Latest Posts by angelbornaltruist - Page 4

Not that anybody asked, but I think it's important to understand how shame and guilt actually work before you try to use it for good.

It's a necessary emotion. There are reasons we have it. It makes everything so. much. worse. when you use it wrong.

Shame and guilt are DE-motivators. They are meant to stop behavior, not promote it. You cannot, ever, in any meaningful way, guilt someone into doing good. You can only shame them into not doing bad.

Let's say you're a parent and your kid is having issues.

Swearing in class? Shame could work. You want them to stop it. Keep it in proportion*, and it might help. *(KEEP IT IN PROPORTION!!!)

Not doing their homework? NO! STOP! NO NOT DO THAT! EVER! EVER! EVER! You want them to start to do their homework. Shaming them will have to opposite effect! You have demotivated them! They will double down on NOT doing it. Not because they are being oppositional, but because that's what shame does!

You can't guilt people into building better habits, being more successful, or getting more involved. That requires encouragement. You need to motivate for that stuff!

If you want it in a simple phrase:

You can shame someone out of being a bad person, but you can't shame them into being a good person.

shoutout to the color red

bump it I'm hopping on this

"the magnus archives sounds cool! what are the content warnings?"

Since I'm considering making new designs for my Redbubble shop, I'm thinking about my Plaidified Disney Princesses, including:

Sea serpent Ariel

Classic giant Snow White

And Rapunzel with a Jack and the Giant Beanstalk twist

Unfortunately, from what I researched, Disney isn't partnered with Redbubble's fanart program, which means selling Disney fanart is copyright infringement. But that doesn't mean I can't make my own designs based on the OG fairytales... [insert eyes emoji]

Anyway, just an idea I'm contemplating. I'm currently still figuring out details about Giant Kaiju Ladies designs and eager to see your suggestions--this fairytale concept is just a fun idea for future reference (and some cute G/t art for my fellow g/t-enjoyers haha)

Giantess Knight GF

hermit who lives in the woods and offers cryptic advice. wonderful.

Surprise! Tumblr just got turned into an epic fantasy RPG, just like [your favorite appropriate media franchise]. And the Tumblr RPG's plot needs to have all of its characters covered, in roles both large and small.

That means that you are assigned to a stereotypical RPG role inside our new fantasy world. Spin this wheel to find out what you are now doing for a living.

new story on the sister blog officially dropped! go check it out!

an old project i wanted to share. maybe I'll finish it one day when I'm less of a coward.

I'm calling this little story The Well, and the Thing Inside it. I started it way back when the Israel-Palestine situation broke out, and may have channeled a lot of my thoughts and reflections regarding it into the early drafts. I figured it would be a good time to post this little story now as opposed to later.

Please, enjoy. Thank you for reading!

Chapter One: The Boy

In the midst of the Forest there walked a boy.

Now, this in itself was not unusual; many a young boy has taken a walk through many a forest. Sometimes for the adventure, sometimes to escape the troubles of civilized life, and sometimes simply for the peace and quiet of the natural world.

However, such a boy as this, in such a Forest like this one, was utterly out of the ordinary.

He was a small, scrawny thing, dressed in worn, mismatched clothes and a frayed red winter cap sitting atop his dark, messy hair. He carried a walking stick in his hand and a full knapsack on his back, and at his side was a dog, small and scrawny as well, little more than a puppy. They both had the worn, exhausted look of something that has been walking aimlessly for a long, long time. Every now and then, the boy would glance behind him, expecting to hear the distant sounds of gunfire and bombs echoing into the sky, past the trees, and into his heart.

The war had officially been going on for a few months, but it was the product of decades of enmity and conflict that the nations of the world had stubbornly refused to put an end to. The boy didn't know much about it, he wasn't even twelve years old yet and was still focused on frivolous, innocent matters that occupy one's mind at that age. Yet even he, at eleven and a half, could tell when a conflict was his fault or not, and he knew with absolute certainty that he had nothing to do with what had happened.

For months he and his mother had gone about their lives with a steady unease, wincing each time another shootout occurred in a distant city or a government leader gave an impassioned speech to the ends of chaos and anarchy, but otherwise they did their best to just live, as they always had. So when the planes came one hot summer's day, dropping death and fire like birds with their droppings, they were distraught. Forced to evacuate their home, the boy and his mother had managed to survive the majority of the bombing for over three weeks. Most of their friends and family had been killed, much of the city had been reduced to rubble and ruin, and when the soldiers came, slaughtering civilians and resistance fighters without discrimination, it appeared there would be no escaping then.

