#and i like having points

[4nikki21]

I am enjoying this Artfight thing

[boasamishipper]

unpopular opinion but i think a ship that's not canon but both halves are canonically insane about each other is infinitely better than a ship that's canon and boring

[wumbreon]

We were watching the glass blowing competition show on netflix because it's really cool to see those talented artists do their thing...

But I will NEVER forgive the judges for eliminating an amazing artist who's concept was that plastic hamster tubes are actually dangerous for hamsters yet they are normalized in our society so they made a beautiful glass rendition of an endless loop of colorful hamster tubes as an expression of how we can be trapped by society in a loop of behavior that is normalized but actually killing us

And the judges were like "this isnt DEEP ENOUGH" because they dont care enough about hamsters to learn and interpret the artist's statement at the level it was meant for.

They literally saw the glass renditions of colorful tubes that represent suffering and being trapped in a glossy predesigned hell and went "this is too normal and isnt saying anything important actually" Fuck them!!!!

Anyways Gemma should have won and I'm so happy to see that she didn't let it stop her amazing concept and she continued with it outside of the time constraints of the show. Fuck yes Gemma

[kedreeva]

Please meet Rube Goldberg.

While collecting eggs a couple of weeks ago, this egg slipped out of my hands from 5 feet up above wood, wire, and cement. Quail eggs are VERY fragile when it comes to impacts, so this egg's life flash before my eyes and time slowed down as I watched the world's most ridiculous accidental cartoon egg drop.

It somehow missed every obstacle on the way down (3 shelves) in order to land upon the side of a milk jug I had dropped the day before. It bounced off of that to a couple feet away, and hit the side of a hay bale. It bounced off of that, and somehow landed on the open lip of an empty feed back laying on the floor that I had put down under the towers to prevent the cement from sinking heat from the space. The bag gently collapsed, and rolled the pristine egg to a stop back at my feet.

I stared at it in disbelief. I took it inside and candled it- not a crack in it. So I noted the pen I got it from (CER) and scribbled "dropped?" on it. I figured SURELY it would not develop after that kind of nonsense, but when I candled at lockdown, the little thing was ready to go.

So, I stuck the egg into its own hatching bag, and sure as shit, the little fucker hatched!

And as if the rest of the story is not weird enough, this is possibly the first coturnix chick in the world who didn't immediately faceplant off of a human hand in the pursuit of the cold embrace of death. It just sat there, posing with the egg. Looking around like Hm so this is what being alive is... it's alright I guess.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Knowledge Revenge.

[habken]

prof offhandedly said “I used to work on a show called backyardigans” like it’s nothing.. like it’s just some random show…

[keymintt]

projection

[crookedtines]

I finally took the time to photograph my vintage dip pen nib collection, and I need to share with you all how wonderful and diverse their designs are.

These two are my favorite. Just look at them! One of them is named Gorille and the other Mephisto, but to me they're little pumpkins.

And of course you gotta love the Pinocchio nib. You get to write with the nose of a tiny guy! Just not something you get to do anymore.

[starbuck]

i say i like tragedies and everyone’s all like ‘why do you like sad stories? are you depressed?’ and never ‘how was the catharsis? was the catharsis fun?’

[gibbearish]

love when ppl defend the aggressive monetization of the internet with "what, do you just expect it to be free and them not make a profit???" like. yeah that would be really nice actually i would love that:)! thanks for asking

[inkskinned]

this is just my opinion but i think any good media needs obsession behind it. it needs passion, the kind of passion that's no longer "gentle scented candle" and is now "oh shit the house caught on fire". it needs a creator that's biting the floorboards and gnawing the story off their skin. creators are supposed to be wild animals. they are supposed to want to tell a story with the ferocity of eating a good stone fruit while standing over the sink. the same protective, strange instinct as being 7 and making mud potions in pink teacups: you gotta get weird with it.

good media needs unhinged, googling-at-midnight kind of energy. it needs "what kind of seams are invented on this planet" energy and "im just gonna trust the audience to roll with me about this" energy. it needs one person (at least) screaming into the void with so much drive and energy that it forces the story to be real.

sometimes people are baffled when fanfic has some stunning jaw-dropping tattoo-it-on-you lines. and i'm like - well, i don't go here, but that makes sense to me. of fucking course people who have this amount of passion are going to create something good. they moved from a place of genuine love and enjoyment.

so yeah, duh! saturday cartoons have banger lines. random street art is sometimes the most precious heart-wrenching shit you've ever seen. someone singing on tiktok ends up creating your next favorite song. youtubers are giving us 5 hours of carefully researched content. all of this is the impossible equation to latestage capitalism. like, you can't force something to be good. AI cannot make it good. no amount of focus-group testing or market research. what makes a story worth listening to is that someone cares so much about telling it - through dance, art, music, whatever it takes - that they are just a little unhinged about it.

one time my friend told me he stayed up all night researching how many ways there are to peel an orange. he wrote me a poem that made me cry on public transportation. the love came through it like pith, you know? the words all came apart in my hands. it tasted like breakfast.

