teeny tiny murder drones rant cus I saw smth on pin (yes I'm also in the MD fandom shocker ik)
it lowkey annoys me how people are whining about N and Uzi's height difference when , 1) they are both 18-20 years old (whether by actual years or just coded mentality idk), and 2) THEY ARE ROBOTS, and their heights FIT THEIR PURPOSE.
Worker drones (Uzi) are short, as in (mostly) the 4'6 to 4'11 range. This is considered short, but you also need to take into account the fact that worker drones were specifically designed to work in mines and therefore fit into small spaces, so this small size fits their purpose.
Disassembly drones (N) are taller, in the 5'8 to 5'11 range. This is tall, especially compared with the worker drones, BUT DD's were designed to be agile, kill their worker drone counter parts, and they literally have the ability to fly, they need the room for their wings, so this size fits their purpose. (and cyn kinda designed them to turn into eldritch monsters when they're "killed" so that can also vaguely be attributed to their height)
So no, the height difference isn't weird or creepy or "Wattpad" when you take into account what they were built to do in universe.
I'd like to mention that DD N and "Tessa" are basically the same height if there's not a couple inch difference
Next up someone is going to claim that the Narnia series isn't kids books.
Kids books is probably not the best way to word it, you can enjoy them at every age, including your childhood, as you get older you may find new truths in them, but they're still good for any age.
Reading a 1000 word book as a kid is no different to reading ten 100 word books.
You don't see that stack of books from the same author thats marketed to kids and think "wow they've only read a small amount"? No. Its a huge amount. Its the same story too. They gotta remember the old info same as if they read a big book.
Kids often read more than adults I find anyway since they have good access and are often made\encouraged to at school
For all that I've seen a lot of PHM posts that go on about 'patron saint of [blank]' for Ryland Grace, I don't think I've seen any that address what amounts to the scientific version of that: Mother of/Father of.
In order to be considered for the title of Mother of/Father [scientific field], you have to be the first to make significant contribution in that field. You're setting the groundwork in a way nobody else has. This can obviously cause a lot of debate in the end about who gets the title! That said, I think given the leaps and bounds that Grace makes in several fields of science that take them from the more theoretical to the practical gives him some notable options with strong arguments. So we've got options like: Father of Astrobiology (the discovery and study of Astrophage, Taumoeba, several other forms of life on Adrian, and the study of and first interactions with the Eridians; disproving the Goldilocks zone as the only area viable for life; making significant strides in proving the panspermia hypothesis), Father of Xenolinguistics (first person to create working translator and archive of an alien language), and Father of Interstellar Travel (this would be a title held alongside Dr. Dmitri Komorov, likely with Komorov being listed first, and there would be significant debate on if Grace should hold the title at all. I like to think Dmitri would want to share it though).
All workable cases, all real options. Buuuuut I think my very favorite option though would be the one that is the least open to debate and is the one that I honestly think Grace himself would like best: Father of First Contact.
Because on the one hand, yeah, that's a lot he was mostly doing. First contact with Astrophage, with the Taumoeba, with other life on Adrian, and most of all with the Eridians. The first ever intelligent form of life outside of Earth, he made First Contact with. He found ways to communicate, to establish common ground, to work alongside an alien being. He did something no one else on Earth had ever done before and changed the world with it. He made First Contact and saved the world.
But mostly that means there's a whole field of science that Grace's name is attached to forever because he got to meet his friend. Mostly, Father of First Contact is just a fancy way to say "I love my friend."
