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#but that's another can of worms entirely
bambiraptorx · 1 year
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Part One
Draxum and Mikey:
Similarly to Raph, Draxum struggles quite a bit at first with adjusting to Mikey's nigh-on ridiculous learning speed. However, Mikey's main 'barrier', so to speak, is that scheduling specific times for lessons as Draxum prefers to do doesn't work well for him. Sometimes it works out, and Mikey progresses in leaps and bounds, but other times when his focus is exhausted? Sure, he can kind of force himself to pay attention during their lessons, but that only works so well and for so long. It is not, by any means, an effective way to learn.
The real issue isn't Mikey's ability or potential to learn, but that he's never really had to learn how to consistently engage with something even when he doesn't feel like it. He's never really had to force himself to keep working on something when he isn't really feeling it. Which isn't inherently a negative trait, but it makes it harder for Draxum to teach him, as Draxum has most definitely learned how to force himself to do things and doesn't immediately realize that that's not a universal thing.
The problem Draxum has here isn't so much about getting Mikey to focus, but rather not only figuring out how to create an environment that is continually engaging enough that Mikey can focus, but also knowing when to just call it quits. Some days are fantastic, others just don't work out for training, and there's nothing wrong with that. He might end up kinda just showing Mikey a wide range of the ways that mystic powers can be used and hoping that some of it sticks.
Draxum and Leo:
This might seem a be counter intuitive, but Leo is actually the one who Draxum can train most effectively (at least, given the specific context of Minor Interference). See, based on the point in time that this story diverges from canon, Leo is still struggling to figure out how his powers work and, although he doesn't want to admit it, deeply insecure about his place on the team because of that.
That, combined with his tendency to latch onto paternal figures (see: Jupiter Jim and Tim Dunkman) means that Leo actually really does want to learn from Draxum and sort of starts looking up to him. "Sort of" being the key phrase here, as Leo doesn't want to admit to himself that he craves the approval Draxum happens to be offering. So Leo wants to learn from Draxum, but at the same time, he doesn't want to get too close, if that makes sense.
On Draxum's end, Leo's training is the easiest (at least in terms of technique) because Draxum is teaching him a skill set that he himself actively uses: portals. Draxum knows from first hand experience how tricky portals can be to use and how hard they are to learn, so he actually has more reasonable expectations for Leo than Leo himself does.
However, what makes training Leo difficult is that Leo continually ignores the safety rules Draxum tries to teach him. This is partly because Leo's already broken most of those rules with little to no consequences and doesn't see why it's such a big deal, but also because he can tell it's extremely frustrating for Draxum when he breaks those rules.
What Leo doesn't really realize is that Draxum's frustration comes from a place of concern about his wellbeing, because portals can be very, very dangerous, especially when you're as reckless with them as Leo is. You can get lost somewhere, you can get portal-jacked, you could portal chop yourself, etc. Portals are not a form of magic to be taken lightly, and Leo's a bit too cavalier about how he uses them.
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ghostsgrazing · 2 months
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Yesterday while chay was telling phil about qtubbo a lot of the chat was calling him bipolar or mentioning other mental disorders, i just want to remind the crows that tubbo himself said not to do that because its insensitive to people who actually struggle with those
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notbeetle · 8 months
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There really has to be some kind of fascinating essay on how twig views the family
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canarydarity · 1 year
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Hard to tell how indicative the bones on the floor are of anything about the catacombs themselves being how, every few minutes, Pix kills another skeleton adding to the collection. He swipes his sword through the one before him, and it collapses so readily into a pile of bone—like it was made to, like it was just waiting on his sword—that he has to wonder, not for the first time, what was holding it together to begin with. The bones rattle and clatter against those already littered around, and Pix sighs at the further disturbance to the scene as it was when he had entered; accounting for the damage likely done by mobs was going to make this hell to study. 
He grabs another torch and sets it inside one of the empty sconces that still adorn the walls, readjusts his grip on his sword—he can hear more lingering around the next corner; the low hiss that means a spider is near, the groan or two of a zombie. 