The boy still remembered the scents of blood and metal, the dust clouding his eyes and the constant ringing in his ears, brought about by screams and explosions alike.

The boy would never forget the mind-numbing, heart-crushing sense of fear that seemed to fill the entirety of his small form.

He would never be able to bury the memories of bodies, strewn across the streets like a rowdy child's dolls, mangled and misshapen.

And, for the last three days, he hadn't stopped thinking of his mother's last words to him as she fastened a small pack of stolen provisions to his back, placed a walking stick in his hand, and adjusted the cap on his forehead, bruised from a fall he'd taken hours before:

“....you go to the woods, and you run! You don't look back, you don't stop, you run, and you run, and you run! Until the darkness can't find you anymore.... do you understand?”

The boy, shaking from nerves and fear, hadn't been able to do anything to respond. His mother, once so beautiful with her silky dark hair and big brown eyes softly glowing with warmth, looked thin, tired, and dusty. Her hair was disheveled, her breath was stale, and her eyes were pooling with tears as she gripped his shoulders tightly.

“Do you understand!?” his mother hissed, giving him a little shake to wake him from his terrified daze. Finally, he'd been able to croak out a response.

“Y-Yes, mama.”

His mother had then pulled him into a tight hug, squeezing him as though it were the last time in her life. Then, she'd kissed him on his forehead and both cheeks, and pushed him away.

He'd ran then, hating himself with every step, knowing the soldiers were getting closer to him with every moment, praying to all the angels and saints that he'd escape.

He'd met the dog along the way, a bedraggled, wretched creature, whimpering at him pathetically while he took refuge in the toppled remains of a museum. There, surrounded by desecrated reminders of the history of the greatness of mankind, the boy found himself moved by a sudden burst of pity, and he'd tossed a half-eaten hunk of rodent to the dog. It had accepted it gratefully, and had followed him ever since.

By some miracle, they'd made it to the Forest. A few other refugees had tried to make their way there, but they hadn't been seen since. It wasn't particularly large, but it was dense enough that one could potentially hide out for weeks without being found.

So hide they had, though no soldiers had been seen, no planes had flown overhead, and the explosions seemed to have stopped. Uncertainty, that special flavor of fear, had kept the boy from returning back, though he would have called it “prudence” or “caution”. He wasn't sure how long they'd been there, even though he was sure it had been at least a full three days.

Thus, the boy and his dog walked through the Forest. Two refugees, cast aside by a world that cared nothing about them, wandering through a Forest that seemed to never end. Trees in every direction, species and varieties the boy realized he'd never seen before, even if he'd spent hours running around these very woods as a child.

Those days seemed so far away now to the boy, he realized.

So long it had been, since he had felt safe, since he had felt happy, since he had felt loved. He wondered if this was the end of all of it, thousands of years of bloodshed and war to culminate in his useless birth and pathetic death.

He froze, feeling a sudden weight on his heart, and he fell to his knees. Emotion filled his chest, hot and powerful, like a foul claw, and his small body quivered as he attempted to hold in the tears that were sure to begin falling any moment.

But they never came. The heat in his chest remained, a burning flame of anger, despair, and a dozen other emotions singing his bones and searing his soul.

The dog came up to his face, nuzzling him with its wet nose and washing his face in its hot breath. The boy tried to push the dog away at first, but it only repeated its advances. The boy reluctantly let the dog approach again, gently petting its head and neck. The fire faded slightly.

He sighed, and got to his feet once again, scratching the dog behind its ears before starting again through the Forest. He couldn't lose focus. He had lived this far. There had to be some reason for that. He shouldered his back, and began anew, walking through the great Forest.

Yet a small voice seemed to whisper in the back of his mind, that there was no point. That his efforts would all come to nothing. That he was dead from the beginning and this was just him delaying the inevitable. That he ought to just lay down and die.

He pushed the thought aside, and kept walking.

though a homeschooled boy i may be/i will reblog as a girlie

hold on a sec lemme see something

reblog this post if you are/were a homeschool girlie

unironically the best kinds of people to encounter working customer service

One of the baristas at a nearby Starbucks makes me lose my mind every time I’m there by saying things that are not outside the spectrum of normal human words but are just slightly off-the-wall.

Barista: Welcome to Starbucks, home of delicious, what deliciousness can I put in motion for you today?

