Hello! I am an adult from an era where we were taught not to put your personal info on the internet, so I’ll just say I am an adult. Finished college and everything. I also talk and write about 18+ subjects, so anyone younger than that please come back on your 18th birthday. 👋🏾 See you then.
I cover some tags, but not necessarily all of them. I try and warn if something is going to be upsetting or mature as well as when it’s a tag I use a lot.
Last bit, you can call me Midnight and I do not care about pronouns. Anon messaging is off and I block like a mf.
Adding to it because apparently people need to be told this!: if you reblog a post about antisemitism from me and add something antisemitic? Fuck off, you will be blocked.
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to anyone in the areas impacted by the wildfire smoke, my #1 biggest piece of advice as someone whos been dealing with wildfire smoke in the NW united states for years, is build yourself a Corsi-Rosenthal Cube
they perform as well as expensive HEPA air cleaners, and are comparatively VERY inexpensive. all you need is a box fan, 4 air filters, a piece of cardboard, and some duct tape!!!!
i think it took us maybe a half hour to put ours together, if that, and we replace the filters every 3 months. it's really made a HUGE difference, both when the air quality is bad, but also with our allergies
Also just a handy, DIY air filter in general, if a bit bulky. For a less bulky and cheaper (but also less effective) solution, you can simply tape one filter to the fan, cut a shroud if you'd like.
just FYI, this is quite literally what the climate scientists at my work who specialized in wildfire smoke impacts recommend. it works great, it's cheap to make, and it will make a noticeable impact on your air quality.
I've seen a bunch of "fandom etiquette" posts on my dash today and I'm going to say something that is maybe going to be unpopular but;
The absolutely pervasive mentality that unwanted criticism or critique shouldn't be given and should be ignored is why fans of color don't stay in fan spaces.
And I am not going to mince words here:
A lot of you are racist. A lot of your fan works are racist.
That might have been difficult to hear. And if it was, you should probably reflect on why that was.
"Fandom etiquette" has created a space where fans of color either bite our tongues and eventually leave or say something, get dogged on, and then eventually leave.
So much of "fandom etiquette" seems to be about insulating creatives from Feeling Bad and hostility to any kind of negative feedback is a pretty big contributor to why bigotry festers in these spaces.
#imo the potluck analogy applies- it would be rude to critique someone's icing technique at a potluck bc it wasn't as good as at the bakery #but if they had decorated their cupcakes w hate symbols it wouldn't be rude to tell them that's gross and gtfo #in fact it would be inappropriate to NOT say anything in that situation #or to complain that another guest who did point it out was 'ruining everyone's potluck' #and pointing out racism in fan works is 100% the second thing not the first! (via destructions-daughter)
There's also a tendency to conflate anyone who critiques general trends with bad faith randos. Like, there is fandom behavior that is 100% racist and should be talked about, but there are also trends of racist/sexist/ableist preferences.
If I say "I am uncomfortable with fandom's tendency to write trans men as feminine and submissive" I do not mean "I think every person who writes feminine submissive trans men should be chased with pitchforks". I don't even mean "any cis-person who writes feminine or submissive trans men should be chased with pitchforks". I mean "I would like writers to seriously think about why this is so common, why they write that, and if it fairly and genuinely engages with what it means to be a trans man, or if they just think it's hot when submissive people have vaginas and didn't want to write omegaverse of m/f".
Similarly, when people say "fandom is systemically less interested in black characters, less willing to give flat black characters rich fanon than flat white characters, and less interested in black characters in ships", the response is not to explain why you, personally, just happen to like popular white guy in that fanon. Your job is to look at yourself and ask if you tend to "just happen to be more interested" in the popular white guy across fandoms, be honest, and start unpacking that. Sometimes it's easier to love the flat character who's already getting 10,000 fics with headcanons and art and meta.