Pix picks up a chunk of cobble from the ground and tosses it down the hall, waits. Sure enough, out scuttles a spider. He disposes of it quickly enough, but it seems he’ll have to venture down the dark hall to goad the zombies. He glances at the clock he placed in his hotbar before embarking on this mission (it’s hard to tell how much time passes underground—something he learned quickly in his line of work). There’s still a good amount of daylight left, and he wants the catacombs cleared; he has other projects he has to move on to, things he needs to finish; he’ll just get through a few more halls—it won’t be an issue, surely. 
But the new corner he rounds remains dark even as he places a torch behind him to mark the way back. The groans can still be heard, but a zombie is yet to lumber his way, and so he has to wonder what's beyond his admittedly limited sight. Pix shuffles another foot or so forward, a torch in his non-dominant hand now as well, hoping for light, for vision. The research part of him—the logical academic—knows that it shouldn't still be this dark with the torches placed behind him nor the one in his hand, and that part is so much louder and more important than the one that knows this means something is wrong, the part that says turn around. 
The torch is lit, he can feel the heat of the flame as he observes it flicker in and out but cast no shadow on the wall behind—a wall Pix can’t even see but knows is there all the same. The circle of light provided extends no further than an inch or two out from the flame itself—comparable more to that of a birthday candle than a lit hand torch. If he hadn’t been staring directly at it, he would’ve assumed the fire snuffed out. 
He feels his eye twitch and his brows furrow. Academia liked concrete answers, things that could be explained and reasoned away—unequivocal proof. But Pix had always had a soft spot for the inexplicable, the ineffable. It was nice when he studied something and found an answer, it was riveting when he didn’t. How much more exciting to study it again and again, a riddle that begged not to be solved. (How much sweeter the prize if he were the one to figure it out in the end). 
His interest was piqued. He could feel it, the way his attention focused and his surroundings blurred and left him; his body on standby, his sword hand lowered almost subconsciously.  
In other words, it was entirely his own fault when the zombie grabbed him. Panic is never a good thing to welcome into a fight, but it likes to show up uninvited anyway. Pix's entire career revolves around studying human behavior, about how human nature cannot be fought against though it oft leads us to our own downfall and ruin. He finds it uncanny when he's reminded that this is a phenomenon from which he is not exempt. 
In haste, he elbows the zombie behind him and turns, back now to the darkness—the one not even his torch could dent. It’s an ugly bugger, eyes soft and misshapen from decay and skin so leathery it’s as if it's been treated and is ready for use as a saddle or armor. Logic replaced by horror, before he can run it through it advances, arms out, and Pix drops his sword to reach back, holding it at arm's length itself; their arms interlocked, pose not unlike meeting an old friend again for the first time in a while. His hands grip the woven fabric of what's left of its shirt, too old and worn to be from any time close to recent, and, despite the very real danger, his mind takes the time to process the period-accurate fabric, the hand-stitched design. He blanches again as he looks into its horrible milky eyes—this zombie was from the capital. 
Not sentient enough to know why it’s not actually getting any closer to Pixlriffs, the zombie makes a noise that sounds frighteningly human in its frustration and steps forward, and in his distraction, Pix lets it. The push seems to make his brain function yet again, and he shoves the zombie backward a good few paces away, but the momentum sends him stepping back himself, and his foot finds not purchase but, instead, the disturbing lack of solid ground, and with nothing left to do, he falls. 
He hits the ground with a thump and a crack and a lot of other sounds he would rather not describe as he feels they were likely very undignified. Winded but, it appears, still in one piece, he grabs another torch and strikes it against the wall, holding it up above him when it lights and shines this time as torches normally do. He buries the part of himself that is disappointed at this—the part that wants to panic and complain finally louder, now, than the part that says hmm. 
He didn’t fall too far, it seems. Now that the torch is lit he can see the gap he’d fallen through, just under a dozen feet or so above where he lays. It's obvious even looking from below how the stone floor had crumbled away, taking maybe one or two hits too many over time from overcrowded mobs or shifts in terrain or pressure aboveground. He tilts his head back but sees only another dead end behind him, and ahead looks like a further, deeper hall of the tomb he hadn’t uncovered yet, though the path is obstructed by debris from above; a net of spiderweb blankets the pile of stone and dirt, but no spider seems to be left guarding the web. 
