Trash Mammal

She just looked at the sustainable energy source that is the relentless batshit insanity of Discourse and said “is anybody gonna monetize this or”

hello i am here today to not lose track of the art cheats i have discovered over the years. what i call art cheat is actually a cool filter/coloring style/way to shade/etc. that singlehandedly makes art like 20 times better

80’s anime style

glitch effect

glow effects

adding colors to grayscale paintings

foreshortening ( coil )

foreshortening ( perspective )

clipping group (lines)

clipping group (colors)

dramatic lighting ( GOOD )

shading metal

lighting faces

I saw him saunter through town in his expensive, fancy armor, nearly bowling over Granny Fairchild when she didn’t get out of his way fast enough.  I didn’t think much of him - no one did, that I knew - but what was I going to do?  The man was clearly some sort of lord or higher, and I’m just a guard.  Not even a captain or sergeant!  Just a normal, everyday run-of-the-mill guard.

In short, there’s nothing special about me.  No special training, no special knowledge - unless you count laws, which I memorized - nothing whatsoever.

I didn’t say anything when he demanded prices to be lowered, and forced his “goods” on us.  Spoils of adventures, he said.  You can’t get them anywhere else.  What are we going to do with forty preserved wyvern eyeballs!  It’s not something any of us can use.  I don’t care how much some wizard in a city we’ve never been would pay for them.

I didn’t say anything when he aggressively flirted with all the women, to the point that little Maria started crying and her brothers looked for sharp objects.  Thank the gods that Maria’s wife is so quick-thinking, and got his attention elsewhere!  It would have been a very ugly, very deadly brawl, and Maria would have lost her brothers.

I didn’t say anything when he co-opted the blacksmith’s forge to make a few daggers to push on us - because his skill is so legendary, however were we to survive without his priceless daggers?  Ahmed was unable to fulfill his orders that day, and will now have to work twice as hard to catch up!  And I wanted him to look at my gauntlet, too, because it was starting to look a little warped at the wrist.

But when I saw that man start to kick around Granny Fairchild’s chickens, I couldn’t keep my mouth shut any longer.  Those chickens are all she has!  Every morning, Granny Fairchild comes to market with a basket of fresh eggs, and we all buy some - even if we don’t need eggs - to make sure she doesn’t go hungry.  Like most of us, she refuses handouts and charity, preferring to get by on her own.

“You can’t do that,” I told him, using my sternest voice.

“Do what?” he asked, kicking a hen and sending her scuttling.

“That,” I said.  “Kicking chickens.  Or any animal.  You can’t do that.”

“Who’s going to stop me?” he asked arrogantly.  He looked me up and down, mockingly.  “You?”

And just to be an ass, he took out his sword and killed one of the chickens right then and there.

Now, killing someone’s animal isn’t necessarily an arrestable offense.  You get a fine, you pay it, and you go on your way.  Especially something small, like a chicken.  A cow, now, or a horse, that’s a different story.  But a chicken - no. 

But by this point, I was so tired and so fed up with his attitude.  Who was he to walk into our village in his fancy, expensive armor and harrass our people?  Making our shy girls cry, assaulting our widows and grandmothers, nearly robbing us blind by forcing his “goods” on us in exchange for ours, and putting good people out of work for his barely average daggers?  An entitled ass, I tell you.

So I took out my sword and intended to bash him at the back of his head to bring him to his knees.  It’s not a very brave act, to attack someone from behind, but you must understand that even then, he was some mighty adventurer while I am a lowly village guard.  In a fair fight, I had no chance.

Apparently, I hit him too hard, or just right, because he went down like a sack of potatoes and didn’t get up.  I looked him over, then call for our healer.  When she arrived, she pronounced him dead and congratulated me.

Imagine that, being congratulated for being a murderer.

Well, we gathered his things and I sent out a report to my sergeant in the next village over, who must have forwarded it to the captain, because the next thing any of us knew, we had an entire garrison marching on us.  The captain demanded to see me, and I reluctantly made my way up.

