#not even dignifying thus one with a caption

[coern-art-very-cool-and-nice]

nnks painting i’m not finishing lmao

closeups

[iamdyaaanna-blog]

Compassion Misplaced

If you are a person who is terminally ill, and experiencing so much agony and suffering, there would be doctors in the world today who will ask you to consider Euthanasia or physician-assisted suicide.

Euthanasia is a term that evolved from Greek words eu meaning ‘well’ or ‘good’ + thanatos meaning ‘death’. As pointed out by the Christian community, the origin of the term or even the more recently used expression ‘Mercy Killing’, already in itself, sounds wrong.

In the view of the Church, the practice of assisted suicide skews the definition of mercy and attempts to justify the act of killing. Although some people see it as a form of help, the Church enlightens us by saying that this may be an example of how people can take advantage of other people’s grief. This so-called dignified death or act of compassion has been a topic that Christians have strongly opposed, believing that the act is morally unacceptable. The Church’s stance is heavily supported by moral and ethical arguments, which are used to pinpoint the very reason why people should abhor mercy killing. 

Euthanasia, also called physician-assisted suicide, was conceptualized and framed in such a way that, when a patient suffers from a terminal, painful, debilitating illness, the physician may provide the necessary means and/or information to enable the patient to perform a life-ending act. (Brazier) However, people must know that euthanasia has always had a more disturbing connotation, following a “Life unworthy of life” ideology. In Nazi Germany, the Nazi Euthanasia Program, also called ‘T4 Program’ was an effort by the Nazis aimed at executing people who had mental and physical disabilities, considering their conditions as birth defects, thus, a financial burden that must be “cleansed” from society.

Nazi propaganda composite photograph showing developmentally disabled German children. The caption reads, “The National Socialist State in the future will prevent people whose lives are not worth living from being born,” Circa 1933-1943. Photo credit: USHMM #62928 Source:  Harriet & Kenneth Kupferberg Holocaust Center. “The Concentration Camps: Inside the Nazi System of Incarceration and Genocide” URL: khc.qcc.cuny.edu/camps/part-2a-murder-of-children-disabled/

This form of killing of patients was also done by physicians who assumed they had the authority to end their patients’ lives and it had been a practice before the time of Hipprocrates.

A Roman bust of the ancient Greek physician, Hippocrates, copied from a Greek original Source: Hippocrates (Encyclopædia Britannica published by Encyclopædia Britannica) URL: www.britannica.com/biography/Hippocrates#/media/1/266627/11615 accessed March 18, 2021.

Among the countries in the world, Australia was the first State to introduce a voluntary euthanasia law in 1995. Although the law was overturned after a few years, states in America and Europe would end up adopting the legislation shortly after. Inevitably, organizations against the immoral policy would begin to take action to prevent assisted suicide from pushing through as a law. Most Christians spared no effort in protesting against the legalization of mercy killing, some of them from the Catholic Church’s representatives in Australia. Archbishop Mark Coleridge, from the archdiocese in Brisbane, had attempted to explain the rationale behind the strong opposition of the Catholic Church by saying, “For the Catholic Church, life is a great gift. A gift from God who is life. Life is a blessing; a blessing from the God who is the source of all life. Because of this sense of life as gift and blessing, the Church is deeply committed, and in the most positive and joyful way, to the protection of life from the moment of conception to the moment of natural death.”

The Church leader provides a simple, but powerful logic working behind the dissent of the Church. The message is clear to who those who listen: Life is a favor from God and only through this standard shall man measure the quality of life.

Bishop Anthony Fisher, Bishop of Parramatta, who has degrees in Law and History, and holds an Oxford University doctorate in Bioethics, authored a book entitled, “Catholic Bioethics for a New Millennium,” and he is well-known for forcibly fighting against the legislation of Euthanasia in the world.

The Bishop, as seen in the video interview, persistently explains how a dying patient or the devastated family member can be misguided by the concept of Euthanasia, and be influenced to misplace compassion. The supporters of Mercy Killing fail to recognize how the sick and dying may no longer see the point of living. The Church obviously realizes that the sense of life as gift and blessing is not shared by all and for that reason, it is resolute in teaching that all life has purpose, and continuously pours out resources in order to get the message across all societies. Most often, the reason underlying the push for voluntary euthanasia is the fear of losing control of one’s life. Another big factor would be that more often than not, terminally ill people suffer from recognized or unrecognized depression, causing people to desire to end their own life. Therefore, the Church reminds all people, as beings capable of love, that we must guarantee that our loved ones who are suffering are spiritually, mentally, emotionally, and physically supported.

The advocates of euthanasia believe that they are allowing an act of dignity and compassion for those who consider themselves as burden because of their sickness, but are unaware of the darker and more evil objects at work in this immoral act. The Church wants to shed light on the real problem and assist the people to find where they must truly place their sympathy.

We must acknowledge that life, even at its weakest and most diminished point, remains a gift and a blessing. As Christians, will help us realize that the burden is not the patient, but the pain. Pain is the disease that plagues the soul and body, and it is the sickness which must be treated.