1- father of first contact is the cutest option and if you can only have one title that would be best
BUT
2- the funniest opinion imo is him getting several of those so hes one of those "this guy is fuckin everywhere" scientists (i imagine one day in the distant future a group of college kids get together and one of them can be talking about learning of this great biologist that made so many new discoveries and someone else goes "you mean the linguist??" "You mean the ASTRONAUT??" And everyones confused for a little bit until they figure it out)
mercifulmother
2 - This is the ideal vision yes yes yes yes! Grace really went out there and decided to do a 100% speedrun on revolutionizing different fields of science, and now children of the future are going to suffer about it forever. It gets even worse once the political science kids get involved in the conversation. "Do you mean the DIPLOMAT?" STEM vs Humanities showdown is brutal. Trying to write a paper about this man is an absolute nightmare because the interdisciplinary sources on him are in five different sections of the library at any given point. Finding his stuff in a bookstore is even worse.
securitycapecreature
@mercifulmother Ahhhh!!! Yesss oh my those poor kids, im half glad i dont live in that universe rn, his Wikipedia page is the stuff of nightmares
On the other hand, someone does that type of post where they post a screenshot of the "subjects" in a weird wiki page with no context and everyone in the comments identifies him Immediately cause who else
mercifulmother
@securitycapecreature His Wikipedia page is so long and its a nightmare to look at and it can never be confused for anyone else. Its one of the best places to fall into a wikipedia rabbit hole on because you can redirect in so many different directions. He's also the new spiders georg. "'Average scientist discovers 3 field revolutionizing things a year' factoid actually [sic] just statistical error. Average scientist discovers 0 field revolutionizing things a year. Dr. Cpt. Ryland Grace, who lives in space and discovers over 10,000 revolutionary facts each day, is an outlier adn should not have been counted."
Grace has come a long way from "no immediate family, you don't even have a dog". He's the Father of First Contact. For the rest of time, as long as human and Eridian civilizations last, at all the points where humans and Eridians (or even humans and other species, or Eridians and other species) meet and interact and find joy in each other, making their own personal First Contacts -- all of those people become Grace's family.
@avoid-avoidance Hey man you can't just make me cry on my own post like that, what the heck??? How dare you???? Like I'd halfway made a connection similar to that (more from a teaching perspective), but not with everyone who makes First Contact after him being Grace's family. I'm so glad you did cause that's beautiful, I love it.
That's his family forever! He's their family forever! He taught them all how to make first contact, how to be with another species, how to love in this totally new way, and that makes them his kids! He's the blueprint humanity learns from! He never stops teaching, and all his students are his kids, and now they're his family too! Augh I'm gonna go get some tissues now, I'm very emotional.
Anyways peer reviewed, highly approved, ten stars, sparkly good job sticker right at the top.
Free service with ads: Well, if I'm not paying for it they have to foot the bill somehow.
Paid service with no ads: Well, if they're not funding it with ad revenue, they need to charge us something.
Paid service with ads: Well that's bullshit.
"We used to be a paid service without ads, but now we're putting ads in it! If you want the ad-free version you have to pay more for preeeeemium": Fuck you fuck you fuck you
spent forty-five minutes today helping an 87yo woman who does not own a computer or a cell phone try to set up an email account so that she could then set up a second account in order to access benefits. went with protonmail, because they don't require 2fa, but it turns out that while you can still make a protonmail account without authentication you can no longer use it to create OTHER accounts without it, and the benefits page she needed to get to required both an email and a cell phone to create an account anyway. asked if she wanted to try going in person to see if someone there could help her, and she said that she had, and they'd directed her to the website. she tried signing up with her landline, but of course that didn't work because you can't do SMS authentication that way. finally ended up writing up detailed instructions for how to log in and authenticate her account so she can drive to her severely disabled daughter's house forty minutes away because that's the only person she knows and trusts who has both a cell phone and a computer.
anyway i fucking hate mandatory 2fa and i think the people responsible for it should have to spend a year navigating their lives with no cell phone and no internet access beyond the public library pcs. fuck.