I murdered a lord’s son, I thought.  They’re going to arrest me for murdering a lord’s son!  There goes my career!

I hadn’t murdered a lord’s son, of course.  I did something much worse.

“You killed Adam Draxon, Hero of a Thousand Lands?” the captain demanded.  He looked me up and down, much like the man did, but less mocking and more incredulous.

“I never knew his name,” I managed, nearly biting my tongue in two I was stammering so bad.

“He wore the Crest of King Ellifry!” the captain said.  “How could you not know?”

“Is that what it was?  I thought it was a fat eagle…”

The captain and all his men stared at me for a long moment, where I was certain that time must have stopped, because it lasted an eternity.

“He was on his way to slay the vicious dragon plaguing Balewood Forest!  And you killed him!”

“It was an accident!” I protested.  “I was trying to arrest him.”

“Arrest him?!”  The captain was apoplectic.  “You were trying to arrest the Hero of a Thousand Lands?  For what?  What could he have possibly done to make you arrest him?!”

“He, ah, well, you see… Hm.  It was like this…”

“Go on, I’m listening.  I’m very eager to hear your reasoning.”

I took a deep breath.  “IwasarrestinghimforkillingGrannyFairchild’schicken.”

“What?”

“He killed Granny Fairchild’s chicken,” I said again, slower.  I didn’t dare look up.  The captain wears some nice boots.  Shiny.  Tailored.  “So I was arresting him.”

“You murdered Adam Draxon, Hero of a Thousand Lands, Defender of the Free People, for killing a chicken?”

“It was an accident!” I protested again.  “I was just trying to… subdue… him…”

“And who, pray tell, is going to slay the dragon plaguing Balewood Forest?” the captain asked me scathingly.  “You?”

“I can’t kill a dragon!” I said.  I’m pretty sure I squeaked, too. 

“You killed the Hero of a Thousand Lands,” he told him, sarcasm practically dripping from his voice.  “You must be a mighty warrior, so a dragon can’t be too difficult a task for you.”

I stared at him in disbelief for a long moment.  In that moment, I saw something.  Okay, a lot of things, but mostly the one.  I saw fear.  Not of me, gods no.  The captain was afraid.  I had - accidentally or not - killed our only hope against the forces of darkness in our world.  Who was going to slay the dragon?  Certainly not me; I’d be lucky if I got close to the beast.  And certainly not the captain.  Really, there was only one person who was capable of such a feat, and he was moldering in an unmarked grave in our village cemetery.  

The next few hours went by in a blur.  I was given the Hero’s old things - things we had carefully packed away and inventoried to prevent theft - to protect me.  I was told some of it had magic, like protection against evil and the like.  It looked pretty, but ultimately worthless.  What would a shiny ring do against a dragon, except make it envious and eat me for the ring?

Really, what else did I expect?  If I had stayed, I would have been hanged for murder, at best.  At worst, I would have been drawn and quartered in some public place while my entire family was arrested and enslaved for my crimes.  In a way, the captain was saving me.  This was a chance to redeem myself - albeit a very small, very dangerous, and very, very stupid chance.  But it would keep me from a very public execution, which was generally better.

It’s not like the thought of chucking all of the Hero’s things the minute I got out of sight and running never occurred to me.  It did.  Numerous times.  I thought about it as I lay awake at night.  I thought about it as I heard story after story after story of the Dragon of Balewood Forest.  But someone had to try, damnit.  Someone had to at least try.

I never did get my gauntlet fixed.

When I had finally made it to the dragon - which, by the by, involved talking wolves and a bargain with a witch that I’m pretty sure she now regrets as you can’t exactly extract a dead person’s first born if they’ve never had children - I was tired, and hungry, and terrified out of my wits.

