Faerie Reader

Maybe we stress about fantasy worldbuilding too much. We’re like “oh we gotta know the rules of the magic system,” no you don’t. I don’t know the rules of our magic system. If Aragorn, son of Arathorn got hit by a truck that orcs and goblins were driving flintstone style, and he transmigrated into my living room, I would not be able to explain any of the technology around me. I have no idea how I’m making this post. Imagine the first caveman who was like “oh shit the wheel” and I’m nodding along with that cave man. I understand how the wheel can roll. This next sentence was supposed to be about how I can sort of grasp how landline telephones work, but then I thought about it and no I don’t. I am surrounded everyday by mystical forces.

No, for real. For most of human history we did shit like pressing a stylus into clay, and then we got papyrus (or paper itself, in China) and ink, but you had to write with a sharpened reed or feather or brush that ran out of ink so regularly that ALL OF CHINESE CALLIGRAPHY is designed around how to write your characters so you don’t run out of ink in an ugly spot, and even when we got fountain pens the ink was relatively thin and took so long to dry you literally had to purchase separate paper called “blotting paper,” the entire purpose of which was to remove excess ink so you didn’t have to wait eight million years for your ink to dry. And in addition, inkwell pens and fountain pens can be MESSY AS FUCK. A tipped-over inkwell is goodbye to everything on your desk, whatever you were working on, and possibly your clothes. Yes, all these forms of writing have their place, but holy hell are they a production and a half.

…and then like 130 years ago this dude figured out how to make a pen with ink sticky enough to not leak regularly but fluid enough to flow out of the pen, write on stuff that wasn’t paper, not require an inkwell or blotting paper, AND YOU CAN CARRY THIS MARVEL IN YOUR POCKET.

(Context for the last one: it’s a WWII era sign posted around the soldiers’ washroom mirror, warning them to never discuss military plans in places where civilians could hear them and report back to the enemy, e.g. in restaurants and pubs in the country. “Loose lips sink ships”.)

I also love these two, which I would place in the category of “You already fucked around, now you’re about to find out.”

Yes slips are a thing but that's beyond the point. It's not just about skirts, it's the fact that garments have lost any quality they used to have and it's only getting worse.

Also, telling people to just buy a slip??? We don't tell women to buy a purse if she don't have pockets on her jeans?? Slips are an additional cost we should not be shouldering. They are often expensive, not size inclusive and unlike a lining that's made SPECIFICALLY for the skirt it's sewn onto, a slip might be too long or too short or just not look right.

as someone pointed out in the tags even coats and other garments have started to be sewn without lining and the purpose of lining is more than to hide your underwear.

The purpose of a lining is to add to the comfort of the wearer; preserve the shape of a garment or add body to it; and conceal construction details and raw edges of fabric, thus giving a finished appearance to the inside of the garment. A neatly applied lining usually adds to a garment quality.

I own a wool coat from an Austrian company that no longer exists (thanks thrifting), and it is in impeccable state. It has no tears, not one pulled thread and the shape still holds despite it being probably around 80 years old. Meanwhile another coat I had bought recently at a store already has a gaping hole where the stitches started unraveling. this ISN'T NORMAL!

All the little pride dragons are up in the shop! I have them individually and as a repeating pattern! They make great gifts and are super cute especially on shirts and stickers.

You can check them out on my Threadless, Redbubble, and Teepublic. (Redbubble is the only one that has the repeating pattern)

In a small province there lived a prosperous family of trappers. They were a handsome family of tawny hair, white smiles, and an easy grace. Like a jewel among them was their youngest daughter, Lisbet. She was the best at striking a bargain, owing to her dimples and her keen mind, and so it was she who most often minded their booth. One day at market a handsome noble appeared looking for ermine fur. She admired his well-brushed black hair, his velvet coat, and his broad shoulders.

