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[sladvlactia]

THINGS THAT HAPPEN IN THE WAYSIDE SCHOOL BOOKS WITH NO CONTEXT

The blueprints were sideways, so now the school is 30 stories tall

They forgot to add the 19th floor, where Miss Zarves teaches.

Elevators are installed to deal with the long climb. They are only used once and can never be used again.

A dead rat tries to sneak into class by wearing multiple raincoats

School's closed due to cows

World's number one ice cream lover devastated that she can't taste ice cream named after herself.

The third book is called "Wayside School Gets A Little Stranger". They don't appear until the end.

The author's self insert eats a woman alive. He would then go on to write "Holes" 20 years later.

One of the stories is called "What?". It's written backwards.

There are three Erics. To remember which is which, they each have nicknames that reflect the polar opposite of their actual selves.

A boy and a girl trade names, which inspires the rest of the class to do the same, leading to an incredibly confusing reading experience.

Benjamin Nushmutt accidentally is called a completely different name, and Ben is too shy to correct anyone about it

After long deliberation between all of the classmates, Calvin decides that he wants a tattoo of a potato on his ankle

One character falls into the Wayside equivalent of the backrooms for three chapters

Two students accidentally resurrect their old teacher with potato salad

One student is so unpleasant that the lunch lady finds out a substitute teacher is stealing the children's voices because he says "Have a nice day" in her voice.

One of these is directly referenced in Deltarune

Pickle hypnosis

[sladvlactia]

Been playing the new "stomping shouting" game and have been having thoughts about it

Something that I think Warhammer 40,000 storytellers miss sometimes is the sheer scale of their setting. I mean, don't get me wrong - I love the big, dramatic clashes, the characters you can buy in mini form and their convoluted, interwoven lore, the dramatic combats against unstoppable foes across a thousand ruined worlds. But that's the top of the setting, as it were - the most powerful beings in the universe, all fighting for supremacy. And at ground level, the level of the ordinary person, are so many other stories.

Did you know that a Lunar-class void cruiser has a crew of 95,000? Nearly a hundred thousand people, aboard a spaceship five kilometers long. A city, flying through outer space to wage war. Many of those people are proper trained soldiers, fresh from some academy or veterans of long, grueling campaigns, and many more are pressed into service, begrudgingly laying their lives at their Emperor's feet. But, unless the ship is currently actively involved in a really bloody campaign, most of those people were born aboard that ship. Most of their parents were born aboard it. And their grandparents. And their great-grandparents. Lineages stretching back centuries, so far that the original soldier who came aboard has been forgotten. A lot of those people probably know, on some level, that they're aboard a ship flying through space - but a lot of them probably don't, and I guarantee you almost none of them understand what that means. This ship is their world. To look out the window means madness so often that they avoid it - not that windows are readily available anyway. Most of them probably barely even understand that they're fighting. All they know is that when the readouts on their analog instruments display like so, when they hurry to obey the blared orders through the klaxon, the Emperor is pleased with them. They were born into that world. When they were children they did smaller tasks the adults couldn't. Their entire existence was winding metal corridors, laid out according to some archaic design, any logic that might dictate their layout long since degraded after millennia of ignorant maintenance, lit only by emergency lights that have long since become the default. They learned how to read an angle readout or how to relay an order perfectly the way another child might learn history or math. When they grew up, their service was flawless, born of pride and ignorance, and when they grew old and died, their legacy was remembered until it was forgotten. Many were killed in battle, but who cares? They gave their lives to the Emperor - a name whose meaning they don't understand, but whose importance they believe in wholeheartedly, all but synonymous with the commanding officers up above.