The mountain wasn’t as big as I pictured.  It was a large hill, at most, with a shallow cave.  I climbed up - a feat, I assure you, that sounds more daunting that it was.  I mostly walked, and like Balewood Forest, it was a pleasant walk.  And when I reached the mouth of the cave, I mustered all my meager courage to shout my challenge to the Dragon of Balewood Forest.

“H-hello?” I called out.  “Anyone home?”

A roar echoed from the cave - a massive sound that had me quaking - and smoke curled out.  I felt a blast of heat roll out of the cave.

“Look, I’d just like to talk for a bit,” I said.  “If you have time, that is.  I can come back tomorrow, if now’s not a good time for you!”

Heroic bravery at it’s finest, I tell you.

I felt an impact that was like being hit by a mountain.  I thought at first it must be some sort of cave-in or avalanche, but not.  Just dragon.  I rolled down the hill a ways, losing the sword and shield almost instantly along with my bearings.  I had barely stopped moving when a clawed paw pinned me to the ground, and I was face-to-face with a wall of long, sharp teeth and sulfuric breath.

“Adam Draxon!” the beast roared at me.  “You murdered my parents!  You have left me an orphan!  Do you have anything to say for yourself before I kill you?”

“Um, I’m not Adam Draxon,” I said.

“What?!” the dragon screeched.  It pulled back just enough to look at me with one beautiful sapphire eye.  Really, if you get the chance to look at a dragon’s eyes, you should.

“I’m not, um, I’m not Adam Draxon,” I repeated.  “I’m not anybody.”

The dragon pulled away, glowering at me.  “You’re wearing his armor. You’re wearing his Crest!”

“I still think it looks like a fat eagle,” I muttered as I took the Crest off and tossed it aside.  “Look, I know you were expecting Adam Draxon, and I’m sorry, but I’m here.  So can we talk, please?”

 “Where’s Adam Draxon?” the dragon demanded, arching itself up to look bigger.  For all the stories I’d ever heard, the dragon was really about the size of a large draft horse.  Certainly not the size of a house, like I was told.  And it’s scales - while very bright - weren’t exactly what you’d call shiny.

“Um, he’s, uh… well…”  How do you explain that the Hero of a Thousand Lands is dead?  Especially to someone who wants to cook and eat him?  “He, uh, he died.”

The dragon cocked it’s head to look at me with one eye.  “Dead?  You expect me to believe that the Slayer of a Dozen Dragons and Terror to the Dark is dead?” 

“Yeah, I was surprised, too,” I admitted.  “It was an accident.”

“Accident?” the dragon roared.  “An accident?!”

 “Well, how else was he going to die young?”

The dragon lowered itself and stared at me for a long, long, long time.  “You don’t smell like you’re lying.”

“I’m not.”

“But you don’t smell like you’re telling the truth.”

 “It’s… complicated.”

 “Tell me.”

 I took a deep breath.  “I was trying to arrest him.  His back was turned, and I hit him too hard with the pommel of my sword.”

 “… he’s really dead?”

 “He’s really dead.”

 “But he killed my parents!”

 I walked up and patted the dragon on it’s shoulder.  “I know, I’m sorry.”

 And that’s how I “defeated” the Dragon of Balewood.  He told me his story, and I listened for a while, and when night fell, he invited me to stay with him.  A dragon lair is surprisingly clean and comfortable, and we talked most of the night.  The dragon - Lorcanthan - was in need of a permanent home.  The terrorizing was merely to get Adam Draxon to his location, so he could get revenge for the murder of his parents.  There was very little terrorizing, I learned, as Lorcanthan mostly showed up and bothered the horses and maybe burned a field by accident.

 That morning, I decided to go to the villages around Balewood Forest.  For the better part of a season, I went to each village and spoke with the people.  In truth, very little actual damage occurred, and even then, it was mostly by panicking animals.  The mayors and headsmen were very reluctant to speak with me about the matter, at first, but slowly listened to what I had to say.

