to me? I really do want to repair our relationship and have a smooth wedding day. I just feel like everything has been going so well and now this year it's all crumbling at the last minute.
Selected comments:
releasethe_mccracken

Lol, this you?https://www.reddit.com/AmItheAsshole/comments/18ulosw/aita_for_not_inviting_my_mentally_unstable_cousin/

pumpkinspicenation

Hey OP, did you really think that posting texts of your deadnaming and misgendering your cousin were going to help your case??? I can clearly see the names you tried to block out.

notforcommentinohgoo

Oh yes, I didn't spot that! You can totally read them! Alex / Rose.

DivinitySousVide

So did you invite your aunts, her sons, and then only snubbed rose?

OOP:

It makes it sound worse when phrased like that.

DivinitySousVide

Sure, but she's still family, and she's the only member of the family you excluded.If you're fiancée got invited to a wedding but they snubbed you, would you prefer he didn't attend?

OOP:

I understand now that I was invertedly very hurtful towards her. I just want to try and make things right now and I feel like I'm getting stonewalled trying

GuiltyCaptain3

You weren’t “inadvertently” hurtful to your cousin. You purposefully handed out invitations to everyone in the family and excluded them IN PERSON then said they could come but only if they wear a dress when they are trans. You misgendered them, and called them mentally unstable all over your original post. You continue to deadname them. Your behaviour to this person has been beyond assholish and you should leave them alone and accept the consequences from the rest of the family. But you won’t because you’re an AH and only care that you’re not getting the money you want for your wedding.

Loydx

Info- Are you enforcing a gendered dress code at your wedding? Like, why do you think they'd feel like they have to wear a dress? It's 2024 and when you invite people to a wedding, many are going to show up in very casual clothes, so get ready.

OOP

I'm just saying that Rose usually dresses very casually, even at Holiday gatherings, and my wedding has a formal/semi-formal dresscode. She can come in a pantsuit or something like that, but she usually wears band t-shirts and jeans, which isn't really wedding attire.

_WitchoftheWaste

You specifically said before, during the shitheap that was your other post "Gendered Dresscode. Men in suits Women in dresses" - and that was because Alex (or their dead name Rose) doesnt want to wear a dress because Alex doesnt identify as a woman. Correct???

AffectionateBite3827

TIL I learned tomboys can't enjoy a wedding.

OOP

Maybe tomboy is the wrong word lol. Its just that she dresses VERY casually all the time even at holiday gatherings and I do want to have a formal/semi-formal dress code.

AffectionateBite3827

Do the holiday gatherings have a semi-formal/formal dress code? Look, you don't want her there, fine, but you can't undo what you did, which was hand out invitations to her family in front of her. You can invite her now but it's obvious you're doing it to smooth over feathers so you can't be mad if she doesn't attend. It's an invitation, not a summons, after all.

OOP

In my family we usually dress up a little, especially for something like Easter or Christmas.

AffectionateBite3827

The acknowledgment will be sending in the card to indicate if she's coming or not. Hey maybe if you wanted to be sure she got the invitation you could have hand delivered - OH WAIT.

techramblings

Unfortunately, this is the problem when other people are financially contributing to things like weddings: their money rarely comes without strings attached. You've discovered that your mum and your aunt's money comes with them having significant levels of control over your event.

OOP

I wouldn't have booked this venue if I didn't have the fully support of my mother who encouraged me to choose it. I'm just really upset that her support was so conditional, and that I found this out at the last minute.

techramblings

Well, you have 2 choices: you either grovel to your mother, and accept that she is going to effectively have control over your big day, or you use this as an opportunity to take back control and re-plan things based on what you want, rather than what your family expect of you.

OOP (two days later)

I took your advice and spoke to my mother this morning and she agreed to continue funding the wedding. It looks like she was just bluffing. I won't forget this, but at least my wedding is back on track.

