#intractive boards

[teachinggadget]

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[natalievoncatte]

Lena could feel the weight in her hand. A little extra swing in her fist as she walked, sending a jolt up her arm as she jogged up the steps to Kara’s apartment. She’d decided to walk today, to clear her head a little as she went to see her best friend. She had a lot on her mind lately- usual Luthor stuff like defusing random death traps that Lex left behind, fending off attempts to dethrone her as CEO and challenge her status as he brother’s heir, and cures for intractable diseases and solutions for the energy crisis and thorny ethical issues around the advance project department’s latest AI experiments… and Kara.

Kara was on her mind. She had a way of sneaking into Lena’s mind at the most inopportune moments, like a board meeting, or a symposium, or her TED talk. It was really a TEDx talk; the organization wasn’t *quite* ready to invite Lena to the real deal, no matter how many photo ops she did with Supergirl or cancer research facilities she paid for. That didn’t stop Kara from following her around saying “thanks for listening to my Ted talk” for three weeks after the fact.

She had been thinking about Kara so much that it had finally been noticed. Sam flew in from Metropolis earlier that week for a catch up lunch, and as usual, after business was handled they shared a bottle of wine and things grew informal.

“Lena,” Sam said. “I’ve been talking for five minutes and you’ve been holding that glass of rosé and staring at it for the entire time. What’s going on?”

Lena almost dropped the glass when she heard her name. “Oh, right. Yes. Wine.”

She took a sip, hoping Sam would drop her question, but she persisted.

“I know that look. You were miles away. What is it? Did the cure for cancer pop into your head?”

“No,” Lena said. “It’s nothing, I was just lost in thought.”

“Mmm,” said Sam. “I’m sure.”

“What?”

Sam smiled enigmatically and finished her wine. “I’d better get going. I’m taking a red eye back to Metropolis.”

“Sam, you’re flying on a Lexcorp charter. It doesn’t work that way.”

Sam snorted and left Lena sitting there, wondering what that was about. Of course she’d been daydreaming about Kara, about her hands specifically- she’d nodded off last weekend and woke to see Kara at her ease, brow furrowed and hands moving wildly as she painted something. Lena had remained still and watched, fascinated by Kara’s hands, the skill and dexterity she showed.

It was that day that Kara had passed her the key she now carried in her hand. A key to Kara’s apartment. Unfettered access. Lena didn’t have to knock (she would anyway) and could stop by when Kara wasn’t even there. She hadn’t said anything but she’d been holding back tears the entire ride home; Lena had no problems with *access*, but trust was another matter. That was what the key was. It was a talisman of trust, Kara’s confidence in her given form.

Lena did knock before she turned the key and swung the door open. She was expected, but part of her worried that Kara wouldn’t be alone. It seemed odd to Lena that Kara hadn’t started dating again- her best friend had taken the whole Mon-El thing very poorly, and it was bizarre to begin with, so Lena understood why she’d stay single for a while, but it had been years.

Years of kindling a soft, secret hope, a desire so fragile and so brittle that Lena rarely dared think of it, afraid that the tiniest brush of longing would crumble it and with it break something inside her permanently.

The apartment smelled like cookies. Burnt cookies. Kara was in the kitchen, brow furrowed, bent in concentration over a cookbook, eyes darting to a mixing bowl. Foul smelling attempted cookies practically filled the garbage can.

“Hey,” Kara said, cheerfully. She gave Lena a soft, gentle smile that seemed only for her, and brushed a loose gold curl from her eyes. “You’re early.”

“I wanted more Kara time,” said Lena. “I was hoping to get a few minutes alone with you before the few shows up. Just us.”

Kara looked at her curiously, then turned to her project.

“I can’t get this right. I cream the sugar like it says, but they keep coming out wrong.”

Lena moved closer, stopping her hand from seeking the small of Kara’s back. When she saw the carton of cream on the counter, she busted out laughing so hard she snorted.

“What?” said Kara.

“Darling, you don’t put actual cream in it. Here, let me help you.”

For the next half hour, Lena and Kara made cookie dough, laboriously, by hand. Every step brought them closer together, literally. By the time they were scooping out evenly sized blobs of it together, they were hip to hip, both floured and sugared, hands greasy with butter.

“I’ll pop them in the oven,” said Kara. “You go clean up and relax.”

“Alright,” Lena said.

She ended up on the couch. Game night would begin hours later, and Lena turned on a nature documentary. (She had her own distinct username on Kara’s Netflix.)

Lena must have dozed off, because the alarm on the oven, along with a warm, pleasant, homey smell, woke her up. She padded on her stocking feet into the kitchen to see how the cookies came out.

Kara had already taken them out and was holding the tray, hot from the oven. Something was off. It nagged at Lena’s mind.

Then it hit her. Kara seemed to realize at the same time.

She wasn’t wearing oven mitts. No heating pad. Not even a dish towel. Kara was holding the hot tray, fresh from the oven, in her bare hands.

Lena yelped. “Kara! You’ll burn yourself!”

Kara started to move. A cry rose on her lips, then died. She stared at Lena with such softness, her eyes full of hesitation, but more than that, a kind of longing that echoed Lena’s own soul.

“I’m tired of lying to you,” Kara said, still holding the tray. “It doesn’t hurt. I can barely feel it.”

They stood for a frozen moment that lasted an eternity, the truth just on the wrong side of revealing itself. Lena already knew, but she didn’t want to acknowledge it. Say it.

“You’re Supergirl,” Lena whispered, soft and breathy.

Kara nodded, starting to choke up. She put the tray down almost violently and stepped back.

“I’ll understand if you need time, if you’re angry, if you don’t want to continue our friendship-“

She didn’t finish her ramble. Lena crossed the space between them in three quick steps, firmly took Kara’s face between her palms, and kissed her.

Pure terror gripped her. What if she was wrong? What if this was a mistake? Why wasn’t Kara moving, responding, reacting?

That question responded when hands that could crush diamonds moved her her body with surpassing tenderness, turning the awkward kiss into something more, Kara guiding Lena as their bodies molded together and Kara kissed her back with hopeful desperation, drawing it out as if she was afraid to let it end for fear it might never be repeated.