If somebody says "I wish there were more gluten free options at the potluck. I hate always showing up and not finding anything I can eat*", they are not asking you to throw your cake in the trash and weep. They do not want to hear your long speech about how actually this is your grandmother's recipe, and you've tried it with rice flour actually, but it just didn't work. You think about what you can do, and you listen to how they feel.
*The metaphor here not being that you can't read fic that isn't "good rep". The metaphor here is that it can be isolating to be in spaces where nobody is trying to make sure people like you are welcome.
drawing is all sbout becoming good at illustrating one character at 3/4 angle and nothing else no backgrounds no props no furniture no money no job no future
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Turbo toxic one-sided yuri? Baby technogod’s first crush? Ah well, either way, another sapphic is added to Vian’s problems. Thank you to @flashfictionfridayofficial and @itsmoonpeaches for the chance to intro the Renaskiĝi per kanto!
[Image ID: white text reading “# FFF365 Blood On Your Hands” on a background of marbled red.
End ID]
i’ll be looking in their eyes when they’re down
word count: 931
Content Warnings: injuries from torture, victim blaming, implicit threats of physical violence, one-sided crush from a minor on an adult, non-consensual kissing, one mention of killing an animal for food
—
If the Renaskiĝi per karno is Vian’s maker and the Renaskiĝi per fajro her protector, then the Renaskiĝi per kanto is her minder. The soft voice in Vian’s childhood cooing in praise when she completed a dexterity task, the smile greeting her at her cluster’s library as she grew, the ten thousand eyes watching and guiding her every movement.
“You upset Grandmother again,” says the voice of Vian’s memory, says the girl before her as the Renaskiĝi per kanto takes Vian’s broken hands in her own.
In the shadows of the Renaskiĝi per fajro’s private rooms, thin fingers stained with Vian’s blood flit over the newest break at the Renaskiĝi per fajro’s hands, turning the fresh seventh fracture until a hiss escapes Vian’s mouth.
“Why do you keep upsetting her?” asks the Renaskiĝi per kanto, curious brown eyes holding Vian in a way that reminds her of her youth, when she was sent to learn where their meals come from and had to cut a calf’s throat.
“I think,” Vian says slowly, if the Renaskiĝi per kanto might listen to her where the Renaskiĝi per fajro and Renaskiĝi per karno refused, “we made a mistake. I want to fix it.”
“Oh?” The Renaskiĝi per kanto looks at her, the attention of two eyes that are ten thousand, flickering over every part of Vian, meeting her eyes directly.
“The projections for our food supplies—” Vian’s heart pounds, her words picking up as the Renaskiĝi per kanto only listens, doesn’t move to break another part of her “—look wrong. The crop repopulations aren’t increasing the way the city population is set to, the cloning system can’t keep up with the necessary caloric intake. I have to check, to see if I’m right.”
She’s written the numbers and the formulas down as much as she can, as much she remembers, in-between creating and failing the cycle of meal system the Renaskiĝi per fajro requires, the attempts to be more trouble than she’s worth. But those moments are hardly on the scale she needs. And she misses her recipe books, their silver-lined memory paper holding years worth of her calculations and thoughts.
The Renaskiĝi per kanto hums in thought and it is musical—and strange paired with a face only 17, years away from reaching the age of majority—her fingers still playing over Vian’s.
“Yes, I know,” the Renaskiĝi per kanto sighs and it sounds like all the sorrow in the world.
Vian would be sorry to have upset her, would apologize if it wasn’t for the words the Renaskiĝi per kanto said. “You…know?”
The perfect bow of the Renaskiĝi per kanto’s mouth bends as she purses her lips. “Gepa and his scientists have been trying to understand it, why this appears to be the system’s limit. Grandmother says civilizations have cycles. She says this might simply mark the end of ours.”
