inside your body is PITCH BLACK your cells do all of that in the DARK
self care is swallowing lit matches every 5 minutes so that ur cells can see whatever the fuck they’re doing in there
we're not kids anymore.
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@benjaminrabbit
inside your body is PITCH BLACK your cells do all of that in the DARK
self care is swallowing lit matches every 5 minutes so that ur cells can see whatever the fuck they’re doing in there

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You make soup in a big bowl. You serve it in a smaller bowl. And then you convey it, using a spoon, to your mouth. But what is the spoon? Simply a smaller bowl still
Horse figure of the day: Baccarat Trojan Horse
I also think that the strength gap is at least partially manufactured women would in fact be stronger overall if little girls were encouraged to do physically taxing games and activities and eat their fill while they’re growing vs having to constantly diet and be sedentary indoors (or god forbid do intense cardio while under-eating). The amount of adult women honestly afraid to lift weights bc they think they’ll get bulky as though bulking isn’t a full time job that athletes have to spend all their time on and anyone on earth gets shredded from just using their adult muscles for their intended purpose, girl your bone density 🥀
if you say women are intentionally nerfed from birth in 2026 people look at you like you’re insane and start condescendingly telling you about how women are just better at different things (but not during their periods haha) but this was a completely basic feminist talking point I grew up with like “girls can do it too! [shot of little girls climbing and running with boys]” nickelodeon commercial tier base level I hate it how is everyone suddenly dumber than the average 7 year old

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More than "here in the Southern Hemisphere we have inverted seasons :)" thing, which is TECHNICALLY true, I would go a step further and encourage to think about that "much of the world does not exactly has a spring-summer-fall-winter season sequence as they show in cartoons"
I will scream about this to anyone who listens forever. AUSTRALIA DOES NOT HAVE "ENGLISH SEASONS BUT BACKWARDS" and the insistence that it does creates a massive layer of alienation from the natural world.
I never really realised how much difference it makes until I went to England and realised that here the change of seasons is an obvious, visible, physical change in the world. Like, everything REALLY IS orange and foggy in autumn! In spring there are flowers EVERYWHERE, so much more than any other season, and the trees really do have all blossom and no leaves. Even if it doesn't snow, in winter there's frost all the time and the trees are bare and the sky is visibly greyer all the time. You don't need to be told "this date is the first day of spring", you can SEE IT (although this is getting way messier and less precise due to climate change).
By contrast, most places in Australia the seasons we're taught feel like arbitrary categories - and is it any surprise considering they're colonial constructs? Orange-leaved autumn and blossom-covered spring is a cartoon stereotype with no relevance on a continent where ALL NATIVE TREES ARE EVERGREEN!! Snowy winters are a joke in the desert, and even sunny summers don't ring particularly true considering that much of the country is in the tropics, where summer means monsoons - not that I've ever seen the concept that WE HAVE A MONSOON SEASON taught at an Australian school.
Most Indigenous nations around Australia had six or more seasons, revolving around wet and dry times as much as hot and cold, and marked by the appearances of certain native animals and flowers. Schools need to start teaching the real seasons, and explaining that climate cycles are too complex to generalise globally, or else we will keep raising generations who view the natural world as hostile and unpredictable and climate predictions as generally irrelevent and frequently wrong - and I'm sure I don't need to spell out why that's a problem in the era of climate crisis.
i want to add that 40% of the world's population lives in the tropics, and the 4 season model just doesn't make much sense for a lot of places in there. usually it's just the wet season/monsoon season and the dry season. it's often hot year round.
the 4 season model as you and i know it is a european invention, though 4 season models aren't unique to europe! most notably china has the same type of season subdivision.
in general the way humans define seasons is largely subjective and varies across cultures. the one you were taught is not at all universal!
The way that most of Conan Doyle’s Sherlock Holmes stories’ most horrible villains are rich dudes that are abusive to women, in a time such as the 1880’s, compels me.
There’s a whole subset of Sherlock Holmes stories that could be labeled Asshole Guys Try to Control Women’s Money.
Yup, there’s a huge number of times where Sherlock Holmes is the ONLY person to take a young woman’s complaint or worry seriously and finds out someone is up to some serious evil. Holmes also shows a lot of compassion and empathy with the victims over and over again. (This is why I find “Secretly a woman” or “Trans” Holmes headcanons much more convincing than “sociopath” Holmes.)
I am never going to shut up about how much I specifically love The Adventure of The Copper Beeches because it is literally Sherlock Holmes listening to a young lady he does not know except as a potential client, agreeing with her that a potential job she has interviewed for that she thinks is SUPER SKETCHY is, indeed, sketchy as fuck and when she says she’s probably gonna take the job anyways because the money is good and she needs it going “OKAY I GUESS but for the love of god please write to us so we know you’re okay we will literally drop everything and jump on a train if you want us to”.