It was, intimately and immediately. Lena was shocked but pleased when Kara let Lena push her back against the counter, bending her back lightly, almost climbing her. Kara almost shocked Lena when her hand slid up her side and found her breast even as Lena grabbed a double handful of steely buns and squeezed.

Then someone coughed and they jerked apart.

Alex stood by the door, arms folded.

“I’m going to go ahead and text the others so they know game night is cancelled,” she said, smirking. “Next time, hang a sock on the doorknob or something.”

“This is my house,” said Kara.

Alex rolled her eyes. “I’m leaving now.”

As the door slammed shut, and Alex could plainly be heard blurting, “Jesus Christ,” Lena turned back to Kara.

“Should we talk?” she said, her voice small. “What is this? What are we doing?”

Kara swallowed, hard. “What do you want it to be, Lena?”

Lena couldn’t answer. She just stared.

“I know what I want it to be,” said Kara. “I want us to be an us. I’m so tired of wanting you so bad it hurts, but being scared to touch you a certain way or look too long or too openly or be afraid I’ll say the wrong thing. I’m tired of hiding so much from you.”

Lena licked her lips.

“The truth is, I’ve wanted you for years.”

Kara’s gorgeous eyes lit up with unbridled delight, and with shocking quickness, Kara had Lena in a bridal carry. Lena instinctively curled up in her arms, practically wrapping herself around Kara’s body.

“What do you want to do now?” said Kara. “I don’t know how to do this part, Lena.”

Lena smiled. “I think what you do now is carry me back in the bedroom and cream your sugar.”

“You want to make more cookies? Why… oh.”

“Oh indeed,” said Lena.

Lena didn’t make a habit of it, but this one time, she let Kara talk her into cookies for breakfast.

[eff4freddie]

After She Left | One

Joel Miller x AFAB Reader Ongoing

Words: 3k Two | Series Masterlist

Series Summary: You've lived in Jackson a long time, finding a sanctuary of comfort and predictability at the end of the world. As Jackson's only teacher, your role is to foster the curiosity of the youngest residents. Including the newest arrival, Ellie, and her weirdly cranky not-Dad, Joel. They threaten to upend your life more than any fungus. Series Warnings: slow burn, smut, Ellie being a little shit but we love her, friends to lovers, grief and loss, complicated feelings, canon-typical violence, Joel is a good dad, Joel has a complicated history, so do you Minors DNI 18+

Chapter warnings: Canon typical violence, reader is a little ambivalent about being alive, grief and loss, no Joel yet but he will make his appearance next chapter

You’d been 18 when the world ended. Surviving the first few days thanks entirely, as it turned out, to your baby sister’s gluten intolerance, you’d boarded the back of a military truck with a bag of your belongings and her little hand tucked into yours. You’d been separated from your parents, their truck ahead of yours, and when it veered off in the other direction on the highway you never saw them again. You heard rumours about what happened to the other trucks, and if you allowed yourself any time to consider them you knew in your gut they were true. You’d known the moment your mum and dad’s lives were snuffed out, because you’d felt it in your chest, miles and miles away. You didn’t burn candles for them on the windowsill in the hope that they would find their way back.  

Old enough to get drafted into FEDRA, smart enough to stick around until the shit started hitting the fan, you kept your head down and your mouth shut and lasted years, until you were finding yourself lying more and more to your commanding officers just to keep yourself safe, to keep the people you cared tucked out of the watchful eye of your superiors. Until you were slipping scared families out the perimeter and wondering how long before you joined them.

Not long, as it turned out. You were 32 when the world ended, again. When your sister contracted something nasty, cut herself on a fence or stepped on a nail, the infection coursing red and angry up her veins towards her heart. There were no antibiotics, another shipment was due in a few weeks, but all of the higher ups were stockpiling, knowing that their time was limited, that eventually they would come to need the supplies to barter for their lives. You tried all your connections, you worked every rank you had to get her some, and when you failed you carried her into the bathtub and poured boiling water into the wound, her wasting body too exhausted to howl in agony at the burn. She died as you held her hand, stretched out on the bathroom floor beneath her. It was a mercy for her, you knew, and your penance for having propped up a cruel system, for having played a part in it at all.  

You carried her body to the centre of the QZ, not letting her burn in the pyres built for the infected, not letting her mix in with the crawling vines. You laid her at the bottom of the steps to FEDRA HQ and left her there, the entire QZ peeking out from behind their curtains to witness her, a signpost at the edge of an impermeable, intractable border; who you had been, who you had become.

You were threatened with hanging, and you didn’t care. Your patrol partner packed your bag for you and smuggled you out, your QZ-issued rifle strapped to your back. You had left the QZ without even really knowing it, your partner hissing at you to just keep moving as he pulled back the barbed wire to let you through, and you did what you had been doing since you were drafted, which was just exactly what you were told.

You stumbled through the landscape, all amygdala and hind-brain, alone and unable to feel anything but the absence, but the loss. Knee-deep in a ravine you contemplated filling your bag with boulders and letting it pull you down into oblivion. You were never sure, even years later, why you didn’t. It scared you that there was something you couldn’t name, were never sure what it was such that you could ever rely on it to be there again.

You kept going. You were reasonable enough with your rifle, and you ate what you killed, and you stayed on the move. Headed west because you liked following the sun as it set, feeling like you were trudging towards an end of something. You passed camps, watching for the warm glow of fires or smoke on the horizon and heading in the other direction. You’d heard about raiders, about the weird religious cults that had set themselves up all over the country. As the trees thickened up, as the paths became more overgrown, you grew less and less cautious, began to feel like it was just you and the sky. You did well, considering you didn’t know why you were bothering, or where you were going. Some days you sat in the warmth of the sun and let it filter down to your bones. Some days you were so weary, so heavy, that you slumped against trees with your bag strapped to your chest and let your mind empty itself completely. You knew that if you pressed too hard and too long on a limb it would go numb.