Update on my wedding February 11th, 2024
This was autoremoved from RA but I wanted to post it to thank everyone who tried to help so I'm going to copy and past it
I appreciate all the people who gave advice on my last post even if they were unnecessarily rude about it.
The day after I made my post Rose finally called me that she had gotten and rejected my invite. She was nasty about it, but she's always been a bit of a brat. She said she didn't care about my wedding and didn't want to be part of more "stupid fucking family drama" (Which I think is hypocritical because SHE always starts the drama)
So she and her brothers and parents aren't attending, and my mom and some other guests are upset at that but it's all manageable.
I went to breakfast with my mom this morning and we sat down and spoke about the wedding. I took advice from my last post and told her that if she continued to favor a cousin over her DAUGHTER then I would never speak to her again and she would not be invited to the rescheduled wedding. A lot was said, but she broke down and admitted that she was bluffing and didn't actually want to ruin my big day, she was just upset with how I had acted back around the holidays and hoped that her threat would be a wake up call. I apologized and acknowledged that I didn't realize how hurtful my actions would have been perceived. She essentially raised me by myself and I have always tried to live by the values she instilled in me, even if they aren't always popular with others and I told her this.
So the wedding should still be on course. I still have to find the money to make up for what my aunt would have paid, but I don't think its alot and my fiance will probably be able to cover it.
Thank you again for all the advice ❤️
I was supposed to get married today, but my cousin sabotaged my wedding and my fiance called it off April 13 2024
I can't really blame him for calling it off, because it was for financial reasons. But I feel like I can't talk to him about it because I'll start saying things that I regret.
I was set to get married today. It was great, I had everything planned out perfectly. My venue was on the pricey side, but both my mother and aunt said they would help pay for it to make my wedding perfect. I sent invites months ahead to make sure everyone had time to plan stuff if they needed to travel and the drama started when I didn't invite my cousin. I grew up with her because our mothers are close and she is very mentally ill and would always have meltdowns and stuff. Around last year she had a breakdown that everyone seems to ignore now. I'm pretty sure she has BPD and anyone who knows someone with that will tell you how unstable and unpredictable those people are. So I decided that I didn't want a severely mentally ill woman at my wedding to risk ruining it and also we weren't that close to begin with and hadn't seen each other for years. I thought everyone would understand that and it's not like she and I were very close to begin with.
It caused a lot of drama and family fighting. My aunt said that if I didn't invite her daughter then she wasn't going to contribute money, and my female cousin's brothers also said that they weren't coming. Then my mom got angry and said that she wasn't going to contribute money if I was going to discriminate against my female cousin. And then other relatives heard that I hadn't invited her because of her mental illness (I didn't even tell anyone it was because of that, just that we weren't close. But I guess she was telling them that I was being bigoted against her because of her illness)
I settled things with my mom who agreed to pay, and I even offered my cousin an invite and apologized for excluding her when I initially sent out the invites. But she brushed my off and said she didn't want to go to my wedding.
But my aunt never accepted the apology and still refused to pay. I thought that that was fine because my fiancé could make up the difference and asked my dad if he was willing to contribute more (he divorced my mom when I was a kid and we're not super close any more because of it, but he still offered some money.) But neither of them were able to pitch in any more, and my savings also aren't enough unless I wanted to completely wipe them out or take out a loan, and I don't think that's a very good financial choice. I want the perfect wedding but I don't want to go into debt for it.
I finally decided to fold and look for another venue, but all of the ones I wanted were booked for the rest of the year. Last month my fiancé told me that we should postpone the wedding for a year so that we find the perfect venue that we can afford. I had to call all my friends and the family members who still wanted to go and basically tell them I was too poor to get married this year. It was humiliating.
All of this is because of my cousin who got pissy that I didn't want her at my wedding (and she doesn't even want to GO to the wedding anyway) and did her best to turn my family against me.
Selected Comments
RangerAlex92

Hoo boy, OP is about to get dragged harder than a small child in a gorilla enclosure

Successful_Moment_91

You’re being ridiculous wanting a wedding you can’t afford. Be an adult and stop listening to your family. Have the wedding with no strings attached

Rough_Medium2878
I’m going to add onto this since it’s the top comment-everyone go read OPs post history.
PaleontologistTop689

Wow, OP is tranphobic. Her cousin is trans. She dead names them and is trying to force them to wear a dress to her wedding. No wonder the family turned against her.