Sources:

- The Concentration Camps: Inside the Nazi System of Incarceration and Genocide. Harriet & Kenneth Kupferberg Holocaust Center. URL: khc.qcc.cuny.edu/camps/part-2a-murder-of-children-disabled/ Accessed 17 March 2021.

- Brazier, Yvette. “What are euthanasia and assisted suicide?” Medical News Today, 17 December 2018, www.medicalnewstoday.com/articles/182951 Accessed 17 March 2021

- Encyclopædia Britannica published by Encyclopædia Britannica. URL: www.britannica.com/biography/Hippocrates#/media/1/266627/11615 Accessed 18 March 2021.

- ABC News (Australia). (2011, November 28). Christian churches remain opposed to assisted dying [Video]. YouTube. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yJvEK89Wj7c Accessed 18 March 2021

[aliceinthewritingrepublic]

The Spiral on the Edge - III

Story Title: The Spiral on the Edge

Fandom: Boku no Hero Academia

Pairing: Bakugou Katsuki/Reader

Rating: MA

Story Tag: tsote

-

When you see an attractive stranger while partying, you decide that it has been too long since you’ve had an adventure. The exact terms of your loose liaison are soon put to the test.

-

Word Count: 3027

When you first woke up, it was still dark outside. You could not have been asleep for very long, you thought.

Katsuki was lying on his stomach next to you, an arm thrown lazily over you; he was not holding you close or actually embracing you, but you appreciated it nonetheless. So much, in fact, that you decided to remain here just a little while longer. You watched him for some time. The side of his face was pressed into the pillow, mouth open, breath audible, though quietly. Even this position was not able to make him look any less dashing than he did any other time. God, he was gorgeous.

On your second time waking, sunrays had begun to invade the room. Katsuki now had his back turned to you, which was just as well, you supposed. This way, you would not have to untangle yourself in order to leave.

You slowed your breathing to a halt. (You did not require oxygen to function. A quirk that sounded cool in theory, but proved largely useless in practice.) If there was one thing you were good at, it was being sneaky if you wanted to be. Tiptoeing toward the desk underneath which your discarded clothes lay in a heap, you grabbed a random, wrinkled piece of paper and a pen.

X1X-X70X-XX55 text me if you like wouldn’t want to lose sight of you again xx

You left the note on the table, assuming he would find it as soon as he went to pick up his own clothes from last night. Then you got dressed very quietly (foregoing your ripped tights – the pattern they had been ripped apart in was a little too telling for your taste) and threw another look at him over your shoulder. That was when you noticed the dark red lines you had left on his upper back. You liked the idea of him still being reminded of you for a few days this way. You pressed down the door handle and left.

You had only just opened the front door when you heard slight noises from what you had deemed the kitchen last night. Turning towards the sound, you found yourself face to face with the redhead who had interrupted Katsuki and you that fateful first night. His hair was down rather than gelled up this time around.

“Your hair looks nice like that,” you both realized and told him at once. He was grinning at you (those were some pointy teeth!), apparently torn between embarrassment at knowing what you had been doing last night and excitement at having yet something else to tease his roommate with.

“Thanks,” he accepted your compliment good-naturedly. “I was wondering whether we’d see you again.” It was not clear to you whether his weincluded Katsuki, their third roommate or both of them.

You laughed, incapable of feeling embarrassed at his knowledge about what had transpired. “So was I.”

“Can I offer you some coffee or are you trying to flee the scene?”

“If you’re asking whether I’m committing a hit-and-run, no, I’m not. I even left my number and everything!” You considered his offer of a hot beverage for a moment, but knew you had to decline so you would be home in time to take your morning medication. “Think I’ll take a rain check on the coffee, though. I really miss my bed.” He did not need to know about your primordial reason.

“I see. See you around then?” His one-sided grin let you know that he was intentionally quoting what you had said the first time you had met.

“See you around,” you nodded and exited through the door that you had still been holding open this entire time. You hoped that it would prove true.

When Katsuki finally made his way out of his room a good while later, he was surprised to be met by both of his roommates in the kitchen. Eijirou was not as much of a surprise – in order to conform to his ideal of fitness, he often got up very early to train. Denki, on the other hand, was usually a late sleeper. It only reminded Katsuki of how uncharacteristically late he had slept this morning. To be fair, you had worn him out. (Though not as thoroughly as he had worn you out, he thought to himself boastfully.)

Their knowing smiles told him everything, and he did not quite know whether to feel proud or annoyed. Both, maybe.

“Have fun last night?” Eijirou was cutting right to the chase, apparently.

“Shut up,” he growled in response and decided to busy himself with the coffee machine rather than to dignify the others with more of an answer. Unfortunately, this way, Eijirou and Denki were able to get a good look at his back.

“Sure looks like she did,” Denki commented.

It took Katsuki a moment to realize what he was getting at, but once he did, he grumbled. “At least one of us can get laid. Not like you fuckers would know anything about that.”

Eijirou and Denki did not take his bait. Instead, Eijirou kept on talking about you. “You know, I met her this morning while she was leaving. I think she’s older than us.”

“No fucking idea.” Katsuki shrugged. “She’s hot as hell and doesn’t get on my nerves, which is more than can be said about you two assholes.”