--

Before the end of the world your family had gone camping every summer, and out here you felt more connected to them then you had in years. You couldn’t be sure how long you travelled, but you watched the leaves going brown and red on the canopy overhead. Your Dad had taught you enough to survive until the cold came, you realised. Your entire knowledge of the wilderness ending with the summer solstice. You had no plan to survive the winter, nothing other than a tarp you would string up between trees for shelter, a box of matches you fought tooth and nail to keep dry. You didn’t mind the idea of your story ending out here, found yourself ambivalent about it. If there was a place to wink out of existence it would be here, alone with the birdsong and the gradually freezing dirt beneath you. You had done well to last this long, had picked up more than you’d realised in your years with FEDRA, in the end of the world.

The nights though, were different. You found you could be philosophical about your impending death in the daylight, but as the nights grew colder and the chill got into your bones you were forced to consider the realities of this particular kind of end. You remembered reading about hypothermia in school, that people go mad from it, from the cold and the disorientation as their body temperature drops, as their muscles stop working. That they go delirious, suddenly feel like they’re burning up, strip off all their clothes and hasten their deaths. You didn’t particularly want to be found naked, didn’t particularly wanted to be found at all.

You started keeping the fire going in the darkness, knowing your Dad would admonish you if he was there, tempting fate and the lurking dangers right to your feet. It wasn’t like you had all that many alternatives. You hoped that when you saw him he would understand.

So it was on one particularly cold night, when the wind whipped the branches above you and rippled the long grass, that you were joined at your fireside. You had heard the rustle of the footsteps, had your rifle over your lap. You were eating the last of the rabbit you’d snared the day before. You wanted to go with a full belly, wanted the victory of at least not having starved.

‘You out here alone?’ the voice said from the darkness, and you raised your hands above your head.

‘Yes,’ you said, your voice rusted over from disuse.

‘You hurt?’ the man said, and you were surprised by this line of questioning.

‘No?’ you answered, peering into the darkness over the fire. You could see that he was holding a gun on you, that he was peering at you through its sight. You weren’t afraid of him. The fire was warm on your face.

‘You’re out here alone in the night and you’re not hurt?’ he answered, and you nodded. ‘Why you out here at all?’ he asked, and you sighed, dropping your hands to your sides.

‘That’s a long and boring story,’ you said, and you watched as he stepped forward, sensing you were neither a threat nor treating him as one.

‘That’s FEDRA issued,’ he said, gesturing to your rifle. You nodded. ‘Kansas?’

‘Chicago,’ you replied.

‘Heard things aren’t great in Kansas.’

‘As opposed to everywhere else’, you said. You saw him grin at you. As he came closer you could make out his black hair, his wiry frame. He looked tired and cold, but better fed then you. You might be able to outrun him, but not out-muscle him. Were you in any way inclined.

‘You’ve made it far,’ he said, and you shrugged.

‘Have I?’

‘Yes ma’am.’ You noticed his southern twang, and you liked it more than you expected. ‘Tommy,’ he said, pointing to his chest. He regarded you for a moment more. ‘If you’re lost in the darkness…?’ he asked, his eyebrows raised.

‘What?’ you asked, and he shrugged his shoulders.

‘Nothin’, he said. ‘Just…wondering.’

For a long moment you examined each other. He had an entire pack on his back, a rolled-up swag and a knife on his belt. He swung his gun over his shoulder, an older rifle, duct tape strapping it together in places. You looked down at yours in your lap. You wondered if he was out of bullets, too.

‘Mind if I sit?’ he asked, coming forward again, his hands in the air. ‘Just want to get warm, the cold is bitin’ tonight.’

You put your hands on the barrel of your rifle, and he watched them, gently. ‘Ain’t gonna hurt ya,’ he said, and you swallowed. Maybe you wanted him to. You weren’t sure anymore.

‘Haven’t really been around anyone for a while,’ you said, because you were starting to realise you were being awkward, had forgotten how to be a person when all you’d been doing for months was hanging out with trees.

‘You don’t wanna,’ he said, and you smiled.

‘You included?’ you asked.

‘Nah,’ he said, raising his palms to the fire. ‘M’alright. We all done things, I guess.’

You didn’t particularly want to think about those things. Truth be told you hadn’t actually done that much, had made a fucking terrible FEDRA soldier, kept trying to do community liaison and relationship building to the ire and suspicion of your commanding officers. You’d tried to argue that people would trust them more, that there would be better outcomes for everyone that way, that FEDRA had a duty, something something serve and protect.

They had told you, quite squarely, that no one gave a flying fuck about trust.

Which wasn’t to say you hadn’t been around death; you had, it was everywhere. You had witnessed hangings, had seen people beaten to death in the streets, never really knowing if it was at the hands of civilians. But you’d never been selected for the quarantine centre, rarely had to venture outside the gates to patrol. You’d been on cleanup, had been on curfew, had stood at the top of the gates and stared at the perimeter until your eyes watered. But you weren’t a killer, as much as your superiors wanted you to be. They couldn’t put you on the line where you might hesitate. For the longest time you had been ashamed of it, had considered it a weakness. Out here in the long grass you felt your 19-year-old self take you into her arms and forgive you for it.

‘Where you headed?’ he asked, and you shook your head.

‘Stayin’ put,’ you said.

‘Out here? There’s nothin’ out here.’

‘I’m here,’ you said, and you were feeling like you wouldn’t mind if he just left you to it, actually. Shot you and took your stuff. Whichever, just to get it done.

‘You know, there’s a group of people you might be interested to meet,’ he said, and you gawped at him.

‘What about me right now makes you think I want to meet anyone?’ you asked, and he chuckled.

‘People are trying to turn the tides, on FEDRA, on the whole…QZ situation. You have any…unrest back in Chicago?’

You had heard whispers of uprisings in other QZs, of little pockets of resistance. Things were going badly in some of them, Kansas having to get more brutal to keep things under control.

‘Nothing organised,’ you said.

‘Mmm. I came from Boston, things are getting…hotter out there. I’m on my way, actually, trying to-’

‘Don’t recruit me, don’t even bother,’ you said. ‘I’m not one for community life.’

Even as you said it you knew that wasn’t true. There had been families in the QZ, little kids born behind walls and not knowing any different, their laughter reminding you of when your sister was their age. You’d brought supplies for families struggling to get to the breadline, held the hands of scared women as their husbands were sent outside the walls on patrol. Had got a widow and her two kids smuggled out on a supply run, a ransom in ration cards to get them tucked safely in the back of a truck and carried over the threshold. You had always wanted to help people, and you’d done it, had been good at it. You considered the fact that all this time alone had made you drift further from your centre then you’d noticed at the time.

