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corpscs · 1 day ago

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i could eat that girl for lunch ⧗ natasha x avenger f!reader

♡ minors and men dni , no use of y/n , wlw , smut 18+ , friends to lovers , natasha’s gaydar is off , r eats box like a champ , lesbian protector thor , one bed trope if you squint but it’s not important , images are from pinterest , this was edited by my cat so ignore any spelling or grammar mistakes i will probably find them later , divider , russian is from google/reddit

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ♡ dobroye utrechko - good morning

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ♡ masterlist , word count: 2.9k

bones’ now playing ▶︎ lunch - billie eilish

natasha romanoff seldom hoped that she was wrong. this was not one of those times.

the black widow, specialist in espionage, had profiled you wrong? she was so certain that you were straight. but now she wasn’t so convinced.

her real suspicion started with thor.

clint, tony and natasha sat playing cards. natasha had won every round of every game they’d started. and she just cleared her hand in rummy, when thor was heard boasting from the hallway, “this is marvelous news!” he laughed.

“what’s got you so giddy?” natasha asked him.

“the littlest avenger considers me to be a tolerable man.” he was very proud, chest puffed out, hands on his hip. natasha’s eyebrows raised. she knew he meant you, by the nickname.

tony was fast to answer, “i’m sorry, she what?”

“little avenger has a list on her cellular phone of tolerable men.” he stated. “and of course she has placed the mighty thor this list.”

tony and clint began asking about the list and if they saw their names on it. when thor asked you about a tolerable women list, apparently you just laughed at him. claiming that you had a different kind of list for women. she became very curious about that one.

then, few days after, the team was all together for a rowdy dinner. by the tail end of it, tony and thor were drunk and bickering about which avenger had more sex appeal or something.

tony called your name. “you’re young and not natasha romanoff. which of us would you take home?”

natasha would have lied if she contemplated to tuning out your answer, but then heard you boldly announce, “tony i would rather sit on a hot grill than sleep with any men in this room.” you would prefer to physical pain over sleeping with any man in the room. maria had left with pepper to help clean up after a spilled bottle of champagne that one of them had tipped over onto the table. and natasha was the only woman in the room at the time.

natasha was looking at you now and she was sure through your peripheral vision you saw her too.

natasha decided to set you up, now helping guide the conversation towards the information she wanted out of you. “remember that one drag queen in boston that hit on you.” natasha randomly brought up.

“he was very good at his job!” clint defended himself. drunk you found it hilarious to picture a slightly tipsy clint get hit on by a drag queen. “i’ve never slept with a man.” clint drunkenly confirmed.

“me neither.” you giggled out.

clint looked at you confused or surprised maybe he was trying to showcase both in his stupor. “wait a minute.” he loudly whispered crunching his eyebrows. “do we bat for the same team?”

you nodded your head yes with a lackadaisical roll to your neck as the giggles continued before tony announced the door dash was here. you didn’t pay him any mind as you were too busy to remember natasha was still next to you.

she called your name, stealing away your attention. “thor was telling us that you have a list of tolerable men.” you nearly choked on your drink. thor told natasha about your list.

taking a breath, you nodded. “it’s a short list. he should be honored to be on it.” natasha hummed.

“he mentioned you have a list of women too. hopefully, i’m tolerable enough to on there.” she feigned innocence, leaning her chin in her palm.

“oh that’s it’s a different list.” you blurted, too inebriated to stop yourself. natasha should be ashamed of herself, taking advantage of your drunken brain. but she was afraid you would may have clammed up the moment she started poking otherwise.

“oh yeah?” she continued, keeping the eye contact.

“yeah.” you breathed. nat raised an eyebrow.

“so, i’m not on that one?”

“you are!” you rushed. her eyes caught the black shine of your phone slotted between your thighs. “mind if i peak?” she dropped her voice to a lower whisper, continuing to lean into you. if you were assumed straight sober, drunk you absolutely was not. you nodded dumbly opening you phone to the notes app. natasha read through the notes as you opened the app. random lists, meaningless words and number sequences that probably made little sense to you anymore, natasha’s eyes lagged on the note that had your bra size typed out before you opened the untitled note.

you were right, the list was short. immediate names where clint, bucky, thor, scott? (question mark included) followed by one of the oldest janitors in sheild and the very flamboyant nurse from medical. natasha did not try to contain her laugh. “what are your standards of this list?” you shrugged, laughing with her.

the second list a few lines down and far longer. it started with natasha’s name, then wanda, brunnhilde, carol, okoye, maria, nebula, followed by a collection of reputable shield agents, and a firefighter in the nyfd you had met during the battle of new york, and lastly one natasha did not recognize, lisa from the bakery.

“i see a theme, but i must ask about the baker.” natasha looked back up at you. you were chewing on the straw of your now empty cup, clearly nervous.

“have you ever watched a woman make bread dough?” you simply asked. natasha shook her head. “i’ll have to take you.” you promised, nodding enthusiastically.

everyone in the room seemed entranced in the food or their own conversation, so natasha pushed on. “what’s this list then, if it’s not tolerable women.” natasha watched your eyes shift nervously as you felt all the blood in your body rush to your face. it was at this point when your drunk brain began to catch up to what she was doing.

“pretty women.” you murmured.

“and i’m number one. that’s sweet.” natasha smiled at you taking a sip of her beer. not missing the way you watched her sip and swallow.

hook, line and sinker.

˖ . ݁𝜗☠︎︎𝜚. ݁₊

the next day you didn’t remember exactly what had gone on last night. just the general overview. you didn’t care much to dig on the topic as getting drunk with the team wasn’t out of the ordinary.

when you peeled yourself out of bed, your brain felt like it was replaced by sludge and you were unsure of where you had last had your phone. you began wandering downstairs with the intention to try and retrace your steps to find it.

when you got to the kitchen, it was empty, aside from natsha who was leaning against the opposite counter. still in the sweats you were seen in at dinner, you regretted not being fully presentable.

on the other hand natasha looked freshly showered, wearing jeans and a tight black tank top. you could even see the black strap of her bra poking out from behind the material. “dobroye utrechko.” you assumed it was a greeting. you blink the drowsiness out of your eyes as you ripped your eyes back to her face.

“you’re up early.”

“it’s 10.” she laughed. you had no excuse. “here.” natasha poured you a cup of water and opened the cabinet where the team collected their over the counter stuff. she slid you the glass and placed two tablets of whatever in front of you. zero survival skills in sight, you took the meds she gave you without even looking at them once. she then placed a muffin in front of you, remembering which ones you tended to chose over other flavors. natasha then pulled your phone out of her back pocket. “probably missing this too.”

“oh my god.” you rushed, mid-bite of the muffin. “thank you.” you cheered. “you’re the best.” friday called out something over the PA about steve needing natasha so she grabbed her water bottle and began to exit the kitchen.

“wouldn’t want you to have to restart your lists and i want to maintain my number one spot.” she exited the kitchen. her words were like a bucket of ice cold water and suddenly your memory of last night suddenly became abundantly more clear.

˖ . ݁𝜗☠︎︎𝜚. ݁₊

a few days later you’re stuffed into some tiny dress at some black tie cocktail party while the team works undercover with hotel security. the event was winding down and guests were beginning to leave. natasha was on the upper floor, blended into the regular security like the rest of the team.

tony sat outside the hotel watching the camera feeds from a large disguised rental van. he was only there if the iron man suit was needed, so he was running extra surveillance. but was tony and tony was getting bored. when you appeared on the feed rotation on one of the screens, he called you out over the com. “can somebody drop a pen? i want to know what shield issued g-strings look like.”

“looking to get one for yourself?” you asked him, looking to the wall to not look insane speaking to yourself. you were instructed to limit your com usage.

“if you help me pick one that matches pepper’s eyes.” he joked.

steve broke up the quip, “guys that’s enough. all dolled up or not she’s still your teammate.”

“she does look nice doesn’t she, boys?” natasha ignored steve. “too bad she’d burn her ass off before she’d touch any of you.”

“romanoff.” steve warned.

“did you really say that?” bucky laughed.

natasha answered for you “she did.”

“ouch.” sam said.

before you could even attempt to defend yourself, you were interrupted by some diplomat curling an arm around your waist.

you politely turned him down, telling him how flattered you are and that you’re with the event. he doesn’t like that answer, telling you that it should be the reason he take you.

like an angel, natasha appears in that stupid security uniform. “sir, this waitress is working i’m going to have to ask you to please allow her do her job.” she said curtly, keeping you behind her. after three minutes of torturous arguing the man was gone.

“am i done?” you whined, to both natasha and everyone on the comms. “i don’t think i can take anymore of this.”

“they’ve started packing up.” natasha confirmed while you puffed out a sigh of relief.

“thanks for that back there.” you told her.

she shrugged. “it’s the least i could do after having to watch you get picked at like a carcass all night.”

the team had finished and rounded up in a vacant lounge at the hotel. steve went over their plan to head out in the morning, he kept it short and sweet as the small team of agents looked tired. not battle worn, but socially worn, all spread out around the fancy couches. the dress you wore was inconvenient so you opted to sit on a barstool and by the end of the meeting you were miserable. meeting adjourned, steve began handing out the room assignments. “2 to a room, rank based, no coed.” very chivalrous, captain america. fourth group down was you and natasha. you found out upon arrival she would be roomed with you so you had no surprise so mask. the team checked in your room a day early to have the space to get ready in. “everyone get some sleep.” steve ordered.

“if it’s worth anything,” natasha said appearing next to the bar. her overnight bag was slung over her shoulder, your bags were already in the room. “i really like the dress.”