He took his coffee back to his room, not in the mood for more of a conversation. Sitting at his desk (where the discarded remainder of your tights still lay on the floor), he read through your note to him once more.

When he had woken up alone, he had felt strange for a moment. Not strongly so – only in the way that it felt strange to be met with unexpected circumstances. If he had been hoping for you to still be there in the morning, he was not willing to admit it to himself. At any rate, it did not matter whether your wordless disappearance would have made him feel anything – since it had turned out not to have been wordless after all.

His roommates’ reminder about the marks you had left on him had given him an idea.

You had been home for about an hour and a half by the time you received his text. Seeing an unknown number on your phone’s display had immediately sown an inkling of hope in you, and you were pleasantly surprised to see it really was Katsuki who had sent you a message.

The image took a moment to load. When it had, you laughed to yourself quietly. It was a photo of his back, covered in angry red stripes, some of them more parallel than others. The awkward angle it was taken from suggested he had taken it himself. How sweet.

Its caption read, ‘Thank you for these.’

So, that’s why he had got in contact with you so unexpectedly early. Obviously, the fresh scratches made for a better picture. Well, you were able to contend with that.

You reached for the waistband of your leggings and pulled it down on one side, holding it in place like that with one hand and pulling your top up a little with the other. Then, you took a photo of your midsection with your phone. Looking at it and deciding it was flattering enough, you began to type a caption for the visible blue bruises on your hips.

‘You certainly returned the favor quite well.’

You hit ‘send’ and then rolled onto your side, giggling like a damn school girl. No matter how sedated the aripiprazole made you feel, today, you were not going to be able to go back to sleep, too activated by the things that had happened last night and this morning.

I’m bored.

And what the hell am I supposed to do about that?

Well, you could be fucking me, for instance.

I’m at home. You know where that is.

A couple of weeks later, the spell had not yet worn off. The raw intensity of the attraction you felt to him never wavered, but rather only changed shapes, twisting and turning into something new every time you were with him, every time he was inside you.

Somehow, you had become a regular at the three guys’ place – and though you were very obviously Katsuki’s guest and his guest only, you got on surprisingly well with both Eijirou and Denki. It was not a rarity to see you in the kitchen on a weekend morning, stocking up on caffeine and making small talk while Katsuki was grumbling into his coffee about how annoying all three of you were.

But he never threw you out. A favor you repaid by never overstaying your welcome, instead opting to leave on your own terms and eventually come back after a few days – also on your own terms.

“She really said that?” you questioned in disbelief at a story Eijirou had been telling about a girl he, himself, had met while partying. While waiting for his reply, you took the now-empty pot to the sink and filled it with water, preparing to make another few units of coffee.

“Yeah, can you believe it?!” Eijirou replied enthusiastically, gesturing with his hands. You found him adorable.

You were just about to say something more when you slipped up while refilling the coffee maker and spilled the water all over the counter and floor.

“Shit,” you sighed in frustration, moving immediately to get a rag with which to clean up the mess you had just made.

That was the exact moment in time that Katsuki, who had thus far endured the conversation rather quietly, chose to contribute a few choice words. “Fucking pay attention to what you’re doing, will you, you idiot?”

It did not even bother you anymore when he spoke to you like this. You knew it was simply who he was.

Looking over your shoulder from your position on the floor, where you were wiping up the water you had spilled, you warned, “Careful. Keep talking to me like that, I might actually fall in love with you.”

You waited for a beat to let the joke have proper impact before you laughed out loud, inviting everyone else to join you.

You had always been supremely bad at anticipating the future.

“Oh fuck.” You inhaled through your mouth, teeth pressed together.

Katsuki’s tongue was working wonders between your thighs. You had your legs resting on either of his shoulders, the muscles in your calves contracting and relaxing on their own accord. The surface of the kitchen counter you were sitting on was cold and uncomfortable, but you liked the idea of him ravishing you in a place where other people would be appalled to find you.

“You really enjoy having sex in any place that isn’t your bed, don’t you?” you asked, running your fingers through his stupidly spiky blond hair fondly.

He pulled back for a moment. “And you fucking don’t?”

Your affirmative answer unwittingly became another loud sigh when he pulled your clit into his mouth. The combination of his sucking and the relentless teasing of his tongue against your most sensitive nerve endings was hurling you closer to the edge fast.

You attempted to keep up the conversation to delay your own peak. While nothing compared to the all-encompassing pleasure of the orgasms he provided you, you had always loved that moment just before you came, that most promising of plateaus.

“There’s so many places left for us to try. One of those alleyways between here and the club. Your roommates’ beds.” Your own voice sounded hollow to you now as pleasure threatened to take over your mind. “The hood of a car. I don’t have a car. But any car will do.”

His large hand squeezed your thigh in approval. Then, you came.

Afterwards, he kissed you, open-mouthed and deep, letting you taste all of yourself on his tongue. The force behind his movement almost pushed you against the kitchen cupboard behind you – had there not been his hand at the back of your head, making sure you did not hurt yourself.

When he came inside your mouth, you were not as surprised by the sheer amount of fluid his body expelled as you had been the first time.

