#Diffuser Panel

[noiseproblems]

Noise Isolation vs. Noise cancellation

Most layman people use the term “noise cancellation” to refer everything, ranging from isolation to soundproofing. Well, we can’t blame them. Low noise levels are what everyone wants, right? Why should you get into the specifications and technical details regarding the technology used? Nonetheless, what many people don’t realize is that there is much difference between noise cancellation and noise isolation. And as many are now opting for the latter in their boats and residence, we feel it is unnecessary to explain both of them, including noise cancelling panels.

Noise isolation

Sound or noise isolation is basically the traditional way of blocking external noises, which is using a tangible sound attenuation blanket to block or absorb sounds. Although this has two categories, among, sound blocking and sound absorption, the latter is used for engine insulation as it absorbs low wavelength sounds like those of engines using a soft isolation material like an egg crate or foam.

On the contrary, sound blocking uses the medium of hard soundproofing material, like a diffuser panel, to block and reflect all the incoming sounds. They are quite effective for high pitch noises, and can be made more effective by piling up with an absorption material layer.

Noise cancellation

The term noise cancellation is frequently used along with sophisticated headphones.

While they were previously restricted to headphones, they are used these days in everything from boat engines to car and also traditional airplane engine insulation while adhering to the NRC rating. The technology is much costlier to implement than conventional isolation method. There are other worries also. While noise cancellation does a great job of cancelling out low pitch sounds like air conditioners and engines, they are not truly the best in preventing high pitch sounds like horns and shrieks.

[the-alternate-realities]

[electroniccollectiondonut]

last two weeks of the school year and work is so slow that I just stood in the hall for ten minutes counting how many tiles I could see without turning my head

[living-space-design]

[sirfrogsworth]

Remember this joke?

Well, I am going to do something similar only with photography. This is a photo someone took for an Amazon review of their Clinique products.

Honestly, it is not a terrible photo. They did some staging. They have an interesting background. All of the labels are legible. It is properly exposed. This would be a perfectly acceptable product photo for an Etsy page.

I've been taking these advanced photography courses in preparation for whenever I am able to create a new studio in the house. And my teacher is a photography badass. I just watched a 6 hour class on how to recreate a professional Clinique ad. And at first glance it looks deceptively simple. It's just some skin care products being splashed with a little water.

Which is why I wanted you to see an average person for reference.

This is what Karl Taylor came up with.

And I don't think I've learned so much about photography in one tutorial before.

Product photography is just loads and loads of problem solving. You have to light the chrome caps with a gradient. Which requires giant diffusion scrims.

Those big white panels are literally only there for the two chrome caps.

You need a pure white background, but you can't let light spill all over the studio, so you put up giant black light blockers.

And you have to add another light just for the orange bottle on the right.

Oh, and if you want the bottles to glow, well, you have to hide a silver reflector behind them.

But you still want the edges of the bottles to be darker so they have some contrast. So you add some black tape to the sides.

And in order for the reflective labels to have bold black lettering, you have to reflect black cards into them.

Ack! Karl's beautiful bald head is showing up in the chrome caps! He must put on the naughty blanket.

And once you get every aspect of every bottle perfectly lit, you finally get to yeet some water at it all.

I don't love product photography because I have a weird obsession to help greedy corporations make their wares look more beautiful. I love it because it is a complicated and challenging new puzzle every time. Every product is a different shape and requires a different technique to make it look its best.

I don't know if I will be able to live up to Karl's standards.

This is about the level I was at in 2017 before I quit photography.

I have so much more knowledge in my brain now. I'm really hoping I can surpass that.

[visionsays]

[vintagehomecollection]

Daylight comes into this south-facing kitchen in two forms: directly through a center single-light window over the sink and indirectly through translucent fiberglass panels divided like shoji screens. The diffuse light brightens the workspace without glare.

The Kitchen Idea Book, 1999

[noiseproblemsonline]

Natural acoustic solutions available for you

Many people automatically think about acoustic diffuser panels or a fiberglass acoustic soundboard while looking for an acoustic solution. But you might want to think twice. Do you know that the main component of a diffuser panel have possibly annoying materials?

To avoid problems with diffuser, you can use custom acoustic panels, which only has natural materials and recycled cotton. They are safer for you and they optimize room more efficiently than a fiberglass acoustic soundboard or a diffuser panel can. Unlike a fiberglass panel, acoustic panels provide top quality sound control at a lesser cost which is a balance hard to find in the soundproofing world.

Keep in mind that soundproofing is not just good as the products you use. Though the safety of a fiberglass panel is still uncertain, that of an acoustic panel or a baffle board is not.

Sound travels across all the exposed surfaces, and by raising the wall panel, you expose the back surface to sound, just like a baffle board, which is an excellent absorber.

Wall mounted acoustic diffuser panels take on a complete new dimension while using Standoff clips. They seem to float in air a couple of inches away from the wall. This just adds visual interest to a regular panel, but it can be further accented by backlighting the panel, by changing the panel into a focal point when it comes to lighting.

From time to time, we have people who need a good dose of sound absorption for their space, but want a less intrusive look than traditional acoustic panels. For situations like this, our sound tiles are frequently the ideal solution. Though these panels are printable and paintable, when left in their unfinished state, they have a soft white color which is quite subtle and have a tendency to blend properly with different environments.

[kalpalatas]

thought way too long on this but it's this one

also more recent faves but more for how cute they are:

Gotta ask if everyone has a favorite moment/page/panel in the manga so far. Whether because it's funny or cute or heartbreaking or whatever.

Was thinking about how i think one of the funniest moments of hrkg is the ch. 6 page where they're just staring at each other (when kagiura realizes he wants to kiss hirano) it makes me giggle. So I'm curious about what has stuck in everyone else's minds

[lostintransist]

Secrets Are For Grown Ups

I am demanding my smooches now.

@beloveds-embrace @cherrycosmos392 @mxtallymarks @love-kha1

CW: Asshole Simon and Johnny using you for sex instead of each other. Calling out someone else's name during sex. Pregnancy mentioned. Death of a spouse mentioned.

Simon slipped. Well. Simon slipped first. Johnny slipped up too. They ruined you, tugging you between them instead of reaching out for the other. You couldn’t fathom them caring. Even now.

If they cared about you they wouldn’t have touched you. You had been twenty-four and still so young. God, you were thirty now and still felt like you didn’t have a handle on life. Johnny had been twenty-nine and Simon thirty-three. Old enough to know better. At least to know better than you.

A series of coincidences led you to a one-year work visa and as an American transfer under the 141 task force. You handled paperwork mostly, and whatever didn’t involve paperwork meant dealing with your counterparts back in DC. You keep slightly funny hours to stay working on Washington time but that wasn’t unusual for anyone else who shared your building. The lights stayed at a low dim all day and night because three pm and three am felt a lot alike when rolling in off a job.

You were a nodding professional with Captain Price, Lieutenant Sanderson, and Sergeant Garrick. Sergeant MacTavish flirted with you. You accepted it with a wary eye and a cool confirmation of what he meant each time. Lieutenant Riley watched. He never spoke to you unless he needed something until the night in the bar. Six months had elapsed on your visa when Gaz, as he had asked you to call him, invited you to the bar with everyone. Seeing no reason to not say yes you had gone.

Off base and with a little buzz in your veins you let Johnny flirt. He insisted on his first name as he sidled up close to you halfway through your first drink. You’d always been wary of Johnny’s flirting. He’s attractive with all the muscles he maintains for work, the air of danger that lingers around him like cologne, and that barely visible scar near his lip. Problem is he knows it. Or at least he knows people react to him with pretty privilege. He makes you laugh. You don’t know why it surprises you, of course, he had to have a good sense of humor to deal with his job.

Lieutenant Riley was watching again. The prickling of your senses that tells you a predator is watching is what gave it away. Staying at the bar smiling at Johnny seemed safer until you had to pee. Passing your cup to the bartender with a quick ‘I’m done with this’ you excuse yourself from the bar and wend your way around the nearly touching tables to find the bathroom.