“i’m still pretty convinced that it is actually just a top.” you hiked the pleather material down your upper thigh, as the two of you now made your way towards the elevators. having long since discarded the heels, the sounds of natasha’s boots and your bare feet sounded through the hallway. the cocktail dress only leaves about two inches to the imagination and just barely came down over your ass. steve was so flustered that he had given you his jacket to tie around your waist until mission go.

natasha selected the button for the second floor and you spoke up. “you know, it took two people to get me into this thing.” you said. natasha let out a light chuckle imagining the scenario. “i might need a hand getting out of it.”

a small flame lit itself inside natasha. her mouth ran dry, but she didn’t miss a beat. “of course.” she agreed with a smile. you, yourself, were smiling straight ahead at your warped reflection of the shiny metal until they slid open.

smiling, because of course you noticed natasha’s fishing expedition after you had asked clint to fill you in on whatever drunk you told natasha. you had always assumed natasha placed you in the coworker box but it became obvious that she genuinely did not know you liked women.

natasha held her breath when you reached into your bra and pulled the room card to key your door open, allowing natasha to step inside after you.

she could see the mess the team had made getting you ready. cosmetic and garnet bags along the table and an open bathroom door where she could only imagine what chaos the counter was in.

she watched you drop your shoes by your suitcase on the floor before you began peeling off your jewelry. rings and bracelets gone. the hoops you had been asked to wear had pulled at your ears all night that you were glad to bid goodbye. you turned to natasha, who now sat at the corner of the four-poster king bed. the security uniform jacket discarded beside her, now only in a tight black t-shirt and tactical pants.

“help me unzip?” you asked her as you turned your back to her. through the mirror you could see the top of her head raise from behind you as her posture straightened up. you made sure you were standing up straight, holding your posture to specifically draw her attention. you were pretty sure it was working.

you felt her fingers grab at the top of the tight dress. she pulled the fabric back slightly, jerking you momentarily, before she unlatched the little eye and hook at the top. you had to try to regulate your breathing before she began on the zipper. “i think every man attending that event was thinking about doing this.” she spoke with a light laugh as her touch prickled your skin.

“ew.” you chuckled airily, deflating your lungs so she could get the zipper past your strapless bra. natasha could see from the band that it was red lace.

“i’m not going to lie, you had me so fooled.” natasha finally said. she peeked over your shoulder to lock eyes in the mirror. dress now fully unzipped to the swell of your ass. you’d have to shimmy out of the rest if it.

“fooled?” you parroted.

“unclockable.” natasha corrected. you turned to face her, a single hand on your chest being the only thing holding the last piece of whatever modesty that dress allowed in place.

“i wasn’t trying to be stealthy.” you joked. understanding what she meant.

“good, because that’s my thing and i’m taking it back.” natasha tipped her had to the side, her eyes wandering your face.

“you can have it,” you agreed, “you can take the dress with it if you’d like.” natasha made prolonged eye contact, silently asking permission. your hand dropped and the material being held to you chest fell. natasha was not shy when your gaze dropped to your chest. the strapless bra was shelf styled, worn specifically to boost your cleavage. that was the final nail in natasha’s coffin.

she used the folded fabric at your waist to yank you past the foot of space in between you two. when you stepped in between her open thighs, natasha didn’t hesitate to kiss you. it was soft, but desperate. like something she didn’t know she was starved of. you broke away to bunch your fingers around her shirt, untucking it and hauling it over her head.

her chest was covered with a black sports bra, a white logo you couldn’t read printed on the side of her ribs. you two didn’t stall, reaching for the black belt keeping the cargo shorts at her waist and quickly undoing its strap. the button came easily thank god. you yelled back to allow her to stand and shimmy the pants down. you tried to bite back a comment about how much you liked the fitted material. but the black tiny boyshorts she was wearing had you more distracted. when you felt the zipper of your dress pinch your back. natasha helped you work the tight material over your hips. red and black lace, of course you were wearing a set.

“i’m underdressed.” she joked, referring to your contrast between your undergarments and herself. “no, you’re practical.” you shrugged. keeping your eye contact, you reached behind yourself and unhooked the eyes of your bra.

once again natasha felt no shame as her eyes dropped back to your bare chest. “but i do want them off.”

natasha watched you sink to the floor with a twinkle in your eye, hands climbing for her panties. “i can’t believe i thought you were fucking straight.” she said lowly, pulling the material down her very well built thighs. your free arm wrapped around her one of her legs to pull her closer to you, curling at the top of her inner thigh.

“so the black widow has a shitty gaydar?” you began kissing natasha’s thighs, moving closer to her center.

“or you’re just full of surprises?” she countered, her breath stuttering when your kisses had finally reached their destination. you landed a kiss just over her clit, feather light. she didn’t flinch, but drew a long breath.

“i think i’m very predictable.” you made sure you were looking in her eyes when your tongue flattened out and lapped up her slit, each time your tongue toying with her clit. it wasn’t long before you pulled the bud in between your lips, sucking lightly. natasha was unable to catch the moan that pulled from her throat. you adored the sound and you hummed against her, responding in a subdued encouragement, and pulled one of her legs over your shoulder, opening her up further to you.

you’d been so forward this entire time, natasha allowed the hand of hers not gripping the bedpost to hold the back of your head. she experimentally rolled her hips forward just so slightly. and to her not so surprise you followed the movement, sat up straighter and allowed her to use your face.

she moaned when she locked eyes with your bleary stare. keeping your hand wrapped around natasha’s thigh, your dominant hand traveled around from her inner thigh to tease her entrance, beige slipping a singer inside.

her pace increased as she chased her high and you dutifully swallowed down her arousal, it messily dripped down your chin mixing with your saliva. natasha’s breathing increased as she felt her orgasm nearing. when natasha’s hips stuttered, you pulled her clit between your lips once more sucking harder this time. her heel dug into your bare back as your grip on her standing leg tightened, the strong muscles switched and flexing under you fingers. she began cursing in russian, you would have no idea what she was saying even if you weren’t busy with her thighs muffling the word in your ears. when she did cum, you stayed in place and chased her hips with your mouth swallowing her down.

you grinned up at her dumbly, face soaked in her arousal. your face felt hot and your head felt light. natasha had begun to catch her breath as you felt her fingers smooth over your hair. as her hands find their way to your face, thumbing over your swollen lips. “you would have been wasted on a man.”

˖ . ݁𝜗☠︎︎𝜚. ݁₊

i’m hoping to get part 3 of emergency contact up this weekend

𓉸 ♡,

bones

#natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff smut #natasha romanoff x female reader #natasha romanoff x you #wlw fanfic #wlw #lesbian #black widow #scarlett johansson #avengers x reader

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catsithkelpie · 5 hours ago

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@important-animal-images @important-cat-pics

@everyone

LOOK!! JTH

The kitten is making biscuits on the fawn, and the fawn is giving the kitten kisses!!

#cat #cats of tumblr #animals #important #important animals #@everyone #look at this #cute animals #cute cats #cute deer #wholesome animals #wholesome

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nadvs · 1 day ago

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escapism .* part one

pairing rafe cameron x socialite! female reader

rating explicit 18+

summary you live a turbulent life in the public eye as an unruly heiress from a controlling family. you thought you had your future all planned out, until you learn that your trust fund hinges on marrying a stranger.

tags arranged marriage au. canon divergence. reader is bratty and volatile. rafe is the calmer one for once (but not by much). they hate each other at first. six-year age gap. plot contains alcohol abuse, toxic family dynamics, chronic illness, trauma bonding, mentions of death, and smut that starts off as hate-sex oops!

» masterlist

author’s note i typically make reader inserts vague for relatability, but this is the most detailed one i’ve written. she’s misunderstood, guarded, and has a short fuse. she has trauma from childhood neglect and lives with a chronic illness, resulting in poor coping mechanisms and a desire to feel free. i enjoyed exploring a fmc like this and i hope you enjoy the read just as much <3

Rafe sits in the backseat, fingers grazing the edge of his jaw. The wrought-iron gate creaks open to reveal a long, manicured drive that curves out of sight, the estate lingering beyond the bend.

His loyalty to his father knows no limits. It’s why he agreed to go along with this ridiculous publicity stunt.

Yesterday, Ward told him about the unusual proposal one of his business partners made. Kal is the powerful patriarch of a high-profile family and apparently, now that his wife is entering politics, his family’s reputation has never been more important.

The only thing standing in their way to a respectable image is their daughter.

Rafe thumbed through every tabloid he could find last night. The headlines followed the same formula, all about a spoiled, wild socialite, the epitome of old money royalty, getting wasted at parties, dating around, and never backing down from any sort of altercation.

Kal had promised that with his corporate influence, this arrangement would give Cameron Development an edge it’s never had before.

And Rafe is determined to pull it off. He wants to make his dad proud. He’s been working for him for a few years now, eager to prove himself and move up the ranks.

This is an unorthodox way to do it, but he’ll take what he can get. And he might even like you. You seem like you have some charm to you to say the least, even if it is centered in chaos.

The driver pulls up to the front doors of your family’s home right on time for the meeting. When a butler welcomes Rafe into the foyer, every footstep and shuffle of clothes echoes through the manor’s enormous, gleaming frame.

The butler rushes away to fetch Kal. Rafe stuffs his hands in his pockets and takes in the vacuous, characterless space. His eyes land on a thick-framed image hanging between two rounded staircases.

He squints, sizing up the five figures. It’s not a photo, but a painting of the family that calls this place home.

He studies it from afar, already having committed your face to memory from all the research he did on his phone last night, eyes travelling over the brushstrokes of an older couple, two men, and his future wife.

Wife.

This is insane.

“Great to meet you,” Kal’s voice booms through the foyer. He crosses the room, offering a tight handshake.

Rafe follows him to his office. He expected you to be here, but the only other person in the brightly lit room is an older woman typing on a laptop. Kal introduces her as Celeste, the family’s publicist.

