Me, for once succeeding: omg :)
The demon that my former childhood Nemesis bound to me until she forgot she did that whole summoning business and went on to study political science:

if i look back, i am lost
we're not kids anymore.
Aqua Utopia|海の底で記憶を紡ぐ

Love Begins
Three Goblin Art
styofa doing anything
ojovivo

izzy's playlists!
Peter Solarz

#extradirty

Janaina Medeiros
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
No title available
occasionally subtle
RMH
Game of Thrones Daily
sheepfilms

@theartofmadeline
Alisa U Zemlji Chuda
Today's Document
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@lazulian-devil
Me, for once succeeding: omg :)
The demon that my former childhood Nemesis bound to me until she forgot she did that whole summoning business and went on to study political science:
I found a lovely snail at work who was dried out so I let him have a shower and he seemed to enjoy it!! 🐌🚿
Joy and whimsy detected! This snower (snail shower) is joyful and whimsical! 🐌🚿
FALLOUT
2x01 'The Innovator'
derek landy's queer rep is fucking abysmal and in this essay I will
I finished the quilt I’m gifting to my daughter. She is having her first baby., I have not washed this yet. It still has chaulk lines. I am pleased how this turned out.
The point is, Lucy is so, so, so Cooper-coded, and the more we learn about him, the more we can see why Lucy’s attitude irritates him so much. Basically, the guy has been beating himself up for 200 years for being an idiot, for trusting the Establishment, for being stubborn, gullible, and naive, precisely the way Lucy is in some ways. So seeing her is like seeing himself from so long ago, hoping in a social structure that’s nothing more than smoke and mirrors, with moral values that, in reality, never actually apply. And his problem with her isn’t really with her, nor with the fact that she’s a VaulTec creation (though it might seem that way at first) it’s a problem with himself, with accepting his past self that he’s tried to kill off completely, but that always comes back to him somehow.
What I think both Cooper and Hank don’t get is that Lucy is not how they think she is at all. Yes, there are a lot of parallels between them, but she’s not Cooper. And second, this is something I think is made pretty clear in the last episode: Lucy is not a kid. Her father treats her like a dumb little girl, and Cooper treats her like a naive young girl and she's not any of those things. What it's ironically amazing about this is that then there’s Norman, who knows exactly what his sister is capable of and doesn’t doubt for a single second that Lucy could have survived the Wasteland. He even says, “You don’t know my sister,” because in a way he’s saying that he grew up with her and knows she’s the most stubborn, headstrong, annoying person in the universe and if she sets her mind on surviving the Wasteland and seven nuclear wars, she will do it, because that’s who she is.
And in a moment of desperation, before he even tries to talk to his father over the radio, the first person Norm turns to is Lucy, because Lucy is his fucking older sister, and he doesn’t see her as an innocent girl or daddy’s little girl. He sees her as a reference point, as someone who raised him in the absence of a mother, and as someone totally capable, not only of surviving every single danger in the Wasteland, but of coming to find him and saving his life. Everyone underestimates Lucy Maclean except her fucking little brother, because he doesn’t see her as a kid, he sees her as a role model.
Every so often Fallout (the franchise) passes me by and the hounds of an ancient hyperfocus awaken, tearing at their chains, blood dripping of their mouth.
I release them everytime. Like, omg, have you *seen* the second season? I wanna play Fallout 1 again. Get me my Cowboy Hat™, we're going to die a lot✨✨
Tumblr keeps showing me more and more AI Slop, no matter how much I block the accounts.
The crazy thing is: Either people are paying bots to comment or some guys are legitimately convinced that the gardening women who do weird concrete stuff and shift mid scene are real.
Text of tweet under the cut because it is loooong.
But... Stochastic Parrots.
This is the paper. It's excellent, highly recommend reading it.
I remember reading about Gebru's firing but I had no idea this was the paper she was fired over.
i know it sounds woefully self-centered and ungrateful but i do think a lot of ao3 commenters could benefit from a quick how-to-talk-to-strangers-on-the-internet course
I hope you don't mind my adding onto this, because I totally agree, but one thing I've noticed more often lately is people commenting on a work who just say what the work is.
Examples: (not verbatim quotes because I don't want to put anyone on blast but the gist of real comments I've gotten)
"Wow, A/B smut!"
"This is the first story for this pairing!"
"Huh, never seen this [kink/trope] before."
And like, this isn't rude exactly, but it does always give me a sense of, ok, but why are you telling me this? I know it's A/B smut, I wrote it. I knew it was the first work for this ship, I had to create the tag. I know it's a rare kink - I enjoy it, I can't find enough of it, that's why I wrote this in the first place.
I've taken to replying to these type of comments with "I hope you liked it!" because it feels like the most generous way to interpret them - the person probably did like it, if they read it and left a comment, but they forgot to actually say so. Often they reply with "Yes, it was great!" or similar actual commentary about what they thought of the story. So maybe consider just saying that in the first place!