Sometimes, the klaxons sound a specific command, and every person on board who understands what it means feels a deep, awful dread as they run to their battle stations. They don't know what a warp jump is. They don't understand they're going from one place to another by the fastest way available. All they know is that, for a time, the ship dips into hell. The corridors go wrong. Things and people might not be where or what they were before. Daemons stalk the halls, and must be killed by any who can hold a lasgun. The overcrowded berths, the little nooks that families find for themselves - they are not private anymore. They are not safe. Things drift through the shift that do not care about the laws of physics, but that delight in killing and torturing human beings. Vast energies shake the ship and tear parts of it away - their home, their world, their existence, the biggest thing they can imagine, assaulted by something bigger. Is it the Emperor's punishment for failure? Is this what battle is? What's going on? They don't know, and no one who does can be bothered to tell them. The dread of those who have seen this before is even worse, because they don't know how long it will be. It might be just a few hours. It might be days, or weeks, or months, or years, or decades. It might be centuries, as the captain of the ship goes hunting daemons deep in the warp - the officers live that long, after all, and have little care for those who don't. There will be people born in hell, who spend their entire lives fighting from the day they can stand, and who die in hell, as old age and need catch up to them and they curl up in a corner to perish. To them, it isn't even hell. It's just the world. The world is death and pain and cruelty, an infinite metal box through which monsters stalk, and sometimes you must run to a battle station and do as you're ordered to do. And sometimes, as they reach forty or fifty or even a ripe old sixty, the ship drops out of the Warp, and, for the final years of their life, they are granted a life of relatively safe service better than anything they ever hoped to dream of.

Those are the kinds of stories I want to see more of. Super-soldiers fighting each other is cool, yes, but I want to see this universe explored. I want stories from the perspective of those that keep the Imperium going, or the aeldar, or the tyranids, or anyone, really. There's just so much potential in this setting. It deserves it.

[sladvlactia]

"If masks are banned where I live, I will have to make the choice between endangering my transplant and my health every time I leave the house, or to remain on permanent lockdown in my home."

[sladvlactia]

now that my post about breaking down one's idea of what a woman looks like has circulated for a while (thank you all), i'm now going to make this post, as i do not want people to derail that specific conversation, nor this one.

we also must break down our idea of what a man looks, acts, sounds, behaves, and presents like.

men are not cis, het, allosexual or highly sexual beings, tall, muscular, strong, hairy, deep voiced, broad chested/shouldered, emotionless, mean, aggressive, unemotional, uncaring, distant, cold, stoic, heartless, standoffish, bread winners, bad/absent fathers, macho, obligated to work despite disabilities, or obligated to be "the man of the house."

men are people. first and foremost.

men are allowed to express just like anyone else. men do not have to be pillars of their communities. no obligation. men are allowed to be disabled, tired, weak, emotional, caring, compassionate, asexual, aromantic, friendly, warm, in need of support, neurodivergent, mentally ill, chronically ill,and have personality disorders. men have their own struggles and we have to stop telling them to "suck it up" and "move on" and "pull yourself up by your boot straps".

we are forcing men to do this: this is a cage of our own design.

once we dismantle this idea of how a man "should" be, once more: we will move past radfeminism, patriarchy, trans/androphobia, and fostering a culture where this is an acceptable way to treat men. it's not. we must allow men to be diverse. we must allow men to be who they are on the inside

[sladvlactia]

Hey, don’t cry. Free online database of Japanese folk lore

[sladvlactia]

part of the reason i love how bell hooks talks about masculinity is that she shows real compassion towards men suffering from the effects of toxic masculinity. she was conscious of how we need to unlearn the ways we talk about men + masculinity just as much as we need to unlearn the same for women + femininity. so many times ill see someone talking about toxic masculinity like (hyperbolizing here but only slightly) "these FUCKING STUPID BABY BITCHES won't MAN UP and go to a therapist!!!" and like. i get the anger. but you see feminists recreating patriarchal manhood by only promoting good behaviors through patriarchal frameworks. any use of the term "real men" is bad because it reifies the idea that manhood is a special title you must earn, and it is something possible to fail and fake. & as important as it is to promote sexual equality + the pleasure of non-cis-men, lots of people are essentially still working with the idea that men need sexual prowess to have worth but just shifting it slightly so there is more emphasis on women's pleasure. but I want cis men to think about their partners' pleasure because they care about their partners, not because they need to check a box in order to keep their man card. and don't get me started on small dick jokes– and the absolutely pitiful excuse people will use that "well, I don't believe it, but misogynistic men get upset when I say it, so it's okay!"

basically bell hooks is so fucking right. in order to create loving men we need to love men, simply for being alive, whether or not they are performing. as much as we need to actively unlearn misogyny (and we do), it's equally vital we unlearn patriarchal ways of seeing manhood. we can't just assume that taking a feminist perspective automatically means there is no work to be done there.