The door shuts and Kal settles in his place behind his desk, tearing right into business before Rafe even takes his seat.

“I know this is unconventional,” he says, “but Nora is announcing her intention to run for public office in two days, and it’ll be a rigorous campaign.”

Celeste nods with widened eyes, gaze still glued on her screen.

“I’m sure your father has told you that we need all the good press we can get,” he continues. “I don’t know how familiar you are with my daughter, but she isn’t the representation we want for our family.”

He clasps his hands together.

“And before we bring her in, there is something I need you to do.”

Rafe waits, tense.

“She’s unpredictable and secretive. It leads to bad surprises and even worse press,” he says. “I need to know her plans, her activities, absolutely everything you can find out. Can you keep me informed without her knowing?”

Rafe imagines his father’s expectant stare, the one he’s sure he’ll be wearing when he asks him how this meeting went. The familiar ache to impress him radiates through him, a desire he’s shouldered all his life.

He still remembers the look on Ward's face when he told him about his plans to go back to college, long after he’d dropped out as a freshman. It was the first time he seemed convinced that his son was turning his life around, that earning a solid education wasn't just another stint Rafe would give up on.

With enough time and effort, finally, Rafe had a shred of his father's approval. He graduated and was back on track to take over Cameron Development. The job had practically been lined up for him since birth and he'd nearly squandered it through his rocky adolescence, a trainwreck in response to losing his mother.

He refuses to fuck anything else up. He crawled his way out of the hole he’d once been in and he has no intention of falling back into it. He won’t stop for anything.

“I can do that,” he agrees.

Kal nods, then presses a call button on his desk, instructing the butler to bring you in. As the air fills with silence, the suspicion that you haven’t even been told about the arrangement yet gnaws at Rafe.

“Does she know about any of this?” he asks, a slightly disbelieving chuckle spilling from his lips.

“She’s about to,” your father says.

▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱

Your eyes follow the words in your textbook as you type on your laptop, music softly buzzing from your speakers. The house is always so quiet, forcing you to listen to your own thoughts.

You need the noise. Any distraction.

You’re in your last few months of working towards a master’s degree in business, taking advantage of the schooling you have access to, all in an effort to prove yourself and be set up for success for when you can finally leave this place in the rearview.

Most of your life has been a waiting game, and you’re in the homestretch to getting your trust fund. All you need to do is make it to your next birthday. You can’t survive without that money. Your medical expenses are too high.

The dream of walking out the front door and never stepping foot in this house again consumes you. You long to be your own person, away from the gossip rags, free from your family’s restrictions.

You’re not proud that you don’t have the self-restraint to quietly wait out your time. You’re driven by anger, by the pull of escapism, constantly getting out of control with your drinking.

But it's too addictive and the spiteful side of you enjoys knowing you’re a PR nightmare, publicly embarrassing the people who gave you your last name.

A month ago, as a result of your mother’s sudden interest in politics, you’ve been put under harsh restrictions to avoid any and every risk of unfavorable press. You were ordered to give back your credit card and live at home instead of on campus, with no access to transportation unless a driver has been appointed to take you somewhere.

You’ve still found ways to rebel, sneaking out to see friends, partying to numb your pain. Your parents try to keep you under control because they care about public perception. About notoriety. Not you.

You learned long ago that you’re just a thorn in the family’s side.

Knuckles tap on your bedroom door. You stand and swing it open to meet Mathieu’s tired eyes.

“You’re needed in your father’s office, miss,” the butler says.

“You know my name, Mathieu,” you say with a gentle smile. “I can’t. I’m in the middle of an assignment.”

“He said your attendance is required, miss.”

He winces, correcting himself for calling you that again, saying your name instead. You’ve seen your father’s staff on edge all your life. He runs a tight ship, and it’s one you’ve wanted to jump off of for a long time.

Because of that, you have a soft spot for the people who work in your home. At least they’re nice to you. Even though it’s their job to be.

You agree, simply because you don’t want Mathieu to have to deal with the collateral damage of your father being told no.

▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱

Three heads turn towards you when you enter the office.

You meet your father’s eyes immediately, clenching your fists at your sides because, like always, being in the same room as him triggers an onslaught of anger through you.

“What is it?” you say curtly.

“Have a seat,” Kal says, his voice clipped.

“I’m busy,” you answer.

“Sit.”

Rafe’s gaze follows you as you cross the room and settle in the chair next to him. There’s a sudden heat in his chest, a frustration in how he can’t pull his eyes off of you.

The photos he saw online, the painting in the foyer, they do you no justice. You’re stunning, radiating confidence, moving like you expect the world to get out of the way for you.

Maybe liking you won’t take much pretending after all.

“You know Celeste,” your father says.

You return her pointed frown. You didn’t mind her at first, but then, she realized she could get away with ridiculing you, safe from any of your family members coming to your defence.

Once she knew that her job was secure, she’s passively jeered at you many times, calling your antics fodder for the rags, calling you shameful and childish.

“And this is Rafe.”

Your eyes flitter towards the stranger. You’re in awe of how near impossible it is not to melt under his gaze, his eyes piercing, every plane of his face strong and refined.

You didn’t know what you were expecting coming in here, but it wasn’t him, staring like he’s waiting for you to do something.

“Hi,” you say stiffly, then look at your father. “What do you want?”

“You’ve been an embarrassment,” Kal says.

You remain perfectly still, no stranger to your father scolding you no matter who’s in the room.

“You’re kidding,” you say, your tone flat and sardonic. “What is it this time?”

Rafe gathered that you’re difficult, and he’s no saint himself, having had many disputes with his own dad, but he always had the sense to argue behind closed doors. He didn’t expect you to be so bratty from the get-go, so openly abrasive towards someone you’re supposed to respect.

“We can’t have you causing any trouble,” he says. You sigh, feeling Rafe’s gaze on you. He must be the latest bodyguard your father’s hiring, yet another man you’ll drive to quit his job. “I refuse to let my wife’s campaign be ruined.”

“Wait, so, if she loses, it’s my fault?” you breathe a laugh.

Your mother’s step into politics is just another line on the list of her meaningless ventures. It reeks of boredom masked as ambition; a move made only because she can afford the luxury of trying everything once.

“I’ve had the conditions to your inheritance amended,” Kal says.

Rafe watches your smugness fade away, your brows pinch together.

“What?” you say. The cockiness you wore has slipped, nothing but unease in your features now, as if the existence of your trust fund was the only thing granting you any sense of poise. “What do you mean?”

“You’re tarnishing our reputation,” he says. “I’m not allowing you to continue to drag our name through the mud. Your brothers have set good examples. It’s time you do the same. If you don’t, your inheritance is void.”

“No,” you say. “The terms are that I get access to it when I turn 25. You can’t just change that.”

“Yes, I can,” Kal says. “The new conditions–”

“This is all because Mom decided she wants her name on people’s lawns?” you interrupt with a humorless laugh, straightening in your seat. “You’re insane.”

Rafe catches on that you call her your mom, while your father refers to her as his wife.

“It’s important to her,” Kal says evenly.

“Sure,” you say in a huff. “Whatever. Fine. I’ll be good.”

Rafe would laugh if this wasn’t so awkward. He wants to get the hell out of here. It’s bullshit that this isn’t already all settled. But when he thinks about his dad, who’d told him how important his cooperation in this is, he doesn’t budge.

“You think I can believe you?” Kal asks. “You need to convince the public you’ve grown up. Represent us well for once. You won’t have access to your trust unless you get married.”

“Married?” you echo.

Kal’s eyes dart to Rafe.

“Rafe has already agreed to pose as your husband.”

“What?!” you half-shout, glaring at Rafe. “Are you serious?”

Your father sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Either have your tantrum and lose your trust,” he mutters, “or agree. Everything’s already in place.”

“We have appearances scheduled and an engagement announcement and a wedding in the works,” Celeste pipes up. “All you have to do is show up. And behave.”

Dread sinks into you slowly, wretchedly. Everything’s already in place. And you’re just the pawn expected to go along with this.

Your heartbeat thumps in your ears, any safety you felt when you entered this room erased. Your trust fund is your ticket out of here. Now, that ticket is being torn to shreds right in front of you.

“How long would I have to go along with this?” you say, blinking.

“Until the end of the election cycle,” he says.

“About six months,” Celeste clarifies. “And we can’t risk faking it. Marriage licenses are public records. It’d take one diligent reporter to blow everything. It will be real. And quietly annulled afterwards, of course.”

Half a year of pretending you’re fond of the stranger sitting next to you, of acting like you’ve suddenly been tamed because you fell in love, with your trust fund hanging in the balance. This has to be a bad dream, a nightmare you’re having up in your bedroom.

“Why a marriage?” you breathe.

“Cameron Development is a distinguished company,” Kal says. “They’re respected by our community, and our families publicly joining will benefit their bottom line and our reputation.”

“A wedding is a great photo op,” Celeste adds. “And an opportunity to invite everyone with influence. It’ll help with polling, too.”

You stare down at your lap. This is unhinged. Your hunger for an upper hand, for some kind of rebuttal, twists in your core. You refuse to just stomach this.

You do have some power here. You know how bad it’ll make your father look if you outright defy him and leave everyone in the lurch. He cares about his reputation way too much.

This is how all your communication with your parents goes. It’s a battle. A struggle for control.

“I have terms,” you say, an imperceptible tremble in your voice.

“This isn’t a negotiation,” your father responds.

“Actually, it is,” you say, staring at him. “If you don’t level with me, I’ll leak things to the press that would never redeem this family. I’ll do so much damage that you can never fix it.”

Rafe is floored by your viciousness, by the way you have no loyalty to the people who raised you. Now he can see why your father had to go to such extreme measures.