Customer: … Can I get a trenta pink drink please?

Barista: Go big or go home, we here at Starbucks appreciate your commitment, what else can I get started for you?

***

Customer: Nitro cold brew with shots of espresso please.

Barista: Brave of you to commit to staying awake for three days, anything else today?

***

Barista: *slams open drive-thru window* HI HOW ARE YOU?

Customer: …I’m pretty good.

Barista: Are you ready to be even better? Because you’re about to be. *hands them their coffee* 

***

Barista, realizing that a drink was made wrong: *slams open window* SO how do you feel about surprises?

Customer: ….they’re okay.

Barista: Great because I’m about to give you one.

***

Barista: You have two drinks so I am going to hand you two straws which means, FANTASTIC news, these straws double as drumsticks. / You have one drink so I am going to hand you one straw and, promise not to tell anyone, this straw doubles as a magic wand.

***

Barista: Here are those cake pops, I plucked them fresh from the tree myself.

***

Barista: *slams open window, holding drink* Amazing, fantastic, delicious, you are a very lucky man/woman!

***

Barista, realizing drink is being delayed or remade: Looks like it’s gonna be just one minute so they have time to put the extra love in.

***

Barista: I’ll be with you in one hot second. *beat* WOW that second sure was hot!

Anyway she has a few dozen catchphrases she rotates approriately and it’s both distracting and fantastic to listen.

this was interesting and a little conviction to me because I think I (along with what i would assume to be a lot of people on this site) tend to be guilty of what I would call a sort of apathetic perfectionism, where in spite of a lack of actual effort to make positive changes and impact, I still claim that I hold myself to high standards and want to make the world a better place.

this doesn't even have to apply to morality or anything, even with school and work I find myself paralyzed at the thought of getting the wrong answer, instead of actively trying to find the right one. I never let myself progress or heal or learn or grow, just because I'm so terrified of making another wrong turn after a failure. I tell myself to wait, think, be responsible, don't chase after that yet, make sure you understand the whole thing before going in. and all the time I grow more irresponsible, foolish, and lazy.

we must pursue not the absence of death, but the furthering of life. we must chase the sun even as it reflects off the moon, and not wait until it's already noon.

Follow up question/experiment:

PLEASE REBLOG FOR A BIGGER SAMPLE!

Okay this sums up why my knee-jerk response is to scroll past any post complaining about capitalism at this point—most of the posts are meaningless! They’re not actually criticizing the results of this specific economic system! This is what happens when people disregard words’ actual definitions. If everything is capitalism, then nothing is capitalism.

This was the thread that inspired this btw

Do not punish the behaviour you want to see

I mean, it seems pretty obvious when you put it like that, right?

But how many families, when an introvert sibling or child makes an effort to socialize,  snarkily say, “So, you’ve decided to join us”?

Or when someone does something they’ve had trouble doing, say, “Why can’t you do that all the time?” (Happened to me, too often.)

Or any sentence containing the word “finally”. 

If someone makes a step, a small step, in a direction you want to encourage, encourage it. Don’t complain about how it’s not enough. Don’t bring up previous stuff. Encourage it.

Because I swear to fucking god there is nothing more soul-killing, more motivation-crushing, than struggling to succeed and finding out that success and failure are both punished.

I did this, wtf...

finally somebody said this

"nothing matters, so be kind to each other and make this meaningless world a better place"

so... the world would be better if people were kind? you made a value judgment on different types of worlds? you think people ought to be kind? you think kindness is good?

so you think that the world has value and significance? that some ways of life are better than others? that some things are genuinely good?

then why did you say nothing matters?

how in the heck was Jane austen so good at writing dialogue. she's literally the best. I've seen no one better

Someone hit me with their car and I got isekai'd to a world that's really similar to my old one except in this one my collarbone is mysteriously broken

the Tumblr feed feels like it has been slowly pushing me to write fanfiction and I'm not sure how to feel about that

“The Little Drummer Boy” (Christmas carol) is actually a great model for fanfiction because:

It centers around in-canon characters and/or a believable oc

It magnifies the spirit of the original work and/or builds upon pre-existing themes which resonated with the (fic) author

It uses literary devices (ex: onomatopoeia, symbolism)

It makes its point without carrying on too long

Suggests at sentient and musically talented animals

It’s meaningful to both the (fic) author and to a wide audience of people who are already acquainted with the in-canon story

The protag is not too OP to fit in the canon universe in a believable and engaging way; protag has realistic limits and weaknesses alongside his/her talents

Thank u for coming to my ted talk

was going to come up with a witty response to the original post but nope. @idyallus and Mr David "Nush" Berman you did it for me

I LOVE WHEN WOMEN PEAKKKKKKK

Being Ni-Ti is not believing you understand how ni ti works for untold weeks, quietly obsessing over it, watching videos, reading essays and articles, reading random little blogs and probably malware-infested sites for the sake of understanding....