Everything about him was an exaggeration. His stamina, his ability to stay hard after one orgasm, the intensity with which he came. In less sexual terms, the thought applied, as well. He was needlessly loud and dirty-mouthed, needlessly intriguing and attractive. Perhaps the worst thing about all of this was that he knew. Or maybe that was not so bad at all – the fact that he never pretended to be anything but exactly what he was made him incredibly authentic. You never had to second-guess anything he said or did, never had to worry about a hidden meaning behind any of it.

You swallowed the liquid, bitter salt.

“You give fucking amazing head, [Name],” he complimented a little while later, while you were lounging around in a post-sex haze. He was lying on his back, sprawled across the bed like the king of the world. You were lying next to him on your side, head on his midsection, breathing in his skin. Your legs were angled just enough so your feet were not hanging off the side of his bed.

“So I’ve been told,” you laughed, nuzzling the bare skin of his stomach. You loved his natural scent, whether he had just been sweating or not. The way his abs were readily apparent under the surface was only one of many facets of his physical perfection.

He laughed along with you. You appreciated that he did not mind your implication of previous sexual partners in the slightest. Then again, you supposed it would have been more than inappropriate for him to take issue with the idea of you having had some (or many) sexual encounters before him, especially given the nature of your current arrangement.

“Seriously, though. How the hell do you hold your breath for that long?” He did not lose a single word along the lines of being worried about your wellbeing, but the implication was there.

“Right, I guess I’ve never told you. Well, it never came up. That’s my quirk. I don’t actually need to breathe.”

Next thing you knew, there was his hand directly below your nose, registering the streams of carbon dioxide you were exhaling. “…the fuck?”

“I mean, I do breathe. But it doesn’t really do anything for me. It didn’t manifest until I was about three years old or so, so my body developed normally until then. My brain stem does its thing, and I inhale and exhale without actively controlling it. But if I concentrate and stop breathing, I can go for hours. That’s actually how my parents figured it out. They were scared I’d drowned in the bathtub, but I just really enjoyed being underwater.”

“I’ve never met anyone with a quirk like that,” he replied, voice even enough to imply disinterest in anyone that was not him. You did not linger on the thought of how well you knew how to read him already.

“I don’t think it’s really common, but even if it were, it’s not like you’d hear a lot about it. It’s kinda cool in theory and all, but it’s not like you can do a lot of cool things with it or anything. As a kid, I wanted to be a hero when I grew up. But then I realized that my quirk is pretty useless in the people-saving and crime-fighting regard. So, I gave up on that pipe dream rather quickly.”

He did not answer verbally. Instead, he just gave a noise that was parts agreement and parts something more. The something more interested you.

“Don’t tell me you wanted to be a hero when you were a kid, too?” you asked, intrigued.

“I am a fucking hero,” he emphasized, the pride noticeably swelling in his body underneath you. “I’m in the top ten, for fuck’s sake. You didn’t know that?”

Apparently, he was famous. You could not help but giggle at the absurdity of it all, a little embarrassed. The one time you fucked someone famous – and you had not even realized.

“Don’t be offended,” you requested softly, pressing a kiss to his stomach. “I don’t really keep up with hero news. Or news at all, for that matter.”

You hoped it did not make you sound as stupid as you feared it would. The truth was that most days, you simply did not have the expendable mental energy to face what was going on in the world. You found it hard to concentrate even on the things you did enjoy – it was downright impossible when it came to things you found arduous, like reading about and accepting the current state of the world.

“I’m not. It’s kinda fucked up, but somehow, I prefer knowing that you didn’t just wanna fuck me because you’ve seen me on tv.” He was smirking, obviously enjoying the power that this newfound knowledge afforded him.

“I don’t even own a tv. I just wanted to fuck you cause I thought you were hot.” You shot him a wide smile, not an ounce of embarrassment left in you now. “And I still do, by the way.”

“When I saw you on that dancefloor, I thought you were the most fuckable woman I’ve ever seen.”

You laughed gleefully at his compliment, glad that the conversation had taken this turn after all.

Feeling that you had already shared too much of yourself, you welcomed the chance to focus the conversation on him instead. He knew about your quirk now, and that was fine. He still did not know your last name. Your age. Where you lived. He did not know about your darkness.

You preferred it this way.

“So,” you started, moving so you were lying next to him, using his bicep as a pillow and facing him. “Tell me about your quirk.”

[theeurekaproject]

Mutata Fatum

The Revelation was beautiful from its perfectly-polished floors to its inexplicably high cathedral ceilings, which was precisely what Athena didn’t like about it.

First of all, it was made with taxpayer money, like everything else Acidalia owned. So, in a way, the Revelation should be Athena’s and everyone else’s—its cost had come out of their paychecks, after all, and from what Athena could see, it was probably not cheap. It had top-notch shielding and cloaking systems, and way too many onboard weapons for a luxury spacecruiser, but even that wasn’t really the problem. The problem came with the frills around the edges—the completely unnecessary, inane decorations that turned every piece of the ship into a shiny, sharp work of art.