The narrow wood-paneled hallway had a single bulb shining down on you from a sconce high on the wall. Taking the time to dry your hands completely you pause when you see that the hallway has gone dark. Diffusing light from the main room reaches only so far into the darkness. Scanning you see nothing out of the ordinary and let the crack of light from the bathroom disappear as the door settles closed.

Running the tips of your fingers over the wall, the bumps telling the tales of so many decades of drunken bathroom trips, you touch something that is made of steel and flesh. Jumping back with a squeak you search with your gaze for anything.

“Why does Johnny like you?”

Riley. You let out the breath you had been holding. It’s Lieutenant Riley, not someone who would hurt you.

“You know sir I have no idea. Do you know?” You aimed your voice up.

“I might have an idea.” He surprises you with a touch to your neck. Trailing up to your jaw before dry lips brush against yours.

Stepping back you gave a startled exclamation.

“Ah…uh..Excuse me, Lieutenant, I think I need to go home.”

Skirting around him you flee like a hare that caught the sense of a hawk in the sky. When you retrieve your purse from the chair next to Johnny you find a beautiful woman draped across it talking him up.

“Sorry, I just need my bag,” you said drawing both of their attention to you.

“Ah, bonnie,” Johnny started sadly, “Heading out so soon?”

“Yeah um,” you scratch the back of your head, low near your hairline. “I need to head home.”

Standing he ignored the woman flirting with him entirely.

“Let me walk you home?” He steps too close to you but the body in a chair directly behind your ass keeps you from moving for more space.

Glancing to the storm brewing in the woman’s face you try and redirect him.

“I mean you looked like you were having such a good conversation I’m gonna go wait for a cab. Thank you for the offer though. I will see you at the office tomorrow.” With that you scooted past, unsure how you felt about the full body contact required.

Okay, well your lady bits knew exactly how they felt about it but you as a person? You were unsure. It felt like you had been dropped into a game that you didn’t know the rules of. It continued on like that, them pushing you and breaking your boundaries down one touch at a time until Simon pounded into you from behind in a supply closet. You crept closer to that temporary oblivion when Simon slipped.

A guttural moan washed over your back, Simon’s fingers tightening down on your hips.

“Johnny, oh Johnny!” He came then with Johnny’s name on his lips.

Any chance of an orgasm on your end dried up like a puddle on concrete in direct sun. Simon didn’t notice, pulling out and cleaning up the mess he had made of you before pulling you up and then your underwear. He gave your ass a light tap and planted a kiss at your temple before leaving you to the scent of cleaning supplies.

You worked the day in the eye of a storm. Mentally reaching out to touch your emotions you found only a torrent of fast-moving thoughts and feelings. You made it to your flat before the pressure of the eye wall faulted, crushing you under its weight. The next week you had a hard time eating, focusing, and doing anything outside of work really. Work had you hyper-vigilant always on watch for the spooky silent lieutenant that might try to pull you into a dark room. You didn’t think you could survive another encounter with Johnny’s name on his lips.

Oddly enough Johnny noticed the distress you seemed to be under and took to feeding you. He dropped off a snack at your desk every day and chatted with/at you until you ate it all before disappearing into the bowels of the building again. Three weeks after the Simon incident as you had taken to calling it in your head Johnny had pulled the same shit.

Flat on your back, knees nearly touching your ears he rammed into you. Pleasure crested for you as he could no longer hold on.

“Simon,” the breathy whisper betrayed him. He must have thought you to far gone in your orgasm to hear him.

They had to be fucking kidding you.

Would it hurt less if they were kidding you?

How the hell were you supposed to deal with this happening to you twice?

Johnny pulled out and flopped face down on his bed beside you.

Sitting up slowly you lay a hand on his shoulder.

“I’m gonna use the hall bathroom to go pee. I’ll probably be a minute.”

He grunts his acknowledgment and you set your exit strategy into action. Johnny knew you preferred to put your clothes back on for cuddles if you left the bed for any reason. Grabbing up all of your items you stepped from his bedroom hugging your clothes so tight the zipper of your jeans bit into the side of your breast. Peeing and washing your hands you dressed.

Stepping from the bathroom you called down the hall to Johnny.

“Do you have any cheese or nuts?”

“In the cabinet or the fridge,” came his return call.

Good. He wouldn’t think some odd sounds coming from this direction odd then. Tying your shoes on you open and shut a couple of cupboards and the fridge before rattling the dishes in the dishwasher grabbing your purse and leaving his flat.

Johnny didn’t come after you if he noticed your absence. Arriving home you noted the time. It was four pm on a Friday, Captain Price would still be at the office doing paperwork.

You called him as you started packing.

“Price.”

“Hi, Captain. I am just calling to let you know there has been a family emergency back home and I will be hopping on a plane tonight. I don’t know when this will be resolved. Can you send me any paperwork that I will need to complete so my work visa will close out as it should?”

“I’m sorry to hear about the family emergency, you let me know if you need anything. Your contract will run its course, including the agreed-upon pay, and conclude the day before your visa expires. The only thing you will need to worry about is talking to an accountant out here to figure out your share of taxes to be paid.”

Captain Price had always been like that with you, straightforward and honest. Unlike his men.

“That sounds reasonable and doable. If you have a recommendation of a firm I can reach out to that would be immensely helpful,” you stare at your shoe options, deciding which ones to leave behind since your bag was getting too full with the haphazard way you filled it.

“I don’t have one off the top of my head but I will ask around. Will this number still work?”

“No, this is a UK number that will probably stop working somewhere over the Atlantic. Can you send the info to my work email? I will be able to access that until my visa expires right?”

“That is correct. I will send it there. Safe travels and thank you for all of your hard work with us.”

“Of course, and thank you for being a good captain and a good man to work with.” You ended the call before he could think to question the sentence.

A call to the cab company came next. With the car ordered you left a voicemail for your landlord telling him the same information, family emergency feel free to rent the flat out now. It was a furnished option so nothing here that held an emotional attachment would fit in your suitcase.

The only thing you left behind was a framed photo of you standing with all the guys at a party face down on the table. Anything else you weren’t taking got bagged and sent to the bins.

You cried at the airport, and on the plane, and waiting for your sibling to come and save you from the airport. Telling someone that you had been coming would have been smart, but the only goal was to escape. When they arrived Ash gave you the biggest hug which started your crying all over again. You stayed with them and their partner as you tried to piece your life back together.

Taking the month you still received pay from England you walked the trails of the mountains you called home. They brought you so much peace, like hiding in the skirts of a trusted mother. When you reestablished care with your midwives you found out that your arm implant birth control needed changing, it was overdue. Standard procedure for a well-woman check included peeing in a cup.

“Are you aware that you are pregnant?”

The thin nurse midwife with wrinkles, a long dusty brown braid, and beaded necklaces ringing her neck looked at you from the computer. You must have gone white as a sheet because she reacted by having you lay on the floor, elevating your feet, and calling for assistance. Your uterus had been achy. That’s why you scheduled the appointment.

Pregnant? You weren’t nauseous or overly emotional, only a little tired and achy. This was nothing like being pregnant on TV.

Fuck. That meant Johnny or Simon had to be the father.

Did you even want to keep this pregnancy?

Another nurse with a kind face joined you and your nurse in the room, dragging in a portable ultrasound machine.

“Hi dear, this is a bit of standard procedure. There are a few reasons that a pregnancy test can pop positive. We want to rule out some of the harder-to-care-for options. Do you think we can help you stand and get on the bed?”

At your nod the nice nurses helped you to your feet and held on as you climbed onto the bed, laying back. They had you move your shirt and your pants and undies until the top of your pubes were visible. A grainy image appeared on the screen as the nurse glided the probe to and fro in the slimy gel.

“Alright, this here,” she pointed to a roundish object, “is your left ovary. That looks good. This will help me find your uterus.”

She slid down pressing slightly harder into you.

“Here is your uterus and there looks like one, two little embryos.” She pointed with her finger at each little dot.

“Twins?” you whisper, shocked and aghast.

“That’s what it looks like but things this early can change.” She slid the wand further, “Since we are here I am going to check out your right ovary as well and then we will get you cleaned up and discuss your options.”

