Https://www.humanrightsresearch.org/post/human-rights-abuses-by-canadian-owned-mining-operations-abroad

Are you stupid? Or are all Americans just as allergic to critical thought as you? You don’t think it’s at all weird that you unquestioningly believe everything that western news outlets tell you about countries they have a vested interest in lying about? Jesus fucking Christ I assumed you all had evolved at least past blatant McCarthyism and had at least developed better state propaganda to demonize “second and third world” countries, but apparently you didn’t have to: your citizens are functionally illiterate and incapable of meaningful intellectual thought or basic interaction with the rest of the world. Also you do not know what facism is fundamentally. Maybe stop skimming wiki and Reddit for your education and pick up a book. Hope this helps! Your tax dollars fund the murder and rape of civilians around the world so you can drink your non union coffee and live comfortably without fear of being bombed💗💗💗

not an American bby ✌️ try again

"- oh hunter"

on my bullshit again with these two

gotta love the genre of activism where indigenous people can only be respected if we make them out as some kind of übermensch

Link for full article below.

he wouldn’t be called “Umaril the Unfeathered” unless everyone else *was* feathered, now would he?…

I kind of wish the Ayleids weren't just elves that used feathers a lot culturally, it would be badass if they were actually feathered. Cyrodiil probably had an ancient race of birdfolk right, and I like the idea that rather than them dying out to the Khajiit early on or simply vanishing, they instead had some interbreeding with the first Ayleids. Elves with feathers, talons, and all that shit would be rad as fuck.

this is adorable I love her :)

When I was 3 years old I went to a preschool that had this little green crocheted crocodile finger puppet that was my absolute favorite toy to play with of all time. I named her Chelsea, because Chelsea starts with C and crocodile starts with C and more often than not wild animals in fiction aimed at kids have names that start with the same first letter as their species. I played with Chelsea every day, because she was my favorite toy, and because the other kids weren't really interested in her, and also because I eventually started to hide her in a special secret spot in the room so no one else would find her before I did. She was so beloved by me that when I graduated from preschool, my teachers gave Chelsea to me permanently, because it was clear no one else would ever love that little crochet crocodile as much as me anyway (in part because I hid her). They waited a few weeks after I graduated before doing it, too, and sent Chelsea with some post cards as if the crocodile had been on a whirlwind "travel the world" vacation before deciding to come live with me.

And Chelsea remained my favorite toy all through my childhood. There were others I loved nearly as much, like my Imperial Godzilla and the big red T.rex from the first Jurassic Park toy line and my tiny knockoff plush Charmander, but Chelsea always held the place of honor in my heart. She was my absolute favorite toy.

I kept a lot of my favorite toys through adolescence, even if social pressure eventually got me to give away a lot of them (and some, y'know, broke). That's obviously not surprising to you if you've followed my blog, since I still collect toys into my adulthood. But it's important to note because while I know I made a conscious effort to never throw out Chelsea every time I pared down my collection... at some point, she went missing.

I became aware of it when I graduated from high school. I was feeling really emotional about leaving that stage of my life and, y'know, becoming an adult and shit, and in that state I decided to find Chelsea to reassure myself that I hadn't entirely left childhood behind. But Chelsea wasn't there. No matter how hard I looked, I could not find Chelsea anyway.

And that was, like, devastating, because the only explanation was that somehow, at some point, I had accidentally tossed her out with some other "childhood junk" while trying to grow up and be responsible in my teen years. I had literally thrown away my childhood in a careless attempt to be more grown up.

Of course I knew she was just a toy - nothing more than some yarn twisted together in the loose shape of a crocodile, lifeless and soul-less and more or less worthless in the objective light of day. But she was also Chelsea, my best friend since i was three, my stalwart little pal, a source of comfort for most of my life at that point, and I had just... tossed her out! Like garbage! What kind of person was I becoming if I could do that to my best friend?

