I think making character playlists is good for you and connected to analysis skills in a very fun way and low investment way. I know its seen as quite trivial but to me it operates the same way looking at a lot of art builds ur skills passively. Yummy enrichment activity
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You know, I wonder if the recent plague of "being selfish is a good thing ackshully! being selfish is emotionally healthy!" is because of therapists and self-help video makers saying "it's okay to be selfish sometimes" because it's easier to get that into someone's head than to deprogram all the little ways they've been taught that caring for themself is selfish and therefore Bad.
And then instead of going on to actual deprogramming and diving into the complex depths of "in order to be a good person I have to be kind and help others when I can, but in order to be a healthy one I should consider carefully when it's worth putting my own well-being at risk for their sake", people just stay in the psychological kiddie pool of "I don't have to think of anyone else because my therapist said so!"
One of worst things copaganda ever perpetuated is the rhetoric that if you aren't guilty of breaking the law, you shouldn't value your personal privacy against the state's surveillance and interrogation. That only guilty people hire lawyers when talking to police.
if I see one more "why age verification is bad" post that doesn't even bother to mention that locking young people out of huge sections of the public sphere - literally the stated goal and primary impact of this shit - is wrong in and of itself I will simply start hitting people with bricks
yes yes biometric data privacy blah blah adults can hypothetically by harmed by this too. what about the immediate and deliberate and not at all hypothetical harm to youth. why are you acting like a potential data leak about what your face looks like, which if it ever happened would at least be generally recognised as a problem, is a more serious issue than cutting millions of people off from information and community and public expression which is happening right now in the open with large scale support
it's got the stench of fucking "banned books week" on it. thousands of adults congratulating themselves for reading books literally no one is trying to stop them from reading while doing nothing to improve access for the young people who are the ones actually having those books made off-limits to them.
Peeling off the broken breastplate of a stoic knight who only fights and never speaks, just to realize thereâs nothing in there. Not metaphoricallyâthe armor is literally empty. It doesnât appear to affect him. If the armor stays mostly in the shape of a knight, he just gets back up to keep fighting. But with the chest plate off he just sits there, equally impervious to curiosity as I reach up into the cavity where his body mightâve gone. Stubbornly, no answers are found anywhere in there.
So I forge him a new breastplate and on the inside, because I know he has plenty of room, I put a little pocket. Not big enough to hold anything functional of course. Just a little extra piece to see what heâll do with it.
He comes back next time with some grievous injury to his nothing, presumably from the massive shredded gash across his thigh plates. He sits and waits. I fix it for him. He is still nothing in there. I decide to add a drawing on the inside, of the type of beast I imagine could rend metal into scraps with a single blow. He puts it back on. He no longer moves as if he is injured.
Over time the interior of the knight becomes decorated with whatever odds and ends I could think to attach to the inside of a guy whoâs got room to carry it. What really gets me is that he never removes any of it. Never requests a change. Not even when I installed a curtain rod for a small tapestry, or a bud vase to carry roses for his beloved, or an accordion folder for letters. He didnât say a word for any of the many, many drawings of mythical beasts that now fight forever inside of his shell.
There are plenty of other forges. Iâm not entirely sure why he keeps coming back here anyway. Weâre pretty popular, but he could get his armor fixed a lot quicker (and with fewer ridiculous modifications) literally anywhere else. I asked him if I could get a look at his nothing again. He flipped up his visor and nodded his head so I could take a look. It was the same as it had been, filled with drawings and trinkets and weird little fixtures Iâd put in there. I asked if he was annoyed by it, or liked it, or felt anything at all, but he literally only ever says nothing, so Iâm not sure why I asked.
Thereâs not much room left in his nothing now. When he comes back for repairs Iâve had to fix my own foolish additions. Some of these pieces are intricate and irritating to repair, but I fix them anyway. It feels wrong to take any of it away from him now, even though Iâve been rudely encroaching on his nothingness to the point where itâs barely even there. How he squeezes his nothing back into a body so full, Iâll never understand. But itâs a game to me now, finding a spot not yet filled and putting something there. A dark part of me wonders if he ever gets filled up completely, if whatever sorcery holds the nothing-knight together may break, and it will all clatter unceremoniously to the floor.
