“But where’s that light coming from” BITCH IT’S FANTASY WHO CARES
Ok but also from a like, theatrical storytelling perspective, there’s a thing called “willful suspension of disbelief” which is basically the concept that in order to let ourselves be immersed and enjoy a story, we need to turn off our knowledge that it’s all fake anyway.
like yes, we all *know* it’s unrealistically bright for a night time war, but it needs to be so we can SEE the story being told, and the lighting designer used blue light to show it was night time. We KNOW that Sir Ian isn’t actually a wizard but we SUSPEND that DISBELIEF because we want to be entertained.
If I have to turn the brightness of my TV or phone or whatever all the way up and still have a hard ti.e seeing what’s happening, why should I care enough to watch?
If the producer doesn’t care enough to let me see it, I don’t care enough to try.
They key feature of visual story telling is that you can…wait for it…SEE IT. So let me see it, don’t hide behind bad lighting
Toddler accidentally cursed himself into an identity crisis today.
He’s been crossing stuff out with chalk. He asked me to write his name for him, crossed it out, and had a panicked meltdown because he thought it meant he didn’t exist any more.
Every hour or so he asks me “am I [his name?]” and wants reassuring hugs.
I’m enjoying the implication that he was perfectly delighted with arbitrarily erasing things from existence until it affected him personally
A really fun fact about Guatemalan land reform under Arbenz is that the American fruit companies had for decades seriously undervalued the worth of the land they held to avoid paying taxes, so when Arbenz expropriated their land he offered them almost nothing in compensation, based on their own undervaluations
[ID: Tweet by @carson_tueller “Ableism looks like calling disabled people ‘inspiring’ for navigating a system that is designed for their exclusion, while doing nothing to hold the system accountable. #ableism #disabled #accesstolife “]
If you are trans or nb, and you want to make sure your wishes are respected in death, I ask that you please watch this video. this might get buried in the notes, but i’ll be glad if anyone sees this. You have rights. simple as that, and Caitlin Doughty made this video to share with you all of your rights and how to make sure that your wishes are respected.
You have been sentenced to death in a magical court. The court allows all prisoners to pick how they die and they will carry it out immediately. You have it all figured out until the prisoner before you picks old age and is instantly transformed into a dying old man. Your turn approaches.
I think I’d have minded
less if I’d committed a truly heinous crime. Something that warranted death. Or
even if I was the kind of person who would enjoy flinging a last defiance at my
execution.
It was all just a show,
anyway. They did it every year. They brought out a selection of criminals, and the
Sorcerer who ruled us showed his power by bringing about their deaths by magic.
Just to show, every year, what happened to anyone who crossed him.
There was a time,
probably, when the people he executed really were rebels or assassins. In
latter days he had to take what the dungeons offered. I was dragged up in
chains between a pickpocket, sobbing in terror, and a man who’d killed another
man in a brawl. There were few criminals of any note, by then. So instead of
choosing the wickedest criminals, they chose based on appearance. The man who’d
been in the brawl had a face like a clenched fist, and looked like a ruffian.
The pickpocket, aging and with hands beginning to tremble, was a different kind
of example. As was I.
“There aren’t many
pretty ones, this year,” the man who chose me had said, examining me. “But this
one will do. Not young, but not old, a woman, well-favoured enough for the
gallows… what was her crime?”
The warder shrugged. “She
tried to kill one of the sheriffs.”
The man looked down at
me and I shrugged. “I hit him with a washing stick, because he tried to extort
money from me, and he was a baby about it.” I refused to treat this as anything
but pathetic, even after my sentencing. “I didn’t even break any bones.”
“Treason, then,” the man
said, nodding. “Attacking the servants of the law. That will look well on the
list. Send her.”
I had been debating ever
since what to choose. Something quick? Something painless? I considered demanding
that I suffer the attack I supposedly made on the sheriff, but then I realized
the Sorcerer would only give me what the man had said I was going to do, and
that was not a pleasant way to die. I had all but decided on something swift
and relatively painless. Beheading with the sharpest of blades sounded good. It
would be quick.