It was maddening, really, the thousands of credits that had gone into designing this thing. It had floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out into a starry nothingness, bisected occasionally by the laser-light glow of another distant starship. It had glitteringly clean floors polished by a staff of needlessly adorable white robots that skittered around the place like dinner plate-sized mice. It had art, mood lighting, chandeliers, centerpieces at every table, gourmet food, feather-stuffed pillows, stocks of makeup and inordinately fancy dresses, and a collection of shoes that probably could have made Athena a multi-millionaire if she had the courage to steal and pawn them. Honestly, she could probably make a killing easily by selling all of the Imperatrix’s junk on the black market—Acidalia was rich enough not to notice. “How much do you think this costs?” she asked Carina absentmindedly, balancing a silver-colored decorative hair comb between her fingers. It had about two dozen little pearls, but she had no idea if they were genuine or not. But would someone as important as Acidalia even own fake pearls?

“Stop it,” Carina said. “She lost her brother less than an hour ago. Now is not the appropriate time to steal her things.” “She’s a multiquadrillionaire, it’s always an appropriate time to steal her stuff. Eat the rich, right?”

“That’s mean.”

“You don’t understand my desire to be edgily controversial at absolutely all times,” Athena replied, pocketing the comb anyway. Even if Acidalia eventually emerged from the massive, overly elaborate museum-with-a-bed she called a bedroom to come collect her belongings, she wouldn’t care that Athena had taken one small thing. Not if she was at all unlike her mother, at least. From the corner of the room, Carina shot Athena a death glare.

“This is my ship, sorta,” Athena said defensively. “It all comes from taypayer credits, you know that?” “That isn’t how taxpayer supported things work,” Carina retorted.

“Why not?” “I don’t know. I just know that stealing is impolite.” “The Imperial family stole my money.” “Taxes aren’t stealing.” “They are when they benefit rich individuals instead of society as a whole.” Carina groaned. “Where did you even learn about politics? I asked you who the Proregina of the Lunar Colonies was last week and you couldn’t even give me an answer, but now all of the sudden you know about taxes?” “I’ve always known about taxes. Or, more specifically, how to commit tax fraud.” “That is astoundingly illegal and stupid.” Athena gasped in mock offense. “Don’t speak to me like that in front of my 27 dependents!”

Carina didn’t even bother to dignify that with a response. She turned away, rolling her eyes, while Athena giggled just out of her view. She didn’t feel that bad about stealing from Acidalia—the staggering income inequality on Eleutheria was enough to displace any feelings of guilt she may have ever held. Dead brother or living brother, money was money, and Athena going on an impromptu vacation to wherever this resort-with-an-engine starship was heading would almost definitely cost her a job. She didn’t particularly feel like being strapped for cash again—especially not while surrounded by some of the most excessive luxury she’d ever seen in her life.

Actually, no, scratch that. The most excessive luxury anyone could ever see in their lives, period. Acidalia was rich beyond anyone’s wildest imaginations. The amount of money she had was too large for human minds to even comprehend. Quadrillions of credits. Quadrillions. She had more credits to her name than there were stars in the Milky Way and Andromeda Galaxy combined. This was fuck-you money of the highest order, and most of it came from citizens like Athena—citizens who stressed about rent and affording necessities and paying off bribes and medical debt. Why should Acidalia get to have fancy pearl-encrusted hair combs while ordinary Eleutherians grasped at straws to afford basic cybernetic implants? That was bullshit, Athena thought. So it really didn’t matter if she stole stuff from Imperial cruisers or committed tax fraud every single Aperire; her crimes were all victimless.

*** Two hours later, Athena was dressed in an incredibly fancy dressing gown that looked like exactly the type of thing the Imperatrix would wear to bed. It itched—a lot—and she never would have thought to put it on if there wasn’t such an abundance of hidden pockets beneath the fluff and diamonds. (Who sleeps in diamonds?! she thought.) Her plan was to pretend she was cold, and hopefully Acidalia would let her borrow the stupid bathrobe and never question the fact that all of the beauty products and jewels were missing from her vanity. Honestly, judging by the thin layer of dust that sat over everything not clearly accessible to the cleaning robots, Athena assumed Acidalia hadn’t used this ship in a while, and would thus be unfamiliar with where things were stored. And, even if by some misfortune she took notice of all the mysteriously vanished valuables, Athena could just blame it on ‘staff.’ The Imperatrix had to have staff, right? “Do you think this place has maids?” Athena asked absentmindledly. “Or butlers?” Briefly, she pictured rows upon rows of frozen maids packed into storage like Han Solo in carbonite, just waiting to be woken up. The royal family seemed like the type of institution that only gave people human rights when it was convenient for them.

Carina looked up from the magazine she was reading—some sort of science-y looking journal on biology. “No,” she said. “Acidalia doesn’t like them.” “She doesn’t like… servants?” “She likes robot servants because they’re more private. I kind of understand—having actual humans hovering everywhere and watching you constantly could get kind of annoying after a while, I guess. But Aleskynn used to make fun of her for it all the time—normally they don’t really view the help as ‘people,’ so to speak, so she doesn’t understand why anyone would be disconcerted by the constant presence of Ministratoras.”

“That’s kinda messed up,” Athena said.

“A lot of things in Aleskynn’s life were kind of messed up.” Carina thumbed through another page, looking bored. The magazine was marked 4045, so all of the articles were probably outdated already. Part of Athena wondered why someone as wealthy as Acidalia Cipher would still use print media, but the other part of her already knew the answer: aesthetic and pretentiousness.