The job turns out to indeed be sketchy as fuck, she writes to them, Holmes and Watson drop everything and jump on a train when she asks them to. I read this story for the first time when I was twelve and it made a HUGE impression.
This is also the basis for a lot of speculation about Holmes’ family life. The idea that he has been a victim of abuse, or his mother was abused (or even murdered by his father.) There’s definitely SOMETHING that makes him very aware of how dangerous isolated families can be, and the dark things that can happen behind closed doors. Plus, of course, the motivation to devote himself to stopping crime. And yes, so much of it is of the personal type.
dude see this is one aspect of the original books i NEVER understand why modern remakes (cough cough) don’t go all in on. Like, in the 21th c we HAVE all the dumb forensic shit that made Victorian Holmes stand out, but we STILL DON’T HAVE uh….you know, compassion for women and minorities, or the willingness to believe them, adequate community support for domestic violence or hate crimes, etc. etc. which you’d think is exactly where a renegade consulting detective would come in handy. A good modern day Sherlock Holmes remake, instead of trying to convince us that Holmes is some super genius for being better than fingerprint analysis or whatever, could have him just be…a good person who helps out people the police can’t and won’t help. There you go. That’s how to write a relevant modern Holmes.
One thing that annoys me is how much the BBC version of Sherlock (and the fandom around it) focus on police cases or cold cases. In the stories, Holmes’ bread and butter cases had fuck-all to do with the police and in a few stories, he actively works around/against them, or outright lies to them. Of the many, many things I wish that show had done differently, this is one is particularly obnoxious since it’s such a gimme.
There were very few actual murder cases in the Canon, and Holmes handled them either one of two ways:
Option one: The murder victim was innocent while the killer was an abusive bastard, see Speckled Band. Conclusion, arrest and have the killer charged (Or in the case of Speckled Band, indirectly murder him yourself then shrug and go home)
Option two: The victim was murdered to protect someone that the victim was abusing, or for vengeance, see Boscombe Valley, Devil’s Foot, Abbey Grange. Conclusion, Oops, I don’t know who the killer is, I am suddenly incompetent, oh look a pheasant.
#my favorite murder in holmes canon#is when they straight up witness a lady murder her blackmailer#do nothing except destroy his other blackmail material#and then straight up lie to lestrade about it#sherlock holmes#more of this in modern adaptations pls (via @cactusspatz )
Let’s not forget the time Holmes helps a young woman who’s being catfished by her own stepfather to steal her inheritance, and when the villain sneers that the law can’t touch him, Holmes grabs a horsewhip out of sheerest chivalry.
So, the most canon-accurate iteration of Sherlock Holmes in the last few decades is actually Benoit Blanc….
I think it’s also important to note, and complicates our ideas about what the highly patriarchal/misogynistic society of 19th century England looked like, that these stories SOLD
they were POPULAR
the Victorians LIKED reading about women who won out over shitty men in their lives, even when that plotline reaffirmed a woman’s power and agency or put an active sexist in his place (ie Irene Adler besting Holmes)
which is fascinating in light of. you know. [gestures broadly at all of Victorian gender dynamics, laws, etc.]
So yes, Benoit Blanc is the best modern Sherlock.
rocky can and does just sit on the bed next to grace too. however this has received complaints such as 'Rocky stop moving around, I'm trying to sleep.'
I see your “Rocky swears like a sailor but only in pitches humans can’t hear/refuses to teach Grace what those words mean” and raise you “Rocky swears like a sailor and now has to explain to Grace that ‘bad bad bad’ isn’t actually a sequence you play on your Eridian speech piano in polite company.”
Grace is both horrified and amused to realise that a more accurate translation for what Rocky’s been saying is “shit shit shit”.
Curious pebble (2/?)
Part 1

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Rocky's foolproof prank 🪨😈
- based on this by @stealthetrees
k but imagine Rocky wanting to learn about how humans became the apex predators of their planet so he has Grace “hunt” him in the biodome as an experiment and during it he thinks Grace isn’t trying or taking it seriously which is bad bad bad because this is for research purposes
only for Rocky to get more and more tired as the experiment goes on just to realize that Grace isn’t which makes him panic so he puts as much distance as he can between them and finds a (hopefully) safe spot to sleep and when he wakes up the human is crouching over him like “got youuu” and Rocky has never shrieked so damn loud before in his life
sooo this inspired me and then prev's tags did too:
so there's a mini fic under the cut I smashed out in like an hour. kinda low effort but whatever. might keep it going on ao3 with more little experiments
My supervisor (experimentally, and while warning me ahead of time so i could be prepared to fix it) tried to use CoPilot in PowerPoint to replace our images with CoPilot graphs for better visuals and I am fascinated.
