A frustrating part of the mainstream vegan “love all animals and protect the environment” mindset is the fact that things need to die in real-life ecology all the time but deer hunting season makes icky feelings and carp culls aren’t cottagecore
The vegan “any animal death ever is morally wrong” mindset doesn’t hold up when:
We don’t have any of the large predators we used to (black bears, mountain lions, or gray wolves) but still retain large deer populations. If nothing is removing animals, they’ll quickly overload the carrying capacity of the environment and have massive losses to starvation and disease that can also pass on to livestock. Human hunters replace the large predators that our landscape can no longer support.
It’s kinder to euthanize an un-releasable hawk rather than try to find it a permanent home with humans. Wildlife rehabs have extremely limited space and resources and are usually run entirely on donated money and volunteer time. Only a few are large and stable enough to care for permanent residents long-term, and those spots are few and far between.
An invasive species poses a danger to threatened native wildlife. I will admit- Australian possums are adorable. But not in New Zealand, where they’re an invasive species that eats the eggs of ground-dwelling birds that previously had no such predators. The landowners I worked with replanting native bush, all native Maori, had no qualms about setting the dogs on them.
I don’t know how to end this except. Sometimes things just gotta die and acting otherwise just isn’t a realistic expectation.
Highlights from the notes over the past 6 months include a lot of angry vegans saying “you’re blowing things out of proportion, no vegans actually think like this!” and a lot of people who work in conservation and education saying “Every day. I have to fight people who think like this.”
As a bonus this post was originally inspired by the vegan who called me racist for saying we should kill invasive species
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something I really enjoy is that I've now seen like 4 or 5 variations of roughly this same video, all slightly different in their angles and timing while obviously being the exact same bunny and room, implying that this is a consistent and frequent behavior for this bunny instead of just a funny thing it did once that got caught on camera. I wish I could have as much raw unfiltered enthusiasm for anything as this little rabbit has for its dinnertime
upon reviewing the notes I'm changing my position. games must be <50GB. no more mandatory 8k uncompressed textures!!! I don't believe in 8k I think it's fake
to be clear games really ought to be around 20 gigs or less. but I think in the spirit of generosity and mercy we won't criminally prosecute the developers until the file sizes breaks 50
just looked it up. holy fuck. they did it by de-duplicating assets. I'm just. my jaw is on the floor. supposedly duplicating assets helps load times on HDDs but. holy fuck at what cost
it's worse than that: The Helldivers devs were told that duplicating assets would help HDD load times, but then they actually tested it and it had basically zero effect on load times!
So they had more than sextupled the size of their game by following industry standard practice that actually did basically nothing!
"Aro/Ace person gets given a love potion" story but instead of them being immune or whatever, it DOES work, and they realize IMMEDIATELY that they've been fed a love potion because this feeling is so wrong and foreign but everyone keeps laughing off the idea of it being a love potion because "they were probably just a late bloomer" or "no, you just finally found the right person!" and it's just a horror story about how no one believes them even though they know, they KNOW this isn't right and they can't stand it.
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AI slop prompters will never feel the exhilaration of drawing fanatically. Time becomes irrelevant. Your body morphs into just a device for devotion. You are devotion. Never blinking. Your heart beat might as well have never began, because you have become a machine for craft. You are every person before you that has ever touched pencil to paper. Your blood sings as you become a singularity. Never blinking. Never breathing. Never hearing. Eyes on paper, hand moving as if pushed and pulled by an unknown force. They will never understand the madness you feel when you enter a state where you do not starve, ache, or think. The moment you snap out of that haze, your hands covered in graphite and your stomach clawing at your insides for sustenance, that's the closest thing to divinity I have ever felt. I chase it even when my body deteriorates. I understand the weakness of my flesh and it does not deter me
I have ecstatic seizures that compell me to write for days. I have touched infinity and it's interesting to see how it seeps through the neural nets in my brain out my fingers onto the keys, and it's even interesting to see how that looks fed back through finely and intentionally tuned, trained, and modulated neural networks on my GPU. I'm better than you at knowing and appreciating what art is.
AI slop prompters like me actually draw too. Literally do know what you're talking about, and it does apply to any creative process. I know better than you cause I'm not an anxious reactionary snob who has decided to cling to the losing side of a battle between artists that has been won by "slop" every single time for all of history. You've told yourself a story about the skill ceiling of generative AI, and the value of the artistic process of using it, and I hope it's some small comfort to you. Keep losing.
peeling those sour rainbow gummy strips into long thin strings and putting them into cheap energy drink to create something im calling battery acid spaghetti will update once ive finished it
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You wrote about murder?? Murder is illegal?? You wrote about this dude killing someone and you didn't even say 'murder is bad' at the start of the book, wht wtf, wtf is wrong with you? I can't believe you condone murder, I can't believe you're pro murber, oh my fucking God don'ttalk to me when ou literally kill people, freak. I'm calling the cops, what the fuck, I'm shaking and crying.