His friend above seems to have lost interest now that he’s fallen out of sight, and its moans and groans get further away by the second. 
No immediate threat, Pix lets his head fall back onto the ground and takes a breath. He knew the crypt would be full of mobs, he knew it’d be hard, but still…
No, it’s worth it. It will be worth it. He has a job to do.
At least he isn’t defenseless—it’s more than he can say for the dungeons. Not a weapon to his name, fists wrapped in tape so red you’d never believe it’d been white to begin with; knuckles so raw and scraped and beaten by the time he’d made it out that they’d scarred that way—permanent marks of the fighter he was, of the fighter he’d proved to be. 
There was a fear there, too, at that very real and physical understanding of permanence. His studies proved expert in providing examples of what was permanent and what wasn’t, and where people weren’t, things were. He’d spent enough time studying what could be learned about a person by the things they left behind to begin to wonder if anyone at all would’ve remembered him if he’d died in those dungeons—not a singular weapon or item for him to leave behind and tell his story.
Pix stops wallowing. He sits up and reaches over his shoulder for his pick; he isn’t shocked to find that the shaft had snapped in two from the fall, it having been strapped to his back. He sighs, tossing it aside as useless. He’ll make another. 
He takes the time to remind himself again that he knew it was going to be difficult, and that difficulty was no reason to not continue. But it didn’t just feel difficult it felt…inhibiting. Dissuading, deterring, impeding. It felt deliberate. It felt like, stay out; like, we don’t want you here; like, leave us to our rest. 
(it wasn’t, it was something far more sinister. An idea he’d never thought to consider; like a torch was giving off too-little light in the hallway of a dark, long-forgotten crypt, he couldn’t see any farther than what was right in front of his own face. How cliche it’d be, in the end, when it came to pass—the academic too invested in their own research, too dismissive of the present danger posed until it consumed them. He’d have a moment to laugh about it later, when the dread had settled in and all options—or lack thereof—exhausted. While on the topic of permanence…
It was not go away that the tomb was saying, not a driving force out that was being enacted upon the archeologist, but a more frightening call of stay. A threatening but desperate find…become…join���
No, if it were trying to keep him out, why would it keep pushing him deeper? Add this to the list of things he’d realize too late.)
He stands and dusts himself off. The wall is thick and overgrown with glow lichen, and he grabs the nearest vines and tugs one, twice, three times before deciding it won't give and hoisting up. It takes a few minutes and a fair amount of huffing and puffing to get himself to the top and over the edge but he does it, collapsing on higher ground once again and taking a minute to slow his pulse. When he left the dungeons, he dove back into the studies he’d been missing and decided he’d had enough fighting to last a lifetime—this was not without consequence, he’s not nearly as in shape as he used to be. 
His sword is still on the ground where he’d dropped it, so he reequips and readies himself to push his way back out; he’d have to make time to come back and clear the rest another day. He would be back, and he hoped he would be welcomed. 
“I don’t mean to disturb you,” he says into the quiet blackness of the catacombs. He doesn't dare speak above a whisper, for there were still mobs around and his voice carried enough as it was, bouncing along the empty stone and quiet graves. “I'd like to tell your story.” 
There's nothing to hear but for the scuttling of various creatures far off in the dark, the shrill whistle of stray wind through small openings and holes. He raises his voice only slightly, a bit bolder. “Don’t you want me to do that? Will—would you allow me to do that?” 
Silence, and then—the rattle and clatter of a skeleton. It sounds like only one; he lit everything up pretty well on his way in, getting out should be easier. Striking another torch against the wall, Pix prepares to go. For a second, the light is brighter than it should be, its circle of light illuminating the hall completely, the hole he’d fallen into, the distance to the other side. He leans back to avoid the heat of the flame, and he sees it. 
The other side of the cave-in leads not to another tunnel but to an alcove, and empty it is not. His torch, though many feet away, sheds light on the scene; the heavily wax-encrusted stone above a pile of used candles and burnt wicks, the coin and other offerings of gold overflowing from bowls and chalices and any other orifice they could be piled upon, and her. 