 Later, I went to Lorcanthan and had him come with me to the outskirts of Balewood, where the mayors and headmen were waiting.  I helped negotiate a deal for them, between the dragon and villagers.  And so the Dragon of Balewood went from plague to protector.

 Really, that’s how it started.

 Afterwards, I went to speak to the witch about the bargain, and she was willing to wait.  Being as the bargain was struck when I was under extreme duress, I managed to talk her down to shared custody.  We’ll figure out the details when I do have a child, I guess.  She sent me to talk to her sister, who was across the country, about a matter involving kidnapping.

 That was a horrible, horrible case, where I discovered the the Wicked Sorceress of the North was being blamed for the actions of a vile man.  The less said, the better, but when I had settled that matter, word go around.  

 And when a Horde of Orc Barbarians led by Thorid the Bloodthirsty threatened, I was sent to deal with them.  I don’t know how, exactly, it happened, because I had a few drinks with Thorid, but I ended up accidentally challenging his eldest to a duel and - purely by chance, I promise! - killed her.  Which made me, by Orc law, Thorid’s heir.  Somehow.  And second-in-command.

 When Thorid died from gangrene from an untreated injury by boar, I became the leader of the Horde of Orc Barbarians.

 From there, things got complicated fast.  And now I’m the Leader of the Dark Forces, and it’s the eve of war.  I sent King Ellifry a letter asking that he meet with me to negotiate this matter, but I haven’t heard back yet.  I’d really rather avoid the whole war thing, but honestly, when you actually sit down and listen to the Dark Forces, you learn that there’s a lot of inequality and oppression that really needs to be addressed.

 And as a guard sworn to uphold the law, it’s up to me to see that it is addressed.

I’ve seen a lot of posts on my dash tonight about users who are threatening suicide, with other Tumblr members posting in effort to try to get ahold of them. I think you all should see this:

IF THERE IS EVER A TUMBLR USER WHO HAS POSTED A GOOD-BYE MESSAGE, SUICIDE NOTE, VIDEO, OR ANYTHING OF THE SORT, PLEASE FOLLOW THIS POST.

1. Scroll to the top of your dashboard.

2. See the circular question mark icon at the top? It’s the third one over from your home symbol. Click on that, and a screen similar to the one in the picture will come up.

3. Where you can type in questions, the box with the magnifying glass at the top, type in the word “suicide.”

4. Click on the first link that shows up. It should say, “Pass the URL of the blog on to us.”

5. Type in the user’s URL and tell Tumblr admin that the user is contemplating suicide and has posted a message indicating that they are going through with it or will be attempting. Hit send! Tumblr administration will perform a number of actions to contact the user and take the necessary steps to prevent the suicide.

TUMBLR: THIS COULD SAVE A USER’S LIFE. PLEASE DO NOT IGNORE SUICIDE THREATS.

help.

“Watch this,” I said. “I want to buy a wetsuit. I need a wetsuit. Where can I get a wetsuit? Bring me a wetsuit. Wetsuit size small. Women’s wetsuits. Wetsuits for children. Wetsuits for dogs. Discount wetsuits. Hot single wetsuits in my area? Sexy wetsuits. Wetsuits for sale. Purchase me a wetsuit. We need to get a wetsuit. Spend money on a wetsuit! I want to get a wetsuit. Where did you get that wetsuit?”

If you have accounts like Facebook and Google +/Gmail, or any app that requires permissions to read & write your surface settings, then this is why it happens. Your default settings for location and other permissions (mic and camera) are enabled for constant read-write.

What does this mean?

You can toggle your permissions for these apps for conditions like Never or While Using App. Keep in mind that if you have apps opened up in the background of your phone, then you're technically using them. Make sure to close them out completely when you don't want to use them.

But why?

When you have your location permissions enabled for apps, this data is collected and used for targeted marketing. Google is the biggest offender.

