Sakurama III illustrations

so, I drew Tobi's masterpiece

Just started on Krita, so I'm going to blame everything wrong with it on the program, if you don't mind

And the other fanart! Sakurama's gift!

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Something like this would be so colossally helpful. I'm sick and tired of trying to research specific clothing from any given culture and being met with either racist stereotypical costumes worn by yt people or ai generated garbage nonsense, and trying to be hyper specific with searches yields fuck all. Like I generally just cannot trust the legitimacy of most search results at this point. It's extremely frustrating. If there are good resources for this then they're buried deep under all the other bullshit, and idk where to start looking.

>:)c

May I present to you, nationalclothing.org?

It doesn't have everything, but it's still my first source when researching traditional clothing from other cultures.

There's also this resource on historical fashion: Claire’s Historical Fashion Reference & Resources

So a free tool called GLAZE has been developed that allows artists to cloak their artwork so it can't be mimicked by AI art tools.

AI art bros are big mad about it.

Seeing as Twitter is gonna legally steal your work now, please use glaze to protect what you make.

Guys did you hear about Nightshade?

Using both Glaze and Nightshade would corrupt the generation of pictures mimicking artist AND mess with the AI's recognition of what everything is. Like it would generate a dog when you ask for a cat.

And it would be hell for AI bros to remove the cloaked pictures from their database ʕ 👀人ʔ

My therapist just told me my problem is that I need to write more fanfiction.

This sounds fake but the logic behind it is actually really interesting? She said obsession with a new fandom triggers quick dopamine release when we consume all this related content--it's easy and addictive.

What we're NOT getting is that 'slow dopamine' that's more sustainable and engaging. That's the kind we get from DOING things that take effort but are ultimately rewarding.

So like, she suggested that writing fic and making fanart are ways to balance the quick dopamine of watching a show/reading fic with the slow dopamine of working at something that takes effort.

Moral of the story is you should engage in the process of creation around your favorite things. You'll feel better for it.

Oh.

OH.

Ok so at this point I've had two people roll up to me in manual wheelchairs, well, one of them was somebody pushing somebody who was nonverbal at the time, but it still counts. They asked me why I had zip ties around my tires.

It's winter where I'm living and we have really bad snow. And the snow plow people are really bad at their jobs probably because there aren't snow plow people who clean sidewalks. As a solution I got to thinking about how I could increase the traction on my wheels. And the most redneck thing I could think of was taking a bunch of zip ties and tying them around my wheels. They last surprisingly long, and work surprisingly well. It's basically the same premise as chains for your tires during the winter.

I chose to space them out pretty evenly so there's about one for every spoke. You could probably do more or less depending on how many you want and how much traction you get but I wouldn't go more than three per spoke. I realize that it's a bit later in the winter, and I probably should have made a post about this sooner, but I came up with it about a week ago. So please share this, even if you're not disabled, because there are tons of people I know who are stuck in their houses because they can't get around in the snow. A pack of zip ties costs about $5, which compared to $200 knobby snow tires is a big save, and if you want to invest you could get colored zip ties.

Sharing for accessibility

Oh fuck yes. Thank you all the abled people between op and me this is exactly what I needed to see 💜

ooh sweet, thanks for the tip

(for anyone using their chair both indoors and outside, highly recommend wheelchair 'slippers'/wheel socks like these so you don't tear up wood/vinyl/linoleum flooring with the zip ties!)

! This is fucking amazing and I love it!!!

that ‘pakige?’ post but me, a couple hours after posting a fic, like ‘comints?’

F5 F5 F5

… F5 F5 F5 F5F5F5F5F5

WHEEZING

everybody’s always on writing prompts like “what if there was a world where everyone had a timer ticking down to their death… but you met someone whose timer said infinity!” or “what if everyone had their cause of death tattooed across their forehead… but you met someone whose forehead said THE CREATURE!” Enough -

enough. stop with the shock value. there is no need to insert THE CREATURE; the benign concept of such a world is horrifying enough. not even in urgency, but just in banal, everyday interaction. imagine you meet someone and their timer says two years. not tomorrow, not urgently soon, but two years. enough to do quite a lot. they could fall in love in that time - could they get engaged? have a baby? you might otherwise get to know them, befriend them, but perhaps you opt not to, make a conscious choice not to invest in your own grief. what balancing act would every individual person have to participate in - I have ten years, is that long enough to be a good mother to children? is that long enough to secure a caretaker for my own mother? my wife will die a few months before me. my newborn’s timer reads nineteen years.

and cause of death. you interview for a job and emblazoned across the healthy, smiling face of the HR lady is MALNUTRITION. your country is prospering, safe, but every person you meet on the street from the babies to the old women read BOMB. BOMB. what kind of havoc would fate wreak on the world? what about the loss of privacy? how would that shape our notions of hope? idk man I think a lot of those ancient poems were right, and the fates are monsters. I’m interested by the framing of these ideas as trite horror tales when the premises themselves are so much more disturbing if simply taken to their logical ends

-33:

When I was born, my death counter said thirty-three.