It increased our error rate while reducing the overall ticket count by two. And redistributed numbers.
It smoothed out our data trend, erasing the actually important-to-report information (that big dip and increase is important):
It erased my security and networking practices and came up with resubmitted tickets out of nowhere and shows an overall downward trend in ticket counts when only one of the five categories is actually trending down.
On another slide it also changed the status of a device from "attention needed" to "healthy," and on yet another slide it removed the captions that I'd grouped with a set of images.
This is your reminder that the robots are stupid and if you work with them you need to check their work.
Some of the stuff it did really well, and genuinely looks better and the numbers were copied correctly. But some of it is resubmitted tickets.
Imagine a Ghost!Jaskier that was killed by Torque in the first episode, who lost consciousness tied to Geralt and never woke up. Filavandrel, feeling bad for the young man, offers his lute up to the funeral pyre the witcher makes, setting it next to the too pale, too still body.
It’s as pointless a sacrifice as it was a death, but Geralt still nods his head to the elf as he lights the wood.
And then, well, Geralt wakes the next day to see a familiar bard with a familiar lute and promptly tries to stab the supposed doppler. Which might have worked better if Jaskier actually was a doppler, or was, you know, corporeal.
Geralt’s read about ghosts, of course, and when he hears that the young bard’s unfulfilled business is his dream to perform in all 26 countries, he reluctantly allows the undead bard to travel with him on his journeys. It’s not like he can really stop the man, anyways, seeing as he can make himself invisible and travel without rest.
(And maybe he feels a little guilty, that he got this man—really more of a boy—killed because he let Jaskier follow him, and there’s nothing else he can do to fix this, he can’t bring him back—)
Jaskier seems to get power from performing, they discover, which allows the bard to keep a solid body, eat, drink, and even sleep if he so desires. Which leads to Geralt being forcefully serenaded constantly, unwilling audience or not, so that the bard can “have the energy to make himself a new doublet, really darling, this style is so last season!”
Though neither mention it, both keep track of the countries that they pass through as Jaskier performs. Years pass, until the only country left on Jaskier’s list is Nilfgaard proper. But Geralt doesn’t say anything when Jaskier mentions craving some Toussaint wine, beyond grunting and saying the province did usually have a problem with drowners this time of year.
(And Geralt knows it is selfish, to keep the bard here for his own sake, and Jaskier knows it is selfish, to stay when Geralt only lets him do so out of guilt, so both men stew in their self-recrimination, let it fester, until—)
On the mountain, Geralt watches Jaskier disappear for the first time in years, and resolutely does not think about never being able to see him again. He locks all thoughts of the bard into a chest in the back of his mind, and goes to find his Child Surprise.
Wounded from a hunt with a bruxae, he can’t fight back properly when the soldiers come. He listens to the screams Ciri makes as they slap dimeritium cuffs on them both, and knows they will haunt his nightmares until the day he dies.
(And when he sleeps, it is her voice but the body of a too pale man that never got the chance to grow old, and Geralt wakes wishing the extra Trials had eliminated his need to sleep completely.)
They’re in the dungeon in Nilfgaard, when Geralt is woken by the sound of keys clanging, Jaskier fading into and out of view in front of him. It seems he used up all his energy to let them free, looking to be in worse shape than Geralt’s seen him since the day he appeared all those years ago.
And then they’re running down the halls, and the guards have caught on, and they’re not going to make it out, there’s nothing that Geralt can do—
(“Say hello to Roach for me, Geralt,” Jaskier says, his voice possessing an echoey, wind-like quality as he pulls his lute to his front, a faint smile on his face.
And Geralt lunges for him, tries to grab the blasted instrument, but his hand goes through Jaskier as the bard backs away, the beginning notes of the song about his death already playing.
The witcher curses as he pulls Ciri in the opposite direction, because if he falls to his knees and weeps they will be caught, and it will be wasted. Jaskier’s sacrifice, his second death, will be for nothing—)
Ciri and Geralt are silent for the next several days, Geralt mourning his friend and Ciri mourning the playful bard who would visit her on her birthday week each winter.
And then, on the eighth day of travel, the pair wake to familiar singing, staring in shock at the bard petting Roach. Jaskier laughs as they tackle him, saying he’s happy to see them too, and they eat and walk and pretend for a day like they aren’t on the run from Nilfgaardian soldiers.
Ciri goes to sleep easily that night, and the witcher and bard watch over her, and it’s good. Not perfect, certainly, but good.
(“You can ask, you know,” Jaskier whispers, feeling the weight of golden eyes settle heavy on him.
“How…?”
“Guess there was a second part to that dream that even I didn’t know about.” The bard shrugged, giving the witcher a small smile.
“Or maybe…” the bard trailed off, seeming pensive.