[sladvlactia]

The first step to resistance in any way, shape or form is to have hope. When you learn about this, it's easy to realize that half the efforts being put into crushing any attempts at fighting back against systemic opression are all about making you feel hopeless.

Change is possible. It's already happening. Humans care about each other and they are good at working together because we (quite literally!) evolved to be together. There is no inherent evil or good about us, but we have to power to do both. Choosing to do better is an everyday decision, and you and I can do it.

We can change. We can fight back. But first, we must have hope.

[sladvlactia]

After shoving Hansel in the oven, the witch turns to Gretel - who is currently fending the witch off with a gingerbread chair - and says:

“I can’t believe you thought a trail of breadcrumbs would save you. I mean, honestly, this is a forest! It’s full of animals. Honestly, the very idea that a dumb shit like you thought you could get the better of me is absurd.”

Gretel hits her in the face with said chair. To be fair to the witch, she takes the chairshot like a champ.

“Ow!”

“Did you know,” says Gretel, “that crows are capable of facial recognition?”

“Eh?” Says the witch, clambering to her feet and pulling a candy cane sledgehammer off the wall. “What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Not only that,” Gretel continues, “but they can remember both friends and enemies. And they’ll often follow people they remember as friends.”

The two fence with their sugared weapons for a moment, before the witch knocks the chair out of Gretel’s hands.

“Enough with the bird facts! Honestly, this whole attempted escape has been utter clownshoes. Get in the fucking oven!”

She seizes Gretel by the collar. Gretel immediately sandbags, letting her whole body go limp. This eminently practical defense forces the witch to try and deadlift her. Which is hard, as the witch often skips leg day.

“For example,” Gretel says, as the witch struggles and grunts, “if you feed crows a lot of breadcrumbs, they’ll probably start to see you as a friend and follow you in the hope of more food.”

The witch stops. Outside, she hears the thunder of wings.

“They’ll even bring you shiny things they find as presents!” Says Gretel, as a corner of the gingerbread ceiling is suddenly cut away by a large crow with a knife in its mouth.

“Oh shitballs.” Says the witch, as the crows descend. “I hope you know this is a great unkindness.”

“Technically,” Says Gretel, “It’s a murder.”

[sladvlactia]

Americans really really need to be less paranoid and more capable of tolerating minor discomfort in public. Not everyone is a pervert/rapist/strangler/fiend. In fact, very few people are. Treating every violation of normal order as though it is a threat is why people are getting shot for turning around in a stranger's driveway. This happens within the frameworks of basically every ideology present in American culture. It is an American illness. If your vision of the world doesn't have room for saying "I'm sure it's nothing" then you really gotta work some shit out.

[sladvlactia]

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?”

"A Hat full of Sky" - Terry Pratchett

[sladvlactia]

[sladvlactia]

hi any life advice for 21yo

Don't date thirty-year-olds until you are at least 25.

Having a glass of water for every glass of alcohol will give you a 50% reduction in hangover viciousness.

Bad people will use your willingness to be quiet as a weapon against you. If someone's being awful to you and trusting you'll be quiet to keep from making waves, surprise them.

There is no physical object in the world that is worth as much as your honor.

Honor is not the same as dignity. Retaining one sometimes means leaving the other aside.

Don't have any sex you don't want to have; have as much as you want of the sex that you do, whether that's a lot, a little, or none at all. Nothing you can do to your own body is immoral, unless you're doing it as an act of self-punishment.

Food is morally neutral. You do not have to earn the right to eat calories. Fat and sugar keep your brain from eating itself.