Better example: "Wow, I've never seen a fic for this ship before. I was really excited to find it, because it's so rare. Thank you very much for writing it, it was awesome!"
I realize this takes slightly longer, but it is much, much nicer to receive than a comment that just tells me that I wrote a fic. I know I wrote a fic. Let me know that you read it.
If you are someone who doesn't know what to say, a very simple "Thanks for sharing!" goes a LONG way for most authors. Adding this to any other comment is also a great idea, but in this case look at what it does to the above:
"Wow, A/B smut, thanks for sharing!"
"This is the first story for this pairing! Thanks for sharing!"
"Huh, never seen this [kink/trope] before. Thanks for sharing!"
It completely changes the tone of even the above comments from making an obvious statement to someone who already knows it to gratitude for sharing smut, venturing into this pairing first, introducing someone to a new kink/trope/etc.
If you want to take it a step further, you can simply make it personal.
"Wow, I loved this A/B smut, thanks for sharing!"
"This is the first story I've read for this pairing, and I liked it! Thanks for sharing!"
"Huh, I've never seen this kink/trope before, I'm glad I found your story. Thanks for sharing!"
You don't have to be a fancy wordsmith. You can take the obvious statement, make it personal, and thank them for sharing, and it will have a lot more weight.
lets all gang up and go kick erskine ravel in the shins and any other body part we can find. rb if you agree
Hate me for it but I think he makes for a great villain and wonderful Entertainment and I enjoyed the suffering. The second time round, that is.
i love in fantasy when its like “king galamir the mighty golden eagle and his most trusted advisor who would never betray him, gruelworm bloodeye the treacherous”
When my sister and I were kids we had this one action figure, who was actually a brutalized batman doll without his cape (the dog chewed half his head, too), who we dubbed ‘Evil Chancellor Traytor’. The idea was that in the fictional society of our toys, ‘chancellor’ just came with the word ‘evil’ in front of it, as a matter of ancient tradition. Like ‘grand’ or ‘high’ or something along those lines.
Anyway, the running gag was that the king (an old Power Rangers knock-off doll) had absolute and unwavering faith in Evil Chancellor Traytor, who basically comported himself like a mix between Grima Wormtongue and Jafar from the Aladdin movies. Everyone was always sure that Evil Chancellor Traytor had something to do with the nefarious scheme of the day. The dude even carried around a poisoned knife called ‘the kingslayer’.
The additional twist on the joke, though, was that he never was behind anything. The king was actually right. Evil Chancellor Traytor was the most devoted civil servant in the entire Action Figure Dystopia. He spent his nights working on writing up new legislature to ensure that broken toys had access to mobility devices, was always on the lookout to acquire new shoeboxes for expanding city infrastructure, and drafted a proposal that once got half the ‘settlement’ in my sister and I’s closet moved to the upper shelf so that vulnerable toys were less likely to be snatched up by the dog.
The knife, as it turned out, was as symbolic as the ‘evil’ in his name. See, Action Figure Dystopia had a long history of corrupted monarchs getting too big for their thrones and exploiting the underclasses. The job of the Evil Chancellor was to always remain vigilant, and loyally serve a good ruler - or, if the regent should became a despot, to slay them on behalf of the people.
But since killing the king would be a terrible crime, the Evil Chancellor had to be the kind of person who would willingly die to spare the people from the plight of a wicked leader; because the murder would be pinned on them, in order to keep the ‘machinery of politics’ working as smoothly as ever.
Anyway, Evil Chancellor Traytor had a diary, in which my sister I would take turns writing out the most over-the-top good shit he’d done behind the scenes. Usually after everyone else had finished talking shit about him. I don’t know why but we got the biggest kick out of being like:
Barbie With the Unfortunate Haircut: Oh that Evil Chancellor Traytor! Why can’t the king see how wicked he is?!
Charmander From the Vending Machine: Char!
Jurassic Park Toy of Jeff Goldblum With Disturbingly Realistic Face: At least if someone puts a knife in the king’s back, we’ll know where to look!
Evil Chancellor Traytor’s Diary: Today I was feeding ducks at the park when I noticed another legless action figure sitting by the benches. I put a hundred dollars into his bag while he wasn’t looking. I really need to increase budgeting to the medical treatment centers. If only we had enough glue, I think we would see far fewer toys trying to get by without limbs… *insert iconic evil laugh*
Anyway, Evil Chancellor Traytor eventually fell victim to one of my mom’s cleaning sprees, and she decided he was too busted up to keep and tossed him out. My littler brother, who tended to follow my sister and I’s games like he was watching a daily soap opera, cried so hard that we had to do a special ‘episode’ where one of the toys found the Evil Chancellor’s diary, and so he got a big huge memorial and the king threw himself into the empty grave and then ordered the toys driving the toy bulldozer to bury him so that ‘Traytor’s grave would have a body’ (this seemed very important for some reason).