And then it finally comes to you while you're cleaning the bathroom or watching shitposts on Instagram

"Suppose one reads a story of filthy atrocities in the paper. Then suppose that something turns up suggesting that the story might not be quite true, or not quite so bad as it was made out. Is one's first feeling, 'Thank God, even they aren't quite so bad as that,' or is it a feeling of disappointment, and even a determination to cling to the first story for the sheer pleasure of thinking your enemies are as bad as possible? If it is the second then it is, I am afraid, the first step in a process which, if followed to the end, will make us into devils. You see, one is beginning to wish that black was a little blacker. If we give that wish its head, later on we shall wish to see grey as black, and then to see white itself as black. Finally we shall insist on seeing everything -- God and our friends and ourselves included -- as bad, and not be able to stop doing it: we shall be fixed for ever in a universe of pure hatred."

- C.S. Lewis, Mere Christianity. Some of yall really should read this.

Could you personally forgive someone who had a neo-Nazi “phase” as an adult? Assuming they’re trying to make amends for their past behavior/beliefs

in other news I almost had a mental breakdown in class today. My first time truly experiencing information overload.

just heard the phrase "goodnight, drill slaygeant." i have lost all desire to live

Ancient post to be brought back from the dead but how could I forget CASSANDRA????

just watched dune (both parts) and am rereading the book. I may have a strange hyperfixation on characters who see the future but feel as though they can do nothing to change it. Clairvoyance as a curse instead of a gift.

This is actually such a raw concept omg

I’m absolutely obsessed with the concept of Eldritch Horror!Wibberlys. Basically the Wibberly siblings remaining changed permanently and physically because of the Books of Beginning, even after the series ends, making them not quite human anymore. For instance;

Emma - She runs cold. Even on the hottest summer day, her skin is cool to the touch. - Ravens and crows can be spotted nearby in the trees wherever she goes. - She hears the voices of the dead in every wind that manages to ring in her ears, or when she's really dizzy. - The scar on her hand, where the knife went clean through it, aches whenever something dire happens. - She still sees shadows, omens, not all the time, but sometimes. Usually around reckless drivers or people in hospitals. - She can see very well in the dark. - She's drawn to rain and mist, and will linger in it for a long time. She never seems to grow cold or clammy. - Every once in a while, for a few hours, food tastes dull and chalky to her, like what she encountered in the land of the dead. - In certain lights, her freckles look silver, the same shade as the metal bits on the Reckoning's cover. - Whenever she watches a movie or TV show, or reads a book, she can always guess what characters are going to die, and she's right every time. - Her voice is more decisive and commanding now. She comes across less as a brash girl or petulant child, and more as an authority figure, as the judge of the dead that she is.

Michael - He runs hot. His skin is warm to the touch, no matter how cold the air around him is. - Whenever someone around him cries, he finds himself crying too, as if he is sharing their pain, or relief, or joy, or laughter, whatever emotion it is. - He almost never becomes sick, and he's far less prone to injury than he was before, though he still remains clumsy. - He is incredibly adept at reading the emotions flickering across people's faces. - Sometimes, if the light hits his face right, his skin seems to glow. In the same vein, his eyes look almost red when he's around flames. - Plants and animals are drawn to him and respond well to his care. - His fingertips are calloused, as though they've been pricked over and over with a stylus, and it allows him to touch hot objects without burning. - On occasion, usually once every few months, he falls asleep and dreams that he's a different, random being, living their whole life. - His memory for names and faces is impeccable. - He becomes overstimulated at events such as concerts, where many people are gathered in close quarters. He can feel all their heightened emotions acutely, and it makes him feel as though he's feverish. - His blood looks darker, more like ink than anything.