Another few minutes ticked by, punctuated only by the sound of Carina lazily turning pages. The rest of the ship was suspiciously, worryingly silent, and if Athena didn’t know better, she would have assumed that she and Carina were the only two people aboard. Maybe it was because the Revelation had some kind of fancy noise-cancelling technology, or maybe Acidalia’s injuries were worse than they seemed and she was either incapable of moving, or worse. Athena didn’t know how she felt about that possibility.

She opened another drawer of a dresser that stood in the hallway. There was a crown in it, an elaborate headpiece too large to fit in a dressing gown pocket. Athena picked it up and appraised it in the light, wondering if she could pry any gemstones or shiny platinum pieces off and hold onto those instead. Then, with disappointment, she noticed that the jewels were brown instead of blisteringly white. They held diamond fire, but they were so discolored it was hard to believe they had any sort of value beyond industrial applications. Athena wondered why Acidalia would have a tiara like that, then she noticed the handwritten note attached to the brim with a curled-up white ribbon—I thought this would match your eyes. <3 Aleskynn. The metaphor was clear.

Bitch, Athena thought, and slammed the drawer shut. She had half a mind to send the spoiled princess a vial of cyanotoxins with the caption “I thought this would match your eyes.” It wasn’t even the fact that she’d insulted Acidalia that bothered Athena—it was the gossipy, too-cowardly-to-say-it-to-her-face passive-aggressiveness. Though, to be fair, she didn’t know why she expected anything more from Alestra’s daughter.

There was nothing much left in any of the other drawers—there were books, but none that looked valuable or even interesting to read. They were mostly indecipherable ancient texts and classics that nobody but Acidalia would even want, and though they had gilded edges and artfully decorated covers, Athena didn’t dare risk stealing them—they were all embossed with A.P.C. on the first blank page, and that made them traceable. Kalyn had taught her years ago that you couldn’t take anything if the police could trace it back to someone, and these books certainly weren’t worth that risk. Then there were piles upon piles of notebooks, all made of leather and filled to the brim with what looked like the ramblings of a madwoman—the same sentences and song lyrics, repeated over and over again—until Athena noticed that the penmanship improved between the first and last pages and realized they’d probably been used to practice Acidalia’s immaculate, looping calligraphy. Under those were datadrives, which Athena very clearly didn’t have the genome to open—they all had tiny iris scanners at the end, so only the Imperatrix would be able to view them. And, just when Athena was beginning to think this entire thing was worthless, her hand brushed against food packaging—which turned out to be concealing a small collection of healthy snacks that no person in their right mind would willingly consume.

“Look at this,” she said to Carina, holding up a shrink-wrapped package of very crumbly, grainy-looking pastries. “They took cookies, and made them healthy. Who does that?”

“People who want to cater to rich women who constantly think they need to lose weight.”

“Lose weight? Acidalia has the tiniest waist I’ve ever seen.”

“It’s the corsetry,” Carina said.

“Still, Jesus. Out of every person I’ve ever met in my life, Acidalia is the one who should be concerned about her body image the least. All of the uppercrusts are genetically-modified mutants with abnormal metabolisms; why would they of all people be concerned about dieting?”

“Aleskynn was eighty kilogrammos when I met her,” Carina shrugged. “Being raised by Alestra gives people weird views of themselves. Besides, how do you know they even taste bad?”

Athena tore open the package and took a tiny bite from one cookie. She wrinkled her nose. It tasted exactly like—no, worse than—straw. “Just take my word for it,” she said.

As she looked around for a garbage can, the sound of tiny, delicate footsteps echoed down the corridor, and she realized with irritation that they must belong to Acidalia. Carina instantly stiffened, standing up like a statue and brushing her hair behind her back so it looked neater than it was. As if Acidalia—Acidalia the high queen, Acidalia the almighty—would pause for a second to notice how tidy and organized Carina Stellara, random scientist with no clout, looked. She was so far above such things that even trying to make an effort felt worthless.

Still, for reasons she didn’t entirely know how to explain, Athena stood up at attention anyway. She stared at the door with strange fascination, wondering why her heart was pounding so quickly, waiting for something, anything to happen. And then, with an extremely anticlimactic swoosh, the door moved sideways, and the Imperatrix Ceasarina entered in all her glory.

If Athena was told that this was the same woman who’d barreled past her into this ship a few hours ago, bearing news of a dead brother and a murder attempt, she wouldn’t have believed it. This Acidalia looked astoundingly different from post-assassination-attempt Acidalia, yet so inexplicably like her at the same time, and it put a bad taste in Athena’s mouth. She bore such a strong resemblance to her late brother that their relationship should have been obvious in hindsight, but her face was utterly, completely neutral—almost relaxed—and she did not seem at all like someone who had just lost the closest family member they’d ever known. Judging by T’s impassioned reaction to his sister’s imminent demise, Athena had assumed they were very close; apparently, that assumption was wrong, because Acidalia clearly hadn’t shed a single tear. She looked every bit the put-together dictator the media liked to portray her mother as—the only thing missing was the scary blue eyes.

