always be suspicious when there is 3 of something. know the culprit. it could be the magician and her deceitful Monte. it cold be the comedian and her perverted Rule. It could be the feminist theorist and her archaic Wave. It could be the sociologist and her fictitious Place. It could be the physicist and her sinister Body Problem.
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Not seeing many people talk about this on Tumblr, so gonna spread the word myself: Webtoon is going to start using AI for translations and an AI chat bot with comic characters. If you're against this you should delete your account, and if you are publishing on the website, you should consider moving to other alternatives and especially having your own website to host your comic.
Also needless to say that Webtoon can absolutely afford to hire translators, this is just yet another way to not pay the people who are making the company behind Webtoon absurdly rich.
And for the people who might see this as a good decision:
(+ all the environmental damage that AI is causing)
“Sir and Lady Knight are titles granted to individuals by the crown and aren’t passed on. Alanna prefers “Sir” because she was making a point. Kel prefers “Lady Knight” because she’s making a different point. Jon just throws up his hands and tells the Master of Ceremonies to ask the ladies for their preference.”
— Tamora Pierce. One of my favourite things ever. (via skavalli)
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Hazel Scott was a musical sorcerer and a civil rights hero. She:
was admitted to Julliard at 8.
was performing in top venues by 16.
pioneered “swinging the classics” and made the equivalent of a million dollars a year doing it.
was the first person of color to have their own national TV show.
went to Hollywood but refused to be cast as a “singing maid.” Demanded and got control over her casting, her wardrobe, and how footage featuring her was cut.
refused to perform in segregated venues and led charges for integration in several northern cities, notably Spokane.
She was brought down by the House Committee on Unamerican Activities, and has been largely forgotten. But she was a sorcerer, and a hero.
the thing about ortus nigenad is that he has to be muscled to all hell, right? if his look is "broad tall fat man in his mid thirties" and the one thing he has going for him as a ninth cavalier is his ability to lug around absurd amounts of bones then that sounds like classic a strongman's build. ortus "depression" "momma's boy" "brought rpf to a gunfight" nigenad logically has to be yolked as fuck and the only reason the text never explicitly states that is because we only ever see him through the eyes of two teenaged lesbians who view him as their lame ass older brother. ortus very possibly might have been hot this whole time.
must stress that I mean this in an "and" not an "instead" way, that his fatness is probably in part a side effect of deliberate strength training. this is what I refer to when I say "strongman's build":
"When I taught creative writing at Princeton, [my students] had been told all of their lives to write what they knew. I always began the course by saying, “Don’t pay any attention to that.” First, because you don’t know anything and second, because I don’t want to hear about your true love and your mama and your papa and your friends. Think of somebody you don’t know. What about a Mexican waitress in the Rio Grande who can barely speak English? Or what about a Grande Madame in Paris? Things way outside their camp. Imagine it, create it. Don’t record and editorialize on some event that you’ve already lived through. I was always amazed at how effective that was. They were always out of the box when they were given license to imagine something wholly outside their existence. I thought it was a good training for them. Even if they ended up just writing an autobiography, at least they could relate to themselves as strangers."
-Toni Morrison in an 2014 interview with NEA Arts Magazine
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You have a superpower that keeps you safe: whenever you are in danger, time freezes.
You could be asleep, or in the middle of a conversation, or watching a movie. Time would stop and give you a chance to leave the area, and as soon as you were out of danger, time would immediately start up again
You walk in front of a bus and time stops until you exit its path. Someone tries to mug you, but suddenly you're gone; down the street and around the corner, so even when he turns around he can't see you, and therefore can't come after you.
One day you're watching tv at home and everything freezes. You look around, but you're alone. You get up and walk out of your apartment - the unnatural quiet, and the immobile dust motes suspended in the shaft of light from the window at the end of the hall tells you the danger still has not passed. You leave the building and the city is motionless. You walk down the street, then you go a few blocks, and before you know it you've traversed several neighborhoods, but nothing changes
After what feels like hours of walking, time still hasn't resumed, which means the danger still hasn't passed
After a very long time (you'd say multiple hours, but you can't estimate it well. There's nothing to estimate it by.) walking in random directions, it finally clicks. This isn't something that happened to you, it was going to destroy the whole city at least. You can't check your phone for news, because that requires a current to be transmitting information, so that's not an option. But you can open doors. And bars in the area are sure to have a tv. If any news about this came before time stopped, the screen is likely to still be stuck on that transmission. You know it's a low chance, but you have nothing else to try.
You go through ten bars before you give up.