“Hmm?”
Jaskier tilted his head, an unreadable expression on his face.
“Maybe I just didn’t realize that I had a new dream. A better one.” He said softly, letting his head fall to Geralt’s shoulder.
And the witcher froze, before carefully letting his own fall on top of Jaskier’s, processing the bard’s words.
“I’m…glad. That your new dream…” the witcher trailed off, pursing his lips, but relaxed when Jaskier let out a soft laugh.
“Me too, Geralt. Me too.”)
Didn't realize they made emergency thermal blankets for babies
It's scary to think about babies in an emergency but I guess it's a crazy world out there
Emergency baby
[Francisco de Goya]

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I do like Cullrian quite a bit but I feel like I don't give enough credit to how good Cullen and Dorian could be as weirdass friends. Like if Cullen was into dudes then he'd probably be into Dorian, he's his type for sure, but he's not so instead he and Dorian are just wildly invested in each others' lives in intensely platonic ways. Like if Cullen married and had children then he'd go all in on Dorian being their "uncle up in Tevinter" and maybe if they developed close relationships then he'd even slip sometimes and call Dorian one of their dads, and whoever Dorian ends up settling down with has to deal with a "You, Me And Steve" situation where Dorian is not in love with his best friend but his best friend does get to have opinions on their relationship and life choices. I just think it could be good for them both, Cullen having a flamboyant nerd bestie to tell him when he's leaning too hard on old Chantry logic and Dorian having a tragically straight and Fereldan bestie to tell him when he's being needlessly overcomplicated and Rich People Bullshit about something. Idk, weird Cullrian friendship ftw.
Imagine a Coraline!Au of the Witcher, where the Beldam is an almost extinct entity. Most of the witchers in Geralt’s generation have never heard of them, let alone seen them, due to many dying out because of targeting the most unhappy and traumatized children across the continent: witcher trainees.
To put it mildly, the mages and witcher trainers virtually annihilate the Beldams.
So it’s no great surprise that Geralt doesn’t recognize the doll that Ciri has with her when he meets her for the first time. His medallion hums, but it’s a faint thing, and he doesn’t want to make her part from a beloved childhood object that brings her comfort when she has so little. Especially when he doesn’t know how to comfort her himself during tear-filled nights.
But then, a week after meeting Ciri, the pair stumble upon Jaskier in a tavern and apologies and rants and hugs are had once the bard is coaxed into a private room. Jaskier plasters on the brightest smile he has as he finally faces the little girl, Geralt’s Child Suprise, the wonderful—
The look on Jaskier’s face fractures as he sees the doll. He stares at it, the little creation with bright white hair and black pants and a brown shirt (and Geralt thought that was strange, had wondered why it hadn’t been a dress befitting a princess) and the button eyes.
Jaskier moves quicker than Geralt had thought possible, yanking the doll out of the girl’s hands and throwing it in the fire, heedless of her screams. Jaskier ignores the way Ciri pounds on his back, crying, grabs Geralt’s arm as he goes to pull the doll from the flames.
“Don’t, Geralt. We need to burn it, need to get far away from here, we need to—”
“It’s a doll, a child’s toy!” Geralt hisses, going to yank his arm back.
Except the bard doesn’t let go as he usually does, and while the witcher could force Jaskier away, the uncanny serious look on the bard’s face makes him pause.
“Look at it, Geralt.”
Geralt follows Jaskier’s finger, to where the doll is staring at them in the middle of the flames.
It takes him a moment to see what’s wrong.
To feel a chill crawling down his spine.
“Children grow up with bedtime stories of witchers that take naughty children in the middle of the night, never to be seen again.” Jaskier shakes his head as he starts packing up what little had been put out already. “They know children go missing, the ones no one wants, but they blame the wrong person because they never see who takes them.”
Geralt lets Jaskier drag them out of the room, both he and Ciri looking back one last time at the fireplace. At the doll that seems to look at them as they walk out the door.
At the doll that doesn’t burn.
“You never asked why it is I’m so against people calling you a monster, why I don’t fear you as everyone else does. I’m not sure I would have told you the truth if you’d asked, frankly, but you should know—”
Jaskier shuddered as they left the inn, inhaling sharply as he watched Ciri run ahead to tack up Roach.
“Witchers are nothing like her. You could never be like her.” The bard swallowed harshly, tracking the young girl’s movements. “I’ve searched for thirty-five years, trying to find someone who received one of those blasted dolls and lived to tell the tale.”
Geralt turned to look at Jaskier, a sick sort of understanding spreading across his face.
“And…?”
Jaskier frowned, seemingly lost in thought.
In memories.
After a moment, he shook himself violently, eyes like ice turning to face those of molten lava.
“And I will do everything in my power to make her the second to do so.”