When he hands me his breastplate yet again, it is so shockingly disfigured that I wonder if being made of nothing has somehow kept him alive. No ordinary knight could sustain such injuries. So I fix it. And he waits, unmoving, in a quiet corner of the forge. Itâs like heâs watching, even though I know the reading glasses I put inside his helmet were just for fun. Iâm careful to put it all back exactly the way it was when he last left. Thereâs no room to add more this time.
He examines the breastplate, and pauses before putting it back on, like heâs looking for something. Is he worried about the fit? But it suits him just as it always did. He calmly points to a little space, about an inch, between a miniature shelf and one of many pockets. Thereâs nothing there. I ask him whatâs wrong, and again he points. Itâs the most emotion Iâve ever seen from him, and itâs barely anything at all. I take it to mean he wants something there.
I spend some time engraving a little snail in the gap. He watches, as much as nothing can watch. When Iâm finished he holds the breastplate, but he doesnât put it on right away. I ask him if somethingâs still wrong. He says nothing, and puts it on. I tell him I canât add anything else. Even if he could ask, thereâs no room left.
Next time he comes back, thereâs nothing wrong with his armorâhe lets me check to make sure. I ask him what heâs doing here. Out from one of many pockets, he retrieves a tiny rusted knife. Itâs in miserable condition, barely worth saving. I tell him I could make him a nice new one, but Iâll fix it if he likes. He puts it away and reaches around to find something else, a needle and thread. Better condition, but Iâm not a sewist and I tell him as much. He puts them away. He then retrieves a little twisted piece of wax paper. I open it. Itâs candy. I ask if I can eat it. He says nothing. I eat it. Itâs flavored with cinnamon. Iâm surprised he let me take it.
He keeps bringing me candy now. His armor is the most laborious to repair out of every client my forge serves, but itâs my own fault so I canât complain. Sometimes he keeps me company while I work. I wonder if he is trying to tell me something when he hands me mints. I wonder again at the lemon lozenges. He stares at me when I eat, as much as nothing can stare.
One day he brings me a little jar of honey. I thank him, I tell him Iâll save it for dinner. He watches me work, he puts his repaired armor back on, and he stays. My shift passes slowly, and when I finally pack up to leave itâs dark outside. He follows me out of the forge. I ask him where heâs going. He points to the jar in my hand. I ask him if he wants to watch me eat it. He says nothing, but the nothing-knight clearly wants something, so I open the lid and dunk my finger in the honey. I try not to get any on my chin. He stands there, inches away, watching me try to consume this jar of honey without a utensil. It tastes like clovers. About half the jar is left when Iâve finally had enough of pretending to be a bear, but he doesnât move to leave.
I ask if heâs going to follow me home. He says nothing. I tell him he can if he wants to. Again, nothing. I start walking, and he follows at my side. I know heâs not going to say anything ever, so I fill the silence. I tell him Iâm grateful for the sweets, I tell him about how his various components are made, I tell him Iâve never met anyone made of nothing before. I tell him itâs a rare opportunity for a smith to work so much on the inside of something. He says nothing. I tell him again how much I like the candy.
It occurs to me that maybe filling me with sugar is as close as he can get to filling someone elseâs empty armor with trinkets. Iâm not sure if thatâs really why he does it. I tell him I donât have room to be filled with anything on the inside, not like him. Iâm not a container for much besides food. He offers me another piece of candy. Maybe he likes containing something, the way I like to feel full. Maybe itâs nothing at all.
â
I didnât edit this even a little bit. Thanks for reading!
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Is anyone else constantly bothered by the fact that all of a child's medical care is required to go through their parents? That they must rely on these people to decide when they do or don't need medical care?
No matter how injured. If a parent doesn't deem it necessary to see a doctor, it doesn't happen. Teachers can suggest a doctor visit, but unless it's a very acute injury (and even then), it's ultimately up to the parents.
You can be 13. Twisted, maybe broken ankle. You teacher lets you sit out in PE. She's concerned, and tells you to rest when you go home, and see a doctor. You get home, ur parents fill a bath and add some Epsom salts, and then laugh at you for using it moms old colorguard stick as a cane. Take some ibuprofen they say. It's just a little sprain, ur a kid.