“Your inheritance will be gone,” Kal states.

“And Mom will lose,” you threaten. “And we’ll all be left with nothing.”

Your father’s silence is enough for you to know he’s backed into a corner, waiting to hear your demands.

“I can move out immediately,” you state. “I get my credit card and my car back. And the second this is over, I get full access to my trust fund.”

You lean forward, your rage deafening. You reach for the quiet thread of strength buried deep inside you, grasping it the way you always have, even as a child.

“I’ll follow the rules,” you say. “I’ll go to every event, pretend I want to be there, and stay out of trouble. I’ll go along with this only if you agree.”

Kal sucks his teeth, frustrated, but left with no choice but to comply.

“Fine. You’ll do everything Celeste says, do you understand?”

“And you can’t tell a soul,” Celeste explains to you. “One leak could ruin everything.”

She pulls out two stapled stacks of paper, neatly placing them on the desk in front of you and Rafe. The words at the top are heavy and bolded: Confidential Marital Agreement.

Another chill floods your system. You’re being controlled in yet another way, jammed under your parents’ thumbs, all while everyone else is acting like this is completely normal.

“You need to convince everyone that this is real,” Celeste emphasizes. “The public has to believe that you’ve grown up and had a complete change of heart.”

“Yeah, I got it,” you mutter.

You look at Rafe again, this time with nothing but disgust. You regret having thought anything good about the man who’s helping your father humiliate you like this.

“But don’t expect me to be civil about it in private,” you say to Rafe, rising from your seat, swiping the contract in a tight grip. “You’re an asshole for doing this.”

You storm out, itching to punch something.

▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱

You sit in the front study of your home as the smooth, plastic clamp squeezes your forefinger. Iris notes the numbers on the small monitor.

You know the order of the tests, how each one feels, how the fifteen-minute appointment is bookended by the worst part. It’s a cycle you go through with your nurse every month.

After a string of respiratory infections as a child, you were diagnosed with a chronic lung disease. Your treatment plan calls for frequent check-ups, aggressive medication, and an inhaler on you at all times.

It’s apparently genetic, and why your lungs won’t work right while your two older brothers breathe easy in every way is a constant, twisted reminder of your place in your family.

All you know is the feeling of limitation, of being near suffocation. In every possible way.

“Time for the worst part,” Iris says. You pull up your sleeve, giving her access to the inside of your elbow.

She sanitizes your skin and you make a fist, staring out the window into your family’s enormous, manicured backyard, a sliver of the sea visible behind the trees lining the back of the estate.

The prick of the needle makes you wince, and she apologizes, and you tell her it’s not her fault, just like every other time. You usually make conversation with her, but you’ve been in a daze since the ambush in your father’s office this morning.

“How’s Milo?” you finally ask.

“Good,” she says proudly. “He made the basketball team.”

You can only imagine the excitement her fourteen-year-old must have felt.

You wish you were a better person, that you could just be happy for others, but your chest pinches in jealousy. You fear your envy will always remain a wound, a flaw in your character you can’t rid yourself of.

And you know how out of touch it is to be jealous when you were born with a silver spoon in your mouth, but there are some things money can’t buy, like a parent’s love, like the freedom to play a sport without worrying your lungs will give out, and the emptiness rooted in your soul is proof of that.

“That’s amazing,” you tell her. “Can I get him anything?”

“Absolutely not,�� she quips, gently pulling out the needle. “You’ve spoiled him enough.”

You smirk. Your track record for spoiling her son started the day she became your nurse over five years ago. There’s satisfaction in spending money this way - not for show, but for joy, for the quiet delight of a little boy and his mother who never ask for anything.

“How are you, sweetheart?” She puts a cap on the tube, putting away the blood sample and shutting her case. “You’re quiet today.”

You look away and think of Rafe’s heavy gaze, of the edges of his face, of how you didn’t even hear him speak.

It’s absurd that you’re expected to pretend he’s someone you fell into a whirlwind romance with, a man whose voice you don’t even know, a man who conspired with your father to degrade you, to rip away your free will.

You’ll have to deceive everyone, even the people you care about. And it makes you feel rotten.

“I’m fine,” you lie.

▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱

Rafe likes to think that he’s improved over the years. He’s not as helpless against his own temper, not giving into impulse every opportunity he gets, not as reckless as he was when he was younger.

He’s better. Not perfect, but better. Yet when you called him an asshole yesterday, it’s the closest he’s come to snapping in a long time.

You’re beautiful, but you’re a nightmare.

He didn’t think it would be like this. Yesterday caught him off guard. It left him speechless, and nothing leaves him speechless, but the weight of what’s at stake hit hard. One wrong move, and everything, his career, his future, could start to crack.

He didn’t know you’d be threatened into this arrangement. But putting your trust fund on the line was obviously necessary if you’re this unwilling to stay out of trouble.

He’s not looking forward to dealing with you.

You enter one of the spare offices in your home, the scowl on your face hard as you settle at the desk next to Rafe, across from Celeste.

“Hello,” Celeste says. “How are you?”

“Don’t pretend like you care,” you murmur. You’ve been dreading this meeting since you were told about it just last night. “Just get on with it.”

Celeste’s brows inch up in irritation, but her shrug tells you that you’re right. She slides two pages across the desk, housing identical color-coded calendars.

“This is how everything will play out,” she explains. “You’ll pretend to meet for the very first time at the investor gala on Thursday night, where Nora will announce that she’s running for office. You’ll be seated next to each other.”

It’s been so long since you were last seen with your family that you can’t even picture it. Back when skipping out wasn’t an option, you were dragged along to countless events, ordered to pretend like everything behind the scenes wasn’t fraying at the edges.

It makes your stomach turn, thinking of sitting with your parents and older brothers, subject to their vitriol.

“And then, you two will fall so in love,” she says, the sarcasm in her tone thick, “that you’re constantly spotted together. You’ll get engaged two months in, and have a beautiful, quaint summer wedding three months later.”

“God,” you sigh in frustration, sick just thinking about what a stupid farce this is going to be. You hate that you have no say, that you’ve always been smothered by what other people want, that you’re just a puppet on a string.

“You’ll need to look the part,” Celeste says flatly, her eyes darting between you and Rafe. “Right now, you two couldn’t look more miserable.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t appreciate being called an asshole,” Rafe mutters, his gaze catching yours.

You scoff as his deep voice reverberates through you. It’s more cutting than you anticipated: cold, precise, aimed to dominate.

“I don’t appreciate you being an asshole,” you reply, your features strained in anger.

“I thought you knew the plan,” he says. “I came here yesterday thinking you were ready to do this.”

You still for a moment, the hatred you have for him almost dulling. Almost.

“You just assumed that?” you ask, eyes narrowed.

His hesitant glare makes it clear that he did.

“If you knew my dad, you’d know he’d never give a shit about who’s ready when he wants something done,” you scoff. “You should take the time to see who you’re working with instead of blindly kissing ass.”

The stab at his ambition, his pride, makes his blood boil.

“You don’t know shit about–”

“Please,” Celeste interjects, her palms up. “Can’t you be adults about this?”

“Can’t you admit that this is idiotic?” you say to her. “All for what? Good press?”

“You’ve made it clear that you don’t care about how you represent your family,” she says evenly. “But your actions affect them. And they affect the business that gives you the amazing life you live.”

“Amazing,” you echo with a snarl. “Give me a fucking break.”

Rafe grits his teeth. The tabloids are right. You’re nothing but an ungrateful princess, and you’re damn near unbearable to be around.

“Classy,” Celeste mumbles under her breath, handing you a small manilla envelope. “Let’s just get through this. Your credit card. You’ll notice the limit’s much lower than before.”

You sigh, taking it from her. She pulls out two envelopes next.

“And here are the keys to your condo,” she explains. “It’s confidential that you’re living together. Keep it that way. We’ll make it look like you moved in after the engagement.”

“What?” you snap. “What’s the point of us living together right away, then? When I said I wanted to move out, I didn’t mean with him.”

Celeste’s eyes flash to Rafe, the promise he made to Kal an unspoken secret between them. You can’t know Rafe has been tasked with keeping an eye on you.

“I just relay your father’s decisions,” she says. “You know that.”

You sneer. Of course he finds a way to only partially meet your demands, while ensuring your misery. You can’t believe you considered doing this. Nothing will be on your terms, not entirely. It’s how it’s always been.

“It’s a sizable penthouse,” she says. “You practically have your own wings. All you share is a kitchen.”

“And it’s not like I’ll be there much,” Rafe mutters. “Some of us work.”

This earns a snort from Celeste and a murderous look from you. He can usually keep this type of disdain in, especially in what’s technically a business meeting, but it’s like you undo all the work he did on himself.

Your phone buzzes in your pocket before you can ream him out. You check who’s calling, tilting the screen towards you, but Rafe sneaks a look at the contact name to see Family Law at the tailend.

“I have to take this,” you say, rushing out of the room.

▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱

When you come back into the office, you’re even angrier than you were when you left.

Your lawyer just confirmed over the phone that your father’s amendments were entirely fair, that he had failsafes set up in case he needed to make changes to the conditions of your inheritance.

You settle next to Rafe, listening to Celeste continue to drone on about how you’re expected to present yourselves as a couple in the public eye.

Every bit of you aches. You hate that you’ll have to pretend you’re fine being around your family, when all they do is hurt you.

You hate that you’ll have to fake happiness at Rafe’s side, a man who’s a prime example of the type of smug, heartless opportunist that you’ve been avoiding all your life.

You hate that yet again, you’re powerless.

There’s no getting out of this. Not unless you get Rafe to back out. It’s worth a try.

▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱

“That should cover everything,” Celeste says, concluding the meeting. “Contact me if you have questions, but if you follow the schedule, you’ll be fine. I’ll be in touch.”