The options included waiting, keeping, or a self-managed abortion which included a few prescriptions. They gave you a page of information for each option and sent you on your way with a follow-up appointment scheduled for a few weeks.

In shock, you called your best friend first. Larsen had become your best friend in the second grade and you two had stuck it out through thick and thin.

You told him everything. The entire story. No one else knew everything that had happened. Now Larsen did.

He offered to marry you.

You knew he was good for it. Larsen had never fallen in love, found the idea repulsive. The love you and he held for each other was deep and special, but not romantic. Marriage to Larsen would provide safety and stability, and the ability to change your name before Johnny or Simon could think to look for you. Even if you lost the pregnancy Larsen would be the best roommate and friend you could think of sharing this journey with.

“Yes, but let’s talk this over at dinner.”

The wedding had been a week later in front of a judge, with Ash as your witness and his mother as his.

Larsen never pressured you to make a decision about your pregnancy, simply talked through each option with you again and again until you decided you wanted to keep this gift. Simon and Johnny might have treated you as if they were evil but at least you stole something good from them in the process.

You had two boys growing inside you. To the growing delight of the specialty pregnancy team, you were a rare case of two separate fertilization babies. Distinct sacks and placentas meant two independent babies. Baby A was three weeks further in growth and development than baby B. This idea was confirmed when both boys arrived and looked nothing alike even covered in vernix.

Larsen had chuckled and chided the nurses in the halls for the odd looks you and the boys got. You had five amazing years with Larsen before he died of an aneurysm at work. He left you with a boatload of life insurance and two four-year-old boys who had just lost the only father they had ever known.

The boys knew Larsen didn’t help create them but they were so small it didn’t matter. He was their dad. The first thing you did after picking yourself up off the hospital chair was call and set up therapy for yourself and the boys. You would all need it.

Another two years passed, the boys started kindergarten and you started a cake decorating business from the house Larsen had bought you. You had paid it off with a portion of his death benefits. Everything was looking up. Despite the boys sometimes looking exactly like their genetic fathers, they were the most amazing thing in your life. Life was looking up until the house the bus stopped at went up for sale. Your neighbors mentioned an attractive-looking gay couple bought it and wouldn’t you know they had the best accents? One rang of rainy England and the other of Scotland. They were retired military and were excited for the change of pace this life would bring.

Nope, had to be a coincidence. Couldn’t be them. Why would they move to the States? Why your state of all places? No. Couldn’t be Simon and Johnny, you were still safe from their reach.

Except you weren’t.

They followed the boys home one day from the bus, shocked at seeing a child who looked so much like themselves. When you opened the door, royal icing dried to your cheek, you blanched and slammed the door shut slamming the deadbolt home.

The men that haunted your therapy sessions and the aches of your heart had found you. You and their boys.

Part 2

Masterlist | Secrets Masterlist

[noiseproblems]

Diffuser panel vs. acoustic panels

Diffuser panel and acoustic panels both work to accomplish the same result, an improved sound ambience with better speech quality and less echo. Nonetheless, they work in various ways to accomplish this result. So what is better to use, diffuser panels or acoustic panels?

What is an acoustic panel?

An acoustic panel is a sound absorbing panel that assists to lessen echo and noise. They are soft furnished and extensively used in places like offices, cinemas and studios to create a serene ambience. As a highly popular type of acoustic treatment, they are available in all types of colors and designs to suit the interior of your space.

What are noise cancelling panels?

Noise cancelling panels absorb energy, while diffuser panels dispel it. When sounds hit diffuser panels, the sound waves are deployed as they return to the room. These mingled reflections lessen the chance of an echo, enhancing speech clarity and sound quality.

Should I use diffuser panels or acoustic panels?

Enhanced sound quality

As acoustic panels lessen echo while adhering to the NRC rating, they can enhance sound quality and clarity, creating clear, crisp sound in a space. That is why they are extensively used in studios, while sound quality is important.

Where can I buy diffuser panels or acoustic panels?

Now that you know what panel type is best for your space, it is time to purchase. Are you still not completely sure which panel type and sound attenuation blanket would work best? You can always speak to the experts. We are always happy to hear from you. No matter you have a query or just want some expert guidance, don’t hesitate to speak to one of our team members and we will be happily share our acoustic knowledge and assist to get you the best acoustic solution for your space.

[hcneymooners]

⋆ arcane but it's a private university au ( for the girls: pt. i )

ice princess!f!reader x multi. f!characters. men & minors dni.

synopsis: private university!arcane headcanons but it’s really specific bc it’s based on my time at catholic private school except this au is just a private hold the catholic.

cw: this part contains scenarios for caitlyn, vi, & mel. the second part will contain sevika & ambessa bc i went a little crazy. suggestive content. notes: this was really fun to write. after part two, my attention will shift to answering the requests you sweet angels have sent me. i love you.

part two.

the road curved sharply as the gates came into view, their wrought-iron edges glinting in the low sweep of your headlights. beyond them, the school rose like smoke, its silhouette dark against the velvet sky, lit faintly by the soft gold of its windows. the building exhaled exclusivity, from the ivy climbing its stone façade to the manicured hedges lining the long gravel drive. you rolled down the window slightly for a bit of air. the breeze was scented faintly with pine and the cold, metallic promise of winter. you straightened your posture without thinking, your shoulders drawn back against the cool weight of your coat.

inside, the warmth hit you immediately, clinging to your skin like a lover's kiss. the chandeliers sparkled, their light soft and diffused, casting fractured shadows against the paneled walls. voices floated in the distance—low, murmured, intimate. you walked slowly, your boots clicking against the marble floors, eyes drawn to the oil portraits lining the halls. the faces in them were familiar in their arrogance: sharp jaws, heavy brows, lips set in expressions that commanded you to keep your mouth budded shut, like a flower.

your room was at the far end of the east wing, the door heavy and hinting at the beginnings of rot. the key turned smoothly, the lock clicking open with an almost luxurious softness. the space inside was all dark wood and rich fabrics, a fire already lit in the grate. you dropped your bag near the foot of the bed, its velvet coverlet cool under your fingertips. for a moment, you stood still, letting the atmosphere settle around you. outside, the wind whispered through the trees, and in the distance, you could hear faint laughter—a reminder that this place was alive, spilling with bloodlines as silver as the spoon in your own mouth. you wondered what they’d see in you, these strangers you were destined to meet. you wondered what you’d allow them to.

caitlyn kiramman: the academic rival.

୨୧ caitlyn was under the impression she’d be occupying a single suite. she strolled through the double doors, chin high, expecting the echo of her own footsteps in the vast, empty room. instead, she found you curled on the floor, the soft creature of your body lightly clothed, flipping through a thick novel with its spine already cracked.  

୨୧ you, too, had assumed the room was yours alone. after all, there was only one massive queen bed planted in the center, framed by ornate lamps that cast a soft glow over the wood-paneled walls. the two of you locked eyes, the silence loud with polite hostility. and then, as if on cue, both your smiles snapped into place—brilliant, practiced, and so painfully fake they practically gleamed. your families would be proud.  

୨୧ you managed to get housing on the line after some deliberation over who would cave first. 'apologies, girls,’ the voice crackled through the old-fashioned landline. ‘there’s been an overlap in scheduling renovations. west wing residents have been moved to shared suites in the east. it’s only for a few weeks—after winter break, your single rooms will be ready, and you’ll receive a refund for the semester.’

୨୧ you clicked the phone back into its cradle and turned to caitlyn, flashing another dazzling smile. ‘well,’ you said sweetly, gesturing to her suitcase, ‘shall we get you unpacked?’  

୨୧ during this time, you took her in—shamelessly, ravenously. she was tall and impossibly willowy, her movements languid like she’d been raised to glide instead of walk. her hair, a cascade so black it caught blue in the firelight (‘[name] it is blue.’), was swept into a ponytail so bouncy it could’ve been sculpted. she wore a thick knit sweater, tailored trousers, and a delicate diamond pendant—a ‘C’—that caught against her collarbone. her perfume hit you in waves: sweet, salty, like the black licorice you’d once eaten to excess in scandinavia. beneath it was something warmer—vanilla and caramelized citrus. you clenched your jaw to keep from leaning closer.  

