The rambling thoughts/reblogs of a queer Vancouver fangirl named Steph, who is into so many shows like whoa. (Also likes taking landscape photos)
[she/her pronouns]
btw the majority of your life will be lived as a adult. yeah i don't make the rules. go have fun in your 40s or 70s or whatever. no one expects you to accomplish everything at 17 or 27. you've got time and in the meantime get some life experience, it will pay off
Its fascinating that the way advertizing and apps work right now is simply how computer viruses, adware, spyware, and all manners of malware has ALWAYS worked. Growing up as a teen in the 2000s there used to be a program called Weatherbug that was pretty much considered unthinkable to ever have installed because of the way it knew your location and essentially EVERY adware, spyware, and antivirus software flagged it for removal immediately. It was considered best practice to never install anything. Never install toolbars, mever install anything without consulting a professional or unless you were ad advanced user. I was trained in Comptia A+ for the windows xp era and the best practice as a repair tech was to never allow the customer to install anything themselves if it could be helped.
And now just. Everything does this. Your fucking calculator wants your location data and business ghouls want it to be illegal to use a simple adblocker because not advertizing to you hurts their feelings.
And now we have generative AI filling the internet with slop that can have SEO and more ads slapped on top of it? Google is breaking on purpose so you make more searches to get advertised to more?
The viruses have won, everything is malware and everything is a scam. To use commercial tech is to be voluntarily mugged
Tiffany couldn't quite work out how Miss Level got paid. Certainly the basket she carried filled up more than it emptied. They'd walk past a cottage and a woman would come scurrying out with a fresh-baked loaf or a jar of pickles, even though Miss Level hadn't stopped there. But they'd spend an hour somewhere else, stitching up the leg of a farmer who'd been careless with an axe, and get a cup of tea and a stale biscuit.
It didn't seem fair.
“Oh, it evens out,” said Miss Level, as they walked on through the woods.
“You do what you can. People give what they can, when they can. Old Slapwick there, with the leg, he's as mean as a cat, but there'll be a big cut of beef on my doorstep before the week's end, you can bet on it. His wife will see to it. And pretty soon people will be killing their pigs for the winter, and I'll get more brawn, ham, bacon and sausages turning up than a family could eat in a year.”
“You do? What do you do with all that food?”
“Store it,” said Miss Level.
“But you-”
“I store it in other people. It's amazing what you can store in other people.” Miss Level laughed at Tiffany's expression. “I mean, I take what I don't need round to those who don't have a pig, or who're going through a bad patch, or who don't have anyone to remember them.”
“But that means they'll owe you a favour!”
“Right! And so it just keeps on going round. It all works out.”
“I bet some people are too mean to pay-”
“Not pay,” said Miss Level, severely. “A witch never expects payment and never asks for it and just hopes she never needs to. But, sadly, you are right.”
“And then what happens?"
“What do you mean?”
“You stop helping them, do you?”
“Oh, no,” said Miss Level, genuinely shocked. “You can't not help people just because they're stupid or forgetful or unpleasant. Everyone's poor round here. If I don't help them, who will?”
"The [...] visage fades into a human woman in her forties. Kinda slicked-back, dirty blonde hair, a scar that runs down the side of her face, and heavy burn marks across her neck. She's adorned in ornate, form-fitting clothing under a dark green cloak.
You look back to Seth... who is no longer Seth. Instead you see a Dark Elf of shoulder-length, somewhat wavy white hair, purple eyes, and stoic expression. You see he wears flowing black robes that fall from an intricate silver-shine mantle."
Mrs got me a jumper while back for bday. I wear it loads. Went out in it an ran into ppl who complemented it. Got home and told her that. ‘Yea I got it for you bc its what Gonzo would wear.’ The muppet. Shant recover
u literally cannot have some sort of kneejerk panicked guiltspiral reaction to learning u hurt someone u cannot start playing out ur imaginary canceled callout metoo moment anytime a loved one thinks uve done something wrong 9/10 people are only communicating that to u bc they want 1) their hurt validated 2) a promise to at least try not to hurt them the same way again 3) a hug not some fucking malicious attempt to destroy ur life