“We’re about two away from the Mare Acidalium Quadrangle,” Acidalia said softly, yet briskly. “The cloaking seems to have held up for this long, but I know that there are probably dozens of ships lagging just a few hours behind us. I will let you decide what you want to do when we land, but I want you to know that I cannot stay, and you will be targets if anyone ever finds out that you spoke to me.” Her posh, lilted accent and calm tone didn’t match her words at all,  which was almost more frightening than if they had.

“What do you mean, targets?” Athena asked. “Nobody saw us, we made sure of that.” She actually hadn’t made sure of that, but she’d taken the liberty to assume that nobody would question two young women dressed in gray wandering around a hangar at night. They were both wearing standard grays, common enough for them to be mistaken for practically any caste, and neither had any key distinctive features for anyone to remember them by—she hadn’t worried about their identities being revealed at all.

“Alestra sees everything,” Acidalia said, “and there is a very real possibility that you will be hunted down and imprisoned, killed, or imprisoned, then killed.” “What, no torture first?” Athena joked. Carina shot her a death glare, and she muttered a sheepish “sorry.” “If that’s a genuine question, then yes, they absolutely will torture you first,” Acidalia replied, utterly nonplussed. “I know you both came here to warn me, and that is an honorable thing to do, but it is incredibly risky, and now that you are here, you have my mother’s attention—or, at the very least, you will very soon. My plan is to rendezvous with David Seren—you wouldn’t know of him; he’s a reasonably high-ranking authority on Mars—and return to Eleutheria, hopefully with the Martians backing me and David and his family on their way to safety. I don’t know where you would like to proceed from there, but you need to understand that after what you’ve done today, there can be no return to normalcy for either of you.” “Yeah,” Athena said, ignoring Carina’s petrified look, “I kind of assumed that when I snuck out in the middle of the night to tell my best friend’s mom about my other best friend’s friend’s mother trying to commit—is it filicide or regicide? Sorry, I’m not too up to date on my murder terms.” “Stop trying to be funny, this is serious,” Carina hissed. Acidalia gave a humorless smile.

“So what you’re saying is we’re totally screwed,” Athena continued.

“No, not at all,” Acidalia replied, equally as casually. “Many people have committed acts of treason and lived.” “That’s not how the media makes it look,” Carina said shakily,

Acidalia sighed. “Always question the media. I don’t want you to think you don’t have options. You do—many of them. I just want you to know the gravity of your situation, and how impossible a return to what you might call ‘normal’ society will now be for you. I can give you a list of paths to choose right now if you’d like, but being regular caste Scientias again is not on it.”

“What if we don’t want to be regular Scientias anymore?” Athena asked.

A spark flared suddenly in Acidalia’s brown eyes. “Then you’re in a better situation than I predicted.”

Athena could already see where this conversation was headed. “This is going to end with an elevator speech recruitment pitch type thing, isn’t it?” “Do you want it to?”

Athena hesitated. Was this it? she asked herself. Was she really joining an anti-Alestra revolution? Two days ago, she’d been laughing at the excessive glamour of the Ciphers, who were nothing but glittering silhouettes in a far-away place on a television screen, and now she was standing right in front of one and speaking to her like this was all normal. A week ago, she was laughing in the break room about how much it must suck to be forced into the ridiculous life of ceremony and politics the ruling class set up for themselves, and now she was genuinely considering entangling herself in the complicated games they were playing. This was, in every sense of the word, completely insane.

But Eleutheria being torn in half was insane. Ciphers killing Ciphers was insane. Acidalia’s very existence as an Imperial dauphine and a traitorous bastard and a rebel leader was insane. Everything else in the world had lost its mind and any sense of sanity it might have, at one point, held, so maybe Athena could afford to go a little nuts, too.

“Yes,” she said, and with that, she could almost feel Morta raise her scissors. But, strangely, she didn’t much care.

[fluffybuttsfamily-blog]

She’s beauty.  She’s grace.  She’s … a Poodle!  That’s right, this week we’re taking a closer look at another popular dog breed, the Poodle.

Many of you may not know this, but the Poodle isn’t a dog bred all for show.  They were actually bred as water retrievers first and foremost.  Even those strange haircuts may have had a purpose.  Some believe the extravagant show clips evolved from working clips meant to protect joints and major internal organs from cold water while the rest was shaved to reduce drag while swimming.  Of course, there are also those that theorize the show clips came from the unique clips used to garner attention when poodles were trained to do tricks in the French circus.

Dated 1849-1858

Most agree the Poodle came from Germany, but was more fully developed as a water dog in France.  It is also believed to be one of the oldest breeds developed for hunting waterfowl.  There are, however, several theories regarding its ancestry.  Was it a descendant of crossbreeds between Spanish, Portuguese, French, German, Hungarian, and Russian water dogs?  Or does it descend from the North African Barber that was imported to the Iberian Peninsula and the transported to Gaul where it was used for it’s hunting abilities.  Or was it descended from Asian herding dogs, which were then crossbred with dogs traveling with the Germanic Goth and Ostrogoth tribes and eventually came to be used as a water dog?  Or, this last theory, was it a descendant of dogs brought out of the Asian steppes by the conquering North African Berbers and found it’s way to Portugal with the Moors?  Whichever theory is correct, scholars agree the Poodle is a very old breed.  In fact, there are illustrations depicting dogs that look very much like modern-day Poodles on both Roman and Egyptian artifacts dating back to early B.C.