୨୧ at first, the sharing was civil. one of you curled up on the bed each week while the other resigned herself to the chaise in the corner. but one night, you woke to caitlyn’s face above yours, pale and soft in the moonlight. her almond-shaped eyes glittered as she pressed a deceptively strong hand against your stomach to wake you. her perfume cloyed your throat as she murmured, ‘come on,’ her voice rich and clipped with her posh english accent. she slipped back into bed, her braid glinting in the dim light, and you lay there, swallowing hard before following her.  

୨୧ the real challenge wasn’t the shared space. it was caitlyn herself—her maddening proximity. the way her soft thighs brushed yours when she shifted in bed. the way her body, willowy as it was, still seemed to migrate toward you in the night, tangling with yours like it was instinctual. you woke up more than once during those weeks feeling hot, bothered, and frankly mortified, especially during the cruel timing of ovulation.  

୨୧ to make matters worse, she was your equal in class. the professor announced your tied scores, and you caught her turning toward you, her bright blue eyes sparkling with something like satisfaction. she smiled, clearly expecting camaraderie, but this was your achievement. your moment. you forced a tight smile in return, already plotting your next move.  

୨୧ and yet, caitlyn seemed determined to treat you as an equal. worse, a friend. she was everywhere—every party, every recital, every lecture. she linked your arm and whispered terrible jokes that you begrudgingly laughed at. she told you scandalous rumors about your professor and her husband, her lips brushing your cheek as the crowd jostled you.

୨୧ the glitter from her gloss smeared your skin, warm and wet, and when she tried to wipe it away, you told her it was fine. she blushed, and you hated how much you liked it.  

୨୧ she was infuriating. borrowing your curling iron to tease out her perfect curls, dragging you to track practice where she outpaced you with ease, leaving snacks on your desk during finals with notes written in her careful script. she was just so—so perfect, framed in silk and lace and lit by courtyard sunlight, her laugh clear as crystal and echoing in your chest.  

୨୧ wait.  

୨୧ winter crept into the suite on silent feet, frosting the windowpanes and painting the air with a chill that settled into your bones. the two of you existed in an uneasy truce, navigating the space like chess players plotting moves several steps ahead.

୨୧ you thought you had her figured out, until one morning you stumbled into the kitchen to find her brewing tea, hair tousled and cheeks flushed with sleep. she offered you a mug without looking up, the steam curling between you, and you took it—hesitating only for a second.

୨୧ for all her elegance, caitlyn was infuriatingly human in ways that caught you off guard. she hummed off-key while studying, left tiny notes for herself tucked into the corners of her textbooks, and cursed like a sailor under her breath when she stubbed her toe on the chaise.

୨୧ it wasn’t fair how quickly she worked her way under your skin, the sharp edge of rivalry blunted by moments like these. still, you refused to let her win, clinging to the fire that flared in your chest every time she smirked at you after a particularly cutting comment in class.

୨୧ the tension came to a head one evening in the middle of finals. you were curled on the chaise, poring over notes, when caitlyn waltzed in, hair damp from a shower and wearing nothing but an oversized sweater that skimmed her thighs.

୨୧ she plopped onto the bed and stretched, a picture of unbothered grace. ‘don’t you think you’re overdoing it?’ she asked, her tone almost teasing. your pen froze mid-sentence. ‘excuse me?’ you shot back, eyes narrowing.

୨୧ ‘i’m just saying,’ she continued, utterly unruffled. ‘you’re going to burn out if you keep pushing yourself like this.’ the concern in her voice was infuriating, and you snapped. ‘not all of us can coast by on professors' favor and good looks,’ you said, your words cutting sharper than you intended. her expression faltered for a fraction of a second before she schooled it into something cool and distant.

୨୧ the silence that followed was unbearable. caitlyn moved to the chaise later that night, leaving the bed cold and empty. you told yourself you didn’t care, but the knot in your chest tightened with every passing hour. finally, just before dawn, you slipped out of bed and crossed the room, standing over her sleeping form. her face was peaceful in the pale light, and you felt a pang of regret so sharp it left you breathless.

୨୧ ‘caitlyn,’ you whispered, your voice trembling. her eyes fluttered open, and for a moment, she looked at you like you were the only thing in the world. ‘i’m sorry,’ you murmured, your throat tight. she sat up slowly, her gaze searching yours. ‘i didn’t mean it.’ ‘i know,’ she said softly, her words a balm to the ache in your chest.

୨୧ before you could overthink it, you leaned in, your lips brushing hers with a tentative softness. she responded immediately, her hands threading into your hair as she deepened the kiss. the world melted away, leaving only the two of you tangled in one another, practically climbing into each other’s skin, the air thick with the heady scent of her perfume and the taste of mint lingering on her lips.

୨୧ the next morning, you called housing together. caitlyn leaned against the counter, her arm brushing yours as you spoke into the phone.

୨୧ ‘yes,’ you said, your voice steady despite the fluttering in your chest. ‘we’d like to stay in the east wing for the rest of the school year.’ you hung up, and caitlyn turned to you, her smile soft and knowing. ‘looks like we’re stuck with each other,’ she said, her tone light but her eyes dark.

୨୧ you squeezed your legs together and let a finger sweep at the dip of her collarbones. ‘it wouldn’t be the worst thing,’ you told her. she smiled.

violet: the lacrosse prodigy.  

୨୧ the first time you saw vi, she was slouched in a mahogany chair at your parents' alumni dinner, looking like rebellion incarnate. her suit was expensive but deliberately disheveled—probably borrowed, you'd learn later—with the top button undone and a black tie hanging loose around her neck like an afterthought. you noticed her instantly: the sharp cut of her jaw, the shock of pink hair (freshly dyed, still bleeding slightly at her collar), and the way she balanced her chair on two legs like gravity was merely a suggestion.

୨୧ she noticed you too. maybe it was the way you held yourself, spine straight as a ruler, chin lifted in that practiced way that screamed old money. or maybe it was the way your silver-blue gown caught the light, clinging to you like morning frost on glass. either way, when your eyes met across the room, her smirk said she'd already made you her newest fixation. you looked away first, but you could feel her gaze following you for the rest of the evening, hot as a bruise.

୨୧ by the time classes started, her reputation preceded her like a shadow. vi, the scholarship student who played lacrosse like she was outrunning her past. girls whispered about her in bathroom stalls and behind textbooks: how she'd grown up on the wrong side of the tracks, how she'd fought her way into this school with nothing but raw talent and a stubbornness that bordered on spite. how she moved like she had lightning under her skin, all barely contained energy and sharp edges.

୨୧ you'd dismissed her first attempt at flirtation—a low whistle and a comment about how your uniform skirt looked specially tailored. she'd winked, and you'd raised an eyebrow so cold it could have frosted glass before walking away. but vi didn't take rejection personally; if anything, your indifference seemed to delight her. 

୨୧ each time you passed in the halls, she'd find new ways to try to crack your composure: a deliberate brush of shoulders, a murmured 'morning, princess' that lingered in the air like perfume.

୨୧ what she didn't expect was for you to show up at her first game of the season. you perched yourself in the middle of the bleachers, legs crossed at the ankle, oversized sunglasses hiding your expression. the autumn air was sharp with approaching winter, and you wrapped your cashmere scarf tighter as you watched her warm up. she nearly missed a pass when she spotted you, her double-take so obvious it made your lips twitch despite yourself.

୨୧ she played like she had something to prove that day—all controlled violence and graceful aggression. you found yourself leaning forward despite your best intentions, watching the way she moved across the field like she owned it, her stick an extension of her arm. when her team won, she shot you a grin that was all adrenaline and victory, her chest heaving and hair plastered to her forehead with sweat. 

୨୧ you didn't smile back, but something in your chest tightened when she lifted her jersey to wipe her face, revealing a strip of toned stomach marked with old scars.

୨୧ it became a game between you—her constant pushing, your calculated resistance. she'd find you in the library, sprawled across a chair like she was posing for a painting, her lacrosse stick balanced across her knees. 'studying hard, princess?' she'd drawl, her voice rough like she'd swallowed gravel, and you'd glance up from your books, unimpressed.