He recognizes her immediately. The tapestry covers the majority of the wall, and though it's faded for certain, the lack of direct sunlight has done wonders at preserving what it could. The colors are familiar to his research, the subtle and light greens under warm oranges and yellows. He’s too far, he cannot see any detail; the background, what she's holding, her face—but he knows her. She’s their patron. 
The skeleton wanders closer, its bones clicking and clacking down the hall. Pix swallows. 
“I’ll return for you, I will.” It’s a promise. She’s holding a secret, he knows she is—he’s going to figure out what. Pix turns just in time to face the skeleton as it rounds the corner, and soon its bones join those on the floor, new and old alike. 
His words still echo off the caverns and crevices of the catacombs after he's left and gone, and though not possible to have been heard by human ears, the crypt whispers back good. 
~-~-~-~
Far below even the hole the archeologist had fallen in, leagues underneath the surface of the earth, buried perhaps the furthest underground of anything left behind from the ancient capital—so deeply you’d have to wonder if maybe it was done on purpose—the crown sits in a chest, waiting patiently to be discovered. It’s not a matter of if, but a nice decisive and quiet when. Eventually, the echo of the archeologists' words falls upon it where it sits, and slowly it begins to emit a soft glow. It says stay, it says find, it says become, it says join.
It says soon.
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angorwhosebabyisthis · 3 months
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lies on the floor and has just So Many Feelings about all the ways in which pericles and cassidy are foils, one of them being the comparison between how they use constant, vocal, unabashed affirmation of the qualities they value about themselves to cope with rock bottom self-esteem.
there's so much to be said here about how pericles' 'positive' self-talk is ultimately destructive to himself and everyone around him, whereas cassidy's has both been healing for her and held her back from processing her self-loathing in other ways, and so much of that has to do with her experiencing firsthand the results of pericles' shit handling of his poor self-esteem and desperately not wanting to be anything like him. fuck me up man
#sdmi#scooby doo: mystery incorporated#cassidy williams#professor pericles#SDMItag#there's SO much here god#the older i get the more i understand cassidy and *ow*#which like god the 'desperately does not want to be another pericles' is a whole can of worms of its own#cassidy: it's important to internalize that you're allowed to like and be proud of things about yourself without having to Pass Peer Review#not just as a matter of principle but because your brain needs to hear it reinforced to do so; especially when there's already damage#in the same way that someone tearing you down over and over and over will beat the idea into your head over time#no matter how Flat Out Wrong you believe they are on a logical level; and no matter how viscerally you believed that at the start#be the opposite of that for yourself#pericles: my entire personhood hinges on one (1) Good Quality(tm)#without it i am utterly worthless and deserve everything that has ever happened to me. everyone i refused to believe about myself was right#the only valid measure of whether i am a person and have worth is whether the One Good Quality demonstrably *works* in practice#and other people are forced to believe it is real and matters because it directly affects them; usually to their detriment#and the only reason people try to stop me from succeeding or give me consequences for my actions is because they don't see me as a person#'locking me up like a common beast' isn't wrong because he's inherently a person; it's wrong because *he's Smart and that makes him one*#and it does not cross his mind at all that 'seems to have murdered a bunch of children' *might in fact be a reason they'd lock up a person*#so fuck em he'll hurt anyone and everyone in order to prove his One Good Quality; and make *absolutely sure* they know it's being proved#there has to be someone else to witness and validate that proof; because to him his own judgment does not count#cassidy after having her life destroyed by the results: Hm! no thanks#dyn: so nice to meet you; angel
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britneyshakespeare · 4 months
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james somerton is just one of those people who wants to do whatever he wants and cannot stand the consequences of their own actions, which they willingly chose to do. entitled and self-absorbed motherfuckers. and that's the only way you can think to do the things he's done in the first place. having no base respect for the people you steal from and your audience, of course you think you can somehow do something to win them back. you can't. no one but an egomaniac would do what he's done in the first place, and only an egomaniac would think they can come back from that and still deserve to be praised and respected and have your cozy career like you did before you were exposed for what you've done. people like this cannot be worked with in the public eye.