Thirty three. It could be worse. Some baby's death counter says two years. Or six. Or nineteen.

Thirty three is not so bad.

My parents had me at twenty-eight and thirty-two. They both had fifty seven years left to live. They had thought, when they first met, that it was so romantic that they shared a death year. They would be there for one-another all the way to the end.

And I would die twenty-four years before them.

I have to hand it to them. They tried their best. They tried.

-28:

When I was five, my little sister was born. Her death counter said ninety-two. And I was just old enough to understand why my father shed tears of relief when mom showed him the infant's wrist.

My little sister would outlive them.

Unlike me.

And still, they cared. At best they could.

-27:

Yet they still tried to keep my little sister a little distant from me. Spare them the pain of losing me when she was only twenty-eight by preventing her getting too attached to me to start with.

But little Lea didn't understand yet. And with my bracer hiding my death counter, she didn't even know to ask. Lea loved me, despite, or maybe because of my parents' efforts to spare her from me.

Wearing a bracer to school was not uncommon. But... Well. It was more the mark of the unfortunate. Why hide your death-count when it said eighty or ninety? No. You hid it when it was on the shorter side.

And children do not yet understand tact, or respect conventions.

If you wore a bracer, you would be asked to remove it. Show your own death-count. And those who refused risked bullying. There was no winning this.

Either you refused to remove your bracer, and you had refused to share a secret and become friends. Or you did remove it, and the knowledge of your death count would forever tint your relationships.

-25:

I made friend with another short-lived kid.

It was eye opening, in a way. My new friend would die twenty years old. Thirteen years before me. He appreciated me, my willingness to still associate with him.

And I got all of my parent's furtive sad looks at my covered wrist by looking at him. One day I would lose my best friend.

And like an hypocrite, I refused to make any more short-lived friends. The exact same thing I disliked being subjected to.

My parents might have it right, associating with someone with the same death year as them. It cut down to pity and anticipated grief.

-18:

As years passed, my counter ticked down. Feeling more and more present.

Lea finally understood that I would leave her, and she started to drift away.

-16:

My best friend and I got a bit distant. I decided not to bother with higher studies. Why invest so much of my limited time in something that wouldn't give me return?

-13:

My schoolday best friend died. At twenty, just as predicted. A car crash, like statistics dictated it would be. He wasn't even driving, having decided it too risky. The car found him while he was walking on a sidewalk. And I had thirteen more years to live.

-11:

I did try to date. It never quite worked. At some point along the dating, you were expected to remove your bracer. Share the secret. And, much like school, either you didn't, and you weren't deemed invested enough, or you did, and your partner found an excuse to ditch you.

-9:

I joined an association for the shorter lived.

It was a bit dis-humanizing, how they tried to match you with someone who would die in the same year as you. I wasn't just my death counter, after all.

But the sweet old lady I was paired up with was a delight.

-8:

My parents kept in contact. Doggedly, possibly out of shame for having chosen to spare themselves pain in picking each-other. Lea didn't.

After a while, me and Gertrude, my dear sweet old lady, got a third same death friend. His name was Mark and he was thirteen. Gertrude seethed at fate when she first met him. How would she live to seventy and Mark to twenty-one?

Mark had been signed up by his parents. They hoped that being matched with same death friends would curb his budding delinquent tendencies. I got him. Why not, after all? Why not make the most of time he had? He woudn't die yet, after all.

-7:

Mark stopped seeing us. Then he got caught by the police. Two years of prison. It was a tragedy in itself.

I stopped wearing my bracer to hide my death counter.

We got another friend instead. Hesper was fifty. She was staying away from her grandchildren. She didn't want them to miss her when she died.

It was Hesper who got the idea.

Why not adopt a short-lived child? All together? Pool their economies to buy a small farm make some sort of haven so we can ensure a sort lived child don't have to be reminded of their death count with every rejection.

I like the idea. Gertrude too.

We're starting the procedures.

