Bro we are stuck here for ever why don’t we just take care of each other like we’re supposed to
transfemme and transmasc solidarity! (prints available)
[Image ID: A drawing of two hormone vials used as flower pots. The one on the left is for estradiol and holds two lavender stalks. The one on the right is testosterone and holds a pansy stalk. End ID.]
the worst is wanting to create and create and create but being trapped in a body that is so so so so tired
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lesbian | gay | bi
trans | lgbtq | pan
ace | aro | nonbinary
please reblog if you save any! ❦
shop for pride merch on my redbubble :)
image description: 9 transparent images of iOS-style heart emojis in the listed order. /end
Neanderthal tools might look relatively simple, but new research shows that Homo neanderthalensis devised a method of generating a glue derived from birch tar to hold them together about 200,000 years ago—and it was tough. This ancient superglue made bone and stone adhere to wood, was waterproof, and didn’t decompose. The tar was also used a hundred thousand years before modern humans came up with anything synthetic. After studying ancient tools that carry residue from this glue, a team of researchers from the Eberhard Karls University of Tübingen and other institutions in Germany found evidence that this glue wasn’t just the original tar; it had been transformed in some way. This raises the question of what was involved in that transformation. To see how Neanderthals could have converted birch tar into glue, the research team tried several different processing methods. Any suspicion that the tar came directly from birch trees didn’t hold up because birch trees do not secrete anything that worked as an adhesive. So what kind of processing was needed? Each technique that was tested used only materials that Neanderthals would have been able to access. Condensation methods, which involve burning birch bark on cobblestones so the tar can condense on the stones, were the simplest techniques used—allowing bark to burn above ground doesn’t really involve much thought beyond lighting a fire. The other methods involved a recipe where the bark was not actually burned but heated after being placed underground. Two of these methods involved burying rolls of bark in embers that would heat them and produce tar. The third method would distill the tar. Because there were no ceramics during the Stone Age, sediment was shaped into upper and lower structures to hold the bark, which was then heated by fire. Distilled tar would slowly drip from the upper structure into the lower one. The resulting tars were all put through chemical and molecular analysis, as well as micro-CT scans, to determine which came closest to the residue on actual Neanderthal tools. Tars synthesized underground were closest to the residue on the original artifacts. “[Neanderthals] distilled tar in an intentionally created underground environment that restricted oxygen flow and remained invisible during the process,” the researchers wrote. “This degree of complexity is unlikely to have been invented spontaneously.”
Weeping with joy over the idea of a Neanderthal industrial engineer
calling my lover "mine" but not in the way that my toothbrush or notebook are mine, mine in the way my neighborhood is mine, and also everybody else's, "mine" like mine to tend to, mine to care for, mine to love. "mine" not like possession but devotion.
The goblin looked at the orc. The orc looked at the goblin. They both looked down at the crumpled shape of the Overlord, His Unholy Majesty, in his obsidian armor.
His final spasms had been mesmerizingly acrobatic. The fall down the steps leading up to his iron throne had pretzelled his body quite impressively, both arms folded behind his back and one leg bent at a jaunty angle.
The goblin looked at the orc. The orc looked at the goblin.
"Shit," said the goblin.
"Shit," said the orc.
"We're likely to get blamed for this," the goblin said. She walked over to the head of the glittering mangled heap and started pulling the helmet off.
"It's not our fault," the orc said. "It's hard to help someone choking when they wear two-hundred pounds of spiked armor at all times."
"Yeah, well," the goblin grunted. The helmet came free, and the bald head of the Overlord bounced on the stone with a hollow, coconut noise. "You know how it is in this bloody country - thieves get their heads cut off so they can't think about thieving, and all that." She fished in the Overlord's mouth with a finger and pulled out the obstructing olive on the end of her claw.
She popped it into her mouth and chewed. "What do you reckon they do for a regicide?" she said.
"We should run," the orc said. She had started bouncing her leg. "I hear that there's some places in the Alliance where they just kill you and let you stay dead. That's got to be nicer than what'll happen if we stay here."
The goblin started to nod - and then her gaze fell on the helmet.
It looked like a pineapple designed by a deranged blacksmith. It was all thorns and spikes and hard edges, as though the maker had been very determined to not let pigeons roost on it. The only bits that weren't solid iron were eyeholes. Nobody had ever seen the Overlord's face.
She held up the helmet and squinted from it to the orc. One of the thorns had been bent badly in the fall.
Nobody had ever seen the Overlord's face...
