Petition to refer to TERFs as FARTs, which stands for Feminist Appropiating Reactionary Tranaphobe
“Trans-Exclusionary-Radical-Feminist,” when you think about it, is a VERY kind term. To be called a TERF is for the person to admit that they still consider you a feminist.
But what kind of feminist excludes so many women from their movement? If you hate so many women for what they are, you really don’t deserve to be called any kind of feminist, radical or otherwise.
Anti-trans people: Stop calling us terfs it’s insulting
u kno i see all these soulmate fics where todoroki hates having a soulmate and thinks its a distraction/useless/another thing to hurt him and thats valid but like, i’d love to see more fics where having a soulmate is his anchor, yknow? the thread he holds onto throughout his life that keeps him from drowning completely. where’s my desperately hopeful todoroki who starves for somebody to understand him at the most basic level, who clings to the idea of his soulmate like a lifeline, who holds the concept close to his heart and keeps it there. wheres my todoroki who spitefully nurtures this precious thing and refuses to let endeavor stomp it out. theres so much power in embracing the soft and vulnerable parts of yourself and idk i just think my Very Good Boy Todoroki deserves at least one universe where that isnt completely torn from him
no offence but angels with their 6 wings, blazing halos, multitudes of eyes, 4 faces + booming voices are 100 times more terrifying than any demon I’ve ever seen a description of. oh it’s a dude with horns. that’s chill. come back when you’re an eternal arcane wheel of fire and maybe i’ll be afraid of you.
Professionals have standards. Be polite. Be efficient. Have a plan to kill everyone you meet.
Always have a plan. Always. And never tell a soul. 🙂
Damn.
Making notes…
This thread is unreadable to my ancient eyes, but is thankfully archived [ HERE ].
Have a free transcription:
what is the evilest thing you’ve ever done in a game?
“… A buddy of mine went off to college a few years back and ended up sharing an apartment style res with four other gamers. At first they were pretty cool guys, until I was invited to game with them. The entire lot of them were THAT guys, playing anthromorphic characters, being chaotic randum, one player had a custom made vampire race that was stupidly OP and only had a LA of +1. Shit had to stop and I knew that it was my duty to stop it. I played a LE human wizard who specialized in the creation of magical items, his character concept was that wealth was often equal to power and what better way to make cash on the up and up then by creating and selling gear catered to adventurers and the elites. Another quirk of his was that he kept a grimoire on him in which he wrote the names of those he and the party had slain, if a name was unavailable he would write a brief description, approximate age, and location of death. Whenever they’d stop in a major city he would copy the most recent additions and deliver it to the mortuaries, as an act of respect to the dead. I actually made this book in RL, and filled it out after every fight.I went full out on this guy and regularly made the parties equipment for ¾ of the cost it would have taken them to buy it, often giving discounts if it suited both of our needs for them to have the better gear.
My only stipulation was that my loot be kept on me, and not with the parties funds.
By the end of the campaign I was several levels under the party but had a huge stockpile of gold saved up to buy a nice island somewhere and live the good life. We finish off an evil draco lich that was bent on world domination and are about to go our seperate ways when the party barbarian stops my character and demands that I give them back the gold they paid for their equipment or he would kill and take it from me. I tried to reason with the rest of the party but they were all being greedy fucktards, It was four vs 1 and I wasn’t allowed spells from outside the phb, so none of the fantastic bullshit of celerity could save me, and the barbarian would unquestionably beat me on initiative if it got to combat. Resigned to my fate I did the only thing I could do, and spoke to them one last time.
“Lalilulelo” Our clerics armor suddenly burst into sunlight, the barbarians weapon animated and began to attack him, while his armor locked in place freezing him on the spot. The rogue was disintegrated on the spot as his gear spontaneously blasted him with magical rays.
Within a round the party was dead or incapacitated, save for my character, who calmly approached the frozen barbarian as he was hacked apart by his own weapon, pulled out his book and flipped to one of the first entries. As I described this I pulled out my copy of the book, and did the same, turning it so that the rest of the table could see where there names had been scrawled on the day I had met them.
“There was never any doubt in this outcome. I knew your greed would overwhelm you and took the necessary measures to stop you when it did. Perhaps if you had simply let me go things wouldn’t have gone just as planned.”
The table just kinda stared at me in silence. I didn’t play a very talkative role in the campaign, and usually kept what I did separate from the party pretty brief. They hadn’t even known my alignment, as my evil deeds were usually of the subtle sort, such as unfair contracts and manipulating the party into doing what I had planned. After the final fight I gathered the loot from the dracolich’s hoard, including the materials and instructions required to make a phylactery of my own. The campaign ended with my character getting the credit for saving the continent and being lauded as a hero, the others were quickly forgotten, as I claimed that they had fallen under the influence of the dracolich and been destroyed. The only legacy they left were their names scrawled in my book.”
Smug self-delighted players who get a kick out of being pointlessly nasty because ‘it’s just a game’ are the worst. Like dude. Bro. Your power fantasy says things about you.
I’ve been lucky to have never had one of these dolts in a group with me, the worst i had to deal with was a nerdlich who repeatedly bragged that with his stats he could “Beat Belldandy” (lol) but I’d welcome them if someone like OP was also there. Dat payoff.
One of the most powerful moments I experienced as an ancient history student was when I was teaching cuneiform to visitors at a fair. A father and his two little children came up to the table where I was working. I recognised them from an interfaith ceremony I’d attended several months before: the father had said a prayer for his homeland, Syria, and for his hometown, Aleppo.
All three of them were soft-spoken, kind and curious. I taught the little girl how to press wedges into the clay, and I taught the little boy that his name meant “sun” and that there was an ancient Mesopotamian God with the same name. I told them they were about the same age as scribes were when they started their training. As they worked, their father said to them gently: “See, this is how your ancestors used to write.”
And I thought of how the Ancient City of Aleppo is almost entirely destroyed now, and how the Citadel was shelled and used as a military base, and how Palmyran temples were blown up and such a wealth of culture and history has been lost forever. And there I was with these children, two small pieces of the future of a broken country, and I was teaching them cuneiform. They were smiling and chatting to each other about Mesopotamia and “can you imagine, our great-great-great-grandparents used to write like this four thousand years ago!” For them and their father, it was more than a fun weekend activity. It was a way of connecting, despite everything and thousands of kilometres away from home, with their own history.
This moment showed me, in a concrete way, why ancient studies matter. They may not seem important now, not to many people at least. But history represents so much of our cultural identity: it teaches us where we come from, explains who we are, and guides us as we go forward. Lose it, and we lose a part of ourselves. As historians, our role is to preserve this knowledge as best we can and pass it on to future generations who will need it. I helped pass it on to two little Syrian children that day. They learnt that their country isn’t just blood and bombs, it’s also scribes and powerful kings and Sun-Gods and stories about immortality and tablets that make your hands sticky. And that matters.
Pretty sure those aren’t rabbit tracks. I think this was a bird shuffling through the snow, and then it made wing impressions when it took off. If it was an eagle, or something, that got a rabbit, there would be more disturbed snow.
DEFINITELY not rabbit tracks. The tracks wouldn’t be linked since rabbits hop not walk and the tracks of the fore and hind legs are quite distinctive. This is what rabbit tracks in snow look like
No bunnies were harmed in the making of above post
just moving along like everyone else 