You go to school the next day, go to ur office assistant time. Office calls ur mom to come get you, because you're clearly in too much pain for school. Your mom laughs when she gets you, says you just were so determined not to miss school. Scolds you for making the office ladies worry.
You never see a doctor for the injury.
Your parents come into the exam room at every visit. This does not stop with age, except for gynecologist. But your parents are on the medical release forms. They fill them out for you, with you. You do not get to take them off.
You never get to tell s doctor about the ankle. Even though it never quote healed right, and it hurts every day.
Then your 18. In college. Still on your parents insurance, and have no car. The on campus clinic only does std testing. You fall down some stairs. Same injury. You call your parents, crying from the pain. You are using a mop as a cane. They console you and say to have a bath, take some meds, and let them know how it feels in a few days. You end up borrowing your roommates rolling chair to get around for the weekend.
By Monday, you can walk again. You walk miles to class every day. You ask to see a doctor, but your parents won't drive the hour to come take you, and you don't have the insurance card. You are still at their mercy for medical care. The ankle tries to heal again. This time worse than before. The tendons click with every step.
Now you're in your twenties. Finally have your own healthcare. You see a doctor. You get to mention the ankle! They say it's been too long to really even know what was damaged. That you have arthritis now. It healed wrong but it can no longer be fixed.
I'm 32 now. My ankle tells me the weather. I wear boots to keep it stable. What could have been a funny story about a fall and a cast has become a lifetime injury. Because children do not have access to medical care without a parents approval.
i love being told everything btw. if i love you and youre talking to me not a single detail is too much. youll never overestimate how much of the fabric of your day to day i want to hold in my hands and know the model and make of. im Everything Matters girl and everything matters to me
One time a friend told me that if she wanted to have a chill night she would come to me and ask for tea and a book to read. I didnât like tea at the time, but I always made sure my cupboards had them in case she needed a quiet night. One time I told my boss that I loved oranges, but couldnât peel them because of my nails. For a year he made sure to peel me one at least once a week. Once my friends gave me a made up superlative of âmost likely to have a pen they could borrowâ and ever since Iâve made sure I always carry a pen with me. A long time ago, my high school librarian told me that no one would care what my grade in my sophomore chemistry class was if Iâm bringing them doughnuts and asking them about their day.
Sometimes friendship is about carrying pens and peeling oranges. But the point is, surrounding yourself with people who you want to do the little things for. The point of it all is bringing in the doughnuts because youâve found the people who deserve the doughnuts.
I think wife and husband are both such lovely words. I don't have particularly strong feelings about marriage but I would enjoy being called someone's husband/wife. both, I require both words
I don't know who my intended audience is here, so whoever needs to hear this, I am begging you to learn to participate in conversations that are about things you aren't interested in.
Part of socializing and having friends is being a good listener even when you don't actually give a shit about the subject.
Your are hurting other people's feelings when you bluntly respond with "Anyway..." and then change the topic.
It can not always be about your preferred topic.
You are being rude. Yes, even if you are neurodivergent. You can be both autistic and rude.
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#my family does this thing#when we've majorly unfucked a room or done chore that we were putting off#or whatever. Any sort of household Improvement.#'Come brag on me.'#I means come look I cleaned/rearranged/did dishes/put away the laundry#and the scripted response is 'oh nice it looks SO much better in here now'#like my mom did this when we were kids.#'girls comr brag on the garage I finally organized it so I can get my car in there'#and we go and 'ooh' and 'aah' and tell her how nice it looked and how she did a good job#and we could have her 'come brag on' us for like doing the dishes or cleaning our rooms#I do it to my wife now too#it's a dialogue that means#'I did a chore and it feels like an Accomplishment even if it objectively wasn't a big thing. Please acknowledge this.'#and#'Wow you sure did do a thing. It has improved our material circumstance even if only in a small way. Thank you for doing it.'#like yeah scrubbing the pans is my Job and it's a Little Task but sometimes it feels like a Big Task#and it's nice to have an Accepted Script where I can just demand 'I have functioned as an independent adult praise me with great praise' - by @thepioden
A rare occasion posting art on my supposedly an art page as I get ready for artfight! My new drow oracle of the cosmos Selaster :D
She was blessed / cursed by Eilistraee at birth, left nightblind but granted the gift of magic and a divinely bestowed sense for the stars far beyond the underdark, as well as a natural intuition for the Changedance to slowly achieve her desired form. She was discovered as a child by acolytes of Lolth, and taken from her family, but the Queen of spiders showed her "mercy", imprisoning her at the center of Menzoberranzan as a warning to those that would try to follow Eilistraee.