They offered each other knowing smiles and he took instead a white fox fur at her suggestion. He came back each week for many months. Her siblings all offered to work the booth instead, wringing their hands. She declined. Lisbet’s parents fretted despite the steady stream of coin he spent. She greeted him with her dimpled smile each week and was not surprised when he asked for her hand, despite the difference in their stations.

Her parents begged her not to accept. “Lisbet,” her mother said in despair, “you’ll go mad there. There will always be eyes on you, every moment. And thick stone walls around you. It’s too dangerous for you, and for us.” Her father just looked at her with pleading eyes. She would not hear them, wedding him in the spring. They rode off together to live in his keep. Lisbet’s horse sweated and balked the whole way, hating to bear her.

And of the four people present I was the only one who was shocked. The others all nodded as if to say, yes yes, we know, the chicken fucking.

So he explained, when a progressive person is analyzing a behavior they will typically use the metric, Harm/No Harm. They may not like things in the No Harm category but they wouldn’t object.

Conversely, a more conservative mindset used something like eight metrics. Authority/No Authority Moral/Not Moral, things like that.

So, he posited if you want to sound out someone’s mindset (and you’re willing to live with the repercussions) you can ask: if a man buys a dead chicken from the store, cleans it thoroughly, then fucks it, and then eats it himself…?

I listened in dawning horror, both rapt and disgusted. But into the growing pause I whispered, “No harm…” because it really has no effect on me or anyone else if a man fucks a dead chicken. I don’t like it, I think he’s a weird dude, but like. That’s his dick. But a more conservative person will hear that and object on moral grounds despite not being harmed.

In the current climate sex has so many moral judgements applied, and I can tell you that perfectly bland every day people do some Crazy Sex Stuff. When I worked at a sex shop they’d tell me all about it. It didn’t preclude them to murder or being serial killers. If someone wants to fuck a warm cantaloupe or a dead chicken it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t harm me or anyone else.

Care/Harm

Fairness/Cheating

Loyalty/Betrayal

Authority/Subversion

Sanctity/Degradation

Liberty/Oppression

One of the features of conservative populism is that it leans heavily on Sanctity/Degradation for its emotional hook. You can see this in their revulsion at queer sex acts, for example, but it's also a feature of propaganda that casts some races/ethnicities as "dirty" or "filthy" or "animals". Mis-casting these feelings of revulsion as something they should have the Liberty to put into law - rather than something which writing laws about would constitute Oppression of others - is a key feature of modern conservative/traditional movements.

Dr. Jer Clifton has done similar work on a 26-dimensional measurement of attitudes that he calls "Primal World Beliefs" (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Primal_world_beliefs). In one sense these theories are both really reductive... but in another they're incredibly useful for understanding what makes an argument so compelling to others when it sounds preposterous to you.

For instance, my betrotheds DnD characters: a bitchy warlock we had to bust out of two different pacts, a sassy barbarian, a reformed drow cultist, and a sunshine fighter cleric.

All these characters were wildly different but at their very core struggle was them grappling with their self worth. My betrothed struggles with their worth a great deal and even with different facets showing their characters all have that too.

Mine all tend to contend with different themes of loneliness and acceptance. Surprise, surprise, the little autistic gremlin yearns to have been met with more love and lasting friendships.

So we’re at breakfast. I am meeting a new friend of my betrotheds for the first time. It’s been twenty minutes since I’ve met this man. I say my theory. He laughs. He starts to describe a few of his characters but specifies that he often has healing aspects. He gives a very broad overview of their character arcs.

I ponder for a moment then said, “Would you like to have my assessment?”

He laughed, “Sure!”

“We’ve just met. It’s gonna get real.”

“Bring it on.”

“I think your struggle is that you feel you must offer something of value or service to people to be worthy of their love.”

When someone threw something at you you had to willfully let it hit you. It wasn’t Let Hit if someone threw something at an unsuspecting victim. You had to see whatever it was coming and force yourself to take no action.

We got really good at Let Hit.

At group gatherings we’d play it like it was common knowledge, someone would chuck something at someone in the know and they’d just let it hit them and we’d explode with praise. “You’re so good at Let Hit!” “Look at this guy, he’s a champion!” “Not even a blink, he’s so talented!”