I was very visibly distraught, and my mom noticed. Being very crafty, she tried to find the pattern for Chelsea so she could crochet me a new one. The problem is, she had no idea where to find said pattern. She checked all her books of crochet patterns, and when that failed she tried the internet, but no matter how hard she looked, she found nothing.

So my mom found the next best thing.

The original Chelsea was a tiny finger puppet, and I had "met" her when I was three. Well, I was eighteen now - shouldn't Chelsea have grown too? And as has been established, this crocodile was fond of whirlwind vacations. My mom found a pattern that looked as much like Chelsea as possible while also being a much bigger crocodile, and gifted her to me before I left for college - to show that while we can't stop the flow of time or how it changes us, that doesn't mean we have to leave it behind.

And yeah, I decided to believe it. That's Chelsea now. Yeah, I know that in reality it's a completely different set of yarn made by my mom rather than... whoever it was that crocheted the original Chelsea, but then, Chelsea was never really the yarn. She was the feelings I put into the yarn, you know? So that's Chelsea, all grown up, and still my most prized toy.

...

Flash forward... Jesus, eighteen years, holy shit. A few weeks ago I saw a post trying to identify a different crochet crocodile pattern, and thinking it was cute, I decided to try and look for it on ebay and etsy, just to see if maybe I could find it. I didn't, but do you know what I found instead?

A very familiar crochet crocodile finger puppet. An intensely familiar one, you might say. Of course I bought it. And of course I asked the seller if, perhaps, they might have the pattern for it or know where it came from (they did not, alas). And after a few days, she showed up at my house.

She's not Chelsea, obviously. For one thing, she's far too clean and fresh looking - Chelsea was very well loved, and looked the part, while this crocodile finger puppet has definitely not endured years upon years of a child's affection. And, more importantly, she's not Chelsea because we've already established that Chelsea grew up into a bigger crochet crocodile. This has to be Chelsea's younger sister, Cici.

And if I could find another of Chelsea's kind after all these years, then maybe, with a bit of luck, I might find the pattern for her, and be able to make more of them. Fill the world with Chelseas.

Can we just acknowledge that Lottie is the only person we ever see Nat accept comfort from? Throughout the series, in both timelines, Nat suffers alone and in silence. Travis reaches out to touch her after both Javi and Coach Ben’s deaths, but she walks past him in both instances. When she finds Travis’ body, Misty attempts to comfort her but Nat pushes her away. Whenever Nat breaks down, she turns inward, shutting others out instead of seeking connection. Nowhere is this more evident than in the final moments of 3x09, when she begins to sob and everyone around her vanishes, leaving her utterly alone. It’s a visual metaphor for the profound isolation that defines how Nat experiences pain.

Given the nature of Nat’s home environment, I don’t think she ever learned how to accept tenderness and physical intimacy beyond sex. It’s foreign to her. And, on a deeper level, I think she doesn’t believe she deserves this kind of intimacy and unconditional care.

But, in this moment with Lottie, she finally allows herself to be held. For what might be the first time in her life, she feels safe enough to surrender, to lean into someone else’s care without flinching. She even feels safe enough to regress to a younger version of herself, a form of healing her inner child as she lays her head on Lottie’s lap. We see Nat engage in simple hello or goodbye hugs (or moments of sexual intimacy) with other characters, but Lottie is truly the only character Nat physically embraces in this unguarded, emotionally vulnerable way.

meee :3

it's me i'm the someone you know

paarthurnax is transmasc

Paarthurnax is a girl.

Source: the Nords say kyne and her daughters taught them to shout. Paarthurnax says Kyne told him to teach the Nords to shout. For confusing lore reasons I don’t have time to explain in this post, Kyne is married to both Akatosh and Lorkhan, so she could be extrapolated to be the mother of dragons.

Paarthurnax logically would be a daughter that was described.

Paarthurnax is a girl

how r u a radical but still defend the us? radically centrist?

I prefer radical liberal. And America is the only liberal-democratic Great Power.

have I ever mentioned how much I fucking hate meditation/mindfulness/etc