-6:

His name is Michael. Like the angel. A bit on the nose, but why not, after all? He's two, and he has five more years to live. We picked a child who would die before us. On purpose. He won't have to mourn us. He will be happy to his very last moment.

We obtained a derogation from school for him. He does not need to learn how to live on his own. Gertrude spoils him endlessly. We all do.

-5:

The short-lived child care center contacted us. They want us to take on another child with the same death year as Micheal. She's older than usual for them, her mom just died from cancer. Her father never was in the picture. A one night-stand that refused to stick around for a woman and child that he would outlive.

Kara is eight, and bitter to the core. We do our best for her. She loves Micheal with all her heart, and that's encouraging.

Mark is getting out of prison soon. He accepted our offer to come fetch him and clear him a bed until he gets his feet under him.

-4:

Mark is staying with us now. He doesn't want to go live at his parents'. And he found a purpose in caring for the kids.

The center for the care of short-lived children attributed us a stipend and gave us two more children. We expended the farmhouse so we'd have enough space for everyone.

Hesper is contacting various groups in the short-lived people association, she wants to will the farm to another group who might raise more children there.

0:

All of our children have died. It was... It was horribly hard. Seeing the other ones stand at the funerals, fully expecting to be next.

Maybe we shouldn't have opted to ask for the right to bury ours on the property. The graveyard is not the best place for condemned children to spend their last few months.

It probably isn't the best place for us either. Seeing how Mark comitted suicide in there.

Gertrude will die from her heart, it's become obvious. And Hesper has come down with an horrible pneumonia.

As for me... I don't know yet. Maybe I'll decide to go see my family one last time and die of a plane crash. Then again, plane crashes as a cause of death has decreased almost to zero since companies have started asking the zero-years to say so, and grounded all the plane with a majority of zeroes for thorough revisions.

Though then again, that prediction method got very unreliable. After all, if the plane will stay grounded, then when will people die? They were meant to, after all. But retiring any pilot when they reach one year did yield results.

I do have regrets, but... It wasn't so bad a life, after all. For all that the specter of my own death shadowed me all along.

I have one kink and it's not a good idea.

This whole thread is cool and wholesome.

something they have control over!!! yes!!!!!!!

My number one tip for straight men (I mean, it could conceivably work for other genders and sexualities, but you’d have to adjust it quite a bit) is: inagine they’re a man.

Imagine that you just randomly told some bloke in a pub that he has beautiful eyes.

That you walked up behind your coworker Jim and started caressing his neck and shoulders while talking to him about the budget.

That you just sent a large and unexplained bouquet of flowers to Darren in Accounting.

That instead of complimenting a coworker on her breasts, you complimented him on his dick.

Does the action now seem weird? Uncomfortable? Do you no longer want to do it now that it isn’t directed at somebody you are sexually attracted to?

That strongly suggests that your action has a sexual aspect to it and therefore probably counts as sexual harassment!

I have a large, colorful tattoo on one arm. I’ve had multiple strange men cross a room to tell me how awesome it is, frequently while I’m at work, and it has never made me uncomfortable.

A couple of weeks ago, someone yelled out a car at me ‘I FUCKING LOVE YOUR BOOTS’, which was awesome.

It’s just… it’s really not hard to compliment people in a way that isn’t creepy, if your goal is actually to compliment them and not to slide a ‘btw I’m thinking about fucking you’ under the radar.

Good advice! Applicable in many ways…..

This is actually pretty good! 

I have made vow to myself that if anyone compliments my hair I'll answer "thanks, I grew them myself"

Redditors crashed the website with donations over $25k and 0 wishes left. via /r/MadeMeSmile

Click here and follow to get more daily positivity on your dash!

In response to this event, some redditors created r/charityraid, with the goal of concentrating the power of thousands of users into a single charity at a time to hopefully break a few more sites.

As of 9/21/21, the site has updated with more wishes. The incredible spike in donations is amazing, but if you want to and are able to keep the momentum going, there are over 300 waiting to be filled at https://www.onesimplewish.org!

a lot of these are very basic, small things. i just spent 17 dollars to buy a kid water shoes for a lake vacation ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Since I came across this post the first time, I try to go to One Simple Wish semi-regularly and buy a foster kid something. There’s a wide range of wishes and prices available–you can pick something as little as a book to put under the tree, or as important as a set of pots and pans for a kid transitioning to their independent living setting, so you can pick whatever suits your budget and tickles your fancy. Help some kids who could use a good turn in life.