After many years alone and imprisoned, discovering her own magic and feeling increasingly drawn towards the stars, Selaster finally escaped, fleeing the underdark. Moments before reaching the surface, however, she was given another curse by Lolth, leaving her unable to see the night sky and making the world in daylight appear as if it were night - lost to her with her nightblindness.
Believing this to have been a betrayal by Eilistraee, she's now wandering independently, having renounced any attachment to her goddess, and trying to find her own way towards the stars she can still feel burning above the black
Once when I was in undergrad, someone described something as âproblematicâ in class and our professor was like, âThatâs cool, but âproblematicâ doesnât really mean anything. It means that the thing youâre describing has a problem, and in and of itself thatâs not bad. Art, especially, should always have problems, or else itâs not interesting and not art, either. It sounds like youâre trying to say that this is bad, but you donât want to say âbad.â Is that right?â
So from then on whenever one of us called something problematic, he would make us talk it out until we could name the âbadâ thing we were hinting at. In this particular class, 7/10 it was some type of oppression, and the remainder was like, âIâm uncomfortable because this is very new/confusing/pushing boundaries that made me feel safe.â
Once we stopped calling things âproblematicâ and stopping at that, class got way more interesting and... we all had to say, like, âthatâs racistâ or âthatâs misogynisticâ or âew capitalism grossâ out loud, which a lot of us had never done in a classroom before. Or we had to be like, âUhhh... Iâm not sure whatâs so bad?â and confront our own beliefs and that was maybe even more useful.
Anyway. Whenever I see the word problematic, I canât help but think of this professor being like, âGood starting point, now letâs get specific.â I think when we have to commit to saying âthatâs ___â it requires a lot more careful thought about the truth and impact and complexities of whatever weâre claiming. Sometimes there really is some bullshit afoot, and also sometimes itâs art, and it should be full of problems, because thatâs what art is.
#'this is present in the text' is often a good first step #but those second and third ones (naming it; describing its function) are vital (via @elucubrare)
they are sexually mature at ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTY YEARS OLD.
their (live!) young gestate for. wait for it. eight to eighteen (??) YEARS. can have up to 10 at a time. good grief.
longest lifespan of any vertebrate, up to five hundred years
toxic flesh
has giant eyes but is usually blind because of a weird little crustacean that's evolved to live on and eat their eyes. this doesn't seem to bother them much.
lives in deep cold water and has the lowest swim speed and tail-beat frequency for its size across all fish species. just generally lives life in extreme slow motion
largest genome of any shark
eats everything including moose and polar bears
ma'am you are delightfully strange and I'm privileged to share a planet with you
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Daily reminder that earnestly critiquing a piece of media from a place of respect and admiration for the storyâs intent and its creators is not the same as shit-talking it. Unbiased analysis and commentary on a piece shouldnât be seen as insulting and you donât have to praise something endlessly and never say a single bad thing about it to be considered a fan of it and personally I think if you have your own assessment of it that DOES have something negative to say (as long as itâs reasonable), that shows you were paying attention and not watching with your propeller hat and oversized lollipop with you.
people who donât watch horror movies are SO confident that they know everything there is to know about the genre. like itâs okay to not know things. itâs okay if you donât like friday the 13th or whatever. i promise you donât need to make an ass out of yourself on the internet about it
horror is an incredibly diverse genre, because there is potential horror in everything. itâs in nature, itâs in architecture and technology, itâs in human relationships, itâs in folklore, the past, the future, the mundane. there are horror movies from all over the world. it is straight up anti-intellectual to pretend that the handful of B slashers youâve vaguely heard about comprise the totality of what horror has to offer. If youâre just not interested in horror, or if you dislike certain subgenres of horror, then thatâs fine, youâre not obligated to like anything at all. but smugly announcing that you donât like horror because you dislike a handful of VERY specific non-universal tropes is just as stupid as saying that you hate comedy because you donât like adam sandler movies.