“Renaskiĝi per kanto,” Vian says, carefully with her fingers still in the Renaskiĝi per kanto’s grasp, at the chance that she won’t be forced to let the city’s future starve, “I could help. If you tell your grandmother—” the strange word feels awful, viscous, in Vian’s mouth “—to let me go. Please, I could, we could fix this, change our supply lines if that’s what we need, there are other cities we could ask for he—”
Her words choke off as the Renaskiĝi per kanto focuses on one of Vian’s few unbroken fingers. It isn’t bent or pressed or broken, only held, but the act steals Vian’s voice away all the same. The Renaskiĝi per kanto, taller than most of the fivefold, stands over her, face placid and eyes so bright.
Nothing changes except for Vian’s breaths coming faster and harsher, an apology locked inside of her throat because she won’t apologize. She could fix this if they would just let her. Or she would spend the rest of her life trying if it would keep anyone made after her from having less to save themselves.
The Renaskiĝi per kanto nods. She wipes her bloodied fingers clean on Vian’s palms. “Not yet.”
The words aren’t the same as denying Vian outright, which is more than anyone else has done. “Plej nova menso, when?”
The Renaskiĝi per kanto bends down to press her lips against the side of Vian’s mouth, briefly, wet. Vian’s stomach turns with the brush of eyelashes against her cheek.
“Potenca renaskiĝo per kanto,” Vian says, feeling the echo of thin hands on her finger and the wetness of the kiss. The Renaskiĝi per kanto is the only one who’s listened. “The—”
“Not yet,” the Renaskiĝi per kanto repeats. “Will you misbehave again?”
Vian shakes her head, thinking of the heat of her minder’s hands holding her finger. A frown tips the Renaskiĝi per kanto’s face for a moment and then it’s gone as quickly as the Renaskiĝi per kanto pulls away.
Vian is left in the shadows of the room, watching the color of the Renaskiĝi per kanto’s skirts fade with her as she leaves. As she is allowed to leave where Vian is not.
The Renaskiĝi per kanto’s back is to Vian as she stands at one of the many doorways Vian isn’t allowed to cross and Vian still feels her eyes. “Does Grandmother send a nurse for you?”
“By the end of the day,” Vian says. Maybe the Renaskiĝi per kanto’s…affection will send one sooner, allow a nurse to set at least one of her fingers properly.
“Oh,” says the Renaskiĝi per kanto, voice musical and perfect, thin fingers tangled in the fabric of her skirts. “Then I leave it to her.”
The fastest way to accomplish The Project is to cease being afraid of The Project. The Project cannot maim you. The Project cannot kill you. The Project is more afraid of you than you are of it. It is okay if The Project turns out differently from how it was in your head, and it is okay if it has flaws. You are capable of engaging with The Project.
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It probably is kind of fun to be a parent bird and find big fat bugs to put in your child’s goalpost mouth. And the more you do it the larger your baby gets, which shows your progress. Mine is reaally big, think I’m going to get a high score this time. It has a unique skin too, I’ve never even seen this one before. Has anyone gotten that one, dark brown and white belly with stripes? It’s not even in my Wrenpedia, it has to be a really special unlock
idk I just think it's funny when you say some TERF shit you insist isn't TERF shit and then you look at the notes and it's like
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the truth is the most discourse poisoned weirdos among us are not even on tumblr at all, they're walking around the physical world acting like normal people until their sleeper activation topic comes up.
when I was in undergrad I had this professor who spontaneously decided in the middle of a class on, as far as I could tell, a completely unrelated topic to go on a bizarre tirade about how human pregnancies are actually 10 months long and saying it's 9 months is a patriarchal attempt to minimise women's suffering. she very confidently justified this by explaining that there are four weeks in a month, so 40 weeks is 10 months.
when someone pointed out that a month (except February) is actually four weeks and two to three days, and that 40 weeks (280 days) is a lot closer to 9 months (275 days) than it is to 10 months (305 days), she told him to stop mansplaining.
then a girl pointed out that the actual length of a typical human pregnancy isn't even 40 weeks, it's 38. I think we all collectively blacked out after that