୨୧ 'some of us don't get by on natural talent alone,' you'd reply, your tone sharp enough to draw blood. but she never bled; she just grinned wider, like your cruelty was exactly what she'd been hoping for.

୨୧ the weather turned bitter, and you started noticing things about her you wished you didn't. how she wore the same three sweaters in rotation, all slightly too thin for the season. how she'd blow on her hands between plays, her fingers red with cold because she refused to wear gloves. how she worked twice as hard as anyone else on the field, like she was afraid someone would realize she didn't belong here and take it all away.

୨୧ one evening, you found yourself alone with her in the common room, the fire burning low in the grate. you were curled into the corner of the sofa, a cup of tea warming your hands, when she walked in. she hesitated for a moment before sitting beside you, close enough that you could smell the sharp blackberry of her shower gel mixing with the leather of her jacket. 

୨୧ 'you're quiet tonight,' she said, her voice softer than you'd ever heard it. you didn't look at her, but something in your chest unraveled slightly. 'just tired,' you replied, and when she shifted closer, you didn't move away.

୨୧ after that, the boundaries between you began to blur. she started walking you back to your dorm after late study sessions, her stride easy and long beside your measured steps. 'i don't need a bodyguard,' you'd say, but your voice lacked its usual ice. she'd just shrug, hands stuffed in her pockets. 'maybe i just like the company.'

୨୧ one rainy sunday, she convinced you to join her on the empty field. 'come on, princess, live a little,' she said, pressing her spare stick into your reluctant hands. your perfectly manicured nails looked absurd wrapped around the grip, and you gave her your best withering stare. but then she stepped behind you, her hands covering yours to adjust your grip, and suddenly you couldn't remember why you'd been protesting. her breath was warm against your ear as she guided you through the motion, her body solid and sure against your back. 

୨୧ you missed every shot, but the way she laughed—not at you, but with you—made your cheeks flush with something other than cold.

୨୧ you told yourself it meant nothing. that she was just another scholarship kid trying to prove herself, that her attention was just another form of rebellion against everything you represented. but then came the night after her team's crushing semifinal loss. you found her in the empty locker room, still in her muddy uniform, staring at her hands like they belonged to someone else. without a word, you sat beside her on the bench, your expensive skirt soaking up puddles of field water.

୨୧  'you played well,' you said quietly. she laughed, but it was hollow. 'not well enough.' you reached for her hand then, your fingers interlacing with hers, and neither of you mentioned how long you stayed there, sharing silence and something deeper.

୨୧ it happened during one of your late-night walks. the air was sharp with approaching snow, and the campus was quiet except for the crunch of gravel under your boots. she stopped suddenly, turning to face you with an expression you'd never seen before—all vulnerability and barely contained want. 'you know,' she said, her voice rough, 'you're not nearly as cold as you pretend to be.' before you could argue, she kissed you—hard and desperate at first, then softening when you gasped against her mouth. she tasted like cinnamon gum and possibility, and her hands were gentle when they cupped your face, like she was afraid you might collapse.

୨୧ the next morning, vi was back to her usual self, lounging against the dining hall wall with her teammates. but when you walked in, her entire face lit up, and the smile she gave you was different from her usual smirk—softer, private, just for you. you rolled your eyes but couldn't quite fight your answering smile, and when she fell into step beside you later, her pinky finger hooking casually around yours, you let her stay.

୨୧ you'd been raised to be ice—beautiful, untouchable, cold enough to burn. but vi had always run hot, all passion and impulse and raw honesty. 

୨୧ and somehow, against all logic, against everything you'd been taught, you found yourself thawing.

mel medarda: the best friend.  

୨୧ mel was your constant, like morning light through gauzy curtains or the first cherry blossoms of spring. she had been there so long you'd forgotten what it felt like not to have her around—her laugh echoing in your dorm late at night, her perfume lingering on your sweaters, her tinted lip balm marking coffee cups she'd left scattered across your desk like petals marking her presence in your life.

୨୧ you couldn't pinpoint when it started. maybe it was during those endless summer nights when you were sixteen, lying on her family's sprawling lawn watching satellites paint silver trails across the dark blue sky. or maybe it was in the quiet moments between lectures, when she'd fix your collar with careful fingers, her touch lingering just a heartbeat too long.

୨୧ all you knew was that mel had carved out a space in your life that nobody else could fill, and you weren't sure you wanted them to try.

୨୧ she moved through the world like she was made of starlight and ambition, all sharp edges and soft smiles. in business seminars, she was their star student, her neatly slicked baby hairs drawing the sunlight as she spoke about case studies and economic theory with the kind of confidence that made professors lean forward in their seats. 

୨୧ but in your room, she was just mel—shoes kicked off, braids falling loose from their carefully styled updo, gesturing wildly as she talked about her latest thesis project while you pretended to study.

୨୧ you both had your rituals. every thursday night, she'd appear at your door with takeout from that little place downtown that knew your order by heart, and you'd share secrets like candy between your teeth.

୨୧ you'd curl up on your bed, papers spread around you like a hurricane of responsibility, and she'd listen to you complain about your upcoming presentations until your words turned soft and honest. sometimes, she'd fall asleep there, her head on your shoulder, her breathing steady against your neck, and you'd stay perfectly still, afraid to disturb whatever this was between you.

୨୧ it was the little things that undid you. the way she'd absently play with your fingers during long lectures, tracing the lines of your palm like she was reading your future. how she knew exactly how you took your coffee (one sugar, splash of cream and two extra pumps of vanilla, but only before noon). the way she'd look at you sometimes when she thought you weren't paying attention like you were a poem she was trying to memorize.

୨୧ you cataloged these moments carefully, storing them away like heirlooms.

୨୧ you told yourself it was nothing. that best friends always felt this way—heart racing when they walked into a room, breath catching when they smiled, skin burning where they touched.

୨୧ you convinced yourself that the ache in your chest when she dated other people was just protective instinct, that the relief you felt when those relationships inevitably ended was purely sympathetic.

୨୧ but there were moments when the pretense felt impossible. like the night she dragged you out dancing at that underground jazz club favored by grad students, her body pressed against yours in the crowded space, her breath warm on your neck as she whispered something you couldn't quite hear over the music.

୨୧ or the morning you found her asleep in your bed after a particularly brutal finals week, wearing one of your old silk robes. you stood in the doorway for too long, memorizing the way the early light licked her dark skin gold, how her braids spilled across your powder blue pillowcase like spilled ink.

୨୧ she wasn't subtle about her affection. mel had always been tactile with you—casual touches, long hugs, the way she'd rest her head in your lap during study breaks. but lately, there was something different about it. something charged.

୨୧ she'd trace patterns on your skin while you talked, her fingers leaving trails of electricity in their wake. when you'd dress for formal dinners, she'd zip up your dresses with agonizing slowness, her braids brushing against your back as she leaned close, her knuckles tracing your spine like a gentle claim.

୨୧ it was after one of the university's prestigious donor galas that everything shifted. you were both slightly giddy on champagne bubbles and shared glances, stumbling back to your dorm with your heels in your hands.

୨୧ mel was wearing dusty rose, the color melting into her skin, and there was something about the way the hallway lights caught in her hair that made your chest ache. she was telling a story about some legacy student who'd tried to copy her economics paper, her voice low and amused, but all you could focus on was the way her lips formed the words.

୨୧ 'you're not listening to me,' she said suddenly, stopping in the middle of the empty corridor. you weren't. you were thinking about how many years you'd spent memorizing her face, how you knew exactly which smile meant she was truly happy and which one she wore like armor in the halls.

୨୧ 'i'm always listening to you,' you replied, but your voice came out softer than intended. she stepped closer, and you could smell her perfume—something expensive and warm, amber and animalistic.

୨୧ 'then what did i just say?' she challenged, but her eyes were soft, knowing. you couldn't answer because you were too busy watching the way her pulse fluttered at her throat, visible above the delicate lace of her dress.