Sea-Ad9057

When you get your new venue don't invite your aunt or cousin

OOP:

After this the guest list from my side of the family is going to be a lot shorter.

Whiteroses7252012:

Something tells me none of them will be crying about that.

ThunderbunsAreGo

I understand wanting a nice big wedding but if it’s financially not possible then either settle for something smaller or postpone until you have more resources. It just makes sense. However, I’ll never understand the couples who run around asking family members for contributions to their weddings. It’s your day, it’s your responsibility to fund it. Furthermore, paying for it yourselves stops people thinking they have an input over the guest list, decor, food, entertainment, etc. In my case that allowed me to leave one of my brothers off the guest list and nobody could say shit about it. When asked why he wasn’t there a simple “We don’t want him to be” was enough of an answer.

OOP

I would have been fine with a smaller wedding, but it was my aunt and mother who offered to help pay in the first place during the earlier planning stages. This venue was actually one where I had first only shown it to my mom as the type that I was looking for but cheaper (I don't want to give too many personal details and give away where I live, but it's really nice and outdoors with a beautiful garden and big historical building for the reception) It was perfect but I was fine for settling with a different one that had the same aesthetics. My mother was the one to encourage me booking it because she said I should have my dream wedding, and my aunt also said I should book it and she would help make sure I could afford it.

Fangbang6669

Get your money up, transphobic brokie lmao.

BlondieMonster89

This sounds more like you didn’t plan very well. You didn’t have another venue or look for one until the day before the actual wedding? Huh? I’m assuming you paid a deposit otherwise the venue wasn’t going to be yours anyways.

OOP

The initial venue was only partially paid by the time I was forced to cancel it. I didn't get my deposit back.

Shadow11Wolf50

Your comment and post history paints the full story of all the pieces you chose to leave out in hopes you could sucker people into giving you support. You're the one who needs therapy. You're the one stirring the pot and causing drama by being deliberately hateful and bigoted. This is why things keep blowing up in your face. You are the reason the wedding was sabotaged. No one else.

EDITORS NOTES: After this post got an uptick of comments another user named CastielFangirl2005 popped up and started defending the OOP. As other people suggested, it's possible that this was OOP's main account, because they seem to take people attacking OOP personally and start to deadname the cousin, though the cousin is not named in the post they're commenting on. It looks like they were suspended a few days ago, probably for the contents of these comments.
I don't want to copy/paste them and risk Reddit flagging my account for hate speech. In it, CastielFangirl2005 deadnames the cousin, claims that they're not really trans, defends OOP and says that she will have a new wedding while the cousin will be miserable for life. They also mock trans suicide rates, and claim that the cousin deserves a lobotomy.
You can read them here as recovered by unddit
CastielFangirl2005 made several other comments that just were calling people "snowflakes" and saying that OOP (throwRA-mywedding) was right.
throwRA-mywedding deleted her account a day after making the post on trueoffmychest and CastilFangirl2005 was suspended. Marking this concluded.
Also, thank you to the people who commented with links on the first BORU post when they found OOP's new account and posts.

Hey guys! I'm looking for a reccomendation for a hairstylist, or even a salon that does a good job cutting longer, thicker hair. I have mainly straight hair but it's just really thick and I feel like I haven't been satisfied with the past couple haircuts I've got at the salon I go to. I'm trying to grow it out longer, but it needs some good layers put in it so that it doesn't look just like full and heavy at the ends. The last couple times I got my hair cut it just didn't seem to blend together nicely ( the layers looked really blunt) and I felt like it was a little rushed. I'm in West Seneca but if I can find a good place I'm willing to go out of my way. I almost want like 70's ish feathered layers. Thanks!!!

I would like to have a new haircut. I really like layered haircut but I learned about these two. Isearched online and looked for a new hairstyle because I've always had the same haircut. I saw these two hairstyles but I couldn't tell the difference.