Kate - Her sense of time is incredibly accurate, and she's very aware of the minutes passing by and dragging on, etc. - There are days she cannot stand the sound of clocks ticking. No matter how quiet they are, she's acutely aware of their sound. - She has a knack for directions, and she rarely ever gets lost. - In certain lights, her eyes flash gold and green, rather than their natural hazel, and her hair seems to shine. - She can see not only the way places are now, but the way they were in the past, and, on occasion, the way they will become in the future. - When things are quiet and still and she is alone, she becomes paranoid that time has stopped and that she's the only one still capable of moving and acting. Whenever it happens, she has to seek out proof that time still moves. - Similarly, when she tells people to stop, they do so immediately, as if they cannot refuse. - The scar on her side, from where she was shot, never fades, and indeed, often appears to look distinctly like a thread. - Her hands are steady, her body rarely shakes anymore. - Sometimes, her dreams are still of things that happened centuries or millennia ago, or of things that have yet to occur at all. - Deja Vu is a regular feeling for her, and her sense of foreknowledge often leaves others feeling eerie. - There are times when she wakes up or gets up and she does not immediately know what time period or place she is in, rather, she feels lost among the timeline, as if in the middle of an immense ocean. - She has a talent for finding what's lost, and she can always, always find Michael and Emma, no matter where they are.

Reading fantasy again, I've started thinking about how odd it is how in books like that, the non-human races invariably scoff at human frailty and vulnerability, even those that they'll call friends. Like that's mean?? Why would you be a dick to your friend who you know is not capable of as much as you are, and it's not their fault they were born like that. That's mean.

Like consider the opposite: Characters of non-human races treating their human companions like frail little old dogs. Worrying about small wounds being fatal - humans die of small injuries all the time - or being surprised that humans can actually eat salt, even if they can't stomach other spicy rocks. Being amazed that a human friend they haven't seen in 10 years still looks so young, they've hardly aged at all! And when the human tries to explain that they weren't going to just unexpectedly shrivel into a raisin in 10 years, the longer-lifespan friend dismisses this like no, he's seen it happen, you don't see a human for 10 or 20 years and they've shriveled in a blink.

Elves arguing with each other like "you can't take her out there, she will die!" and when the human gets there to ask what they're talking about, they explain to her that the journey will take them through a passage where it's going to be sunny out there. Humans burn in the sun. And she will have to clarify that no, actually, she'll be fine. They fight her about it, until she manages to convince them that it's not like vampires - humans only burn a little bit in the sun, not all the way through. She'll be fine if she just wears a hat.

Meanwhile dwarves are reluctant to allow humans in their mines and cities, not just out of being secretive, but because they know that you cannot bring humans underground, they will go insane if they go too long without seeing the sun. Nobody is entirely sure how long that is, but the general consensus is three days. One time a human tries to explain their dwarf companion that this is not true, there are humans that endure much longer darkness than that. As a matter of fact, in the furthest habited corners of the lands of the Northmen, the winter sun barely rises at all. Humans can survive three weeks of darkness, and not just once, but every single year.

"Then how do they sane?" Asks the dwarf, and just as he does, the conversation gets interrupted by the northland human, who had been eavesdropping, and turns to look at them with an unnerving glint in her colourless grey eyes, grinning while saying

"That's the neat part, we don't."

THIS is media literacy

"Sky is boring"

"They didn't give me a reason to care for her"

"She is such a self insert"

YALL ARE BORING!!!!! NONE OF YOU WOULD'VE SURVIVED FANDOM EARLY 2010S!!! NONE OF YOU THINK CRITICALLY OR CAN MAKE SHIT UP! "We know nothing about her, so fuck her." OKAY?! MAKE IT UP. READ BETWEEN THE LINES A BIT INSTEAD.

I'm sorry, but for real, you people are delusional. This is easily the most interesting dynamic right now in Arcane. Viktor NEEDS her. WHY? STOP ARROACHING THE QUESTION WITH ANNOYANCE AND INSTEAD THINK. What is SHE?! Is she the Arcane? Is she the guilt? Is she him? Is she a manifestation of the person he wishes she was? Is she herself just projected into the Arcane?

Today I had 3 conversations about Sky and what she is. All of them were fucking crazy good points of views.

OPEN YOUR MINDS A BIT. Stop expecting to be spoon fed. Some things CAN be up to interpretation and they don't have to be explicitly explained. To me, it's beyond romance. It's worship. He needs her because he needs something to believe in and she believed in him unconditionally. But that's what I think! CREATE STORIES, THINK.

Don't be fucking empty, passive watcher.

"This is the part where the floor drops, right?"

Things to say in a crowded elevator, go.

fallen angel characters but instead of the story ending with them becoming the villain it's them healing and understanding that they are more than the idol they've become