you misspelled “thorough” in your bio
I know, I grew attached to the typo.
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you misspelled “thorough” in your bio
I know, I grew attached to the typo.

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a couple i've been obsessed with for the past year
Every Website right now: Give us a scan of your driver's license or be banished. It's for safety.
Every Website for the last 10 years: Oopsies we had another massive data breach! Tee-hee!
I was reading extracts of ancient helenic texts (as one does) and found this quote among one description of Athena's birth:
"Hephaistos seems at a loss to know by what gift he may gain the favour of the goddess; for his lure is spent in advance because her armour was born with her."
I first found it humorous, the image of the blacksmith stressing because his new crush already had an armour and he didn't know what else to gift a woman. But then I reflected a bit more on it, in a way I have not in a while.
In the texts, Haephestus is given Aphrodite as wife after releasing Hera from the binding he put her in (an act of rightful revenge after she casted him away duento his appearance), which leads to an extremely unhappy marriage, with her almost immediately taking Ares as a lover and Haephestus divorcing her. Mind, Aphrodite had willingly accepted to marry whomever could break Hera's binding, this was not something she was forced to do.
Then there was Athena. Haephestus loved her from the moment he met her. After leaving Aphrodite, he asks Athena to marry him, begs her for her love. He refuses him, but creates a temple for him in Athens, for him to be revered just as her. He follows her there, and after another refusal, he tries to force himself onto her.
Please, mind the time and the place, matters of concent were primitive as humans were, so, with care not to sin of leniency, we can read the event without the vitriol such act would elicit today.
With that in mind, I did not see his action as one born from anger, as a man outraged from being rejected. Haephestus' wrath in other stories has almost always stemmed from rejection: Hera tossed him off a cliff due to being ugly, Aphrodite cheated on him not even a fortnight after their wedding, he is a man who despises rejection. But mind the manner: He is no Poseidon, he does not make the volcanoes explode, or arm an army to march and fight for him; he instead crafts, the one thing which gives him power. For Hera, a throne which binds her permanently, for Aphrodite and Ares as golden net which traps them for all to witness their affair.
I do not read his attack on Athena as anger. I read it as desperation. There were no artifacts, no magical binding to render the goddess defenseless, for he did not hate Athena, not even resent her. But, when the goddess of love, who loves freely and openly, cannot bear to rest by his side, and then the goddess of wisdom, who does not choose men lightly if ever, but sees people for worth beyond the surface, says she can respect him but never love him... then what does that leave him with?
After this event there are no further stories of the two gods toghether (that I know of), and it makes sense with the reading I made. Haephestus does not hate Athena, but one act of frustration is one too may, and moves on. It's sad, it's a god who was never afforded fair treatment by anyone and that wounded him deeply, to the point hurting others himself.
Típico de belgas malinois
#what if we gave a german shepherd meth? (via @madtomedgar)

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A moment I thought I was drawing a Lalafell.
ok I endured it. now what!!!!!!!!!
I think one of my biggest criticisms of New Vegas is how the ncr isn’t really ever portrayed as “the bad guys” in any meaningful sense and the fact most of the military members you meet go along with the stereotype that the us military they’re emulating really filled with our best and brightest with a few bad apples. I think the way the game treats the Great Khans and the Bitter Springs Massacre is pretty indicative of this. New Vegas wants you to feel bad for the soliders who did it but not the khans who suffered it cause “they had it coming.” Plus almost all the khans you meet are drug runners and wannabe mercs who are allied with the nation of rapist slavers. Meanwhile the few good khans you meet are either enlisted in the ncr military or fucking Jerry the Punk who can leave the khans to join the only unambiguously good faction in the game. Very weird read from the doylist perspective especially khans aren’t inherently hostile to the player
it’s kind of a similar problem to the powder gangers, who could’ve added more nuance to the darker side of the ncr but they’re basically little more than crooks turned bandits that nobody in their right mind would want to help out since it means dooming the friendly town that took you in. I get the whole point of the powdergangers vs goodsprings conflict is to introduce early to the player the idea of picking a faction (a major story telling mechanic in the larger game) but unless you’re doing a evil playthrough why would you ever choose the one note powdergangers? It’s the same issue with the legion’s writing and lack of presence when it comes to the settlements and npcs.
I agree, but I think it serves a purpose nontheless. They are technically good but are not great, and that lukewarmness makes them both tolerable and unlikeable for most people. It makes it easier to play as an independent or rebelious character by antagonizing them from the get go while also hunting down the Powder Gangers. And later, because you have the Followers for an unambiguously faction to side, or the Legion for an evil one, you still get a to flavor the "neutral alignment".
Surprise! You’ve been Isekai’d into a D&D World… but it’s specifically a 3.5 Edition D&D world and due to a weird Glitch in the system you have been assigned not just a Base Class, but also one of that edition’s weird and wacky Prestige Class as well! Spin this wheel to see what you got!
(I added a short little summary for each Class explaining the basic gist of it. Although obviously you can also look them up to get more detailed info)
So…how are you feeling?
HELL YEAH THIS IS THE BEST THING THAT EVER HAPPENED TO ME
This class is perfect for me! (complimentary)
This is pretty cool!
Not bad but… could be better
Some parts of this sounds GREAT and some sound TERRIBLE
I’m pretty sure I’m gonna die but at least I’ll be cool as hell until then
Well, I’m gonna hate being this Class but at least I’m gonna survive
I feel utterly indifferent about my Class
This class is perfect for me… (derogatory)
This isn’t good for me, but… could be worse
Yeah, this sucks
OH MY GOD THIS IS HORRIBLE I AM GONNA BE MISERABLE AND THAN I’LL DIE
"time heals all wounds" WRONG. time is chasing me with a knife
Time can be the most unforgiving or the most indulgent thing in the entire world.