Fur was a standard amongst the stars.
Oh sure, some of the races sported beautiful feathers. Others look resplendent in beautiful scales that shone like gemstones. But most of the races had fur. The taurians had mostly short velvet-like cover, except atop their heads. The felinoids ranged from the short to the long fur and the ursidains had fur several inches thick at times.
Thanks to this, everyone had grooming kits. Small bundles that unrolled into a selection of tools for removing knots, brushes for straightening ruffled patches and even small scissors for the removal of that which will not obey its owner. These self-grooming tools were common. Even children would have their own, despite lacking the scissors.
With a body worth of fur, it was expected that one would need to maintain their own pelt.
But, that did not stop the need for those who could take an unmoulded medium of unsculpted head fur and turn it into something that pulled the owner's chin up, push their chest out and whisper into their ear that a strut was needed from them. There were groomers of course, beings would like up and would be brought back into acceptable appearances via a groomer who just wanted to get as many customers sorted as they could.
But then there was Notila.
Notila was a taurian and had dedicated himself to this act of artistry. His medium, was other's fur. He could take a loveless taurian woman and with his tools, a bit of product and a peptalk, turn her into a taurian who's horns rivalled the very mountains. He had managed celebrities, lords and even royalty. More than once had he had received gifts to his private shop as thanks for his work, it was so life changing. Everyone wanted him to 'do' their fur.
The taurian male, draped in the finest shimmering silks, and glittering gold jewellery, from his own little kingdom, enjoyed the fact that he was the premier stylist in the system. Twenty-two billion souls and they all dreamed for him to cut their fur.
So, when the human settled down into Notila's chair for the fifth time and asked for a 'short, back and sides'. Notila clasped his hands together and touched the sides of his palms to the tip of his snout. With his eyes closed, Notila took in a calm and steading breath. The human watched the gold bangles tinkle together as the taurian remained still for a moment, seemingly gathering his thoughts.
"You live in the same high security building as me and you're human. This is why you can get your hair cut here every few months." The taurian explained carefully to the human. His many earrings sparkling in the light.
"Without throwing myself to narcissism, it would be... disingenuous to not point out that this career of mine has made me the number one in my craft..." The bull continued. The human at this point was merely looking up at the male, blinking innocently. His fine silks were flawless, despite being in his shop most of the day, the taurian's robes were nary a jot out of place. Not a single errant strand of fur or hair lay on his clothes.
"I could make you anything." The hornless taurian promised. "Your hair is sculpt-able. Malleable. I could make every man, woman and child look at you and want to be you." Notila opened his eyes and gazed at the customer that sat waiting in the chair that could easily have been a throne elsewhere. The human's lips pulled into a tight smile and nodded gently in understanding as Notila's palms, still pressed together, fell and pointed at the human.
"So why do you torture me so and ask to have everything lopped off every time?!" The taurian demanded with a serious tone, 'almost' glaring at the customer.
"It's what I want?" Replied the human dumbly. Notila's mind crashed to a desktop before rebooting causing him to stutter in his response, his fists clenched immediately.
"Bu- You- It-" The taurian had to physically stop himself from allowing his now outstretched hands from throttling the beligerant alien. "Fine. You want to be shaved? We'll shave you." The taurian snapped, waving a dismissive hand above his head as if throwing the idea of anything else away. Having a small tantrum from being denied, Notila put away his tools and went to get his clippers, almost unused except for when the human arrived.
"You know shaving is seen as sickness or punishment right?" The taurian called back, grabbing the clippers from the drawer and sneering at them before stomping back in a display almost never seen in male taurians. They were meant to be grace, untouched by the world around them. But Notila had been denied his passion in his own shop one too many times.
In his defence, the human was not unaware of the taurian's distress, but knew that he couldn't be bothered to keep up with whatever design the exuberent taurian gave him.
"I didn't... but... Look... If you were to-" Sputtered the human, suddenly acutely aware something was wrong. His words however, sharked hope within the taurian's breast.
"Yes?!" Notila replied, practically running back over to his customer, and swinging himself around the back of the chair and landing against the counter the human was sat infront of. This was the furthest he had ever got with the fleshy alien; was he about to agree!?
