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HelloAmHere

@helloamhere / helloamhere.tumblr.com

Some kinda scientist, some kinda writer. Like a vigilante with a secret identity only way more boring. 30s, bi femme, like 85% female. No drama, no interference with real people's lives. Kindness above all. I probably don't know what's going on.
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plot and wedding vows and earth shattering subtext aside catws delivered action like it was a sport. winter solider showing up in the middle of the goddamn road with a bazooka. SIDE STEP as the SUV flips over like. the elevator scene. theeeeeee knife fight the hand to hand combat. not to mention winter soldiers entire design the belts and the buckles and the Metal arm exposed and the goggles and the fitted mask and the Eyeliner and. the hair. and steve with the Dark Blue Stealth Suit. je croyais que tu étais plus qu'un bouclier. on va VOIR. backflip kick the guy in the face. crazy.

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alonesomes
“[after a half-hearted suicide attempt at age 13] When Daddy comes in, he carries you to bed. Is there anything you feel like you could eat, Pokey? Anything at all? All you can imagine putting in your mouth is a cold plum, one with really tight skin on the outside but gum-shocking sweetness inside. And he and your mother discuss where he might find some this late in the season. Mother says hell I don’t know. Further north, I’d guess. The next morning, you wake up in your bed and sit up. Mother says, Pete, I think she’s up. He hollers in, You ready for breakfast, Pokey. Then he comes in grinning, still in his work clothes from the night before. He’s holding a farm bushel. The plums he empties onto the bed river toward you through folds in the quilt. If you stacked them up, they’d fill the deepest bin at the Piggly Wiggly. Damned if I didn’t get the urge to drive to Arkansas last night, he says. Your mother stands behind him saying he’s pure USDA crazy. Fort Smith, Arkansas. Found a roadside stand out there with a feller selling plums. And I says, Buddy, I got a little girl sick back in Texas. She’s got a hanker for plums and ain’t nothing else gonna do. It’s when you sink your teeth into the plum that you make a promise. The skin is still warm from riding in the sun in Daddy’s truck, and the nectar runs down your chin. And you snap out of it. Or are snapped out of it. Never again will you lay a hand against yourself, not so long as there are plums to eat and somebody-anybody-who gives enough of a damn to haul them to you. So long as you bear the least nibblet of love for any other creature in this dark world, though in love portions are never stingy. There are no smidgens or pinches, only rolling abundance. That’s how you acquire the resolution for survival that the coming years are about to demand. You don’t earn it. It’s given.”

Mary Karr, “Cherry” (via lifeinpoetry)

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Writers keep in mind while you’re working on your current WIP, you’re learning skills that may not result in you being able to complete that particular WIP to your satisfaction, but WILL bear fruit in your NEXT WIP. Like, you might’ve blown up this science project, but next time (or the time after, or the time after…) you’ll nail it because of what you learned while setting fire to this one.

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dduane

THIS.

No writing is wasted.

No writing is ever wasted. Everything adds to your total experience. The payoff may not be immediately obvious. But everything you add into the invisible shotlocker of your total experience counts.

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trek-tracks

Imagine this. You're Spock. You've tried not to get yourself emotionally involved with your crewmates. It's not going very well. Your doctor goes and contracts a terminal illness and doesn't tell you (but luckily your captain can't go three seconds without breaking Space HIPAA or whatever exists in the future) and then tries to run away and die on an asteroid. You take out the Instrument of Obedience, privately thinking that it would be nice to have some control over this maniac you somehow care about's actions. You spend Surak knows how much time downloading and translating an entire civilization's medical library to cure him. No problem. It was just an incurable disease. You didn't need to sleep this month.

Two episodes later, another alien civilization tries to check said doctor out like he's a library book and then writes "withdrawn" on his forehead and pretends they don't have to give him back. He tells you to leave to save yourself; he'll stay. Did you mention you decoded an entire medical archive like two weeks ago for---fine. You go through unspeakable emotional violations to put him back into circulation on the Enterprise. It's cool. You didn't need your dignity anyway.

Two episodes after that, your illogical, self-sacrificial doctor mutinies and sedates you--the ranking officer in charge--undoing the fact that, again, how many hours did you spend? Curing an incurable illness because you couldn't let him die? Singing like an idiot in front of a bunch of snickering Platonians with laurel leaves on your head and no pants to speak of?--so he can get himself tortured to death on your behalf. You convince an empath to save him. He pushes her away because he "can't destroy life." Your captain is crying. The shiny force field shows everyone that you're having very non-shiny emotions. Do Vulcans even believe in hell

You think you've finally reached some sort of sacrificial detente. It's been a while. Neither of you have died on the other's behalf. You've both had to save your captain a few times, but that's normal. All in a day's work. Then said captain wants all three of you to check out a mysteriously abandoned library of time periods. You should have figured you would wind up in some sort of frozen wasteland with your doctor and no perceivable way to return what you'd borrowed. Well. At least there's the two of you so that you can keep an eye on--

He falls down in the snow. His hands are blue. "Go on without me," he says, dramatically. "Alone, you have a chance."

yeah I'd strangle that fucker against a cave wall too

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Today I saw a pic of a baby cowbird next 2 its nest "parent" and it was so much bigger!!!!! Which is the sort of thing that gets normal people upset about the injustice of nest parasitism but makes *me* worry if baby cowbirds get bird dysmorphia

This (from Cornell Labs via Merlin) is the pic I was looking at. It's just a little baby but it's so much bigger than its "parent"!!!! Do baby cowbirds feel isolated? Do they understand they're a different bird, or are they just a really bad sparrow?

hey, good news! ecologists have been studying this very thing! it seems young cowbirds have some kind of innate sense that leads them to sneak out of their foster nest at night to hang out in grasslands where they—more often than not—meet other cowbirds and learn more about what they really are.

Thanks I am going to cry so hard I throw up ;-;

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message to all bitches

please survive

OP being deactivated is like a dying war general sending out her one final message to her loyal battalion before succumbing to her numerous wounds

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staff

Hi, Tumblr. It’s Tumblr. We’re working on some things that we want to share with you. 

AI companies are acquiring content across the internet for a variety of purposes in all sorts of ways. There are currently very few regulations giving individuals control over how their content is used by AI platforms. Proposed regulations around the world, like the European Union’s AI Act, would give individuals more control over whether and how their content is utilized by this emerging technology. We support this right regardless of geographic location, so we’re releasing a toggle to opt out of sharing content from your public blogs with third parties, including AI platforms that use this content for model training. We’re also working with partners to ensure you have as much control as possible regarding what content is used.

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Y'all, this just came across my dashboard and I'm not sure how accurate it'll end up being, but to my little Tumblr community here it might be worth checking through your settings tomorrow (2/28) or in the near future OPTING OUT of letting your data be part of this agreement, particularly if like me you share writing on this platform.

Kills my soul that this profit machine is tearing into our creative havens and communities but do what you can and love your art like they don't.

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