Pairing: Colt Seavers x gn!Reader; Ryland Grace x gn!Reader
Summary: you find out your close friend and coteacher has a stuntman twin.
Words: 1.4k
Warnings: flirty Colt, jealous Ryland, brother banters, they/them pronouns used for reader
A/N: this idea was birthed from multiple tiktoks that suggest an au wherein colt and ryland are (sometimes estranged) twins. from the moment i saw the fall guy i have definitely been thinking of how he and ryland look so similar!! of course, credit for the au concept goes to the rightful owner, that of whom i do not actually know of but absolutely commend for this absolute masterpiece of an idea.
p.s. if anyone wants to be added to the taglist for any and all ryan gosling fics, just leave a comment and pls pls make sure your mentions are on😭
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“Ryland, have you turned in your re…port…?”
You enter Ryland’s classroom without a knock or a second thought, holding in your arms a copy of your monthly report. Your feet halt and your brows furrow curiously at the figure stood in front of the teacher’s desk. He was toying with “lava” when you caught him.
The figure turns to face you, startled at your sudden arrival. It’s Ryland, yet somehow, it isn’t? Something about him felt uncanny—unfamiliar.
Ryland wore a white tank top under a leather jacket with “Miami Vice Stunt Team” written on the back of it. With it, he wore light wash jeans, leather shoes, and a pair of sunglasses sat on his head instead of his usual metal rimmed prescription glasses.
Everything he wore screamed that either Ryland was going through an identity crisis, had a doppelganger, or was possessed. Even his usual stubble looked fuller, and darker, than usual, and his hair looked dyed rather than a natural blond—you scolded yourself for noticing even the tiniest discrepancies about your colleague.
“Ry…land?” You call again, uncertain if you should panic. He opened his mouth to respond when you hear another set of footsteps approach the classroom.
You instinctively turn, only to find Ryland. Your eyes widen while he calls your name, his hands resting on his hips. “Hey. Sorry, I was in the bathroom. What’s up?”
He seems to not notice the other presence in the room yet. That, or he’s okay with having a doppelganger. Ryland’s brows knit when he notices your gaze looking between him and the front of the room.
“Wh…?” He begins before following your eyes. His face falls just as his hands do. He begins walking with haste towards fake Ryland, who places “lava” back down and begins waving with a grin.
“What are you doing here?” He asks in a hushed tone between gritted teeth, though you can still hear him.
“You said I could come by anytime!” The fake Ryland exclaimed, still with a grin, and open arms.
“Not while I’m at work!”
“Come on, at least hug your brother. Don’t you miss me?” He places his hands on Ryland’s shoulders, then pauses. “Did you wash your hands?”
Ryland couldn’t help but scoff out a laugh, a smile appearing on his lips. “Stop it.”
He stretches out his arms to embrace his brother(…?), who taps his back twice in return before pulling away.
You hug the folder of your report to your chest as you slowly approach them. “What is going on?”
Ryland turns to you and rests his hands on his waist again, remembering that you have no clue of what is happening. He begins, “Right—”
“I’m so sorry. Where are my manners?” The other Ryland starts before the original can continue, holding out his hand as he approaches. “Colt Seavers, pleased to meet you.”
You take your report in one hand to shake his hand and absentmindedly introduce yourself as well.
“He’s my twin,” Ryland points at Colt before his hand returns to his waist. Your brows furrow again.
“How…?”
“The last names?” Colt voices out your thoughts; it was probably something often questioned. “We were sort of “Parent Trapped.” Difference is, our parents just separated and decided their pride was more important than us having the same last name.”
“Okaaay,” You respond and nod slowly, then turn to Ryland with a pointed finger. “How come I didn’t know you had a twin?”
“We don’t really get together often, he’s always off in other countries with…what’s his name?”
“Tom Ryder.” Your eyes widen.
“The Tom Ryder?” He nods, gesturing towards himself.
“I’m his stuntman.”
“I thought he did his own stunts? I heard he’s a dick,” your thoughts spill out of your mouth before you can stop yourself.
“I…legally, I cannot comment on that,” Colt remarks while nodding his head with a snort. You can’t help but chuckle at his ‘subtle’ agreement.
Ryland forces a chuckle while glancing between the two of you before his gaze settles on his twin. “Go home, Colt.”
“Home is in LA,” he retorts. “We’re shooting in town, I got a day off since Tom won’t be doing stunts today. Decided since I have nothing else to do, I was gonna visit my little brother!”