Learning to sit still and breathe--in, in, in, hold, hold, hold, out, out, out, out, out, out--can give you five feet of clear space around yourself in a maelstrom.

Find out how to make three good meals: A comfort meal you can make for just yourself relatively easily, a fancy meal you can use to wow a date, and a meal you can feed a bunch of people. All the other cooking can come later, but you can build a community on those three meals.

If you ever get to the point that things are so bleak you can see no other way forward but to die, make any other choice. If that means leaving everything you own and being a beach bum, or quitting your career, or taking up or leaving a religion, or deciding to bicycle across the country, so be it; living means more chances, dying means everything stops and you don't get to see any more interesting things. As you have not yet seen all the things that can interest you, it is better to live.

[sladvlactia]

[sladvlactia]

media literacy would automatically go up 100% if people knew how to consume stories without self-inserting themselves into the characters' shoes. "if i were him..." you're NOT. you may relate to his story, his past, his traits, his quirks, his identity but the moment you start treating the story accepting what you feel/think as what the character feels/thinks, you're misunderstanding the story.

[sladvlactia]

The thing they do with the dragons in ffxiv is that the sheer oppressive size of them hides the fact that Nidhogg and Hraesvelgr have these pathetic neurotic personalities that would seem completely absurd if they weren't huge, and then they show you some well adjusted dragons and you realise they're just absurd, period. Hraesvelgr is depression-nesting in his room until you bring his DAD to come YELL AT HIM to deal with his rampaging brother that is what happens in heavensward

[sladvlactia]

It's so funny that Palpatine is also a skilled lightsaber duelist and fighter, enough to take on 4 Jedi masters / war veterans at once and easily kill 3 of them (everyone except Mace Windu almost immediately gets wasted), and then to go on to beat Yoda too later. Like, it's funny to think about the logistics of it all. Who exactly has Palpatine been practicing with here? How often has he been hitting the gym in the past 15 or so years?

Up until that point in "Revenge of the Sith", it looks like Palpatine's main skill is manipulation. He doesn't really look like he's sunk a lot of points into melee combat. Supposedly, he trained Darth Maul, but Maul got wrecked by Obi-Wan Kenobi as a padawan and has been "dead" for over a decade by the time Palpatine is confronted by the Jedi and suddenly opens a can of whoop ass. Dooku is a skilled duelist, sure, but Dooku has been running the other side of the war, so he's not sneaking into Coruscant on a regular basis to be Palpatine's evil gym buddy.

Also, when is Palpatine finding the TIME to train that fiercely? He has a desk job! He has TWO desk jobs! He's the Supreme Chancellor of the Republic and also secretly running both sides of the war, all to slowly build up his Galactic Empire. His schedule must be packed. His time management skills are the real legendary dark powers here. He has to regularly be going straight from meetings with Republic Senators and the Jedi Council into video calls with General Grievous and the Trade Federation. Where on his calendar is this man putting his evil workouts where he waves around a red lightsaber?

I really don't like the idea that Palpatine is just so formidable in the Force that he doesn't ever have to worry about spaceships falling from orbit or keeping in shape. He's definitely not a normal guy, but he is also just a guy, given that Darth Vader eventually throws him off a Death Star bridge to kill him (temporarily, if we're going by the sequel trilogy, which I... don't). I understand that at this point in time, Palpatine is possibly super-boosted by the Dark Side thanks to the sheer weight of misery he's inflicted on the galaxy thanks to the war, so he's feeling GREAT, strong and fast and ready to rumble, but I don't think pure power in the Force alone should necessarily translate to staying flexible despite your desk job and having refined sword skills?

So, I guess I have to assume that Palpatine has a collection of personal dueling droids somewhere that regularly get wrecked by a lightsaber or something? Is there a gym maintenance droid somewhere rebuilding these other droids and chugging happily along learning every week (it gets its memory wiped on a daily basis) that the Supreme Chancellor secretly likes to play with lightsabers like a Jedi LARPer? Not an uncommon hobby! There are fan conventions for that!