Example of how to stop active data collection

You can pause permissions on Google accounts:

You can toggle app settings for surface permissions off:

Friendly Reminder

“Attempted to take a cute video of my cats licking each other, and then this happened…” 

The human eye only has three types of color sensitive cones, which detect red, blue, and green light. Your brain is making up every other color you perceive.

Let’s have a little fun with that thought. This is the visible spectrum of light.

You will of course note that yellow is on the chart. Yellow has a discreet wavelength, and is therefore a distinct physical color. But we can’t see it.

“Sorry, what the fuck?”

What we call yellow is just what our brain shrugs and spits out when our red and green cones are equally stimulated. We have light receptors that can pick up on the physical spectrum of light we call yellow: that’s why yellow things don’t just look like moving black blocks to us. But your brain has no fucking idea what the color yellow looks like. 

Some animals have eyes that can perceive the color yellow! Goldfish have a yellow cone in their eyes. If they could talk, they could tell us what yellow looks like. But we wouldn’t be able to understand it.

What your brain actually sees of the color spectrum:

We can measure the wavelength of light, so we know that when we see ‘yellow,’ we are seeing light in that 550-ish nanometers range. But we don’t have a cone in our eyes that can pick that up. Your brain just has a very consistent guess about what color that wavelength of light could be. We decided to name that guess ‘yellow.’ We can’t imagine what yellow really looks like any more than a dog can imagine the color red.

Here’s the funny thing: your brain is never perceiving just one photon of light at a time. Something like 2*10⁸ photons per second are hitting your retina under normal conditions. Your brain doesn’t individually process all of them. So it averages them out. It grabs a bunch of photons all coming from the same direction, with the same pattern, and goes, “yeah, that cup is blue, fuck it, next.”

That’s how colors blend in our eyes. So sure, if a photon of light with a wavelength of 550 nanometers bounces into our eyes, we see what we call “yellow.” But if we see two photons at the same time, coming from the same object, one of which is 500 nms and the other of which is 600 nms, your brain will average them out and you will still see yellow even though none of the light you just saw was 550 nms.

So how does magenta factor into this?

Well, as we’ve just established, when your brain sees light from two different slices of the visible light spectrum, it will try to just average them together. Green plus red is yellow, fuck it. If it’s more red than green, we’ll call that ‘orange.’ Literally who gives a shit, we’re trying to forage over here. There are bears out here and it’s so scary.

What happens if you take the average of blue and red light, which we perceive to be magenta? What’s the centerpoint of that line?

Fucking green.

Hey, that’s not gonna work? We live on a planet where EVERYTHING IS GREEN. If something is NOT green, that means it’s either food, or a potential source of danger, and either way your brain wants you to know about it.

So your brain goes, WHOOPS. Okay - this is fine. We already made up yellow, orange, cyan, and violet. We’ll just make up another color. Something that looks really, really different from green. 

And so it made up magenta.

So, physics-wise, is magenta “real?”

No; there’s no single wavelength of light that corresponds to magenta. But you’re rarely seeing only a single wavelength of light anyway. And even when you are, every color other than RGB is a dart thrown on the wall by your meat computer. This is the CIE Chromaticity Diagram:

Explaining this thing is a little more than I want to take on on a Saturday morning, but I’ve included a link above that goes into it a little more. The point is that only the colors that actually touch the ‘outline’ of the shape actually correspond to a specific wavelength of light. All of the other colors are blends of multiple wavelengths. So magenta isn’t special.

Given that color is just a fun trick your brain is playing on you to help you find food and avoid danger, is magenta real?

Yeah, absolutely. Or at least, it’s just as real as most of what we see. It’s what we see when we mix up blue and red. It would be disastrous from a survival standpoint to perceive that color as green, so we don’t. Because it’s not green. Light that’s green has a wavelength of around 510 nm. Stuff that’s magenta bounces back light that is both ~400 and ~700. Your brain knows the difference. So it fills in the gap for you, with the best guess it has, same as it does with your blind spot.

Yall.