Colt reaches for Ryland to ruffle his hair which the latter quickly evades.
“Well, unlike you, I have work to do.” Ryland fixes his hair before motioning towards the stacks of paper on his desk. “So, you can wait for me at the apartment or…go somewhere else.”
He grabs his bag and fishes around for his keys, tossing them to Colt.
“You sure you don’t want me to wait for you?” Colt twirled the key ring around his index finger before grasping the keys in his fist. “The thought of you cycling home makes me sad.”
Ryland flashed a brief, fake smile. “Thanks for the concern, but I’ll be fine.”
“Which…I forgot—” He takes the keys back to get the keys for his bicycle.
“No, I wasn’t concerned,” He corrects Ryland as he is given back the keys.
“I actually feel sad for you that you only have a bicycle.” Ryland’s mouth falls before he rolls his eyes and turns away.
Colt cocks his head towards you while pocketing the keys, “What about you, gorgeous?”
Ryland faces his twin again and closes his eyes as his palms come together, the tips of his fingers pointing towards him. “Please don’t flirt with my colleagues.”
“I’m good.” You nod with a smile as you absentmindedly respond to Ryland. You snap out of it, drop the dazed smile, and shake your head before turning to Colt. “I mean, I’m good, Mr Seavers. I have a car.”
He motions towards you and whips his head towards Ryland. “See how they have a car? Just let me buy you one, Ry.”
Ryland shakes his head profusely while Colt returns his attention to you. “And please, call me Colt. In fact—!”
He walks towards Ryland’s desk to grab a pen.
“What are you doing?” Ryland follows him as he grabs one of the pieces of paper from the desk. “No—Stop, that’s my lesson plan.”
Ryland scratches his head as Colt pauses from his writing, looking at his twin with a guilty look on his face before continuing to write. He folds the paper to only show what he wrote, placing down the pen before giving it to you.
“Just call me.” He winks before patting Ryland on the shoulder. You can tell how heavy his hand was by how Ryland winced. “I’ll see you at home, Grace-y!”
Colt walks past you to leave the classroom while your hand remains raised, holding the folded piece of paper with Colt’s number on it. Your gaze trails his movements until he is out of sight.
Ryland sighs, looking at the paper in your hands while you turn back to him. “Now I’m gonna have to reprint that.”
“Cute,” you mutter while Ryland walks towards the other side of his desk, arranging his papers. His head immediately tilts up to look at you.
“Our mom says I'm definitely cuter,” he says like a child seeking validation from an adult.
“Oh, for sure.” You can’t help the surprised upturn of your lips; you were talking about the nickname, but you didn’t have the heart to tell him.
“You don't have to call him, by the way. He's just like that sometimes,” he mutters as if unsure of what he was saying.
You shrug, ready to tease, slowly walking towards his desk while looking at the piece of paper.
“I don't know. I might, after I submit our reports,” you ponder before looking at him. “Which, speaking of, you've done, l assume?”
He begins to shake his head before he’s even thought about it. “No, I'm not done. I need to revise mine, could probably take a while. I also need to reprint that page.”
You follow his gaze and look at the paper in your hands before you slide it into your pocket.
“Okay.” You raise a brow and hide your bemused smile behind your folder. “I'll just submit mine first, then.”
You turn on your heel to leave the room.
“Sure. Could I, uh, borrow your phone?” You pivot to face him again at the odd request. “My phone's dead and I just need to make a call or...block a number.”
You pretend not to hear his last words as he mutter them under his breath. Your eyebrows raise as you bend slightly at the waist to get closer. “What was that?”
He waves a dismissive hand and turns back to his paper as if the matter meant little to him. “Nevermind. I'll just borrow Colt's. Block you on his cell.”
You purse your lips to hold back a chuckle as you turn to leave again, pretending not to hear him once again.
Happy disability pride month to everyone who suffers from disabilities of any kind, physical or mental, you guys are strong as hell and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise, you’re awesome (this totally isn’t being said by someone who may be biased since I have ptsd but it’s not any less true)
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" x femreader, including ryland grace, holland march & colt seavers. ★ " –> mostly sfw, fluff, all that lovely sweet stuff. only brief suggestive comments.
tw : drinking & (colt only) puking
RYLAND GRACE ★ :
ryland would never really drink back on earth except back in his good old college days. but now, sat on the ship with just the two of you, a spider/rock alien, and ilyukhina's vodka stashed on the ship, things had changed.
he's unfortunately a lightweight. he can't handle even a few gulps of the stuff, and in around half an hour tops, he's slurring his words and getting slightly incoherent. you had to explain to rocky the concept of getting drunk, and that grace was in no way getting hurt. (not completely, anyway.)