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*drops by tumblr after some months*
*checks mutuals' accounts*
"Yep, everyone still alive. Great!"
*Leaves again*
I was reading through some posts regarding the nature of divinity and saw the classic "you don't care about ants, why would a deity care about you?" argument, and it bothers me to no end.
Yes, we dont care about ants as equals to us, but ants don't care about each other either. They do not mourn their deas, do not connect to a partner individually, they act on the most basic chemical function.
But as you go up, you see the most complex organisms innevitably develop more complex connections: elefants care for their sick, crows cooperate to help a single memeber of the murder, humans will plunder to the depths of the deepest cave to save trapped young kids who they have never even met.
Why is it so easy for people to assume that mercy and love would stop growing just at our mortal stage?
I hate that people simplify the torture and deaths of the holy virgin martyrs of Rome into being ‘they chose death over sex and betraying god’. the point of these women isn’t just that they died for their faith, they died for their agency. they’re more than just ‘the first virgin saints’, they’re stories of fierce bravery, determination, and love of self. these women lived in deeply dangerous times to exist as women, and were the property of the men in their lives. they didn’t have the right to say no to marriage or sex. they didn’t have the right to decide their own fate. when they consecrated themselves to god, it was a choice, a choice that they made, willingly, of their own volition, and the fact that they clung to that, that consent, that power, that divine agency, in the face of extreme brutality and inhumanity is breathtaking. agatha, lucy, apollonia, agnes, and others aren’t ‘just’ women who chose god over sex. They’re women who chose themselves over agony through choosing god, and in doing so, became saints venerated by all
*watching women's volleyball world championships* "damn she's so tall" "oh damn she's so tall" "damn she's so tall" "damn she's so--"
University of Central Florida cheerleader flanked by two volleyball players
They about to crash at each other
They could pick them up.

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it’s called a riverbed for a reason. lie down in it
ok Ophelia
Alfonsinacore
I think I may never be sad ever again. There is a statue entitled "Farewell to Orpheus" on my college campus. It's been there since 1968, created by a Prof. Frederic Littman that use to work at the university. It sits in the middle of a fountain, and the fountain is often full of litter. I have taken it upon myself to clean the litter out when I see it (the skimmers only come by once a week at max). But because of my style of dress, this means that bystanders see a twenty-something on their hands and knees at the edge of the fountain, sleeves rolled up, trying not to splash dirty water on their slacks while their briefcase and suit coat sit nearby. This is fine, usually. But today was Saturday Market, which means the twenty or so people in the area suddenly became hundreds. So, obviously, somebody stopped to ask what I was doing. "This," I gestured at the statue, "is Eurydice. She was the wife of Orpheus, the greatest storyteller in Greece. And this litter is disrespectful." Then, on a whim, I squinted up at them. "Do you know the story of Orpheus and Eurydice?" "No," they replied, shifting slightly to sit.
"Would you like to?"
"Sure!"
So I told them. I told them the story as I know it- and I've had a bit of practice. Orpheus, child of a wishing star, favorite of the messenger god, who had a hard-working, wonderful wife, Eurydice; his harp that could lull beasts to passivity, coax song from nymphs, and move mountains before him; and the men who, while he dreamed and composed, came to steal Eurydice away. I told of how she ran, and the water splashed up on my clothes. But I didn't care. I told of how the adder in the field bit her heel, and she died. I told of the Underworld- how Orpheus charmed the riverman, pacified Cerberus with a lullaby, and melted the hearts of the wise judges. I laughed as I remarked how lucky he was that it was winter- for Persephone was moved by his song where Hades was not. She convinced Hades to let Orpheus prove he was worthy of taking Eurydice. I tugged my coat back on, and said how Orpheus had to play and sing all the way out of the Underworld, without ever looking back to see if his beloved wife followed. And I told how, when he stopped for breath, he thought he heard her stumble and fall, and turned to help her up- but it was too late. I told the story four times after that, to four different groups, each larger than the last. And I must have cast a glance at the statue, something that said "I'm sorry, I miss you--" because when I finished my second to last retelling, a young boy piped up, perhaps seven or eight, and asked me a question that has made my day, and potentially my life: "Are you Orpheus?" I told the tale of the grieving bard so well, so convincingly, that in the eyes of a child I was telling not a story, but a memory. And while I laughed in the moment, with everyone else, I wept with gratitude and joy when I came home. This is more than I deserve, and I think I may never be sad again.
Here is the aforementioned statue, by the way.
Chesterton spoke of how fairy tales are for children to learn wonder, to tap emotions from a time where humanity itself was still so naive it found wonder in rivers of water and apple trees.
Many people repeat with agreement of what he said, but not many do of how we adults should also tap onto the innocence of children, an innocence which hears in awe of great deeds and wont hesitate to assume you were the great one from the story. How many times do we dwell on our impotence, our pity, to the point we renounce to wonder, to ambition, to something greater than just face value?
To dwell on an anathem, to premeditate a shade, to run twice and then thrice an equation to see a result right; the humble grandeur of passion and dedication, of love more subtle than the one of the grand and timeless stories, but still timeless and grand nontheless. All alike, all unique. Sometimes, we let the idea of anonimity, of secrecy, diminish them, but Someone always sees beyond secrets, nothing is in vain.
"Do not sneer at the admiration of children. It is the only humans that matter to be admired by."