‘If it doesn’t work out,’ Tommy continued, ‘I heard of another place. Out in Wyoming. You could get there before winter.’

You gazed at him, your face aching from having talked so long to another person. You clicked your jaw.

‘Why you tellin’ me that?’ you asked. He leant over to his pack, pulling out a map and marking it with dirt under his nail.

‘You didn’t shoot me on sight,’ he said, and he grinned at you. ‘There’s still a bit of the South in me, darlin’, and where I come from, we don’t leave women alone in the night without a way home.’

You felt a little turn of something in your belly, a flickering. The way he spoke made you nostalgic for the old world, for the time when a sentence like that wasn’t either insane or suicidal. You waited for the other shoe to drop, for him to laugh at you, for him to lash out. You took the map in your hands, felt the quiver in them, realised with considerable surprise you were nervous. Something, some feeling, was returning back to your aching limb.

--

It wasn’t that you had been a particularly strong student, back when schools were a thing. It wasn’t even that you really liked teaching, it was just that you quite liked kids, and the teenagers almost as much, and you liked to read and could kind of remember some chemistry, and you weren’t all that good on a horse. Barely in Jackson a week and you found yourself at the front of the all-ages classroom, trying to figure out how to explain the before times, trying not to wonder whether there was any point.

You’d made it just as winter set in, not really believing this little ramshackle town would exist even as you stepped through the gate. You could see that it had been a gated community in the before times, that work was going on to sure it up, to expand it. The original gates were being replaced and patrolled, and you offered to keep watch, the setting familiar to your time in the QZ. Maria, the daughter of the founder and chair of the Town Council, politely and kindly explained they didn’t let newbies protect the perimeter until they were proven. You understood what she was telling you. Until they were sure you wouldn’t go postal and mow them down in their beds.

You shared your first house with two other women, each of you having your own room. Maria had apologised, as if she hadn’t gifted you a chance at another life, and you almost laughed in her face. In the QZ you had shared a two-bedroom apartment with four other soldiers. This was an insane amount of space, of safety, enough that you felt lost in it, swamped by it, sleeping out on the couch some nights just to be closer to your roommates’ doors.

Maria promised more buildings were coming, and you could hear the sound of construction, of manual labour, every hour there was light. When you started at the school, you’d only had six students, total, but within a year you had eight. You moved into your own house, took shifts on the perimeter on nights when you weren’t teaching in the morning. You stayed close to your roommates, even as they all moved out on their own, ate in the mess hall and sometimes had a nip in the Tipsy Bison before bed. You waited, all that time, for the other shoe to drop, for the town council to turn despotic, for the peace to crack.

You celebrated your 34th birthday with a cake baked by your students, carefully avoiding the lumps of sloppily mixed batter in the pan. You felt yourself grow a little soft around your middle, watched the lines carve into the skin around your eyes. You met and grew bored with a couple of men around the place. Watched your best friend grow round with her baby, read books to her bump as she gave you shit for trying to teach a foetus.

You vouched for Tommy when he arrived, scraggly and worn and far less idealistic, making up a lie that you had heard of him from your time in the QZ, of the infamous best-shot-in-Boston, of the man with the perfect aim. You weren’t sure what it was that made it possible for him to stay; your outlandish tales, Maria’s instant attraction, or just the fact that he used to be a contractor before he was in the army, two facts you’d wished you’d known before you’d launched into an implausible and highly emotive treatise for him to stay. You had convinced no one, but Tommy had admired your attempt, and you’d let him crash in your spare bedroom until he got his own place. You watched the way Maria’s eyes followed him when he walked through town. It just so happened that he got his place faster than any other arrival you’d seen.

You had a couple more birthdays, watched the town grow to total self-sufficiency, to house an entire community. You watched the seasons turn from atop Jackson’s walls, your eyes trained on the horizon, thinking of how you were going to try and teach the periodic table in the morning. Thought back to the long grass and the tall trees, of a time when you were alone and travelling without a destination, of a time when you wanted to fade into the air around you, release your atoms back to the universe that created them.

You turned your face to the stars, crisp and clear in the night sky over Jackson. Informed your family they’d need to keep waiting, just a little while. Taglist (let me know if you'd like me to add you) @harriedandharassed

[morlock-holmes]

@andmaybegayer

"don't want to reblog again but re: doctors details, I think that's still true, like, even if the AI scrapes everything they'll never get the password-protected images on my server, but a lot of people want the ability to post publicly where anyone can see it without getting sucked into some dataset, which is the part I think is intractable."

One of the things I find alarming about AI debates is that they are very all or nothing, and I think that the middle ground actually matters.

I certainly can't imagine a technique that would allow you to post publicly viewable text while ensuring that it was 100% impossible for anybody to use it for an AI product.

But there is already a voluntary compliance regime in place, and as far as I can tell the big companies are pretty identifiable and subject to legal regimes; even totally voluntary compliance with robots.txt is going to make a difference, and you could also aggressively pursue European style data laws for above-board datasets.

I'm really not familiar with the space, are there a lot of scam datasets out there which are run by con artists who are likely to ignore compliance and are too small or ephemeral to be audited for compliance by government agencies?

That's my analogy of locking the door to your house; it can't stop every possible agent who wants to get into your house without permission, but it can stop some, and it turns out that actually matters.

[oddygaul]

Porco Rosso

You know, I usually forget about Porco Rosso when thinking about my favorite Ghibli movies but it’s a banger.

After this rewatch, it’s hard for me to think of it as anything other than Miyazaki’s self-insert fanfic. Seriously, this is like his ideal world - everyone’s flying their personal planes around and parking them like they’re cars at the local diner, Porco’s this big cool guy who everyone respects and all the hot babes are into, and he gets to live alone with no one bothering him in a cool island cove. It’s even set in 40s Europe, so he has all his favorite fascist planes available*!