And then we had the Quest For a New King. Somehow or another that ended up being a giant rubber snake called ‘Tyrant King Cobra’.
::closes tab, shuts off computer, and proceeds to have the best day ever just by knowing this exists::
i will always reblog Evil Chancellor Traytor
1998 nickelodeon trade ad
It’s amazing how they could make an ad from 1998 that looks like a shitpost made a week ago.
Here’s a template
Here’s mine
It was bound to happen.
“X bodily fluid is just filtered blood!” buddy I hate to break it to you but ALL of the fluids in your body are filtered blood. Your circulatory system is how water gets around your body. It all comes out of the blood (or lymph, which is just filtered blood).
“Okay but why is it always so chemically roundabout and unnecessarily complicated” well buddy, that’s because your blood is imitation seawater. See? It’s very simple.
Blood is what now?
It’s imitation seawater what part is confusing
#are you telling me#humans are just sentient aquariums?
Buddy if anything is living in your blood (except for more parts of you) in detectable amounts then you have a serious microbial infection and need to go to the hospital.
Humans are seawater wastelands kept sterile of all but human cells, with microbial mats coating their surfaces.
Thank you that’s…very disturbing
It’s not my fault you’re human.
Ok but “It’s not my fault you’re human.” Is the best comeback ever.
You can use it against anyone except children that you biologically helped to create.
#/blood is imitation seawater/ is the part that’s confusing
Picture this: you are a Thing That Lives In The Ocean. Some kind of small multicellular animal a long time ago, before proper circulatory systems existed. “Wow,” you think, metaphorically, “it sure is difficult to diffuse chemicals across my whole body. Kinda puts a hard limit on the size and distance of what specialised organs I can have. Good thing I have all this water around me that’s the same salinity as my cells (they have to be that way so I don’t explode or shrivel up) so I can diffuse and filter chemicals with that.”
“Wait a minute,” you say a couple of generations later, because you’re not actually a small animal but an evolutionary process personified and simplified to the point of dangerous inaccuracy for the purposes of a Tumblr post, “instead of losing all these important chemicals to the water around me, how about I put it in tubes? I can keep MY water separate from the rest of the world’s water! Anything I want to keep goes in my water! Anything I don’t, I dump back into the outside water! I’m a genius! An unthinking natural trial-and-error process that’s a GENIUS!”
“Wow,” you think a great many generations later, “being able to have such control over such high concentrations of important chemicals is so great. Look how big I’m getting. I even have a special pump to move my seawater around, and these cool filter systems to keep the chemicals in it right, and that control and chemical concentration has let me grow so many energy-intensive, highly specialised organs! Being big is so hard. I need special cells just to carry my oxygen around now, to make sure my enormous, constantly-operating body has enough of it.”
At this point you are embodying a fish, and eventually, fish start straying into water with different pressures and salinity levels. (I mean, they do that since befor ehty’er fish, but… look, I’m trying to keep things simple here.) “What the FUCK,” you think. “My inside water is at a different salinity and pressure to the outside water?? How am I supposed to deal with that? I can’t have freshwater inside my seawater tubes! My cells have a set salinity and they would explode! I need to start beefing up my regulatory and filter systems so that my inside seawater STAYS SEAWATER OF THE CORRECT SALINITY even if the outside water is different! Fortunately, adding salt to my seawater is a lot easier than removing it, and I want to be saltier than this weird outside water.” At this point you beef up your liver and urinary systems to compensate for different salinities. (Note: the majority of fish, freshwater and saltwater, have a fairly narrow band of salinities they can live in. Every fish doesn’t get to deal with every level of salinity; they are evolved to regulate within specific bands.)
You also, at some point, go out on land. This is new and weird because you have to carry all of your water inside. “It’s a good thing I turned myself into a giant bag of seawater,” you think. “If I wasn’t carrying my seawater inside, how would I transport all these important chemicals between my organs and the environment?” As you specialise to live entirely outside of the water, you realise (once again) that it’s a lot easier to add salt to water than to remove it in great quantities. Drinking seawater in large amounts becomes toxic; your body isn’t specialised for removing that amount of salt. Instead, you drink freshwater, and add salts to that. The majority of your organs are, at this point, specialised for moving your seawater around, protecting it, adding stuff to it, or taking stuff out. You have turned yourself into an intelligent bag for carrying and regulating a small amount of imitation seawater, and its salinity (and your commitment to maintaining that salinity) is based entirely on the seawater that some early animals started to build tubes around a long time ago.
And that’s what a human is!
Well, there’s another few steps, of course.
Because at some point, operating along lines of logic that worked out perfectly so far, you did decide to be a mammal.
