I think that if you had enough daughters AND played your cards right you could spring Mambo Number Five out at the EXACT right gathering and shatter your entire family's trust forever
rural link bus this morning is just me & 8 very old men all speaking irish so i’m just getting bits of their convo but i’ve picked up that the one man in the wheelchair is actually on his first bus ride ever since getting it. it’s apparently his first time out with it and reactions are between deeply loving and taking the piss. another guy opened up a thermos of whiskey (10 am) and everyone started shouting at him but he said “it’s good for wheelchairs” and everyone started howlin and the guy in the chair said like “let’s have it then!” whiskey guy stood up to share, open thermos on a mountain curve and fell all the way to the front of the bus and didn’t spill a drop and he said “it’s good for balance too”
Doing a rewatch of Lower Decks, and I love the universe-building that's involved; when we see shows like Voyager and TNG, they for the most part take place on the ship, and we rarely get to see them interact with others (I mean, they'll meet alien races, but they dip soon after). Meanwhile, in Lower Decks, you see the other ships in the California Class and how the crews interact with each other. It's nice.
Other random facts include
- Everyone uses the Holodecks for sex
- The lower deck staff have communal bunks/showers
- They all gossip about what happens on the Enterprise
- There are in-universe commemorative plates, action figures and other merchandise (including, I think, a couple of LEGO-like kits)
- Different Starship classes have different uniforms
- TNG would have you assume Q just bothers Picard, no he goes and bothers everybody
- There is a cosmic space koala
All of it just adds so much 🥰
Hello, my name is Nadin. I’m from Gaza. I’m a graphic design graduate, a wife—and now, a mother.
I finished my design studies just before the war began. I had dreams of starting a small studio, of creating art that told stories. I used to think about colors and fonts and the future.
Then, the war came. And the future became something we tried to hold onto, moment by moment.
On October 22, 2023, I learned I was pregnant when a missile destroyed my husband’s family home, killing 25 members—his mother, siblings, nieces and nephews—entire branches of our family in seconds.
We were displaced twice. Everything was gone—home, safety, routine, rest.
A few weeks later, I gave birth to our daughter. There was no crib, no celebration—not even stillness. But she arrived, quietly and beautifully. In her eyes I saw something I hadn’t felt in weeks: life that still wanted to grow.
Now, our days are shaped by decisions that could dismantle the future we are trying to build together.
Today, Israel’s government is discussing plans for a full military occupation of the Gaza Strip, including Gaza City and southern regions. The stated aim: to eliminate Hamas and later hand governing control to allied Arab forces—not Israel—but with no clear path to peace or normalcy.
The humanitarian fallout is devastating. More than 61,000 Palestinians have died in this war; hunger and malnutrition are rising sharply. Hospitals in north Gaza have shut down, and 193 people have now died of starvation, nearly half of them children.
Aid remains blocked, water is scarce, and many risk dying of hunger or disease long before future promises arrive.
We Don’t Know What Comes Next
There’s no clear path forward—only uncertainty for our daughter’s life and our ability to survive another day.
My name is Nadin, and I’m a mother from Gaza.
How You Can Help
I’m asking for support—not for comfort, but for survival:
Help us meet basic needs so we can breathe, heal, and preserve a world for our daughter.
Support us as I try to stand again on my own feet—even a glimmer of stability matters.
If you’ve read this far, thank you. If you can give—thank you. If you can’t—just sharing this post is a lifeline I will never forget.
[ID: Twitter post by Whar (question mark emoji) (@ the whar) that reads: This fanfic shit is easy. A screenshot of a document is attached below with text that reads:
"What's the matter, Riddler?" Batman sneered. "Don't you have another riddle to tell me?"
"I can't." Riddler replied solemnly. "The writer's too stupid to think of one."
The US and Israel starting a war with Iran, and then Israel saying they won’t participate in any ground operation is a right fucking laugh.
This has been the most monumental fuck up in US/Israeli foreign policy. All they’ve done is made everywhere worse off, damage global energy supply, and made themselves look weak.
I can’t imagine your average US soldier wants to be put through the drone mincer when it comes any sort of land invasion. Anyone who’s seen any combat footage from Ukraine will know it’s fucking horrible.
I've been resource gathering for YEARS so now I am going to share my dragons hoard
Floorplanner. Design and furnish a house for you to use for having a consistent background in your comic or anything! Free, you need an account, easy to use, and you can save multiple houses.
Comparing Heights. Input the heights of characters to see what the different is between them. Great for keeping consistency. Free.
Magma. Draw online with friends in real time. Great for practice or hanging out. Free, paid plan available, account preferred.
Smithsonian Open Access. Loads of free images. Free.
SketchDaily. Lots of pose references, massive library, is set on a timer so you can practice quick figure drawing. Free.
SculptGL. A sculpting tool which I am yet to master, but you should be able to make whatever 3d object you like with it. free.
Pexels. Free stock images. And the search engine is actually pretty good at pulling up what you want.
Figurosity. Great pose references, diverse body types, lots of "how to draw" videos directly on the site, the models are 3d and you can rotate the angle, but you can't make custom poses or edit body proportions. Free, account option, paid plans available.
Line of Action. More drawing references, this one also has a focus on expressions, hands/feet, animals, landscapes. Free.
Animal Photo. You pose a 3d skull model and select an animal species, and they give you a bunch of photo references for that animal at that angle. Super handy. Free.
Height Weight Chart. You ever see an OC listed as having a certain weight but then they look Wildly different than the number suggests? Well here's a site to avoid that! It shows real people at different weights and heights to give you a better idea of what these abstract numbers all look like. Free to use.