*oh yeah, you thought The Wind Rises was problematic? Let me introduce you to Studio Ghibli’s namesake and start unveiling the pattern here

behold - the intractable chaotic force that is two dozen kidnapped schoolgirls

Anyway, I think the strongest point in Porco Rosso’s favor is that it’s just funny as fuck. I don’t know how the Japanese audio track is, but the dub is some king shit. I get that this is a ‘when you have a hammer everything looks like a nail’ situation, but honestly it has Big Redline Energy imo.

We’ve got your classic early 2000s gravelly-voiced Steve Blum-alike too-cool protagonist, contrasted with a world surrounding him that absolutely refuses to take itself seriously with constant dumb gags and throwaway jokes. The American guy provides a lot of this (I died at the raw fuckboy energy exuded from him saying “That’s my favorite line from a screenplay I wrote”), but it’s everywhere - the fuckin Carnival Cruise liner deploying their own personal fighter jets to fight off pirates, with color commentator already on deck and raring to go, was probably my favorite. Even the dogfights, which for the most part remain somewhat grounded and above board due to Miyazaki’s plane fetish, get real goofy at points, with Porco and Curtis throwing wrenches at each other like a cartoon.

I mean, come on! ehh? right? just me?

sidenote: while grabbing these caps it was interesting to see the contrasting approaches to showing the engine's power in each of these scenes. In Porco Rosso, they focus on the characters themselves and their elastic properties, showing Porco's ears and jowls flapping wildly in the wind, which leads to some great freezeframes. Frisby doesn’t have much in the way of loose body parts, so instead they focus on his loose shirt billowing with the force - it doesn't really translate as well in a still but looks great in motion.

At the end of the day it has its issues - I’m still not convinced it’s just Porco that doesn’t take women seriously and not the movie itself - but it’s a damn good time.

[canmom]

the especially crazy-making thing about this 'witnessing a genocide' situation is like...

ok, so there's lots of catastrophes that are genuinely kinda intractable. economics shit, climate change. the problems may be evident but there's lots of room for reasonable disagreement about how to solve them and it's easy to get stuck in a bad equilibrium where the only way out is coordinating an enormous collective action problem and nobody is making any headway. that's one kind of bleak, but at least it's a comprehensibly difficult form of bleak.

i know full well that 'genocide' is a geopolitical football where everyone wants to position what the other guy is doing is a genocide but what you're doing is merely anti-terrorism, assimilation, whatever. this is because the post-wwii consensus is pretty clear cut that genocide is one of the worst things imaginable and one of the only things that really merit going to war.

thus WWII, the official Good War, is retroactively cast as a war to end the Holocaust, even if in practice the Allies were pretty indifferent to what was happening and would turn away refugees, and their solution to the problem of millions of displaced people was to jump on board an ethnonationalist colonialist project that would send them all off to a newly defined 'Jewish state' in a spare country the British happened to have lying around in the Middle East... and well, we're seeing how well that's working out for everyone. subsequent stories of genocide, such as Rwanda, Cambodia, or Bosnia, tend to end with 'and then xyz country invaded and put an end to things and the genocidaires went to court and we put up museums at the mass graves and shot documentary films'. even though the nigh-universal hypocrisy about the subject is rancid, you can at least kind of imagine that there is some pretense that the objective of this whole affair is to stop these kind of mass deaths from happening.

at this point there is no ambiguity that what the Israeli army is doing in Gaza is genocide. they've cut off two million people without food, water, and electricity, shut off their communications, and rained the most sophisticated modern weapons on them indiscriminately for going on three weeks. they've blown up most of their completely overwhelmed medical infrastructure and done everything possible to disrupt it. this war is so one-sided it's not funny, it's just a massacre. Hamas can annoy Israel with rockets but can't do a damn thing to protect the population they're ruling. and there is nowhere for people in Gaza to run to. the border with Egypt is closed. an insultingly tiny trickle of aid has made it in, which will instantly disappear to the orders of magnitude more hungry people.

in short there is no option left besides wait to die.

but, ok. in contrast to all those intractable problems... this one is very simple to solve. Israel could stop dropping bombs whenever they feel like it, and negotiate for whatever they fucking want, e.g. prisoner exchanges. they could let the Palestinians out of the ghetto and dissolve the situation that creates Hamas. they could easily continue to maintain Palestinians as second-class citizens. (look at how lopsided South Africa remains.)

and if they won't, because the country is ruled by fascist maniacs with broad support across the settler population, the US - which has all the leverage in the world - could threaten to hang them out to dry until they call a ceasefire. Israel has so thoroughly made enemies of all its neighbours that they would not last long without that US backing. it needn't even get to that point, if the US said 'stop' and made it clear there was any sort of line... Israel might feel it has to do a little damage control and try to look good on camera. maybe hold off on the white phosphorous. leave a few houses standing.

but none of that is happening. none of it.

it seems like the ground invasion will be starting. it might be well underway when i wake up.

despite the 'simplicity', it's still not at all clear what one little human can do about it. if i go to a protest tomorrow, for the symbolic gesture of "having done something" if nothing else, maybe it will make me feel better, but the most likely immediate outcome is that the government (currently going through a rape scandal, i love the uk) is going to step up its internal repression of Muslims. somehow, the idea that the people are displeased with their democratically elected agents won't factor into it. the protestors become 'other' by virtue of protesting, another problem to control.

it's common to ask 'what would you have done if you lived in Germany (or Poland) during the Holocaust?' a lot of people imagine they'd be heroes, hiding Jewish people in their attic or becoming partisans in the woods or whatever. in practice, history suggests that most people would have gone along with it without much complaint, or even taken the opportunity to steal from the victims, moving into vacant houses, taking over companies, even helping the Nazis round people up.

i must not become an inner emigré. doing nothing when i could have done something is unacceptable. but what i feel, faced with this situation, is pathetically impotent.

i feel so sick.

[worthyheir]

Pirate AU. This is shaped so that it can fit canon characters in, and involve him in the Dance in a very different way. Under the cut:

It was not the first time he had attempted to sneak aboard his father's ship, determined to join him on his venture, wherever he may go. It was, however, the first time he had done so successfully. Whatever had changed in the air this day, that had made it easier for the boy and his dragon to sneak aboard, tucked under a cloak and trying to appear as invisible as possible, to hide amongst the cargo, the boy of five would never know. He had done it though, and was almost proud, and once they had been on the sea for a while, he was going to reveal himself to his father, a capable man of the tides, just as he was to be a capable dragonrider. There was nothing more that young Jacaerys Velaryon wanted than to make his father proud of him.