Having someone ask ChatGPT in a meeting is like being a grown-ass professional adult in a room full of other grown-ass professional adults trying to solve a problem, while a colleague with one of those baby toys that makes animal sounds repeatedly presses the cow button. And we all have to stop what we're doing and listen to cow go moo and say "wow hm yeah that's not really what we're asking but the cow does definitely go moo, good thoughts"
Except increasingly the cow is being treated as a respected contributor to meetings as we pivot to a moo-centric business model that principally produces bullshit
hearing anything about the nolan odyssey is so funny. it's like "they cut the extremely important and infamous nobody scene" "the cyclops is a giant puppet that they put in an actual historical cave + gave circe animatronics for her pig transformation instead of cgi" "they dumped plastic skeletons in an environmentally protected location they were not supposed to be in" "they recreated ancient greek instruments in order to have an accurate score" "all of odysseus's agency is basically gone" "anne hathaway actually learned how to weave ancient looms" "the women in this movie are treated like shit" "they actually buried actors alive to get those underworld shots" "did you see what the fuck zendaya was fucking wearing holy shit you can't DO THAT, MA'AM" "what do you mean there was a legitimate epic the musical reference" "NOT A SINGLE FUCKING GREEK WAS CAST IN THIS MOVIE"
like did nolan have two guys standing at his side at all times whispering ideas in his ear and one told the truth and the other told lies and they didnt tell him which was which until they wrapped production cause
Like there is a difference between "My trauma creates impulsive urges and has changed my instinctive reactions to be irrational, I need to relearn shit." vs "I'm traumatized so I Can't Help It and you're not allowed to expect better of me"
I feel a perpetual deep-seated alienation from most people in academia because everyone behaves like cops and hall monitors, and then I log onto tumblr to see the exact people who do the alienating posting about how emotionally difficult it is for them to report students for (possibly) using AI to write an assignment
Peeling off the broken breastplate of a stoic knight who only fights and never speaks, just to realize there’s nothing in there. Not metaphorically—the armor is literally empty. It doesn’t 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 might’ve 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 he’ll 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 who’s 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 didn’t 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. I’m not entirely sure why he keeps coming back here anyway. We’re 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 I’d 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 I’m not sure why I asked.
There’s not much room left in his nothing now. When he comes back for repairs I’ve 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 I’ve been rudely encroaching on his nothingness to the point where it’s barely even there. How he squeezes his nothing back into a body so full, I’ll never understand. But it’s 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. It’s like he’s watching, even though I know the reading glasses I put inside his helmet were just for fun. I’m careful to put it all back exactly the way it was when he last left. There’s no room to add more this time.
He examines the breastplate, and pauses before putting it back on, like he’s 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. There’s nothing there. I ask him what’s wrong, and again he points. It’s the most emotion I’ve ever seen from him, and it’s 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 I’m finished he holds the breastplate, but he doesn’t put it on right away. I ask him if something’s still wrong. He says nothing, and puts it on. I tell him I can’t add anything else. Even if he could ask, there’s no room left.
Next time he comes back, there’s nothing wrong with his armor—he lets me check to make sure. I ask him what he’s doing here. Out from one of many pockets, he retrieves a tiny rusted knife. It’s in miserable condition, barely worth saving. I tell him I could make him a nice new one, but I’ll fix it if he likes. He puts it away and reaches around to find something else, a needle and thread. Better condition, but I’m 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. It’s candy. I ask if I can eat it. He says nothing. I eat it. It’s flavored with cinnamon. I’m 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 it’s my own fault so I can’t 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 I’ll 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 it’s dark outside. He follows me out of the forge. I ask him where he’s 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 I’ve finally had enough of pretending to be a bear, but he doesn’t move to leave.
I ask if he’s 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 he’s not going to say anything ever, so I fill the silence. I tell him I’m grateful for the sweets, I tell him about how his various components are made, I tell him I’ve never met anyone made of nothing before. I tell him it’s 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 else’s empty armor with trinkets. I’m not sure if that’s really why he does it. I tell him I don’t have room to be filled with anything on the inside, not like him. I’m 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 it’s nothing at all.
—
I didn’t edit this even a little bit. Thanks for reading!
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