She smooths down her skirt and collects her things.

“And I still need both of your signed contracts,” she says, but her eyes are fixed on you, the only person in this equation making things difficult.

Her heels click as she strides out of the office. You’re still in your seat, the lump in your chest refusing to dissipate.

You can’t allow your parents to weaponize your trust fund just to satisfy their own ruthless agendas, just to appease their malicious need for control.

And living with Rafe isn’t an option. If he witnessed your steady rotation of medical visits, it’d shatter your carefully maintained illusion. You’ve hidden your illness from everyone outside your family, even close friends and past boyfriends. Not out of shame, but survival.

The press would twist it into something ugly, weak, marketable. It’s the one thing you’ve managed to keep private, and you’re not about to hand Rafe and the press another piece of you to tear apart.

You can’t go through with this. You’re too consumed by the price you’d have to pay.

There’s always been a voice whispering to keep going, that the finish line is close. But another angrier one is so much louder, demanding to know what the point is if you leave your self-respect behind. Screaming at you that without dignity, you’ve already lost.

Rafe stands, adjusting the lapels of his jacket, rounding his seat to leave.

“Wait,” you say, your voice thin.

He stops, his hand on the back of his chair.

“What?” he says sharply.

You don’t make eye contact. You continue to stare ahead, settling into the realization that this is the first private moment you’re having with the man you’re expected to marry.

But he hasn’t signed his contract. There’s still time.

Rafe lingers. The fierce anger he’s seen in you has shuffled away, replaced by quiet tension.

“Do you really have to do this?” you say.

He gets the sense that you rebel against everything you’re told to do just for the sake of it. And he’s not a fool who’ll give in to you after all you’ve done is insult him. He can’t believe he thought he would like you.

“It’s just showing up to a few things,” he mutters, his grip tightening on the chair.

You stiffen, frustration etched into your face as you turn to look up at him.

“How do you not see how ridiculous this is?” you ask, your anger back in full force.

“I do,” he scoffs, “but it’s a smart move. It benefits everyone.”

You stand up to face him, crossing your arms. Anyone who calls something your father thought up as smart is an idiot in your book.

“Back out,” you say evenly.

He smirks. It’s satisfying, getting revenge on someone who’s done nothing but make digs at him, telling her no when she’s so used to getting her way.

“So, you don’t want that money?” he says, his tone teetering on mockery.

You groan, infuriated.

“What are you really gaining here?” you snap, your chin pointed up at him. “Is he paying you? Does he have something on you?”

If Rafe ever were to admit to someone just how badly he wants to impress his father, to prove his allegiance to him and the company, it wouldn’t be to you. Someone who would never get it, who has no sense of loyalty, who is so childishly spiteful.

“It’s just six months,” he replies curtly.

You’re desperate, willing to say anything to get him to refuse. Willing to beg as much as your pride will allow you to.

“Please,” you say. “If you refuse, they’ll respect it. They won’t respect me.”

He glares down at you. Of course they won’t respect you. You’re intolerable. You’re trying to sweeten him up, make him pity you, and it’s not working.

You stiffen under his stare, uncomfortable that you have to plead. He’s not giving in. You can tell by the coldness in his eyes.

“I’ll make your life hell if you do this,” you threaten. “Just six months will feel like an eternity.”

He dismisses you, stepping away with a condescending chuckle. But he wholeheartedly believes you.

(to be continued)

new parts of this series drop at 9 pm eastern on thursdays. my update account is @xorafe-library if you want post notifications.

#rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron and you #rafe cameron and reader #rafe cameron and y/n

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danieyells · 2 days ago

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UPCOMING CARDS!!!!

The PC may have like a month and a half to live but time does not stop for her--Tanbata is here(in-game. tanbata isn't for another few weeks irl) and so are the story cards for this episode!!! And the Tanbata outfits are so pretty!!!

And of course the episode itself comes out in about 20 hours! They still no longer show the next episode's sprite information in the files so unfortunately I won't know what or who's in the following episode. But I'm sure you've come to expect that by now. But we do know the title at least! Anyway--cards!

Character Card: Firelit Wayfarer(「あたたかな灯の指す方へ」 "Pointing Towards The Warm Light") Skill: First Festival(「初めてのお祭り」 "First Festival") Fully Awakened Skill: Up-And-Coming Cowherd(「新進気鋭の牽牛」 "Up-And-Coming Altair" or "Young, Energetic Altair". "Altair"--or 'Hikoboshi'--is the name of one of the two pivotal stars in Tanbata.) Warding Card: Festival Night(「"お祭りの夜に」 "The Night Of The Festival")

Character Card: Yearning Altair(「誰が為の彦星」 "Altair For Whom?") Skill: Milky Way Admiration(「天の川への憧れ」 "Yearning For The Milky Way") Fully Awakened Skill: Footloose Cowherd(「マイペースな牽牛」 "Altair Who Does Things His Way") Warding Card: Fire Flowers(「灯の花が咲く丘」 "The Hill Where Light Flowers Bloom")

Character Card: Swirling Stars(「星と想いは波の随に」 "Stars And Thoughts At The Mercy Of The Waves") Skill: Shrine Ferryman(「本殿への舟守」 "Captain Of The Ship To The Main Shrine") Fully Awakened Skill: Serene Cowherd(「静謐なる牽牛」 "Peaceful Altair") Warding Card: Sweet Burst(「甘くはじける味」 "Sweetly Bursting Flavor")

Character Card: Unmade Wish(「心に秘めた願い」 "A Wish Kept Secret") Skill: Wish Trivia(「短冊のトリビア」 "Tanzaku Trivia" 'tanzaku' are long, narrow strips of paper on which Japanese poems are written vertically. On Tanbata it's customary to write a wish on tanzaku and hang it on bamboo.) Fully Awakened Skill: Swallowed Words(「飲み込んだ言葉」 "Swallowed Words") Warding Card: Support From The Sideline(「射的応援中」 "Shooting Gallery Support")

There's one more warding card Grand Entrance (「満を持しての登場」 "Long-Awaited Entrance") but the image of the card itself isn't in the files yet. Based on it being an SR and its position however it's most likely the story SR from last episode.

There's also a new cosmic bond! It's most likely just these cards, given it's clearly the cosmic bond for this episode.

Darkwick Cowherds (「ダークウィック七夕伝説」 "Darkwick Tanbata Tradition")

The next episode title is The Vanishing Homeroom (「神隠しホームルーム」 "The Mysteriously Disappearing Homeroom")! I guess this will be an on campus sort of mission, although it could easily be at a civilian school in Tokyo. . .and if it's anything like this one and the previous one maybe it'll be another inter-house squad.

Uuuh is that everything? Beside the stats I mean? I think that's everything! Feels like it's been ages since I did this many cards in one go @,@ Okay quickly wrapping up!!

Gacha is gambling! Banners rerun! I know how rough FOMO can be but it's okay if you don't get the units you want this first time around--they will always come back! If you're going to spend on the game please be sure to set limits for yourself and stick to them! Gambling addiction is real, so please seek help if you find yourself struggling!

My Japanese isn't very good! So please take my translations with a grain of salt.

Why don't you make a wish? You can learn how to make a tanzaku here. I've read that in Japan they're often set afloat on a river or burned at midnight/the next day, so once you've made it and let it exist in the world for a while, dispose of it how you see fit perhaps. It may just be a silly little activity but writing things out, putting them in the world, can be cathartic even if it does nothing else. It's important to do meaningless things and things for yourself sometimes.

Here are the stats! Good night, good luck with any pulls you make, and I hope this is a good episode!! 🎋🌌

#tokyo debunker #tokyo debunker spoilers #towa otonashi #subaru kagami #zenji kotodama #lyca colt #datamining cw #danie yells at tokyo debunker #yuri isami #jiro kirisaki #FORGOT TO TAG THEM THEY HAVE A CAMEO

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dollsahoy · 2 days ago

Photo

Lot of people pointing out that the image on the right is artwork, but not crediting the artist

body > iframe { min-width: auto !important }

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Vasjen Katro (@vasjenkatro)

There are also people doubting that there ever was an effort to make reindeer reflective, so here's an article about the results of painting the reindeer antlers with reflective paint, or otherwise putting reflective markers on them (tl; dr: it didn't work, as much because the deer would scrape everything off as also the drivers who saw the reflectors thought they were seeing people wearing reflective stuff, so severely misjudged how cognizant the reflector-bearers were of the danger of an oncoming car)

(the labor strike joke is funny though)

To avoid deer strikes, Finland is painting deer antlers with reflective paint.

#Instagram

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elephantaday · 2 days ago

Text

Day 1213 of posting pictures of elephants.

Source: Mongabay

#no photgrapher listed #elephant #image of the day #cuteness overload #cute animals #elephants #not my image #wildlife #nature #adorable #cuteness #important #cute #aww #photography #earth

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thesimstree · 1 day ago

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Clear Sims 4 Cache: Fix Lags, Errors & Slow Loading (Windows & macOS)

Sometimes The Sims 4 starts acting weird: little bugs pop up, thumbnails don't display right, and loading times get a bit longer than usual. These are all pretty normal signs that it's time to clear your game cache. Deleting temporary files is a good habit for any player – it helps keep things tidy and makes everything run a little smoother. Let's figure out together what cache is, why you need to clear it, and how to do it properly and safely.

What is cache and where does it come from?

In The Sims 4, cache means temporary files and folders that the game creates to speed up loading, store thumbnails, save mod info, log errors, and handle various in-game processes.

Every time you start or play the game, it generates or updates some of these files. Cache is there so the game “remembers” which thumbnails and objects you’ve used lately, finds things quickly, and saves certain settings and operational data.

