'Quirky infallible god-king of the progressive nerds' seems pretty cursed as a social role at this point ngl.
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reddit sexuality: 30 something year old guy who has referred to a real woman as a "smol tiddy e-girl" this year. would have sex with link from legend of zelda but otherwise straight
body count: 1 (wife who hates him)
tumblr sexuality: 20 something gender non-conforming person that is vocal about puppy play, violence as an allegory for intimacy, superficial christian symbolism, and "old man yaoi"
body count: 0
grindr sexuality: Daddy want to smell yor ass while i fuck your mouth baby
body count: 187
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Oh I’m so sleepy… won’t you use !tuck to tuck me into bed?
!cursedoak
did anyone else have terrible dreams about a gnarled, twisted forest with one tree more terrible and hateful than all the rest
Despite it being arguably the biggest discursive lightning rod of the last ten years, I feel like I still don't understand the causal mechanism of "bigoted portrayals in fiction lead to people being more bigoted in real life." I feel like it's taken as so obviously true that the idea of a 'causal mechanism' doesn't register with people.
I'll put the question to anyone reading this: have you ever known someone who watched/read/played something that's an internet punching bag for having retrograde portrayals of some group, and become more bigoted against that group as a result? To the extent that you think there's a provable cause-effect connection?
Because I think it never happens. Like, statistically, never. No one actually has stories like that. Compare that to "my friend joined a far-right group because they offered a sense of community and belonging" or "My uncle used to hate black people but then his daughter married a black guy and he got better rather than disown her". Things that actually effect real peoples' lives will blow any positive or negative effect from fiction out of the water. You at least occasionally hear people share stories like that.
Anyone who wants to reduce (or, uh, increase) bigotry should pour 100% of their energy into real-world positive-interaction-creation, and 0% into yelling at people who have Bad Media Tastes, the same way people who fear death should worry about car crashes more than being attacked and eaten by wolves. And I think on some level, everyone knows that, when you frame it this way.
I maybe have more to say here but I'll stop and wait for some feedback.
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States where 1 World Trade Center is taller than their highest point above sea level
Source: reddit.com
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im surprised no one is talking about how elon musk paid people to make high level hardcore characters for him so he could claim it was all his work on livestream only to be immediately exposed as he couldn't even play the game right
If he were a fictional character, Elon would inspire more psychoanalysis than Jay Gatsby, Patrick Bateman, and Humbert Humbert put together.
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I want a boy who worships me like i worship him. I am his everything, just as he is mine. Please. Demand my affections, melt at my touch. I want to love you! Let me love you, please please please
I want a boy with fat nuts
what are you planning, nutsacktorturer
I'm glad my post blew up
just like those nuts huh
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Sure, boss, I’d still be ya henchman if you was a woim
Originally 420 was gonna be the Nazi number (Hitler's birthday) and 1488 was gonna be the weed number (translates alphanumerically to ADHH, which stands for 'A Doobie? Hell Hyeah!') but then we decided it would be more fair to make Nazis type the longer number.
Handing these out to my mathblr mutuals.
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guy who thinks food was significantly harder to chew 17 years ago
the real answer is this guy was 24 which was common at hs proms in 2008 and earlier
I hate how ugly I look on Zoom calls, so I try to remind myself that George Clooney c. 1995 would still look ugly on a zoom call.
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Melanie had never seen her dad move so fast. She was (unconvincingly) insisting that she and Tabby hadn’t seen “anything weird”. Then Tabby’s scream rang out, and Dad turned on his heels and charged up the stairs like a bull. Well, there goes that story.
She and Mom ran after him, and Melanie gasped at his gun, unholstered and safety off, aimed at this ‘someone else’. He looked human—but then, the rat looked normal too.
He knew what guns were, at least, and held his hands up as Dad pointed one at him. “You’ve got five seconds to explain this,” Dad growled.
The boy stepped back, eyes wide. “F-Fernando Cervantes?” He asked.
Dad advanced up the stairs. “I don’t like hearing that name,” he growled. “Especially from someone who just broke into my kid’s bedroom.”
“H-he didn’t break in!” Tabby stammered. “He appeared out of the wall!” She looked at Melanie and laughed half-crazily. “I was right all along. Ghost lights.”
Dad looked at her. “Nah. He’s very much alive,” he said, in a tone that suggested that could abruptly change. “In fact, to do that, this gentleman broke past the most fuck-off huge ‘No Trespassing’ sign he’s ever seen, and me and him are gonna go talk about why.”
The boy kept his hands up. He had an odd bracelet, a swooping, cresting steel band with a single white feather dangling from a string. “Sir…” he said quietly. “I mean no harm. I’ve been sent with a message.” He had a thick and unplaceable accent. His clothes were at once tattered and elegant, and his face could have been Mongolian or Mediterranean or Native American, or all three. “No more talking,” Dad said. He gestured to the door. The boy cautiously moved toward it.
“Sweetie, put your gun away,” Mom said. “He says he’s got a message, so if he went to all this trouble it must be important.”
“This is why I told you to take Tabby back to her goddamn house,” he snapped back. “Now look what she’s seen.”
“Take her—Fred, we are shelter-in-place right now until we know if the Ward is secure. And until we have your talk.” She smiled at the girls; it was offset by her desperate eyes. “In the meantime, ladies, dinner is served! Feel free to, uh, serve yourselves. Wash your dishes, and don’t eavesdrop.”
“I’ll know,” Dad added. "You are not smarter than a police detective."
Second draft of Chapter one. The three leads are meeting for the first time.
In general I feel I'm already writing at a higher quality here. The idea is that first drafts are for plot and second drafts are for character is working for me. I feel like even the parents have more personality here, delivered more compactly, than the first draft.
I'm not sure if I'm overdoing it with Lynd's ethnic countenance at the end there. I feel that sort of thing is more common than you think even though the official advice is typically to avoid it. The point I'm trying to make is: he's exotic, he's a stranger, he's Not From Around Here.
One protagonist's father is a police detective, and there's a few good cops and bad cops early on before the action moves to Florida. Mostly I just don't like or care about cops-in-fiction discourse. I guess I could Do Something with it, make the kindly old Chief of Detectives secretly a bastard (because I don't want to do that to the kindly old baseball coach).
I want to get in enough trouble one day to get to say, unsmiling and flint-faced, "I am invoking my right to speak to an attorney, and will say nothing else until I am provided with one", and mean it. But not more trouble than that.