It was not long on the sea, or as long as he could bear after running out of the meager food he had sneaked for himself and Vermax, before the environment changed. The temperment aboard the ship was different, though he could not know why, underneath the boards, only knowing that it felt different. Little did the child know, they had been beset by pirates, and his father had been slain.

He had been found out, the pirates apparently determined to search every nook and cranny of the ship, finding the small child, his dragon perched on his shoulder, almost too big to sit upon his future rider thus. The man had attempted to grab at him, and in a moment of fear, it was the first time Jacaerys had said the command: "Dracarys." Though Vermax was small, he had managed to set a fire upon the man, burning his clothes, causing him to flee back to extinguish the flames. He had been furious, but nearby, his Captain was intrigued. Even pirates knew that dragons did not answer to all, only those that they were bonded too. At least, most of them, clearly not the one who would find burns amongst his scars in the future.

The captain convinced him to follow, the young Prince unaware of his father's death, more concerned about the threats around him - the Captain had descended with several men, and Vermax was too small to light them ablaze and keep his rider safe. It was tactical, especially as he wanted to keep Vermax safe, the dragon protectively hissing on his shoulders, curled around him.

There is a time where he intractable, and if it were not for the presence of his dragon, he might have been killed, but once he realizes that no one is coming for him, he's been abandoned, it seems more practical to adapt and survive. A despondent tendency develops in him - what child, who knows his mother has a dragon, would not feel abandoned when he realizes how much time has passed, and no one has come looking for him? It created a despondancy in him until he found a place - his family had built a legacy off of Fire and Blood, and he would continue that with the people who were now keeping him and Vermax, in food and board.

It was a place he would have to earn his keep, and he learned quickly. Vermax was able to grow more swiftly, the freedom of the skies versus being in the Dragonpit of King's Landing or the Dragonmont of Dragon's Stone, and Jacaerys had taken him to flight within a year of his 'death'. He did not care for or have a sense of loyalty to the men who he was with, and once he had learned enough from the men who he was with, and Vermax had grown large enough, the two of them with a bond strengthened through the years, he had taken the ship. It had taken a decade, a now man of six and ten, who had subjucated the crew, and seized control, at least, of this ship.

In the next two, he would gain a fleet, thousands of men who were loyal to his name, though he had dropped a surname several years before and only went by Jacaerys, loyal to his strength, skilled with a sword through years of injuries and practice, and loyal to the dragon that soared above. He is very discontented with the family he feels has abandoned him, forgotten him, and left him for dead. He would not have a side, unless given a reason to. It would take a considerable amount of convincing for him to side with either, or, in particular, to forgive his mother, who he feels had felt it easier to assume him dead than search him out.

Notes: At this point, his relevance to the Dance is dependent upon characters in threads, several of which I would like to explore. He is not loyal to either side - he hardly remembers his Uncles and Aunt, having been so young when he disappeared, and even his memory of his brothers and parents are vague. Whether or not Luke is dead is verse dependent. The only real affects to canon are that he would have left before the incident on Driftmark where Aemond loses his eye, and thus would be unaware of that or of Aemond claiming Vhagar, and whether or not Luke dies when the dance starts. I think that most canon events would happen the same, other than Laenor's death happening a little earlier. Otherwise, the rest of the canon events would happen. Vermax would be much larger than he is in canon, as he has been free to fly the skies and not restricted within the Dragonpit, and is likely as big as Syrax by the time Jacaerys reunites with anyone.

[inventors-fair]

Elder Dragon Highlander Winners!!!

Hey everyone! Sorry about the delay with winners and runners, but on the bright side, i've basically got the rest of commentary done too so those should be up tomorrow.

Chunlong, Azure Auspice by @snugz

Oooh this seems really fun to play, I think everything it encourages you to do is great. Casting big spells, go-wide, making your board increasingly bigger over time. It feels really clean, too. This seems great.

Vastis, Master of the Horde by @helloijustreadyourpostpost

Yes yes yes! This is an elder dragon! It’s big, it’s splashy, but it’s balancedly so. It offers the possibility of cheating tons of creatures into play but it takes a bit more effort than it seems at first to really get what you want from the payoff cause who knows if there even is anything good in the top 5. And it’s highly intractable.

Piru, Empire’s Ruin by @misterstingyjack

Oh this is sweet! Gives a clear direction to build around, and I really like the payoff(s) you chose. I do think this probably wants some kind of ward as a 7 mana dragon with no other protection and no immediate payoff, but otherwise, this seems excellent.

Have fun this week! @loreholdlesbian

[asystemerror]

Idv Interactive Map Photodump - Funny Boat Mystery Edition (Possible Spoilers Under the Cut)

I love this event so much AAAAAA!!! They mystery feels very Detective Poirot like /pos (Specifically Murder on the Nile lmao). It makes me really excited to see what twists and turns this one will have - more so as I haven't been able to notice any key signs of who done it yet. Although, I did find something on the boat that causes me to suspect someone.

Moving on from my mental cork-board of suspects- the map itself: Its gorgeous! I found myself just exploring every inch for a good while in between the smaller map tasks they have you do. I love a lot of the mini games you get to do on there (plus the return of the bon bon grill one)!

I also love the addition of making the npcs more intractable. That had always been one of my gripes with some of the maps in the past. They always felt so hollow *sob sob*. However, with the gifting system for them, they're definitely on the right track to feeling more "alive" rather than models just sitting there to look pretty.

Overall a fabulous time! I'm excited to see how the story develops and if any of my theories are correct! And maybe do the dancing mini game hehe

[dancingplague]

I guess one question that strikes me as very important, that I haven't seen anyone raise:

What would it look like to make an attempt at scaling down AO3?