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sanguith · 8 months
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i'm glad i decided to try out a ketosis diet again (aka changing my metabolism to basically only use ketone bodies made from fatty acids for energy by reducing carb intake to max 20g/day) for a few weeks because it was a neat experiment but i'm also glad I decided to stop because now i get to enjoy life's greatest fucking simplest yet finest delicacy: mashed potatoes/sweet potatoes with melted butter and salt. i cannot understand how i could live without that. just. vegetables. keto has opened my eyes to new ways to cook foods and experiment with ingredients but i don't think i can live without carbs. i doubt that the majority of people could. also have you any idea how much good simple near-zero effort food there is out there like holy gosh darn in heaven. i don't have to spend hours cooking something to have a nice meal
#food mention#diets#actually anything carb with butter and salt. how can it be so good. call me a lazy goob but i once just microwaved corn and butter#added salt. and it was the most delicious fuckin thing ive ever eaten#i've done low-carb in the past and tried keto a few times and always it felt so great after the keto flu disappeared after a few days#but this time the keto flu did not go away. i felt so weak and awful but at the same time i had less brain fog. and never felt hungry.#but it was werid. i think it might have been because i've been kinda high carb for the last few years and the change was so strong & sudden#also electrolyte imbalances can happen on keto if you're not careful. it's complex.#anyway it got me to eat a bit healthier like (almost) completely avoiding processed foods and unnaturally high sugary stuff#which i just want to generally avoid for personal health reasons which is a whole can of worms but i just dont want to overindulge#sure i can eat an entire bag of candies or chips in an evening if i feel like it but I *feel* my body just being like “nooo” and sure enoug#the next morning i do feel a little bit extra like shit#and another thing: i think i benefit from abrupt diet changes now and then. it feels natural in a way. ye olde scavenger hunter genetics#ya know. our nomadic ancestors would probably have to do that a lot when things weren't year-round available#sometimes only meat for months on end in cold seasons/areas#sometimes basically only plants and nuts roots and seeds and stuff#it's actually remarkable how human metabolism can adapt so much depending on what's available to eat#sometimes fasting for days when food was just nowhere to be found.#i'm not saying “stress your metabolic system it's good for you'” (it probably isnt) just idk. mixing it up a bit at least works for me#btw disclaimer i HATE the whole thing about diet-pressuring and some people claiming that certain diets will solve everything#it doesn't solve all health problems magically. ”"”superfoods“”“ are not a 100% faultless scientifically proven thing.#shit like ''the paleo diet is the number one key to optimal health without medications!!'' no. shut.#on the other hand i do believe diets can help a bit like a nudge. it's just one factor out of many that affects how we feel#ANYWAY conclusion: eat what you want. do what feels right for you. find your own ways to make the food you eat help your health a bit#or don't! be yourself! love yourself!#the chosen method is gonna be different for everybody#but from now on im gonna try and eat as close to natural unprocessed foods as I can in this day and age. it feels right for me somehow.#i think *my* preferred method/diet whatever is to mainly eat natural unprocessed foods and to mix it up a bit now and then with change#for that sweet ''METABOLIC ADAPTATION'' perk that feels good for me#(why did this post become so long. nobody cares. anyway i don't care if nobody cares. i care. *I* care!!! wooopp)
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gothbaseball · 4 months
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tfw the only print on demand website that actually gives you a decent cut of revenue for your work rejects your application :')
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cakesdown · 4 months
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Having a special interest in a character with an unfortunate design means when i see redesigns that lean into the unfortunate aspects I am fully aware that I'm the only one who is aware of this and I have to bear the knowledge and just keep scrolling because it is not worth it
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capybandit · 1 year
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every character in both homestuck AND hlvrai is autistic and i mean this so genuinely. neurotypicals are far and few in between with these fucking people.
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oneirataxia-girl · 9 months
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mirage & five for the ship meme thingy pls!!
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firage how does it feel to be the most popular ship of mine? *cut to Five and Mirage looking vaguely confused* (they haven’t even confessed in my drafts)(cowards)(alvita write their confession scene challenge)
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t’was A Challenge to pick out three of their songs, here have their playlist as a bonus (and also bc their playlist is the one I’m most proud of)
@carmens-garden here it is!!
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agnesmontague · 2 years
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Let's hear em!!!