And it was so stupid but everyone not in on the game would be like ??? What are the rules??? And we’d just tell them what it was and you could tell we were selling them on the idea that it was fun but it was just getting stuff thrown at you.

So they’d start playing too and we’d just be like, “Oh yeah, you’re okay, I guess.” “Need to work on your form a bit” “Not everyone is good right away, y'know?”

But these people weren't quitters. Naturopathic doctors and acupuncturists they were dedicated to treating their bodies well and one of the ways they liked to do that was hydrotherapy. Most people are familiar with this through things like polar bear plunges. You sit in a hot tub then jump in freezing water.

It's supposedly good for you and they were way into it. But again, no tub. They'd do hydro showers but it just wasn't the same. These people were not quitters, though. (One of them is the boob soap person, so it really isn't a surprise that she goes hard on everything). So they got what looked like two big metal old timey tubs but which were actually good troughs and set them up in the garage. They set up a water heater and god knows how they emptied the tub after, I think there was hoses involved? A pump maybe? I honestly can't remember. Anyway! Voila, hydrotherapy on demand.

I was not aware of this. So when I came over after a long day and my beloved said we should take a bath I was extremely puzzled. I only knew about the one shower. They showed me the garage tubs. I did want a bath and I wasn't really sure about the setup, but honestly I'll try anything once if only for the story, so I agreed.

Fun fact about me though. I haaaate being cold. I've been 0% body fat most of my life with skin barely keeping my bones enclosed. I'm always cold. My favorite activity at the time was sitting directly in front of space heaters. My shower temperatures turn me lobster red and make my beloved cringe. Willingly dunking myself into cold water is the antipathy of my entire deal.

On the night in question I happily submerged into the warm tank, pleasantly surprised by the big silly improvised tub. Which again was meant for livestock. My knees bumped companionably against my beloved as we soaked in the hot water. After a while they rose to go into the cold water. "You don't have to," they told me.

But I was haunted. I wouldn't be doing hydro if I just stayed in the warm tub. Maybe hydro was amazing. It has all these health benefits. I desperately didn't want to but I stood up with them. We were having this nice intimate evening in the garage, just us, I felt safe. I was gonna do it.

They stepped easily into the cold tub, dunking matter of factly into the frigid water. I went to step. I did. I really really tried. My foot went in and I started shrieking, my progress arrested by the total state of shock I entered when my warm toasty foot hit that smug arctic water tension. My beloved started laughing as my pitch ascended the deeper my foot went into the cold water.

I started loudly narrating my discomfort as my foot touched the bottom and I willed my other foot up to join it. "THIS IS VERY COLD," I yelled, "IT'S SO COLD I THINK I MIGHT DIE HOW ARE YOU JUST CASUALLY SITTING IN THIS FREEZING COLD WATER?! I'M DYING- I THINK I'M DYING! I'M DYING BUT WE'RE HERE, TOGETHER! I CAN DO THIS! I CAN DO THESE EVEN THOUGH IT'S SO COLD ALL MY MOLECULES HAVE COMPRESSED INTO A SOLID STATE!"

I ended up with both feet planted in the cold tub, water up to my shins, bellowing and panting while my beloved laughed so hard they couldn't breathe. I hunkered over the cold water, squatting like a frozen gargoyle.

My beloved was trying to psyche me up while I willed my body to obey me. In a sudden jerky drop like a puppet whose strings have been cut I plummeted my body into the cold and let out a shriek that I’m sure could have shattered glass and then leapt up out of the water at a speed relative to a rocket achieving space flight. I didn’t like it.

When they complained they were told that it had to be this other material because you just can’t make that kind of table out of hardwood.

In my house right now there is a table from the late 19th century that folds out the same way as my cousins table and it is made from hardwood we have the technology for goodness sake’s.

I literally love this.

I couldn't stop laughing for 20 minutes.

No joke.