Your second, desperate attempt is the news studio. If any information was about to be broadcast, you would fing it there. It takes a while to walk there by foot, but you can't take a car, since combustion is sure as hell not going to work when time doesn't. But after walking for a while you come across a bike. That only requires your movement to work, so you "liberate" it from it's frozen rider, after which you manage to get there before getting bored to death.
After trying the necessary doors and not finding a key, you break in through a window. You get lost a few times, not that it matters much, before you find something. They printed out the text, thank god, so no need for a working computer. You read. And then you lean on the wall for support. And slowly sink to the ground.
An atomic bomb. That's what's happening. That's what would've killed you. What would've killed everyone. You stare at the ceiling. Then you stare at the floor. You stare, for a long time. An unmeasurably slow moment. There is no way to stop this. Your best hope is to take your bike and drive until it won't hurt you. You check the paper to see how far to go. It's doable, everything is when your body can't get tired.
But..
You look at the news reporters around you, their frozen faces of fear, as they rushed through the preparations, to at least warn the people of what's coming. You see it in their faces. They knew they would die for this broadcast. And they were still late.
You can't leave them here.
The info on the paper is essential. You can guess at what distance your powers would proclaim you safe. It saved you from many things which would not have necessarily killed you before, so if you merely dragged people to the point where they would get hurt but wouldn't be likely to die... You could do it. It's doable. It must be done.
You start with the tv studio. At first you're uncoordinated, but after the first few you start a system, sweeping the building from one side to the other, from top to bottom. By the time you're done with the first building, you're sure it would have taken you at least three days, had the planet been turning.
You could've spent a century here, doing this. Your body can't get tired, you don't need to eat, or sleep, or to breathe, as all physiological needs are magically suspended. No time passes, no energy is spent, and yet you move. After a few houses, you draw out the safety line with chalk to keep track of it. You read a book, sometimes, just so you don't go crazy. It's not like you don't have the time for it. One by one the houses get emptied. One after another the streets are deserted. Block after block turn lifeless. City districts, moment ter eternal moment, slowly, torturously slowly, become ghost towns.
And then, after metaphorical, uncountable centuries of work, you are done. You took count, every house and every street adding up to a number somewhere around the official citizen count. There's piles of paper filled with the calculations. You still probably didn't get everyone. But you got a lot. You gave them a chance. You breathe a sigh of relief. You sit down, finish your book and take your bag.
And then you cross the line running.
The sound of the air moving around you reaches your ears for the first time in forever. With it, the sound of many, many confused people.
And as the sound of an explosion reaches you, with merely a gust of wind and slight warmth to tell you what has finally come to pass... You laugh.
I no longer give a fuck whether any of the accusations against Jason Arday were true. We all know that a white man accused of plagiarism in Arday's place, no matter how credibly, would've received one story, maybe two, and then the news cycle would have moved on to literally anything else with more relevance.
But the press was ecstatic for a chance to discredit EDI (always referred to as DEI, because we all know who half these pieces of shit are getting their cues from too), and every single Black person in academia for being a woke diversity hire. The news cycle has been stuck for a ridiculously long time on the story of one (1!) man perhaps having dodgy credentials and academic history as a chance to put Black people aiming for any kind of proficiency and success in their fucking place. The case was brought to light by a self-professed race realist (read: outright racist) who believes Black people are genetically inferior, and this motive, and the implications of his accusations, were hardly questioned (and let's not act like this wasn't because a huge number of these reporters absolutely fucking AGREED, because racism in this country is rife and barely challenged, no matter how inaccurate and no matter how vile). No matter how accurate any of Cofnas' claims, we know why he was making them. We KNOW why.
Black people and other racial minorities in the UK are endlessly scrutinised, presumed incompetent, accused at every turn, and now a man is dead. He has been hounded and harrassed and made a scapegoat by a whole nation of journalists and now he's fucking dead. And not one of these ghoulish newspapers is ever going to admit to the blood on their hands.
by 2026 the average tumblr post about gender and interests will be like ‘dont ask me why but having a job is sooo boycore and cooking at home is so girlcore’
Please save and share this info where possible. This report has since been removed by Amnesty International due to legal threats of libel from JK Rowling. This information is no longer easily accessible.
gerd is such fucking bullshit. what do you mean i ate a meal three hours ago and my body has decided now and only now to start having sour burps about it
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Love when you try to take a screenshot but fuck up the timing of the volume down lock button combo and are left sitting there with slightly softer music and a black screen and you just have to sit there looking at your reflection on the locked phone and contemplate your failure for a bit