Who would need to be persuaded, for example, to lock down AO3 to logged in users only, freeze commenting and possibly slow down account invites? Presumably that significantly damages AO3's status as a community hub without compromising its mission, and makes steps towards having a less strained budget and volunteer team. Make it very clear that they are not a social media site, they're an archive that hosts fanfiction. I genuinely do not know who would have to make this decision though. Could you do it with four board members?

In any case, some of the hypotheticals people are laying out, where the harm to volunteers and users both are so large and intractable and the organization's interest in mitigating them is so limited, would warrant attempting this or something like it right?

[crazy-pages]

No one, not a single person on this post anywhere in the notes, is saying you can't do good by throwing a lifeline to someone you know who's in deep with bigotry. They're saying that politics is an acceptable reason to kill a friendship. And these are different things.

And I don't think you realize it, but your own story agrees with this. Because you didn't tell me a story about how you stayed friends with a white nationalist named Chris who stayed a white nationalist. You told me about how he changed. You told me about how, because you thought you could get his politics to change and because you succeeded, you stayed friends with him.

The part of the story where he changed, to his own benefit as well as the benefit of the world around him, was important. You mentioned it. You wouldn't have mentioned it if it didn't matter, and it mattered because I'm betting that if he hadn't changed, no matter what you tried, you wouldn't still be friends with him.

And also, sometimes friendships are shallow? Not every relationship in someone's life has to be ride or die. Some friendships die because somebody isn't a good sport about board games and that's most of what you do together, and there's absolutely no reason a friendship like that shouldn't end because they've got beliefs which are fundamentally antithetical to your existence.

No one in the notes, not anywhere on this post, is saying that there are absolutely no circumstances where you should stay friends with somebody who's got shitty politics for long enough to see if you can pull them out. No one said that. What people are saying is that sometimes politics is a reason to end relationships (yes even very close ones if the politics are intractable).

And you yourself are aware that's how this works. Because you thought it was important to tell me that Chris is no longer a white nationalist.

“Are you gonna let politics ruin a friendship?”

Yes tf I am

[normanthedove]

PAIN AND THE INHUMANE CRUELTY AND SUFFERING OF KENNETH PETTINGILL, "CAN I BE BRUTALLY HONEST," ...AMERICA...

The FACT that an incredibly successful, informative and medically effective program has to be guarded against nefarious attempts that have rendered harm to patients and Doctors alike is disgustingly disturbing. Why is the AMA, Boards of Medicine, Pharmacy and Nursing, along with Legislative bodies, law enforcement and the DOJ GOING to be fundamentally CHANGING current treatment for intractable patient patients damaged from neurological procedures such as mine, that left me virtually, almost completely disabled and without PROPER pain management?

LANDSLIDE NORMAN J CLEMENT RPH., DDS, NORMAN L. CLEMENT PHARM-TECH, MALACHI F. MACKANDAL PHARMD, BELINDA BROWN-PARKER, IN THE SPIRIT OF JOSEPH SOLVO ESQ., INC.T. SPIRIT OF REV. IN THE SPIRIT OF WALTER R. CLEMENT BS., MS, MBA. HARVEY JENKINS MD, PH.D., IN THE SPIRIT OF C.T. VIVIAN, JELANI ZIMBABWE CLEMENT, BS., MBA., IN THE SPIRIT OF THE HON. PATRICE LUMUMBA, IN THE SPIRIT OF ERLIN CLEMENT SR.,…

[amandi-mga2024mi5015]

Game Concepts

a) Idea 1

One interesting quality of Hockney’s paintings is how he distorts perspective and captures multiple viewpoints all at once. I want this to be the core element of the gameplay. 

I was inspired by games such as And Yet It Moves, Echochrome, and Monument valley which made use of orthographic viewpoints to play with the perspective.

The game will be in a third person perspective. The level is comprised of three small contained rooms/sections.The player views the ‘rooms' from an outside perspective. They must rotate the environment at 90 degree angles on the spot in order to get from point A to point B. The perspectives of this environment will be very warped, and when the environment is rotated, background elements and foreground elements blend together to create pathways that did not exist before. 

b) Idea 2

The game will be in a first person perspective. This level is comprised of three contained rooms. This time the player must walk around a bigger environment that mimics David Hockney’s art style. The player will be walking around each of the areas and looking at it from different vantage points until the paintings reveal themselves (perspective anamorphosis). Once the right perspective is found, they are granted a puzzle piece and a means of moving on to the next section. Each of these puzzle pieces come together to create a completed painting  (one of Hockney’s paintings). 

Alternatively, once the right angle is found, they would be able to walk through the completed painting in order to find and collect the puzzle piece. There could be a door placed somewhere in the completed painting to move on to the next section.

c) idea 3 - Photography game

An artist’s process is just as important as the art. A process Hockney uses to create these interesting perspectives in his art is his collages of polaroids. Hockney basically takes individual pictures of different parts of an environment and arranges them to create something that compresses all of these vantage points into one image. I want to have the player participate in the process of creating one of Hockney’s paintings by taking pictures of the environment around them. 

The setting will be one big open world that, once again, emulates the style of a Hockney painting. There is also a big empty board with uncoloured outlines of each of the puzzle pieces and how they are supposed to fit together. The player must walk though the environment and find the right vantage points that recreate each puzzle piece and take a picture. Each time the correct picture is taken, the player is granted said picture in the form of a puzzle piece. They must then find the right place for the piece on the board. Collect all of the puzzle pieces this way to create one of Hockney’s collages.

Taking pictures of the flower vases give you special items/rewards. this encourages the players to explore and experiment without just trying to complete tasks. I wanted to make the flower vases significant because of Hockney's experience with a wartime art piece that was just a still life of some flowers in a vase. He talks about how it played a role in processing his grief, as well as how that grief translated into his art. I think his ethos of trying to capture beauty in the world would be perfectly emphasised here.

There are also some interact-able elements in the environment. you can move some furniture and items around, you can pick up certain objects, and you can even paint on some of the papers in the environments. Players will have incentive to interact with the environment as it grants them certain things (if there's a time limit you could be granted more time).

One particular intractable element would be his piece, '20 Flowers and Some Bigger Pictures.' Each of the squares would be movable. It would essentially be a square tile puzzle that the players can move around to complete the image.