You know if I was a full time weaver I would stand ominously over people

LOOMING

I've received two kinds of corrections (though I would hesitate to call some of them that, honestly) on stories I've posted.

The first kind are those where the commenter comes in, leaves a comment correcting some RL, non-canon factoid they feel I got wrong, and say nothing about the story itself. Clearly a case of it mattering more to the commenter that they are Right and a stranger is Wrong. In every instance of comment I've received like this, it's turned out that the "correction" was in fact not correct because the commenter was operating with incomplete/faulty information and didn't think to try and double-check that information before ~graciously~ stooping down from on high to correct me, a lowly fic-writing peon.

The second kind are those where the reader comments on something about the story (they liked it, interesting characterization, whatever) and then—after making it clear that they actually read the story and didn't just go trawling through AO3, going over every story with a fine-toothed comb looking for a gotcha moment in order to dunk on an author—suggested that I might have an error. And sometimes I have! A typo, got my science mixed up, whatever.

I tend to be snappy and defensive with the first kind and gracious and thankful with the second. But I also know many fic writers who wouldn't welcome either kind of correction from a complete stranger and only might accept the latter kind from a close friend.

I once commented with a real-world correction detail on a spiderman fic. About how you didn't exhale while activating the inhalator, but instead breathed the inhalator's puff in, because that's how the medicine gets inside the lungs to do it's work. But then again, that's not a plot-changing detail, and the author went back to change that one line. That is more likely to be welcomed, because, as said above, it doesn't require changing the entire story.

Also, if the author is not asthmatic and you are, they can accept that you know this subject better than them.

Politeness is never optional, though! no 'hey, you're wrong!' and more 'so I noticed that... And in my experience it doesn't work this way? I don't know, though, it might be different in that one particular situation...'

as annoying as the established writerly phenomenon of "I've been stuck on this awkward little transition scene for days and finally realized the story would be stronger if I just cut it" is, it doesn't hold a candle to "I've done the reflection and this awkward little transition scene I've been stuck on for days is actually load-bearing, which means that unfortunately I still need to write the damn thing."

Turn the awkward little transition scene into a series of short snapshots. readers love the whirlwind 'oh, this happened. Then it led to this happening. Now we're there what do we do. Bad decision acknowledged. Bad decision incoming. Bad decision done. Well, shit, ain't that the consequences of my bad decision?' chapters. Turn the load bearing wall into a series of pillar.

Just, strip all the fluff off. All of it. Keep only the load bearing parts, make a bullet point list of the points needed to advence your plot, and write one snapy/sarcastic/clueless/despairing in voice sentence or paragraph for each point, then call it done.

That's less taxing to write, and, generally, less awkward to read too.

Uhhh...?

Sorry user, but you don't agree with me. Violence to fictional characters is not against AO3's tos, and multiple fics about violence to fictional children is still not a reason to tip off the fucking FBI. If that were the case, we would need to report every fan of Counter Strike to the FBI for being potential terrorists, and we just don't do that. You know why? Because fiction is not actionable. Reporting fiction to the fucking government is a waste of resources that could be used to help real living breathing children who are being abused in actual real life.

Like, did you even read what I wrote about GTA?? Why did you bother agreeing with me just to completely contradict my point immediately after?? I don't understand!!!

Writing fiction is not a red flag. Enjoying the Dark Brotherhood questline is not a red flag. I am BEGGING you people to fucking address why you think thoughts can be a real crime and why you think sex is more evil than violence. PLEASE. I am so over this. Please stop wasting FBI time and resources on something with no evidence of actual wrongdoing. Just. Fucking hell.

Also, what the purity police anti-shippers don't seem to get is that most of the time, people writing deeply dark stories with deeply disturbing themes are much less likely to be 'phychopaths rehearsing for the actual crime they will commit one day' and much more likely to be a victim trying to contextualise, rationalise and get over their deeply traumatizing past by making the scenario play out, taking ownership of it and de-fanging it. Possibly trying to make their characters get over it, or justifying why they didn't manage to get over it to let themselves stop feeling ashamed for not having managed to stop the bad things from happening to them.

Some of them might not even realize that's what they're doing, because the thing about deeply traumatizing events is that your mind will try to protect you from it by repressing the fuck out of these memories. It took me ages to coin in that my streak of reading and writing about sexual assault was actually because I had been sexually abused twice a week for over a year (probably two or three years, the details are still foggy) when I was a young teen. I had genuinely forgotten it until my mind finally had the tools to face it.

So congratulation, fucking antis. You're doing very well at harassing victims under the guise of protecting them.