  They were later bred (small Poodle to small Poodle, not Poodle to a different, smaller breed of dog) to create smaller Poodles, the Miniature and Toy varieties.  Miniature Poodles were then used to sniff out truffles, a strong-smelling underground fungus that resembles a rough-skinned potato and is considered a culinary delicacy, while Toy Poodles were bred to be companions to the nobility and wealthy merchant class.  Poodles have also contributed to the development of several breed including the Miniature Schnauzer, the Standard Schnauzer, and dogs of the Bichon type.

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Standard

Miniature

Toy

Today, Poodles are mostly companion dogs, though some Standard Poodles are still used as hunting and water dogs.  As companions, they are dignified and intelligent, but are not without their playful side.  They can be both goofy and mischievous and are always up for a good game.  Poodles are also very people-friendly and are eager to please.  This makes for a highly trainable dog and those that are taught manners from a young age and are consistently exercised to drain excess energy, often end up having an overall calm disposition.  Miniature and Toy Poodles may or may not be higher strung than their larger counterparts.

Poodles can be wonderful companions to children, but caution should be taken with Toy Poodles as they are more delicate than the larger Poodle varieties and may get hurt more easily.  Poodles can also do well with other pets as long as they have exposure to them often enough from the time they’re a puppy.  Introductions of new dogs or other animals might otherwise take more time and specialized training.

Poodles have a great deal of energy and will need plenty of exercise as well as intellectual games to keep them from getting bored, which will also keep them out of trouble.  They get lonely when left at home by themselves or when left out of activities their family is participating in and may developed separation anxiety if this is a frequent occurrence.  That reserve of energy and intelligence also means, however, that they can and often do excel in dog sports such as, agility, flyball, dock diving, field tracking, and schutzhund.  They also excel in show and obedience competitions.  So, too, have they been used as war or army dogs by the Army, Navy, and Coast Guard.

Unlike many water, hunting, and gun dogs, Poodles do not have a double coat.  They have one layer of dense, curly fur.  They shed very minimally, so much so that they are often considered hypoallergenic and many people with dog allergies can keep a Poodle with no issue.  But they do shed, the dead hair simply gets tangled in their coat rather than falling loose.  For this reason, Poodles need to be brushed daily to remove dead hair as, without it, their coat will very quickly develop mats.  They should be groomed every 6-8 weeks, whether that be at home or at a professional groomer.  Pet clips are usually much less elaborate than show clips, but is ultimately dependant upon the owner’s preference.  Many owners maintain a puppy or lamb clip, as these tend to be simpler.

In the show ring, most breed registries only allow certain types of clips for Poodles competing in conformation.  The American Kennel Club allows 2 types for adult Poodles, and these are, the “Continental” clip and the “English Saddle” clip.  Puppies under 12 months of age can be shown in a “puppy clip,” and Poodles being shown in the Stud Dog and Brood Bitch classes may be shown in a “Sporting” clip.

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“Continental” clip

“English Saddle” clip

“puppy clip”

“Sporting” clip

Corded coats, like those seen on Komondors or a person with dreadlocks, were once as common on Poodles as the curly coat, but the trend as fallen out of favor with most Poodle owners.  It is now considered rare, but a Poodle with a corded coat can be shown in any major kennel club.

Corded coat

  A Poodle’s coat can be a wide variety of colors including white, black, brown, parti, silver, grey, silver beige, apricot, red, cream, sable, and patterns such as phantom and bridle.  Those with phantom, bridle, or sable colors or patterns are not recognized by any major registries.

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White

Black

Brown

Parti

Silver

Grey

Silver beige

Apricot

Red

Cream

Sable

Phantom

Brindle

If you are considering purchasing or adopting a Poodle, please research them beforehand!  Poodles are amazing and diverse dogs, but they are not necessarily for everyone.  Their energy and intelligence means they can get bored easily and may turn to destructive or obnoxious behaviors to occupy themselves.  They are also one of the few dogs with an intense keenness to express instinctive behaviors like marking and hunting, which may make training a bit more difficult than it might otherwise be.  Their coat care is considered high maintenance due to the need for daily brushings and the need for grooming every 6-8 weeks.  However, if you’re looking for a happy but dignified companion with a mischievous and goofy streak, that is people-friendly, loves being included in family activities, is a great adventure buddy, and is pretty much hypoallergenic, the Poodle might just be the dog for you!

Fun Fact: Poodle owner’s in the Renaissance era often carried their Toy Poodles in their large shirtsleeves, thus giving rise to the name “sleeve dog.”

Do you or have you owned a Poodle? Please tell us about him/her in the comments below!  I’d love to hear about your experiences with the breed.

Have suggestions?  Comment below!

Have a breed you’d like to see featured in our next Breed of the Week?  Leave your suggestion in the comments below!

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Breed of the Week: Poodle She's beauty.  She's grace.  She's ... a Poodle!  That's right, this week we're taking a closer look at another popular dog breed, the Poodle.