Another interact-able element could be to simply paint a bicycle.

there could be a timer to make it more difficult but that might also clash with the philosophy of my artist.

[writer59january13]

The final frontier – post consciousness

as imagined by cogent, fervent, intelligent, lucent, occident, reticent, and uneminent nonestablishmentarian. The following disquisition initially describes emotions prior to experiencing corporeal death, yet unbeknownst to this skeptical atheist, his anticipatory anxiety stalwart like a soldier valiantly bidding adieu to Earthly terrestrial sphere, whence intractable denial of life after death found such premise turned upside down.

Whence moment thine instant karma expired coterie of medical professionals henceforth determined thine body to be dead. This code blue bone chilling cold winter day (referring to date this poem originally written) appeared to indicate this wordsmith forever dormant, since no vital signs showed any response, though examination conducted comprised a rather cursory assessment. The next of kin bereaved the absence of life evidenced by last whispery dying and/or living breath, which found rigor mortis the indubitable signature of the grim reaper. Though visibly lifeless, thine aura entered miasma constituting a fifth dimension, which primed thine soul.

Prudent outlook of mine crafted Netzero agnostic belief in hereafter (this from formative years bing steep pulled within Unitarian faith) immediately undermined via sprinting spirits of deceased.

Within fingerhut gilt hula hoop ring (cosmic programmed Onstar mapquest force field) boarded avast progressive throng (i.e. amidst fluted mist throve ethereal, kindling spirits swirling in Plenti full Orbitz.

No more evidence of that once longhaired pencil necked geek, who fostered nonestablishmentarian outlook among brother and sister beatniks, (whereby said generic dork happened to be one among many capitalone dishabille dressed Dharma bums.

Perpetually preserved amidst an ethereal sphere, (whereby witches and warlocks guarded immaterial discernible willowy wisps), twas here, within which hallowed dead souls found, scythe lent death stillness, and an eternal asylum. Death warrant decreed left troubadour entombed, but ‘lo dance Clearwater Revival did BuzzFeed heft rejuvenation where ghost of this scrivener premature pronounced bereft of Linkedin to devilish witch mockery, who playfully heckled, mocked, and teased where lovely bones ceremoniously lowered into graveyard cleft.

[chitaqua-toast]

Oh my god.

The levels of FRUSTRATION I am FEELING right now.

I started wearing glasses as a kid bc I was offered “can’t see the board clearly” as a *possible* reason why my grades weren’t great. (Reality: I was bored. All. The. Time.) So they sat me right up at the board — literally. My desk butted against one corner of the board.

Did I think I needed glasses? No.

Did it sound like an EXCELLENT “reason” that didn’t put me at fault? Yes.

So, I said yeah I can’t really see the board from our standard student layout and they moved my desk till I could get an appointment for a vision check.

…turns out I needed glasses.

BUT!!

The side effect of putting me up to the board was my visual field lacking anything distracting. I was actually learning. So when they went to move me back, I asked if I could sit in the front row. They didn’t question it & I didn’t know WHY it was easier, I just knew I could actually think when assigned to the front of the room instead of one row from the back.

And it’s only today I’m leaning that the vision test wanted me to TELL THEM THINGS WERE BLURRY?!

Y’all. The guy who did my vision test & prescription actually told my guardian “we put these drops in so they can’t fake having bad sight”. Like. Apparently there was some bug plot to make glasses COOL I had never heard of?! My guy. I got teased SO HARD for wearing them that I took them off between classes. I squinted for EVERY LETTER because all of them were blurry. That was just my normal. You want a list of the letters? Okay boss, I’ll list every one I can strain to make out.

And. AND. Then they do the damn “is this slide clearer or this one?” thing and I get to the point my eyes are hurting and they’re still doing “this one, or this one” when we’ve reached a point where THERE IS NO DIFFERENCE and I finally (still. STILL. AS A 50 YEAR OLD) give in and tell them I see no difference and get told “blink a couple times and pick one”. There’s literally no difference. “Okay guess one.”

what. WHAT. AAAAH.

And this shit goes on with SO MANY THINGS.

What’s my pain level? Out of ten? Ummmm… well it’s like maybe a nine on what I’ve experienced *personally* but I can always imagine it getting worse, so no it’s not *really* a nine, because I imagine getting shot would feel a lot worse than my intractable migraine… so I say “…a seven? I guess? Maybe a six?”

Know what the answer is they want? HOW BADLY DO YOU WANT TO DIE RIGHT NOW. Not in comparison to PRIOR pains (even though they use the words “ten being the worst/your worst” and will always — always — give you a look of utter disregard if you say ten), but at THIS MOMENT in time “how badly are you being tortured by your own brain, so we can come in later and ask again and know if your pain is dropping down a few decibels so we can move on *or* switch to a different treatment since your pain hasn’t changed”.

JFC WHY NOT JUST SAY THAT.

And they call US hard to understand & say WE suck at communicating.

When I was younger and researching the autism diagnosis criteria and symptoms, I thought “oh I couldn’t POSSIBLY be autistic.” Because when I read “takes everything literally” I thought it literally meant EVERYTHING and I was like “I don’t take EVERYTHING literally, just most things!” And I just realized the other day that it didn’t actually mean EVERYTHING and that was an overstatement.

[neteyamyawne]

༊*·˚ — 1K FOLLOWERS EVENT!

✵ Nature's Flow – I have decided to go with a intractable event because I have other things to work on and I still want to have a event for hitting 1K! Please i have very little time to write for fics, I'm gonna go on a hiatus soon after Kinkmas is over because of my exams but I'll still try to write, maybe in my future events I'll do fanfics!

✵ Nature's way – Please follow my guidelines while requesting/sending asks, I don't want anyone hating here, this is a SAFE SPACE for everyone, my blog contains SFW/NSFW content so interact accordingly, Minors atleast have the courtesy to use anon filter, ageless and minor acc's won't be interacted with!

✵ Nature's Bloom – Thank you so much to all of you fo joining me on this journey and I'm so happy 1000 of you have followed me, i never thought I'll be here honestly, it was supposed to be a fun throwaway blog but you guys made me dedicated to stict to it! I LOVE YOU ALL SO MUCH!!!!

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