A mammal is a machine for adapting to Circumstances. A mammal is a tremendously resilient all-terrain life-support system, with built-in heating, cooling, respiration, and incubators for reproduction. Mammals internalise everything (grudges, eggs) and furthermore are excessively, flamboyantly wet internally. Sure, everyone’s a bag of chemicals; but mammals slosh. Mammals took the concept of an internal ocean and took it in an unnecessarily splashy direction, added aftermarket mods and a climate-control system,
and just to show off, you leaned across the metaphorical gambling table and said: “my internal ocean is so good-“
“Bullshit,” said the shark, keeping it salty (ha)
“My internal ocean is so brilliantly resilient, more so than any of YOURS,” you said, holding their attention with a digit held aloft, “that for my next trick, I shall artistically recreate the ballad of evolution as a performance. I shall craft a complex chemical ballet depicting the origin of multicellular life - using some of my own material, of course-”
“Oh, ANYONE can lay an egg,” yodel the fish, and the ray adds: “ontogeny does NOT recapitulate phylogeny!!”
And you’re like, “yeah no, it’s an artistic rendition, not a literal thing. Basically I’m going to take some cells and brew them up-“
“Like an egg.”
“Like an egg. An egg but internally.”
“Yeah,” said the viviparous reptile, “yeah, like, that can work really well. I’ve always said it’s the highest test of one’s chemical know-how. It’s a lot of work. And forget about support from your family - forget about support from your PHYLUM - all you get is criticism.”
“I’m gonna do it on purpose forever,” you said. “The highest chemical, thermoregulatory, immunological, everything-logical challenge. It’s gonna be my thing.”
“I’m with you,” said a viviparous fish, stoutly. “Representation.”
You kindly don’t point out, once again, that you’re planning to do this outside the ocean, in a range of temperatures; carrying the dividing cells in a perfect 37.5• solution of saline broth in all terrains, breathing oxygen in a complicated matter, you know, bit more difficult; but you need your allies.
“It’s solid,” says the coelacanth.
“But is it metal?” says the deep-vent organism.
“Oh, it’s metal. I will feed the young,” you say, magnificently, “on an echo of the mother ocean. The first rich feast of cellular matter, the first hunt for sustenance, the first bite they sip of our liquid planet-”
Everyone waits.
“Will be a blood byproduct. My own blood byproduct.”
Everyone looks uncomfortable.
“But,” a hagfish says carefully, “don’t you outdoorsy guys still need your blood?”
You cough and explain that if you stay wet enough internally and hydrate frequently, you should be able to produce enough blood byproduct to sustain your hellish new invention until they can eat your peers.
The outrage that follows includes questions like “is this some furry shit?” And: “milk has WATER in it?”
And you won the bet. “My inner ocean is such a perfect homage to the primordial soup that I can personally cook up an entire live hairy mammal in it. And then generate excess blood byproduct from my body and give it to the small mammal until it gets big.”
That is an absolutely bonkers pitch, by the way, and everyone thought you were a showoff, even before the opposable thumbs. When the winter came, and the winter of winters, and the rain was acid and the air was poison on the tender shells of their eggs and choked the children in the shells; when the plants turned to poison, and the ocean turned against you all; when the climate changed, and the world’s children fell to shadow; your internal ocean was it that held true. A bet laid against the changing fates, a bet laid by a small beast against climate and geography and the forces of outer space, that you won. The dinosaurs fell and the pterosaurs fell and the marine reptiles dwindled, and you, furthest-child, least-looked-for, long-range-spaceship, held hope internally at 37.5 degrees. Which is another thing that humans do, sometimes.
It has been MONTHS, @elodieunderglass, and I am still mumbling “furthest-child, least-looked-for, long-range-spaceship” under my breath as a comfort phrase, and the FUCKING INDIGNITY that it came from this godforsaken post about THE HORRIBLE WETNESS OF MAMMALS!
“The horrible wetness of mammals” would make a great band name.
“hold hope, internally, at 37.5 degrees” and “Mammals internalize everything (eggs, grudges)” Now live permanently in my vocabulary
hello beloveds ☺️
made an alternate version for the mutuals ive never spoken to
You are appreciated
witchpunk is apparently a new audio drama, not a clue what it is about yet but that is the coolest name I've ever heard
so definitely giving it a listen
This just in: Tumblr-User field-cryptobotanist has chosen their profession not out of skill or even passion, but purely to be able to say stuff like "Im studying a Leviathan" or "I took a semester of behemoth". Its cool words all the way down.
I always understood "animals need shelter so they can relax. Especially shelter where nobody can see them."
But I never *understood* it until I moved into a house thats basically street level.
You are so aware of everyone potentially being able to see you. You move different. You genuinely behave different.
My blinds? Basically always down. Most of my windows are now half covered in milkglass sheets, which helped sooooo much.
Brains are funky.