[thestuffedalligator]

The thing was a mound of flesh and mottled skin, as big as a barn and the shape of a pumpkin. Four tentacles as thick as trees hung limp at its sides; teeth ringed the gaping mouth at the top of its head like a crown.

A huge, sad whale eye the colour of wine stared at the knight. She could see her reflection in the jelly surface.

“We don’t know what it is,” she heard. “Some kind of monster that makes a perfect copy of whatever it eats. They think that was how the Dark Lord made his armies, feeding his minions to it so that it would make hundreds of copies of them. Do you recognize it?”

The knight opened her mouth. She hesitated. “Yeah,” she murmured, drawing out the word. “We found it in the Dark Lord’s tower, right?”

“That’s right. That’s where it ate you.”

The knight turned around and looked at her other reflection. This one appeared to be about ten years older, and had doffed her armor for a loose blue tunic and breeches.

She was holding a cup of tea. She had pressed another cup into the knight’s hand when she woke up here. It had been a shock finding herself suddenly out the obsidian dungeons of the Dark Lord’s tower and into this tall room of stone and straw. The warmth of it in her hands steadied her a bit.

“Everyone else in the party was worried, but then it started making copies of you,” the copy went on, staring up at the tentacled thing. “And all of the copies helped fight against the Dark Lord, and we won, and peace was restored across the land, but then nobody could figure out how to kill the damn thing or just to make it stop. Dozens of copies of us in a day, hundreds in a week, and then someone decided that the only thing we could do is just bring the thing here, seal it off and hope it starved to death.”

She sipped her tea. “Anyways, that was two-hundred years ago and it’s slowed down a bit. It can only make a new copy of us every few weeks now.”

The knight looked down into her tea. The copy had also draped a blanket over her shoulders.

“I have so many questions,” she said.

“I figured.”

“How can it be two-hundred years? I can still remember breaking into the tower. That feels like it was just minutes ago.”

“It was, basically. Your brain is a perfect copy of the original you’s brain at the exact moment she was eaten.”

“But the quest is just — done?”

“Yep. You missed some of the things that needed tying up afterward. There was a war, and a dragon, and some business about a ring.” She waved a hand. “It was before my time. Things are pretty settled now.”

“My parents?”

“Passed away about a hundred-and-fifty years ago. I’ve been told that they were very proud.”

The knight nodded. “Um. I don’t know if you know — we had an elf in our party—”

“I’m aware.”

“I — right. Obviously. Um. It’s just, after everything was done, I was going to ask her—”

“One of us did. She said yes. She outlived her. A couple of us have tried to reach out since then, but she wants to be left alone for a while.”

The knight considered this. “Uh — right,” she said eventually. Her fingers tightened around the tea cup. “Um. What do I do now?”

Her older copy shrugged. She had let her hair grow out again, the knight noticed. There were a few strands of grey against the black. “That’s up to you, I’m afraid,” she said. “A lot of us are finding work as soldiers and sellswords. We’ve done it for so long that most armies know we’re reliable and don’t tend to turn one of us away. Most of us are just sort of spreading out, wandering the world. Some of us keep in touch.”

The knight frowned. “What do you do?”

Her copy paused, tea cup half raised to her lips. “Sorry?”

“You said it only makes a new copy every few weeks now. So you just stay here and wait for a new one to show up?”

She lowered the cup. “Well,” she said. “I guess I just — I know what it can be like, waking up here in the dark, and it — it can be horrible trying to figure all of this out on your own.

“So I thought that what I’d do is just stay here with a pot of tea, and whenever I see myself again, I tell her that — that she’s not alone.”

“We aren’t?”

“Of course not. We’re all in this together, you know.”

[blaithnne]

Live Mel reaction

[bllmak]

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Penelope's final gambit, you will always be famous, no matter the subtext.

[creekfiend]

something that drives me insane on a relatively regular basis as a body jewelry understander is talking to people who have sensitive skin who are like "oh well I just can't wear any earrings without my ears getting inflamed" and I say "well what have you tried" and they say "well I've tried sterling silver and I've tried gold..." and it's like. ok. I don't know how gold and sterling somehow got spun by the jewelry industry as being especially good for sensitive skin but whenever I'm like "well have you tried implant grade titanium" they're always like "no....... but I've tried sterling silver... and it didn't work ..." like. I don't know how this narrative about sterling silver somehow got so strong but when they put pins in your fucking legs when you snap your leg in half are those pins made of sterling silver or are they made of implant grade titanium or surgical steel????????? HELLO. HI. YOU MIGHT BENEFIT FROM TRYING IMPLANT GRADE TITANIUM I AM JUST SAYING