The cache includes:

— Images (thumbnails) of Sims, lots, and objects;

— Temporary settings and launch data;

— Working data from mods and scripts;

— Logs about errors, crashes, memory limit overflows, etc.

Why do you need to clear the cache?

If you don’t clear the cache regularly, it builds up old or corrupted data – which can lead to all sorts of problems:

Lags and long loading times because of excess or broken files;

Errors and crashes, especially after removing or updating mods or the game itself;

Wrong thumbnails showing: for example, an item is deleted but its thumbnail is still there;

Mod and script bugs due to leftover data;

Endless loading screens, crashes, or even corrupted saves;

Overall drop in performance.

This happens especially often if you use a lot of custom content or actively add/remove mods.

How often should you clear your cache?

1. After every game update.

2. Whenever you make changes to the Mods folder (adding, deleting, or updating mods).

3. If you notice weird bugs, really long loads, crashes, or errors.

How to clear Sims 4 cache (Windows and macOS)

Step 1

Exit the game. Never clear cache while the application is running.

Step 2

Open The Sims 4 folder:

Documents — Electronic Arts — The Sims 4

Step 3

Delete the following files and folders (important – not all of the folders or files listed below will always be in your The Sims 4 folder, and that's totally normal):

General cache

— cache (folder): holds temporary data (mostly image previews from the Gallery); this folder gets filled only while the game is running, so you can safely clear it between sessions

— cachestr (folder): cache for script mods

— onlinethumbnailcache (folder): thumbnails of Gallery items

— avatarcache.package: used mainly to fix Gallery errors on Mac, but can grow quite large

— localsimtexturecache.package: cache of composite sim textures (max size – 100 MB); deleting helps solve character display issues

— localthumbcache.package: thumbnail file; it’s useful to delete this from time to time, and absolutely after adding, deleting or updating mods

— UserData.lock: auxiliary or temporary service files, may pile up

— ReticulatedSplinesView: auxiliary or temporary service files, may pile up

— notify.glob: auxiliary or temporary service files, may pile up

— ConnectionStatus.txt: auxiliary or temporary service files, may pile up

Error logs

— lastCrash.txt (all files)

— lastException.txt (all files)

— lastUIException.txt (all files)

These log crashes and game errors. Most players don’t need these, but if you’re having constant errors you can show them on forums for troubleshooting. Old ones (with numbers) can always be deleted.

Auxiliary folders (delete only if empty)

— ConfigOverride

— Recorded Videos

— Screenshots

Step 4 (optional)

You can take it a step further and clear cache files built up by certain mods:

— BE-ExceptionReport.html (all files)

— BE-UIExceptionReport.html (all files)

— WickedWhimsInfoLog.log / WonderfulWhimsInfoLog.log

Important: Don’t delete the Saves, Tray, or Mods folders – these are your games and custom content.

Step 5

Restart the game. Sims 4 will automatically recreate all the necessary files from scratch. You may need to re-enable mods and CC in the game settings after clearing the cache.

You can make it easier

For players who want to cut down on the routine, there’s an automated solution – a Cleanup Script for Windows by @andirz-mods. This is a special one-click utility that automatically deletes all recommended temporary files and error logs, without touching your mods or save files.

It automates the cleanup, but you’ll need a Patreon subscription to the author for access.

So, to make sure you can always tidy things up quickly on your own (without scripts or third-party programs), keep this guide handy:

🌱 Create your family tree with TheSimsTree

❓ Support 🌸 Our Blog

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markrosewater · 2 days ago

Note

Don’t you think you’ve ruined the whole game with Universes Beyond? There are a lot of people who want to play UB, and also many who don’t. Have you thought about how to separate them?

Magic has always been a game where we make a huge swath of cards and the players get to choose which ones they get to play with. Not everyone is going to like every card. That was true long before Universes Beyond.

For example, there are players that really dislike horror and are uncomfortable with some of the images on cards. Others don’t like cards they see as too light in tone. Others, just aren’t fond of particular settings/sets.

Having tens of thousands of game pieces to choose from is a huge advantage of Magic, but that means there will be things any one player won’t like. They can choose not to play with them. And if it really bothers them, they can choose not to play with others who play with them, but that’s something handled at the local level, not the game design level.

I get that the issue that matters to you seems the most important, but everyone feels that way, and I know there are things others would remove from the game that you love.

So no, I don’t believe Universes Beyond ruins the game. We have gone through the exercise of how we could separate them, but after looking through all the data, it’s not something the majority of players want.

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melbagirl · 2 days ago

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Image Description: A black and white photo of a pencil with a pointing finger emoji and accompanying text which reads “this machine kills AI”.

Below is a screenshot of a post on the Facebook group Artists Against Generative AI by user Danielle Sanfilippo. The post reads as follows:

Posting this on behalf of a member who would like to remain anonymous:

I'm an art director and supervisor for a large studio. The studio heads had the bright idea before I started to hire prompters. Several bros were brought onto the film project. I absolutely hated myself for not quitting on the spot but stuck with it because it's mercenary out there. Have a family to feed etc. I decided to use this time wisely. Treat them as I would any artist I had hired. First round of pictures of a sweeping Ariel forest landscape comes through and it's not bad. They submit a ton of work and one or two of the 40 are ok. Nearly on brief. So first round feedback goes through and I tell them about the perspective mistakes, colour changes I want, layers that any matte painting would be split into. Within a day I get 5 variants. Not changes to the ones I wanted but variations.

Again. Benefit of the doubt I give them another round of feedback making it clear. Next day it's worse. I sit there and patiently paint over, even explaining the steps I would take as a painter. They don't do it, anomalies start appearing when I say I want to keep the exact image but with changes. They can't. They simply don't have the eye to see the basic mistakes so the Ai starts to over compensate. We get people starting to appear in the images. These are obviously holiday snaps.

"Remove the people"

"What would you like them changed to?"

"... grass. I just don't want them there"

They can't do it. The one that can actually use photoshop hasn't developed the eye to see his mistakes, ends up getting angry at me for not understanding he can't make specific changes. The girl whose background was a little photography has given me 40 progressively worse images with wilder mistakes every time. This is 4 days into the project.

I'm both pissed about the waste, but elated seeing ai fall at the first hurdle. It's not even that the images are unusable, the people making them have no eye for what's wrong, no thicker skin for constructive criticism and feedback, no basic artistic training in perspective and functionality in what they're making.

Yes the hype is going to pump more money into this. They won't go anywhere for a while But this has been such a glowing perfect moment of watching the fundamental part fail in the face of the most simple tasks. All were fired and the company no longer accepts Ai prompters as applicants. Your training as an artist will always be the most important part of this process and it is invaluable. I hope this post gives you a boost in a dark time.

/End Image Description

This machine kills AI

#screenshots #anti ai #anti generative ai #anti genai #fuck ai art #ai isn't art #image described #image description added

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mostlysignssomeportents · 19 hours ago

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Bill Griffith's 'Three Rocks'

I'm in the home stretch of my 24-city book tour for my new novel PICKS AND SHOVELS. Catch me in LONDON NEXT TUESDAY (July 1) with TRASHFUTURE'S RILEY QUINN and then a big finish in MANCHESTER on July 2.

What better format for a biography of Ernie Bushmiller, creator of the daily Nancy strip, than a graphic novel? And who better to write and draw it than Bill Griffith, creator of Zippy the Pinhead, a long-running and famously surreal daily strip?

https://store.abramsbooks.com/products/three-rocks

Three Rocks: The Story of Ernie Bushmiller, the Man Who Created Nancy is more than a biography, though. Griffith is carrying on the work of Scott McCloud, whose definitive Understanding Comics used the graphic novel form to explain the significance and method of sequential art, singling out Nancy for special praise:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Understanding_Comics

For Griffith – and a legion of comics legends who worship Bushmiller – the story of Bushmiller's life and the story of Nancy and its groundbreaking methodology are inseparable. We watch as Bushmiller starts out as a teenaged dropout copy-boy in the bullpen at a giant news syndicate, running errands for the paper's publisher and, eventually, its cartoonists. Bushmiller burns to get into the funnies, and he's got a good head for gags, but his draftsmanship needs work. He secretly enrolls in a life-drawing class, which does him little good, but he applies himself and applies himself, and eventually is given his big break: taking over Fritzi Ritz, a daily cartoon serial about a sexy flapper.

Bushmiller's run on Fritzi Ritz outlasts flappers, and, as he struggles to keep the character relevant amidst changing times, he eventually hits on a "Cousin Oliver" gambit: adding in a sassy niece named Nancy:

https://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/CousinOliver

Cousin Oliverae are rarely successful, but Nancy turned out to be the exception that proved the rule. Nancy took over the strip, and "Aunt Fritzi" receded in importance, taking a backstage to Nancy and her pal Sluggo.

As Nancy came into her own, so did Bushmiller. Bushmiller combined an impeccable sense of the gag (he started with his punchline panel – "the snapper" – and worked backwards) with a visual style that he refined to something so pure and refined that it inspired generations of comics creators.

Bushmiller was the master of simplifying, and then simplifying more, and then simplifying even more. Visually, his characters and his furniture (especially the iconic "three rocks" of the title) are refined to something so iconic they're practically ideograms. While some accused Bushmiller of re-using a small set of drawings, Griffith makes the convincing case that Bushmiller perfected a small number of icons, and repeated them as motifs. Indeed, these characters are so perfect and finely tuned that when Griffith inserts Nancy, Sluggo and other characters from Bushmillerville into his graphic novel, he doesn't re-draw them – rather, Griffith carefully crops these characters out and collages them into his own panels. Every image of Nancy in this book was drawn by Ernie Bushmiller.