୨୧ 'mel,' you whispered, and it sounded like a prayer. like every secret you'd ever kept. like years of wanting something you thought you couldn't have.

୨୧ she kissed you first, or maybe you kissed her—later, neither of you could remember who moved first. all you knew was that one moment you were standing there, years of unspoken feelings hanging between you like morning mist, and the next her lips were on yours, soft and sure and tasting faintly of sugar cookie lip gloss.

୨୧ she kissed you like she'd been thinking about it for years, like she was trying to make up for lost time, and you melted into her with a sigh that felt like coming home.

୨୧ when you pulled away, her lip gloss was smudged, and you knew yours was too. she looked at you with something like wonder, her hands still cupping your face like you might disappear if she let go. 'how long?' she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

୨୧ 'always,' you answered, and it was true. it had always been mel, even when you were too afraid to admit it. she smiled then, brilliant and real, and kissed you again, softer this time, like she was making a promise.

୨୧ the next morning, you woke up tangled together in your sheets, her arm draped over your waist, her breath warm against your shoulder. the early light set her skin to flame, and when she blinked awake, the smile she gave you was everything you'd ever wanted but been too afraid to ask for.

୨୧ nothing really changed, except everything did. she still brought takeout on thursdays, still fixed your collar with careful fingers, still fell asleep in your bed. but now you could kiss her whenever you wanted, could wrap your arms around her waist from behind while she made coffee, could tell her all the things you'd kept locked away for so long.

୨୧ your love for her was reminiscent of wine spilled on silk, deep and permanent and impossible to ignore. and finally, wonderfully, you didn't have to try to scrub it out.

© hcneymooners.

[fuckyeahchinesefashion]

Handmade Chinese lantern (photo by 姽婳陶服, 小希的习字日记, 设计师冬玥, 宋富贵儿, 陳糊涂)

The one made with translucent materials is Chinese Mingjiao Lantern (明角灯 is the general term, others may call them yangjiao羊角灯 lantern/mingwa明瓦灯 lantern) — Hongloumeng/The Dream of the Red Chamber’s Fancy Palace Lantern

A luxury upgrade of traditional lanterns, mentioned in Hongloumeng (《红楼梦》), where nobility used it for aesthetics + subtle lighting.

Mingjiao (明角) means thin, translucent shell panels (often oyster shells, mica, horn, or glass) carved with intricate patterns. Diffused light, less harsh than paper lanterns—perfect for elite interiors. Only wealthy families (like the Jias in the novel) could afford such craftsmanship. Hongloumeng subtly hints at decadence and fleeting wealth, like when Baoyu’s mansion lights these at banquets while their fortunes crumble.

[lieslab]

Know I'll never win the battle

꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎ ꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎

Pairing: Chan X gn reader

Summary: When your bipolar disorder turns a sunny day into a starless night, your boyfriend finds a way to cheer you up.

Genre: Comfort/hurt

Word Count: 2.7k

Trigger warning: Bipolar disorder, depression, manic episodes, and paranoia/delusions.

Depression resources

A/N: Brains can be so mean to us sometimes. As I wrote this request, I burst into tears (starting to notice a pattern about writing sad stuff, huh?) Mental illness can be so hard. I don't know much about bipolar disorder, but I did some research to try and understand the perspective. This might not be entirely accurate, but I tried.

You all better be so nice to yourselves. Give yourself a big hug, please. Be gentle. Be soft. Do not let the cruelty of your own brain rip you apart from the good things in this world <3

_ _ _

A year’s worth of suffering unveils in a single day. Not really, but that’s what it feels like. A human puppeteered by their brain, but never in the right way; a handcrafted tea cup without the warmth and welcoming taste of tea.  

You spun to the beat of your own drum. The wrong beat. Society marched around you in circles. Their footsteps methodically raised and fell. Left, right. Left, right. Left, right. You? Always one beat behind or another beat ahead.  

Living with any kind of mental illness is hard, but yours felt worse. A lot worse. A switch that you couldn’t turn off. You could feel it creep up before it pounced. It inched behind you closer and closer until it leapt upon you. The neurons misfired and genetics hung you. 

You tried to stop it, but you couldn’t. That’s the thing about bipolar disorder. Where does the mental illness separate and life begins? Because in your head, you didn’t know how much longer you could blame your actions on your mental disorder. Who really controls you? Is it you or is it the festering and molding disorder that you try to push down and scrape out? You grab onto it with two hands and try to pull it out, but you can’t pull out your own brain. 

You nested yourself in the comfort of your bed. Wrapped in cotton blankets, swallowed by the weight of another low, you couldn’t find the energy to do anything. Beside you, the clock kept ticking into the future, but all you could do was drown. 

In these moments, it all felt so low. You couldn’t gather the strength to pick yourself up. You tried, but it always unraveled. Just as you thought you were getting better, you were taking accountability, trying to be more and do more; it always crashed back down. 

Swallowed by the whale, not even the light could find you here. In your room, the room you shared with your boyfriend, the sheets saturated with peppermint. A calming and grounding scent. The essential oil diffuser released a steady stream into the air, but not even that made you feel better. Why couldn’t you be normal? 

Emotional regulation. Two words that seem so normal. When an emotion overpowers you, when it sucks you into the void of nothingness, you regroup. Step back, count to ten, and focus on breathing. Calm your racing heart when you find a negative emotion. Try to power through it and just breathe. 

You’ll always find the next stepping stone of life. In your worst moments, the best is always yet to come. Your brain painted another picture. One where everyone hated you. They all slipped through your fingers due to the consequences of your actions. 

In the darkness, you rotted. Between silk sheets and cool pillows. In the rotation of white fan panels, you found glimpses of who you could have been in another life. The adult that didn’t feel so behind. The kid that didn’t feel lost among their peers. Someone far more successful and incredible than you were now. 

The tears leaked out unknowingly. Your heart didn’t just ache, it fell apart and disintegrated between your fingers. You couldn’t even keep that part of yourself together. 

You didn’t know Chan appeared until you felt the familiar warmth against your cheek. “Hi, there.” His Australian accent still made your heart melt. You didn’t deserve him. You didn’t deserve that tenderness. Not after the hell you always put everyone through. 

Last week, Minho confiscated your wallet because you insisted you needed to blow a ton of money on a bouncy house. Impulsive and reckless, you always described yourself that way when you were manic. The stars came to life and lifted your soul. The fuzzy static sparked and disintegrated, a burst of adrenaline came to life like a live wire. 

Going, going, going, you couldn’t stop. So you lived fast and lived large. Living in-between a brain-chased delusion and keeping up after it wasn’t easy, but when you’re in a fragile state of mania, the unbelievable seems believable. It comes to life so easily; a god without a cult-following. 

How many times did Chan call his band members worrying because you were so reckless? Like the time you got into a fight with Chan and took off barefoot into the night. They spent three hours chasing your zipping figure through the wet pavement streets and in down-pouring rain. By the next morning, everyone had colds. 

When you decided to repaint your bedroom without asking because the color you found filled you with such joy. It spoke to your soul and you didn’t ask. In the process, you didn’t consider putting down a sheet of plastic over the carpet. An honest mistake that cost hundreds of dollars to repurchase new carpet for the bedroom. It turns out dancing and finger painting in a manic state has consequences. 

Another time, you started a food fight in Felix and Seungmin’s dorm. It started with Felix trying to distract you. Chan went out on an ambassador trip. When you felt yourself slip into a manic episode, you called Felix, hoping to ground yourself. 

It was fun at first, baking brownies. It started well until you threw a handful of flour at Felix’s shoulder. It was just a stupid impulse; a moment of poor misjudgement. Felix threw a handful of sugar at you and you both snapped. 

Yelling, hooting, and hollering. Waking up a sleeping Seungmin. Dry ingredients covered the floor. You inhaled a breath of flour. Felix licked grains of sugar from his lips. What neither of you were expecting was Seungmin’s outrage. 

On the stove. Beneath the fridge. Smeared on countertops. The rolling flour dust coated crevices in their fancy coffee machine. It laced the insides of the toaster. You were still working on paying back your half for the coffee machine. Felix offered to pay for it. Sugar grains snuck into an opening and tarnished the entire thing. You started it and refused to let him suffer alone. 