"I'm not going to be able to keep up with whatever you do. It would look like a great hairstyle, but then tomorrow it would just be back to my usual messy style. I don't want to disappoint you by wearing it wrong." Explained the human carefully, trying to articulate the issue.
Notila took a breath, and hesitated before he answered with a calm and steady tone.
"So it's not that you're allergic to fashion?" He asked.
"No, I'm just lazy." Admitted the human.
"My dear, lazy I can deal with. You ever met my kind's 'other half'?" Grinned the taurian, merely mentioning the ladette ladies of his own species.
"So you wont care if I don't keep it up?" Questioned the man, unsure where this was going. If fiddling with his hair made the hornless flamboyant bull happy; why wouldn't he let him?
"Oh, I absolutely will. It would be like throwing mud at a painting the day after it was finished." Admitted Notila.
"Oh." The wind being stolen from the human's sails. "Then-"
"I will come to yours each morning and personally complete your hair." Interjected the alien with a sharp, toothy grin.
"Wha-" The human started, but lost his voice, mouth opening and closing like a fish on dry land.
"Let me style your hair, let me tame these beautifully long strands into art and I will make the effort to come to you any day you plan to be seen in public. If, by the time of your next haircut, you want to go back?" A casual shrug, foreign to the taurian normally, but he was appealing to the human at this moment; manners be damned.
"Then I shall never mention it again and will live my remaining days happy that I was able to show you your potential at least once."
The pair were sat in silence for a time, the taurian perfectly still, his many dangling bits of jewellery not even 'tinkling' together he was so still. Until he decided to push it just a bit further.
"After all, I can bring a squidgit to the water, but I cannot force it to drink." He finished with a grin, then showed his hands.
In his left; shearers.
In his right; scissors.
The human sighed and gave a flat smile again.
"I am a blank canvas. I trust you."
-- 0 --
When the human turned his head from one side to the other, he had to admit; he would have never picked this.
A mohawk, His sides were still shaved, but with intricate patterns and strange shapes gently sculped into his hair line. Not only that, but the dye that Notilas had used was special. As and when heat was applied; it would change colours gradually. The man had been shocked when Notilas had started using a hairdryer to dry off his hair and watched in the mirror how it went from a deep purple, to blue, to yellow, to red. The taurian was of course, grinning from ear to ear the entire time. Even the man's beard had not been safe from Notila's ministrations as swooping curls had been finely shaved into it using the very edge of a scalpel.
As the human stood from the chair, and looked at himself in the mirror, inspecting the hair and hairline, but also leaning in and running the tips of his fingers over the swirls in his beard; he liked how it felt, even if it was rather loud compared to his usual fare.
As the human straightened, his usual slouch; didn't suit the bold and powerful style.
Briefly frowning, the man straightened. His spine clicked as he pulled his shoulders back.
So long had the man spent trying to get by, he'd attempted to hide himself in plain sight. But the powerful symbol he now wore needed, or rather demanded attention.
Turning and checking himself in the full-length mirror, the human felt... seen.
"Huh..." He murmured.
"My dear human... If you had merely said it was a lack of habit, I would have offered this when you had first arrived. You deserve to be seen. I'm not ignorant to you or your people's plight. It is your, and your kind's duty to bellow and bleat against the crowd now. To be seen. Heard. If nothing else remembered."
The human smirked, still getting used to standing tall.
"Maybe you're right..."
"Of course I am. Look at me! I'm the great Notilas!"
WolvensStories
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I’ve been searching everywhere for some confirmation of a TV show or live action segment I recall watching as a kid at my school in the early 2000s. The show/clip I recall included a woman of very short stature who seemed to be some kind of elf or fairy. She was dressed in a green outfit very similar to Peter Pan’s, without the red feather. She may have been blonde, but I recall her hair being very short. Almost like a boy’s haircut. The quality of the clip was extremely poor, even as a kid I remember thinking the quality was ridiculously grainy. It may have just been the school’s copy of the DVD/VHS tape however. The colors were overly saturated, and the whole vibe of the costuming and set design was very whimsical and fun. I can remember the small elf lady talking about height and taking measurements I think. Maybe she measured herself with apples? This is all I can really recall. I’d love to figure out what this show is.