This pared-down, severely restricted graphic style provides the perfect toolkit for the Bushmiller gag, which, at its best, is profoundly surrealistic, often playing on the form of the comic itself (for example, when Nancy asks Sluggo to give her a push on a bicycle, Sluggo obliges by stepping out of the comic and tipping the final panel at 45 degrees, sending Nancy rolling "downhill"). These meta-humorous gags give rise to Griffith's key insight: that Nancy isn't a comic about what it's like to be a kid – it's a comic about what it's like to be a cartoon character.

This is such a good organizing principle for understanding Nancy's staying power and influence. Other cartoons like Peanuts are nominally about being a kid, but are actually about being a small adult. Nancy, meanwhile, shares a lineage with, say, Animaniacs and Bugs Bunny and Groucho Marx (who, we learn, wore out his welcome with Bushmiller and his wife by relentlessly hitting on the latter at celebrity dinners at the Brown Derby). It's no wonder that Scott McCloud, the prophet-explainer of sequential art, loves Nancy: she practically invented stepping outside the frame and making us think about how these pictures and words worked, and why, and she made us laugh the whole time.

Bushmiller had a unique mind. He was a workaholic, turning out a 7-day/week strip for decades, even as he shouldered a variety of side-projects and other strips. Once he started making money, he moved to the Connecticut suburbs where he could have a work-room big enough to accommodate four drafting boards, so he could work on four strips at once. He would sometimes get a year ahead of schedule with his publishers. It was only very late in his life that Bushmiller took on any kind of assistants, and even then, he obsessively supervised them, counting the spikes in every depiction of Nancy's hair to ensure that they fell within the regulation 69-107 spikes.

Despite his massive following among artists, hipsters and intellectuals, Bushmiller insisted that the secret to his success was in his devotion to simplicity and the universality it brought. Bushmiller's editorial process seems to have consisted almost entirely of his removing words, images and lines from his panels, paring them down further and further until they became, essentially, narrated pictograms – almost funny Ikea assembly instructions.

Griffith – a daily cartoonist workaholic who has been turning out Zippy strips since 1971 – bursts with admiration for Bushmiller, and this biography saves a lot of space for Bushmiller himself, with long sections given over to reproductions of some of Nancy's best outings. Griffith has had more than half a century to think about what makes surreal comic-strips tick, and, like McCloud, he pours these out on the page, but largely confines himself to illustrating his insights with Bushmiller strips and panels. The result is a heady volume: a great biography and a great book of literary criticism and comic arts theory.

Nancy is still around, written and drawn by the amazing Olivia Jaimes, whose first collection of new Nancy comics I called "incredibly, fantastically, impossibly great":

https://memex.craphound.com/2019/10/17/the-first-book-collecting-the-new-nancy-comic-is-incredibly-fantastically-impossibly-great/

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2025/06/27/the-snapper#69-to-107-spikes

#pluralistic #comics #nancy #nancy and sluggo #ernie bushmiller #bushmiller #bill griffith #newspapers #the funnies #the snapper #books #reviews #gift guide #graphic novels #surrealism

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bestanimal · 3 days ago

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Round 3 - Actinopterygii - Characiformes

(Sources - 1, 2, 3, 4)

Order: Characiformes

Common Name: “characins”

Families: 28 - Citharinidae (“lutefishes”), Distichodontidae, Crenuchidae, Alestidae (“African tetras”), Lepidarchidae (“Niger Tetra” and “Adonis Tetra”), Hepsetidae (“African pikes”), Tarumaniidae (“Muckfish”), Erythrinidae (“trahiras”), Parodontidae (“darter tetras”), Cynodontidae (“dogtooth characins”), Serrasalmidae (“pacu”, “piranha”, “silver dollar”, and kin), Hemiodontidae, Anostomidae (“toothed headstanders”), Chilodidae (“headstanders”), Curimatidae (“toothless characins”), Prochilodontidae (“flannel-mouthed characins”), Lebiasinidae, Ctenoluciidae (“pike-characins”), Chalceidae (“tucanfishes”), Triportheidae (“hatchet characins”), Gasteropelecidae (“freshwater hatchetfish”), Bryconidae, Iguanodectidae, Acestrorhynchidae (“freshwater barracudas” and “biting tetras”), Spintherobolidae (“piquiras”), Stevardiidae, Characidae, and Acestrorhamphidae (“American tetras”)

Anatomy: resemble Cypriniformes, but have a small, fleshy adipose fin between the dorsal fin and tail; most species have teeth; well-defined scales; have a Weberian apparatus, a series of bony parts connecting the swim bladder and inner ear

Diet: wide variety: many are carnivorous, eating prey ranging from fish to insects; some eat plants, nuts, and/or algae

Habitat/Range: Africa and Americas, are most diverse in the Neotropics; found in lakes and rivers

Evolved in: Late Cretaceous

Propaganda under the cut:

The largest characin is the Goliath Tigerfish (Hydrocynus goliath) (image 3), which has an average adult length of 1.5 m (4.9 ft) and a weight of 50 kg (110 lb), and a maximum recorded length of about 2 m (6.6 ft) and weight of 70 kg (154 lb). The Goliath Tigerfish is known for its large, interlocking, dagger-like teeth, used for biting into prey fish. On average each of its teeth can grow up to 2.5 cm (1 in) long, comparable to the tooth size of a Great White Shark!

The Bolivian Pygmy Blue Characin (Xenurobrycon polyancistrus) is the smallest characin, with adults growing up to 1.4 cm (0.55 in) long.

Many of the most popular freshwater aquarium fish belong to this order, namely the small, colorful, peaceful “tetras”, which are often kept in tropical community tanks.

Relative to body mass, the Black Piranha (Serrasalmus rhombeus) produces one of the most forceful bites measured in vertebrates. It is also the largest species of piranha, with a maximum length of 41.5–61 centimetres (1.4-2 feet). These fish are opportunistic and omnivorous feeders which will eat plants, fallen fruits, and animals smaller than themselves such as insects and small fishes. They are also scavengers, and will feed on carcasses within the river.

The Red-bellied Piranha (Pygocentrus nattereri) (image 1) makes sounds to communicate with other members of its school, usually when exhibiting aggressive behavior such as biting, chasing, confrontation, and fighting. When handled by humans, they emit a drumming-like sound, consisting of a low-frequency harmonic sound. The sounds created by piranhas are generated through rapid contractions of the sonic muscles and is associated with the swimbladder. The swimbladder may play an important role in sound production as a resonator.

Piranhas (subfamily Serrasalminae) are some of the most misunderstood fish. While the schooling omnivores do sometimes bite bathers and swimmers, and will feed on drowned corpses, serious attacks are rare, and the fish generally avoid humans. Only two fatal attacks are known. They are eaten by humans far more often than the other way around! Their reputation as voracious predators is due to a “prank” once played on former US president Theodore Roosevelt, when he visited Brazil in 1913. Local fishermen had blocked off part of the river for days, starving the piranha in anticipation of Roosevelt’s visit. While the president watched, the fishermen pushed a cow into the water, which was quickly torn apart by the starving fish. Roosevelt went on to describe piranhas as vicious creatures which could skeletonize a cow in seconds in his 1914 book Through the Brazilian Wilderness.

Pacu, herbivorous members of the Serrasalmidae family, have large, molar-like teeth, used for crushing nuts that fall from trees. Their reputation for “biting testicles” comes from a joke that got out of hand! In 2013, a pacu was caught in the Øresund, a strait between Sweden and Denmark. A professor stated in a news release that the fish use their teeth to crunch on nuts, so “anyone choosing to bathe in the Oresund these days had best keep their swimsuits well tied!” The statement got a bit too much publicity, leading to a rumor that pacu will actually bite people’s balls off. Goes to show that media literacy has been dying for quite a while now, and not just on Tumblr.

#animal polls #Characiformes #Actinopterygii #Round 3

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idonttakethislightly · 2 days ago

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One cool thing about Caspar Wijngaard's attention to visual detail in The Power Fantasy is that, rather than having a specific trademark hairstyle or a single Important Haircut moment (TV Tropes link), everyone is characterized by their overall relationship to their hair. All six Superpowers change up their hairstyle, whether that's day-to-day or year-to-year- but they each have unique approaches to how they look, that offer clues to who they are as people.

As far as we can tell, Valentina's had the exact same haircut her entire adult life, but she styles it differently on different days, and in different contexts. I think she's known for a long time who she is and who she wants to be- specifically, she knows she's a Superpower, a hero or a danger or both, but she wants to be human, someone who can be kind and friendly and have loved ones. For her, that's manifesting as conventional femininity, which shows up in her overall sense of style as well as her hair.

That said- her hair was shorter as a kid, probably just for practical reasons. And when she goes full angel-self, it changes both color and texture- pure white, and a more stylized texture than the detailed strands of her usual hair.

In contrast, Eliza's changed her hair a whole bunch of times, and I feel like she doesn't have any consistent throughline to what she's going for. It's been all different lengths, usually worn loose but one time in a ponytail, usually kept straight but one time permed. Eliza switching haircuts so many times feels to me like she's never satisfied with who she is- she's hungry to be something else, something more. It's the opposite of Valentina having a very clear idea what her hair is expressing. Eliza's searching for something with her hair that a haircut alone is never going to give her.

However, she's repeated haircuts a couple times. Her long hair the day she said no penitent sinner would burn is similar to the long hair she received right after selling her soul to hell. And also, her chin-length bob the day Magus passed her over for promotion is similar to her 1999 hair, when she's so far been pretty antagonistic towards Magus. (Although the haircuts aren't identical. Like Valentina, Eliza's hair changes color and texture from her fully-human form to her descended extradimensional form.) Is the visual echo significant? It'll probably never be confirmed one way or the other that it is, but it's an interesting way to look at things. (Credit to someone on the Discord for sharing the insight that Eliza's 1999 haircut matches her 1986 one!)