It wasn’t just your mania that drilled holes in the people around you, it was this, too. Depressed straight to the bone, you scared the shit out of Jeongin the day you threatened to fling yourself off the top of the JYP Entertainment building. Now he’s constantly worried about you. 

Hyunjin invited you for coffee with him and Changbin one day. Unable to control your sadness and keep yourself together, you sobbed over your vanilla latte, right in the middle of the cafe. The attention drew from bystanders. They quickly tried to console you, but someone snapped a photo. By the time you tried to make your way out to the parking lot, a reporter from Dispatch waited for you near Changbin’s car. The article surrounding the conspiracy of your tears went viral between the venomous teeth of the fandom. 

And Han? He met with you one-on-one to show you a new anime. He was so happy and excited. You ruined it with self-pity and the admission that your brain was destroying you from the inside out. You swore this bipolar thing would be the death of you. How do you live in a society where you can’t regulate yourself? 

Minho showed up to find you and Han wrapped around you crying. Your own tears steadily fell down your cheeks. All he could do was call Chan and attempt to have him talk to you and try to console whatever lay shattered before you. 

Nobody ever knew what to say or how to fix it. You could feel the tension building between people. Strangers looked you in the eyes on the streets. Even then, you swore that they knew something occurred within you internally. Every look casts judgement. Every glance, a scowl and sneer followed. 

Ever since the diagnosis came, you always knew. You knew you’d be the one to be too much for people. Lightning ran through your veins at the wrong time. You lived your life climbing the rollercoaster and then you tipped over the edge screaming. Your heart fluttered, your stomach dropped, but god, it felt so good. 

The realization in those bits of mania that life didn’t matter. It gave you an entirely new perspective. In those bits of life, you were unstoppable. The world was in your hands. You could do anything if you tried hard enough. All you had to do was believe it and anything could be yours. 

On the sadder days, your brain becomes a boulder. It kept you locked into the bed and you didn’t know how to get up. Too heavy. Your limbs were laced with concrete and you lost the ability to eat. No longer a human, but rather an android. 

You waited and waited. You tried to cycle through the societal standards, but you struggled. It all felt so hard. Like this whole life had been cast for you from the depths of hell. Who would make someone live through all this? 

Other days, the two feelings collided and dizzied you with such a confusing feeling. You were alive, your thoughts cycled and shuffled so fast. You knew it was the mania talking, but these thoughts were different. Less confident and more depressing, a chain caught between the gears of mania and depression; the highs and lows blended together. 

And the worst part? It never stopped. It was a constant cycle. A few hours. A day or two apart. Maybe a week or more. You never knew when your mental illness would possess you. Your vision clouded and you tried to tell yourself the next time would be different. You’d find a way to deal with it in grace, but it never happened .

You tried treatments, but talking to a therapist about it always felt weird. The few medications you tried, some of them made you sleep and feel much worse. Others, they didn’t touch it. It made you want to throw in the towel at the worst times. Why bother fighting if medicine couldn’t cure whatever was wrong with your head?

More importantly, why did it have to be you? What the hell did you do to deserve this? Was it fate? Did you do something so bad in your past life that this was just the universe’s way of getting karmic retribution? 

“What’s in that head of yours?” 

You glanced up at Chan, pulling away from your thoughts. “We don’t have to do this. We always do this and you already know. The answer is always the same.” 

He sighed softly and smiled at you. “I know, but I still want to know. I won’t get tired of asking you. No matter how many times your answers are the same, I’ll always ask you.” 

“Why do you stick around and do this with me?” 

“Do what?” 

“This!” You reached up and gestured between the two of you. “Doesn’t it get tiring and boring? Doesn’t my existence exhaust you? What part of dating someone with a bipolar disorder is entertaining? Please enlighten me because I’d love to fucking know.” 

Chan’s eyes didn’t leave yours. You could lash out however you liked, but deep down, he loved you. He’d never stop telling you that. Someone had to fight to put the truth in your head. 

But you didn’t know. Where did you start and where did the disorder begin? What were parts of you and your happiness? When did you know you were happy and not on the rollercoaster ride accelerating up to the drop of mania again? How long did the good times last? What if they never came back? 

“Carrie Fisher played Princess Leia in Star Wars.” 

“So?” 

“Did you know she was diagnosed with bipolar disorder?” 

You sniffled and shook your head. Beside you, Chan crawled forward to get into the bed with you. “She struggled with addiction, but found hope. She became a mental health advocate and openly talked about it. She struggled with it, just like you.” 

“Why are you bringing this up?” 

“To remind you that just because you’re battling something some people don’t, it doesn’t make you worth any less. So you fight your brain to stay strong and I don’t see that as a horrible and terrible thing.” He paused, frowning at the way his words sounded. “What I mean to say is that it can be challenging and difficult, but we’ll figure it out.” 

“You’re using my love of Star Wars against me.” 

A squeaky laugh fell from his lips. “I mean, yes, but no. I’m being serious here.” He reached over and pushed a strand of hair behind your ear. Swaddled in sadness and bathed in depression, you didn’t understand what lay on the outside. 

“You know what I see when I look at you? I see someone fighting for peace. You get up every day and you try. Doesn’t that trying count for something? I know your brain might not think so right now, but to me, I think that’s pretty heroic.” 

“It’s not heroic to ruin friendships with people around me.” 

“Who said you’re ruining friendships?” His eyes narrowed. “Did you know that Hyunjin has lost confidence in his speed when it comes to you? Ever since we chased you that one night-” 

You groaned and covered your face with your hands. “Don’t remind me, it was embarrassing. You had to scrub my feet because they were dirty and the memories from that night are all blurry.” 

“At least, we all got to take Nyquil together during those colds. I’ve never seen Han fall unconscious that fast. One dose and he just-” Chan snapped. “Hit the ground like a light.” 

“Didn’t Minho have to drag him to bed?” 

“That was a little funny, too.” 

“Now I just feel entirely mortified. I need to try harder and do better. Hearing that, it’s just so humiliating. It makes me feel like a failure. I really don’t mean to cause harm, I just…” You sighed and looked away. “I don’t know. It’s so hard sometimes and I’m really trying to be better.” 

“I know you’re trying.” He reached up and placed his hand back against your cheek. Shifting closer, the scent of amber and rosemary caught your attention. 

Your nose scrunched instantly. “Woah, new scent?” 

“Something like that. How is it?” 

“Meh.” 

“I spent over fifty dollars on this bottle.” 

“I’ve spent more money than that on a smaller bottle of smelly stuff during a manic episode.” 

His face went blank and your eyes found his. He quickly bit down on his bottom lip, trying not to laugh. In the current of silence, a brief moment of mutual understanding. At least, until you burst into a fit of giggles first. He quickly followed after with his own laugh. 

Seconds ticked by again, suspended by laughter and clenched stomach. Wet eyes, oversized grins, and a wave of relief. When you finished, you wiped a hand over your face, trying to regulate yourself. 

“I really needed that laugh.” 

“Yeah, I could tell. In all seriousness, I think you give yourself little credit and I wish you’d give yourself more. I know you’re not perfect, but you’re trying. As long as you’re fighting, in my eyes, you’re winning. Even when you have off days and bad days, you’re still here, aren’t you?” 

“I guess so.” 

“And you know what that means?” Dimples spread across his cheeks. Mischief glistened in his eyes and your heart dropped to your stomach. You jerked upright, trying to escape the bed, but he pounced. “It means your mine!” 

You burst into a fit of giggles as you squirmed in his grasp. Laughter bounced off the walls of his bedroom and broke your train of depressing thoughts. The gentle brush of fingers against your sides, you tried to get away, but they stayed consistent. 

So maybe your brain wasn’t perfect. Different brains look different for everyone. They always say if you don’t like the direction your boat is steering, turn the sail another way. You might lose bits and pieces of time, but you never lose who you fully are beneath the waves. The itsy bitsy spider climbed up the spout again and so would you. Manic, depression, or stuck in the web of a blurry between, the support compacting you, it was bound to be endless. 