"Right," she muttered. "Right. Could work - or."
The orc had a sudden vision of the immediate future. "No," she said.
"I mean you're about his height-"
"No."
"It would just be for a-"
"Absolutely not."
"Just hear me out," the goblin said. "Outside of this room are two-thousand men and orcs and goblins who are absolutely gonzo about this man, and there's a whole country of them outside of the castle, and at any moment someone's going to walk in that door and see one dead tit in black armor and two unbelievably dead idiots next to him.
"Or." She tossed the helmet up like a basketball to the orc, who fumbled and tried to find somewhere to hold it that wasn't a knife's edge. "We chuck him out the window now, walk out the door in the armor, and ditch the armor as soon as nobody sees us."
The orc had started bouncing her leg again. "They'll know something's up the second I walk out of the room."
"No worries," said the goblin. "Leave that to me."
---
It had been a very strange year for the Empire.
Change had rolled across the land as slow and inevitable as a glacier. Roads and bridges carved the gray, blasted wildlands, and a number of social reforms had made the country a place where you could be miserable, yes, but miserable in comfort and safety, and that was an improvement.
Barely anyone got boiled alive in molten metal, and even if the disgusted sun never rose to light the Empire, at least you had a roof over your head to protect yourself from the acid rain.
I’m like a girl who likes calling herself a guy but is a girl
im like a guy who likes calling himself a girl but is a guy
[ID: A digital illustration with a penciled style of Zuko from season 3 of Avatar: The Last Airbender. He is sitting cross-legged, petting one of four turtle-ducklings (baby ducks with turtle shells on their back) sitting at his feet. White scars cover his arms and legs. The arms of the Avatar team reach out from out of view to either touch or hold Zuko’s arms and shoulders, gestures of solidarity. He is shyly smiling and blushing. /end ID]
me (decorated in bloody runes): man why did we ever stop worshipping golden idols this shit rules
severed bull’s head i carry with me for advice: if you mix sulfur, charcoal, and saltpeter together you will become a powerful sorcerer
New tin foil hat theory: the rise and propagation of minimalist home decor is meant to manage expectations for a desired culture of renters.
“The home is no longer seen as a space of personal expression or comfort, or as the backdrop of everyday life, but primarily as an investment and as an asset—meaning that enforcing one’s aesthetics is a financially detrimental decision. Those with the capital to become homeowners (already a diminishing segment of the public) conceive of their houses as being for selling before they even live a day in them.”
Hate hate rage bite kill
bulletsecondshooter-deactivated
Can't wait to decorate the shit out of my house
As someone who recently went through the house-buying pricess; it's not a secret, either.
Banks finance mortgages based on the resale value of the house you want to buy. In other words, what the bank wants to know is if you do absolutely nothing except live in that house and keep it in good repair, will it resell in 10+ years for at least as much as they're willing to loan you or preferably more?
When I bought my house, it was appraised at roughly 20k over what I got it for. The bank was very happy to hear that because that means even if I turn around and sell it tomorrow, I have written proof that I'm sitting on 20k of free money. That was last year. In the year I've lived here, similar houses on my street have been appraised for another 10k over that price. Meaning if I were to sell my house RIGHT NOW, I would make at minimum 30k on my initial investment.
Part of me getting my mortgage hinged on that. So it's not even that homeowners are some group of evil villians buying up houses just to resell or rent it's that resale value is a HUGE part of the process of buying a house in the first place, and why houses with poor resale value (fixer-uppers, for example) often need to be bought cash or private loan because banks won't finance them.
This is because in this economy houses are treated as an investment rather than as a living space. Your house exists first and foremost as a means to make money. Living in it is a pleasant afterthought. If you just want a place to live and you're not willing to play the economics game, you're pushed to rent instead, which does nothing but cost you money you could have been building equity with as a homeowner. Usually while building equity for Some Other Guy (your landlord) in the process. That's how the game is played- a clean and decently repaired living space is a very very very small part of buying a house.
‘you attract what you fear’ oh my god i’m so scared of men with big brown eyes
i am going to fetishize kinds of men you’ve only seen in your peripheral vision at the grocery store
Does obama know about yaoi
Why are you reblogging this again in 2022
What if he still doesn’t know :(
Your exhaustion is not shameful. It is not a moral failure to be physically, mentally or emotionally tired. It is okay to be overwhelmed. You're not inferior to anyone just because it's hard for you to keep up with a fast-paced life.
> trades my imperfect flesh for the immortality of the machine
> rusts
