That cat is absolutely an orphan-generating coal baron. The mustache and top-hat are there in spirit, if not actually. Legally, that cat’s name should be Reacher Gilt.
Apparently this comment got screenshotted, escaped containment, and made its way back to the owner of the cat who found me.
Hew name is Lucy, she is well-loved, and she just looks like that all the time:
feminism WIN: the orphan-generating coal baron cat is a GIRL
my prof just explained on the syllabus that he’s included more pionts in the class than we needed to pass, so we could skip up like?? 20 small assignments/quizzes/participation!! and still get a very high grade!!
the idea was that we could focus on assignments that played to our strengths - only do the participation stuff if we like to talk out loud - only do the quizzes/readings if we want to do the class remotely - only do online discussions if we like to talk and share opinions but struggle with anxiety in class ect.
and that’s cool enough but then he pulled up DnD character sheets with drawings he’d done of these hypothetical student player classes and how our various accessibility needs could be gamified to ‘max out’ different aspects of the class to get high grades and like!!!!!
hell yeah!!!! let’s treat accessibility in higher education not just as a necessity but as the fun, engaging, and creative aspect of learning that it is!!! I love this!!
other profs: sobbing and screaming bc someone needs to take notes on a computer
this dude: I record and upload every lecture for the paladins, monks, and rogues, but barbarians can watch them too I guess. Bards you only get one participation point per class, even if you talk multiple times, it’s only fair.
Keying/graffiti-ing someones car is old news now if someone cheats we go at their wardrobe with a seam ripper
yknow what? Fuck you *unstitches all your shirts and jeans*
My mother did this to my father once. They got into an argument, my very pregnant and hormonal mother stormed off…except they lived in a tiny apartment so the only place to go was to shut herself into the closet for a good long sulk. And while she was sitting in there, fuming, she looked up and saw her sewing kit on the shelf, and all my father’s uniforms hanging right there.
So she picked one shirt and one pair of trousers, carefully, methodically ripped every third stitch out of every seam, and then hung them back up together so that he would be likely to pick them at the same time. This took her a couple hours, so by the time she was done, the anger had worn down. She came out, she and my father had a talk that ended in apologies, after which they were tired and went to bed. My mother swears up and down that she meant to warn my father about the sabotaged clothes in the morning, but he wore a different uniform set and they were both still feeling a little raw, so she didn’t want to bring up the fight again. She decided to tell him that night instead.
And then she forgot.
Anyway, about four days later, my father apparently came home roughly an hour after he left for work, his clothes slowly, gently shredding off his body, the most bewildered expression on his face. “Paula,” he said, his voice mildly shell-shocked. “Paula, my clothes are broken.”
My mother promptly burst out laughing so hard that she went into labor. And that’s the story of my birth, heralded by petty vengeance and utter confusion.
after reading tons of hobbit fanfiction, i have opinions about dwarven cities underground.
first- wheelchairs should exist. are you telling me a race of warriors engineers never thought to put wheels on a chair for their wounded veterans.
second - everything should be wheelchair accessible. if your proud wounded warriors can’t get to a place in the mountain, someone should get kicked out of the architect guild.
also see: dwarves would be experts in prosthetic limbs, they would make works of art covered in jewels.
sometimes, adding diversity in fiction is less “we should add representation” and more “it would make bloody sense”.