WOW OKAY A LOT OF YOU WANT TO HEAR MY THOUGHTS
short answer: fnaf poisoned the well twice. first inadvertently and second unironically
long answer: nearly every indie horror game of what i'll call the "kiddie genre" as shorthand has been, for the most part, fnaf inspired. first there was the wave of near identical "locked in a small space (in some kid-oriented setting) while fending off horrors" riffs that just lifted the most iconic part of fnaf, ie the gameplay. those tended not to be well-received bc they were such obvious clones as to merit the title of ripoffs, and fnaf had such a distinctive mechanic for indie horror games at the time that most other parody/clone games generally paled in comparison, if not feeling like absolutely shameless youtube bait games
but when fnaf itself started to move gradually away from that mechanic with its most recent games (esp security breach) it became open season for indie horror games to revert back to their more traditional item-hunting building-exploring flashlight-waving roots while not having to deviate from the other foundation fnaf had laid: the lore. im not a fnaf veteran by any means but i am fully aware that it set the stage for the type of lore and worldbuilding that very few of the modern "kiddie genre horror games" have actually deviated from, ie "these kid-friendly things are, quite literally, possessed by the spirits of whoever was wronged at the time of their genesis." the bite of '87 (or whatever it was called; like i said im not actually a fnaf veteran) was the blueprint for this, in no small part thanks to the extensive coverage from channels like game theory, and the only real big-name kiddie genre game that i can think of that didn't follow this formula is baldi's basics (which does not even have any lore to speak of). just about any other game that got propelled into the public eye in recent years--bendy and the ink machine, andy's apple farm, poppy playtime--has all fallen to various degrees under this same trite umbrella, eventually decaying to various degrees of shameless fucking moneygrabbing based off this same formula that worked once for fnaf.
and mind you, i don't have anything against fnaf at all other than scott cawthon being a homophobic twat, or even think that this phenomenon is in itself some new blight on the indie horror scene. if a huge new game makes a splash, there will be derivatives that ensue for years on end--we saw it with the endless hyperrealistic PT clones, the Slender spinoffs and SCP games of the mid-2010s, and arguably even the "traditional" item-hunting note-collecting mechanic i mentioned above could be the long-lasting influence of amnesia: the dark descent. what really fucks me up with the kiddie genre though is that it's becoming more and more directly marketed AT KIDS instead of being the nostalgic horror intended for adults that it originally was. again, not a bad thing in itself--kids love horror after all--but when combined with the merchandising and blatant greed some of these companies have displayed upon realizing that kids are an easy market it actually kind of turns my stomach a little. it makes for shittier games AND more predatory attempts to scam kids. it's been kind of exhausting to watch this evolution happening in real time bc the indie scene already has so many issues with unoriginality, with so many unethical devs getting away with slapping fancy graphics on top of a boring unworkshopped idea, and i can’t help but feel like this is just another example of that.
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daimaoryu · 1 year
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i will never understand what compels parents to tell their kids, their daughters especially, that theyre ugly. like do they honestly genuinely think theyre doing us a favour? especially when it comes to skin colour. like what the fuck am i meant to do about my 'too dark for a woman' skin tone, mother? how is it my brothers fault that he was born with very dark skin? like???????
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mwydyn · 1 year
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Finding a pharmacy that:
Has emergency contraception in stock
Has a license to prescribe it
Is comfortable giving it to someone taking testosterone
Answers the phone
My god!
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the-furies · 2 years
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system/headspace ramblings below
a couple nights ago (or last night. idr exactly) Allan and I were cofronting alone for the first time in a Bit and I was like. "I missed you fronting with me but also kind of didn't. Like I wasn't Glad u weren't fronting with me but I wasn't Anxious that u were gone. I feel bad abt that I also feel like I've been Cheating on u somehow by cofronting w Steve so much. I'm sorry ??? :("
And they're like "First off it's ok to have friends (especially in-sys) outside of me you Dumbass. second off the fact that you naturally drifted towards one of the dudes who's Generally Got Common Sense is so goddamn funny bc I naturally started cofronting with Eddie more and I just realized why. It's because they both remind us of each other."
which is honestly SO FUNNY TO ME,
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endawn · 3 months
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pax purposefully nerfs himself in terms of both his magic and vampire lord powers
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