Heavy is kind of the midpoint between consistent look and continual change- he's always had long hair, but the context keeps shifting. He's switched subcultures a couple different times, always conveniently to a look where it's fashionable for a man to have long hair- which means the exact style of his long hair varies.

Instead of chronological order, I laid this image out to show that Heavy also puts a lot of effort into styling his hair day-to-day- which is really a showcase of Caspar's attention to texture. The top row of images are ones where I'd say he hasn't done anything to his hair except maybe wash it- and so it's just slightly wavy, drawn with a crinkly kind of texture.

The second row is him the first scene he appears in, where his hair is incredibly silky-smooth at first, and then a little wilder after getting shot and flying around. I can't actually prove that he had someone blow-dry it for him that morning, but I choose to believe that he did. (My full headcanon on that is that having his hair done is a comfort thing. Like, he'd never admit out loud how stressed he was that day, but he'd have someone take care of him without having to directly ask for it... that's all just speculation and personal gratification, though.)

And the third row of images is all the other stuff he does with his hair. In order: he's gelled it back for Masumi's exhibition, then he sleeps on it with the gel in and it turns into a mess. Then you've got his tightly-curled perm from 1981 and a looser perm from probably the seventies. More than anyone else, Heavy's the one who's willing to put day-to-day time into his hair looking good. (For a certain definition of period-piece "good", with that perm.)

Etienne gradually moves from very short hair to locs, but I think the interesting part is how he grows out his beard. These are in chronological order, and you can see him go from a patchier beard when younger to a full, bushy beard by 1999. My read on this is that he's trying to look sophisticated- which means mature, a grown-ass man- and he's trying to compensate for the receding jawline that's more visible when he's a clean-shaven teenager. (Again, full headcanon mode is that he feels compelled to compete with Heavy's ridiculous lantern jaw. But again, that might just be me.)

Masumi, the character most openly inspired by anime and manga, comes very close to having anime/manga-style Expressive Hair (TV Tropes link again), meaning that it almost seems to move based on how she feels. The first row is three panels in order from the same scene- messy hair while she's grumpy, transitioning to smoother hair as she starts to relax. The second row is three panels from a different scene- hair that's been straightened at a time when she's trying to hold herself together, getting messier as she loses composure. Neither of those hair changes is completely impossible under the circumstances- maybe her bedhead is resolving itself, and maybe her styled hair is coming loose from sweating and moving around. But those changes just conveniently parallel her emotional arc.

And at other times, she puts her hair up in mini-ponytails that make her look young and cute. When she actually was younger, her hair was longer and naturally black. Ironically, I think that actually looks more mature... maybe she's made a move towards looking cute and nonthreatening over time?

Magus* has also always had long hair, but it was a bit shorter in 1978 than it has been since. I think it's interesting that he bothered to keep that neatly trimmed beard even though most of the world didn't see it- it was for the sake of himself and his inner circle. I think it symbolizes him being a little scruffy, a little countercultural- but not a total mess, as he clearly takes care of it.

By 1999, his* hair texture has changed a bit, messier and lanker... my original theory was that he stopped washing it, in line with how he's gotten too thin and he's not buying new clothes. In retrospect though... yeah I'm not taking any bets until next issue.

* it's complicated

And then there's Tonya, Isabella, Kid Ignition- I could say stuff about their hair too but I think I've gone on long enough. Even walk-on extras have visual characterization that extends to every part of their design, head to toe. It's kind of mind-blowing the amount of thought that's gone into just that one aspect of character design in TPF, and the amount of drawing skill it takes to carry the ideas through.

#the power fantasy #visual thoughts

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fatehbaz · 2 days ago

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pondering some stuff on refrigeration. (just woke up and have to go straight to work [on what was supposed to be my one day off], so couldn't round-up all the other good stuff on refrigerated ocean liners and bananas/fruit, maritime shipping, canal in Panama, and other turn-of-the-century US plantation interests in Latin America. sorry. go check out some images of United Fruit Company print advertisements for luxury leisure cruise tours in the Caribbean aboard their Great White Fleet circa 1915 to 1930.)

It took a lot of effort to get ice around the globe. […] This guy Frederic Tudor, he basically dominates the American ice trade across the nineteenth century. He develops technologies for insulating ice in the hulls of ships […]. So he’s harvesting pond water from the American northeast in Massachusetts and Maine. Typically, he’s using sawdust as just a byproduct of the Maine lumber industry […].

The majority of the ice trade goes to cool down sweltering British colonialists who are in Bombay and Calcutta and really desiring a nice cold drink. Speculative shipments go off to South America, to the Caribbean, to the American South. [...] But what really blows my mind about these particular shipments and these journeys is that you kind of think that they would be going through all of this effort to preserve something, right? To keep maybe a particular product cold and fresh on the way across. No. They were going there to make cocktails. […] So basically, it’s arriving speculatively. […] Tudor, when he first came up with this business idea, he was trying to send it down to places in the Caribbean, particularly Cuba. And sending it to, like, bars and saloons to be served. [...] So he had to bribe bartenders to automatically start putting it in peoples’ drinks [...]. So we have these ideas that, like, it’s inherently refreshing to have these things, but it was actually a learned social practice [...]. [T]he consumption of cold, alcoholic drinks really got attached to ideas of leisure and implicity, and adversely, race and labor. [...]

So ice kind of shows up to this particular social landscape of elite businessmen […]. So ice becomes shipped to Hawai’i in the 1850s and 1860s. […] And not very much time later, freezing and refrigeration technology starts to emerge. […] And then we’ve got these Western ideas of coldness and purity and refreshment. And so we have Native Hawaiian foods that are sour and salty. Room temperature kinds of things. And then we’ve got these Western prized tastes that are sweet and cold […]. We have annexation in 1898. A bunch of American military backed businessmen depose the queen in 1893 […]. And with annexation came the importation of a lot of American legal frameworks […]. So in 1906, we have the Wylie Act, which is the Pure Food and Drug Act, which essentially aimed at regulating product labeling […] in terms of ideas of purity, quality. Right? [...] [T]he US kind of had a little checklist of, “Is it ice cream? Is it not ice cream?” [...] [or] clos[ing] down all of the poi vendors in Honolulu [...]. One place that you can really track changing tastes is through institutions, right? Hospitals, schools, training centers, whatever it is that has a kind of food program, you can look at what's on the menu [...].

Words above from Hi’ilei Julia Kawehipuaakahaopulani Hobart. As interviewed by Jonathan Van Ness. “What’s The Cold, Hard Truth About Ice in Hawai’i? with Hi’ilei Julia Kawehipuaakahaopulani Hobart.” An episode of Getting Curious with Jonathan Van Ness. 7 December 2022.

Fencing became a primary mode of seizure of […] land and resources for the benefit of individual ranching enterprises in the West. […] Estimates are that 100,000 bovine animals roamed Texas by 1830. Three decades later, on the eve of the Civil War, that number had increased to an estimated 3.5-5 million. […] In the boom years of the 1870s and 1880s, the cattle barons enjoyed “near hegemony” […]. Thus, part and parcel of the American colonial project was this type of land acquisition […]. As the railroads began to extend and connect to rural outposts in the Plains states, entrepreneurs in the new cow towns such as Abilene, Kansas, sought out Texas livestock trails […]. The most-well-known [...] [f]rom 1867 until 1871, the 1,000-mile-long Chisholm Trail was the main livestock trail from Texas, a trail that ran from San Antonio […] and ended at Abilene. […] They collectively drove 600,000-700,000 [cows] north from Texas during 1871 alone, all eventually bound for abattoirs in St. Louis and Chicago. […]

Infrastructural and technological developments at towns such as Abilene […] also represent a singularly important carceral phenomenon of the nineteenth-century United States innovations in transportation, specifically, the “cattle car” (and by 1869, the refrigerated car that hauled dead animal carcasses) […].

It was primarily British companies that played a major role in developing the transcontinental railroad in the 1870s and 1880s [...] and who eventually also shipped refrigerated cow carcasses to Britain in ocean steamers. […]

Railroad development actually included an array of ancillary infrastructural developments […] - railroad stations with telegraph facilities, supervisory personnel, and company-owned […] stockyards. […] The first twenty-car shipment of cows from Abilene to Chicago was in September of 1867. […] This north-south cattle complex expanded in the 1870s, as the demand for beef, tallow, and hides greatly expanded amid postwar [conditions]. Concomitantly, one of the most significant instruments […] was the revolutionary invention of wire fencing […]. Netz argues for the critical importance […] [of] the case of barbed wire [in] the violent enclosure […] during colonization of the American West. [J.G.] patented barbed wire in 1874 and opened a small manufacturing plant in DeKalb, Illinois, for its production, with large-scale production and sale eventually located to […] Massachusetts. More than 350 barbed wire patents were issued between 1875 and 1890, although it was the [J.G.] patent that came to monopolize the market […]. One rather infamous early adopter in the Texas Panhandle […] fenced in over 3 million acres of public range with illegal fences while others followed suit […]. Also in the Texas Panhandle, [a] Scottish-backed […] ranch pursued its own 3 million acre fencing project, operating on a grant from the state with an estimated 6,000 miles of fence. […] Such […] activities led to what has been called the “Fence Cutting Wars” […].

Text above by: Karen M. Morin. "Bovine Lives and the Making of a Nineteenth Century American Carceral Archipelago". In: Carceral Logics: Human Incarceration and Animal Captivity edited by Lori Gruen and Justin Marceau, pages 261-275, 2022. Online publication date April 2022. DOI: doi dot org slash 10.1017/9781108919210.018 [Bold emphasis and some paragraph breaks/contractions added by me. Presented here for commentary, teaching, criticism purposes.]

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