Everyone in the Royal Kingdom wants to be a knight, a princess, or a maid, but we can't get anyone to be the evil vizier who has to organize the crippling taxes which fund the lavish lifestyle of the knights, princesses, and maids. No one ever thinks about the poor, overworked evil vizier and all the stress she's under. They don't even consider she might have needs, she might yearn, even...
Oh evil vizier, evil vizier, would you be so kind as to procure polish to make my armor shine like the sun? Oh I am stricken with woe vizier, have my armor painted black, set with spikes. Darling evil vizier, I seem to have run out of kerchiefs to show my favor, please vizier fetch another dozen, we have jousts today, again. Evil vizier, evil vizier, my maid has once again encrusted her undergarments with the seed of her shameful desires, have these washed and see that clean white shifts are ready for the evening ball.
They never ask how their poor vizier is paying half textile weavers in the kingdom to produce kerchiefs, how the besotted vizier has diverted half the kingdom's trade to secure continuous supplies of soiled and cleansed maid garments. We have nearly run the kingdom dry of soot and oils, yet the evil vizier, she persists. She has the armies mustered to conquer the weaker neighbors, every inch of hard won ground paid in blood so her magesty never wants for a kerchief. She is strong, she hardens her heart to the cries of the poor, she... she longs for the day... the day perhaps when she can be. Just. Just the vizier, vizier alone and not the evil vizier. She lays on bed and sobs for the lye shortage she must address on the morrow.
They throw rocks at me in the streets. My evil vizier's robe is tattered and filthy from lack of care. I beg my lords each day to abstain from perhaps a single joust or ball, to no avail.
I dare not permit my heart its heavy pounding in my breast, or the sound of it may wake the knights and princesses. I am giddy, and terrified, and some other thing. By the fading candlelight in my own bedchambers, whilst I struggled vainly to balance the accounts of another day, my throat unexpectedly stung at the touch of a blade. A gravely voice suggested I beg for my life, in the name of our starving people, and my crimes might be forgiven in the next life. Perhaps. I was distracted by the hot breath on my ear, and how warm the knife at my neck was, as if only moments ago it was pressed against supple skin.
"Take the misery of my life from me," I said. "I cannot bear another day in this service. Only let me look upon your face in thanks." And to my eternal gratitude, I saw her dark beauty, curled black ringlets, cloak of shadows, gleaming dagger prepared to strike, faster than my exhausted muscles could hope to move. She smelled of woodsmoke and oil, and her eyes burned in the dim light, as I fell before her, crying on her breeches and boots. I told her everything and swore my aid and allegiance, promised to share all the secrets hidden away in the moldering soul of this castle - not to spare my life, only to give it meaning before the end.
She promised to return, my heart drops, she did, and left me her calling card. The roughest woven scrap of cloth with a simple embroidered red moon. I may see her once again, I may lift this crushing burden from myself and the kingdom. To me this scrap of cloth is finer and more soft than any of the ladys' kerchiefs. I must quiet my heart, I must calm my demeanor. But I breath in the faint mink oil scent of this gift and touch the fine red line on my throat, and remain restless.
One day that same nervous maid, the one who always gets picked to rouse the frightful and evil vizier, will ever so tentatively knock at the door of her room. Nearly inaudible, she will ask, "Ms Vizier, or Ms Eve Vizier, the maids have run out of clean undergarments this morning, and m'lady's kerchiefs are a scant half dozen remaining. Have you any notion when we might see fresh linens arrive?" But instead of a pained, drawn out moan followed by the vizier's drawn, pale face gazing at her with disdainful eyes, there will be silence. Perhaps an echo should she gather the wits to knock a bit more decisively.
She'll fetch the head maid who will fetch the personal maid of the princess, who will, mumbling from her place 'neath the princess' skirts, inform her ladyship, who will eventually deign to release her maid from her duties so she may also bang on the vizier's door, not shy at all, before her key turns the lock. "Even for a vizier as evil as you, this is intolerable insubordination, you shall be whipped publicly, humiliated for leaving me in such an unsatisfied state, you will bleed until the earth is red," she might rant until her eyes fully take in the cold room. Candles burnt low, bed neatly made if somewhat dusty, dresser door ajar. Her vizier's shelves of accounting records, treaties, logistics maps, troop supply records, payment slips - gone. Nothing but the faintest scent of salty ocean air remains. Not even a one of her thin, graying hair. Although it may now occur, to the princess, if she is clever, that the vizier's hair looked not nearly so thin over the past year.
Right about then, perhaps, a knight in less than gleaming polished armor might come clattering his way up the tower stairs in a state almost like panic and proclaim, "M'lady, m'lady! The joust m'lady! You must see!" Tears in his eyes, escorting her and other princesses to the wide field of honor, curious maids following, to see empty stands, unsaddle horses grazing at the edges of the field. Beyond the castle walls the courtyard is silent. The streets beyond the castle, empty save for scraps of straw or feathers, churned to mud by hooves and carts. The castle kitchens are deserted. The piles of unwashed undergarments and kerchiefs are mountainous and untouched. Torches unlit, fireplaces cold, pantries barren - for the first time they notice a chill wind gusting through the dimly lit stone corridors. There is no shouting or laughter from within the castle or from outside, and the princesses are the first to notice a new sound. Buzzing flies.
Somewhere a vizier cannot stop herself laughing, curled into the corner of a once opulent carriage. Her hands are tangled in her hair and tears stream down her face. Others in the carriage look on in worry. She had been laughing for hours, or crying perhaps. They don't fully understand why the crazed hag was taken from the abandoned castle, or even know who she is. Only their captain, the tall one who led them in every charge, with her deep voice that echoed wherever she was needed, the captain with dark locks and a cloak of night, had left this madwoman to their care only adding that her reward would be freedom, one way or another, and she had not decided if it would be from this earthly world or merely those who had shackled her to it.
gummygunk
blakekathryn
germansingergirl