he was never exactly subtle with his crush that he had formed on you while sober, either; cheeks turning pink at the way your hand would brush his own while helping him, his eyes growing stuck to the way your lips curled into a pretty grin, or even the way he'd stammer and trip up on his own words in response to you out-nerding him, he was clueless to how much you knew. and you knew quite a lot.
but now? drunk?
take "obvious" and times it by ten. even rocky, the ALIEN, felt second-hand embarrassment for you. grace would clumsily find his hand trying to hold yours, his sweet blue eyes glued to yours, desperate for you to meet his gaze. you might have even heard him call you "gorr-juss..." (gorgeous) under his breath, all slurred and sweet.
he'd get quite cuddly the more sleepier the alcohol made him, too. very delicately trying to slide the palms of his hands over your waist and holding it, his cheeks flushed from a mix of the alcohol in his blood stream and how much his heart would beat in his chest.
at the end of the night, or whatever time in space had seemed to pass, he'd end up curled right beside you in a very gentle but clingy embrace, right into your side. his cheek would press down to your shoulder as his head lolls with sleep, and his scruffy, blonde locks gently carress your cheek.
you knew he'd feel extremely embarrassed in the morning. worth it.
HOLLAND MARCH ✿ :
holland is the drunk. of course you've seen him drunk. so many times, in fact, you're used to his calls on the telephone, at a dark time of night, his raspy and slurred coo speaking gently into your ear, pleading for your presence. you knew yourself how lonely he gets after drinking one too many, and you're his source of affection.
it's not exactly subtle with holland, either. he definitely adores you, and in the most clumsiest, stupidest way possible. he'd almost die doing something and end up staring at you lovingly at the end of it. he just loves you so much.
he'd call the phone, you picking the device from where it had mounted on the wall, starting to slowly fiddle with the coiled wire. he'd whisper something stupid, then something sweet, a few silly pet names slipping out like “doll,” “angel” or “sweetheart.” of course it'd make you blush, but you'd never verbally admit that to him. not when he's drunk like this, anyway.
he'd also maybe let a few lewd things slip, embarrassingly; ask you what you're wearing, or even bolder and ask what panties you're wearing underneath. you'd have to lightly scold him, but part of you wishes he was sober so you could indulge his comments. you knew he'd be a little too awkward to ask those things sober, though.
the night would always end in one of two ways:
one, you end up going over to his house and giving him that oh so needed affection, him staring up at you and giggling awkwardly as he talks your ear off, holding your arm or leg as a way to just touch you, before slowly finding himself falling asleep beside you on the couch,
or two, he'd end up somehow falling asleep on the phone. you'd notice his silence immediately as it being a sudden change from all that talking, and repeatedly ask if he was alright. in response? you'd get a big, loud, dorky snore.
you'd always regret hanging the phone up as he sleeps, but you knew he'd forget about it in the morning anyway.
COLT SEAVERS ♡ :
while colt is the type to get drunk, you never thought he'd be so... hammered. it's a party, and he had a shot too many as he stumbles towards you, a lazy, big grin plastered on that rugged face. you could only expect trouble from colt, as you have to hold his arm in your palm to prevent him from completely toppling over. when you ask if he's okay, he looks up lovingly and gives that stupid thumbs up he always does.
of course, you did have to help him into the bathroom to puke. as much as the blonde tries to flaunt how well he can take his liquor, he definitely can't hold it. you gently push hair from his sweaty forehead as he retches down into the toilet, groaning softly.
despite the fact his body is forcing him to vomit up into the toilet violently and disgustingly, the only thing his drunken brain can fully focus on is your sweet, soft fingers brushing through his hair. it felt so gentle.
his cheeks flushed, and it wasn't from the alcohol. once he was done puking, he wiped his mouth and swallowed thickly, avoiding your eyes. he was slightly embarrassed to be so vulnerable, puking like this, in front of you. he always wants to be cool, confident, risk taking in front of you, to impress you. not... this.
when your voice sounds, he looks up and finally meets your eyes. his admiration, even when still drunk, is obvious. he's watching you with a gaze that's fascinated and somewhat loving. the sudden intensity of it takes you off guard, an awkward smile reaching your face. “maybe we should go home?” you offered.
he just gave a nod. a brief nod. he doesn't really want to speak right now, so instead, his hands did the talking. right in front of that gross toilet, he just held your face in between his palms, still staring at you. part of you is very worried the alcohol will cause him to kiss you, but he doesn't. instead, he lets a small exhale out. a laugh. he knows your nervous. even when hammered, he can read you like a book.
the rest of the night, he just simply followed you, letting you take him home with a lazy grin and love in his eyes. surprisingly, he didn't do much talking. he was just taking in your beauty the whole time.
ask box is open for prompts! ~
let me know if you guys want a part two with other characters!!
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