You might not win every battle, but the more you refuse to sink, you’ll always win the war.

| ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ |

Taglist: @lia-linny @seungnishi @stellasays45 @emilyywhyy @rockstarkkami @flightlessackerman @inlovewithstraykids @velvetmoonlght @chrizrizz

Masterlist

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Ko-fi

[mostlysignssomeportents]

The largest campaign finance violation in US history

I'm coming to DEFCON! On Aug 9, I'm emceeing the EFF POKER TOURNAMENT (noon at the Horseshoe Poker Room), and appearing on the BRICKED AND ABANDONED panel (5PM, LVCC - L1 - HW1–11–01). On Aug 10, I'm giving a keynote called "DISENSHITTIFY OR DIE! How hackers can seize the means of computation and build a new, good internet that is hardened against our asshole bosses' insatiable horniness for enshittification" (noon, LVCC - L1 - HW1–11–01).

Earlier this month, some of the richest men in Silicon Valley, led by Marc Andreesen and Ben Horowitz (the billionaire VCs behind Andreesen-Horowitz) announced that they would be backing Trump with endorsements and millions of dollars:

https://www.forbes.com/sites/dereksaul/2024/07/16/trump-lands-more-big-tech-backers-billionaire-venture-capitalist-andreessen-joins-wave-supporting-former-president/

Predictably, this drew a lot of ire, which Andreesen tried to diffuse by insisting that his support "doesn’t have anything to do with the big issues that people care about":

https://www.theverge.com/2024/7/24/24204706/marc-andreessen-ben-horowitz-a16z-trump-donations

In other words, the billionaires backing Trump weren't doing so because they supported the racism, the national abortion ban, the attacks on core human rights, etc. Those were merely tradeoffs that they were willing to make to get the parts of the Trump program they do support: more tax-cuts for the ultra-rich, and, of course, free rein to defraud normies with cryptocurrency Ponzi schemes.

Crypto isn't "money" – it is far too volatile to be a store of value, a unit of account, or a medium of exchange. You'd have to be nuts to get a crypto mortgage when all it takes is Elon Musk tweeting a couple emoji to make your monthly mortgage payment double.

A thing becomes moneylike when it can be used to pay off a bill for something you either must pay for, or strongly desire to pay for. The US dollar's moneylike property comes from the fact that hundreds of millions of people need dollars to pay off the IRS and their state tax bills, which means that they will trade labor and goods for dollars. Even people who don't pay US taxes will accept dollars, because they know they can use them to buy things from people who do have a nondiscretionary bill that can only be paid in dollars.

Dollars are also valuable because there are many important commodities that can only – or primarily – be purchased with them, like much of the world's oil supply. The fact that anyone who wants to buy oil has a strong need for dollars makes dollars valuable, because they will sell labor and goods to get dollars, not because they need dollars, but because they need oil.

There's almost nothing that can only be purchased with crypto. You can procure illegal goods and services in the mistaken belief that this transaction will be durably anonymous, and you can pay off ransomware creeps who have hijacked your personal files or all of your business's data:

https://locusmag.com/2022/09/cory-doctorow-moneylike/

Web3 was sold as a way to make the web more "decentralized," but it's best understood as an effort to make it impossible to use the web without paying crypto every time you click your mouse. If people need crypto to use the internet, then crypto whales will finally have a source of durable liquidity for the tokens they've hoarded:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/09/16/nondiscretionary-liabilities/#quatloos

The Web3 bubble was almost entirely down to the vast hype machine mobilized by Andreesen-Horowitz, who bet billions of dollars on the idea and almost single-handedly created the illusion of demand for crypto. For example, they arranged a $100m bribe to Kickstarter shareholders in exchange for Kickstarter pretending to integrate "blockchain" into its crowdfunding platform:

https://finance.yahoo.com/news/untold-story-kickstarter-crypto-hail-120000205.html

Kickstarter never ended up using the blockchain technology, because it was useless. Their shareholders just pocketed the $100m while the company weathered the waves of scorn from savvy tech users who understood that this was all a shuck.

Look hard enough at any crypto "success" and you'll discover a comparable scam. Remember NFTs, and the eye-popping sums that seemingly "everyone" was willing to pay for ugly JPEGs? That whole market was shot through with "wash-trading" – where you sell your asset to yourself and pretend that it was bought by a third party. It's a cheap – and illegal – way to convince people that something worthless is actually very valuable:

https://mailchi.mp/brianlivingston.com/034-2#free1

Even the books about crypto are scams. Chris Dixon's "bestseller" about the power of crypto, Read Write Own, got on the bestseller list through the publishing equivalent of wash-trading, where VCs with large investments in crypto bought up thousands of copies and shoved them on indifferent employees or just warehoused them:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/15/your-new-first-name/#that-dagger-tho

The fact that crypto trades were mostly the same bunch of grifters buying shitcoins from each other, while spending big on Superbowl ads, bribes to Kickstarter shareholders, and bulk-buys of mediocre business-books was bound to come out someday. In the meantime, though, the system worked: it convinced normies to gamble their life's savings on crypto, which they promptly lost (if you can't spot the sucker at the table, you're the sucker).

There's a name for this: it's called a "bezzle." John Kenneth Galbraith defined a "bezzle" as "the magic interval when a confidence trickster knows he has the money he has appropriated but the victim does not yet understand that he has lost it." All bezzles collapse eventually, but until they do, everyone feels better off. You think you're rich because you just bought a bunch of shitcoins after Matt Damon told you that "fortune favors the brave." Damon feels rich because he got a ton of cash to rope you into the con. Crypto.com feels rich because you took a bunch of your perfectly cromulent "fiat money" that can be used to buy anything and traded it in for shitcoins that can be used to buy nothing:

https://theintercept.com/2022/10/26/matt-damon-crypto-commercial/

Andreesen-Horowitz were masters of the bezzle. For them, the Web3 bet on an internet that you'd have to buy their shitcoins to use was always Plan B. Plan A was much more straightforward: they would back crypto companies and take part of their equity in huge quantities of shitcoins that they could sell to "unqualified investors" (normies) in an "initial coin offering." Normally, this would be illegal: a company can't offer stock to the general public until it's been through an SEC vetting process and "gone public" through an IPO. But (Andreesen-Horowitz argued) their companies' "initial coin offerings" existed in an unregulated grey zone where they could be traded for the life's savings of mom-and-pop investors who thought crypto was real because they heard that Kickstarter had adopted it, and there was a bestselling book about it, and Larry David and Matt Damon and Spike Lee told them it was the next big thing.

Crypto isn't so much a financial innovation as it is a financial obfuscation. "Fintech" is just a cynical synonym for "unregulated bank." Cryptocurrency enjoys a "byzantine premium" – that is, it's so larded with baffling technical nonsense that no one understands how it works, and they assume that anything they don't understand is probably incredibly sophisticated and great ("a pile of shit this big must have pony under it somewhere"):

https://pluralistic.net/2022/03/13/the-byzantine-premium/

There are two threats to the crypto bezzle: the first is that normies will wise up to the scam, and the second is that the government will put a stop to it. These are correlated risks: if the government treats crypto as a security (or worse, a scam), that will put severe limits on how shitcoins can be marketed to normies, which will staunch the influx of real money, so the sole liquidity will come from ransomware payments and transactions with tragically overconfident hitmen and drug dealers who think the blockchain is anonymous.

To keep the bezzle going, crypto scammers have spent the past two election cycles flooding both parties with cash. In the 2022 midterms, crypto money bankrolled primary challenges to Democrats by absolute cranks, like the "effective altruist" Carrick Flynn ("effective altruism" is a crypto-affiliated cult closely associated with the infamous scam-artist Sam Bankman-Fried). Sam Bankman-Fried's super PAC, "Protect Our Future," spent $10m on attack-ads against Flynn's primary opponent, the incumbent Andrea Salinas. Salinas trounced Flynn – who was an objectively very bad candidate who stood no chance of winning the general election – but only at the expense of most of the funds she raised from her grassroots, small-dollar donors.

Fighting off SBF's joke candidate meant that Salinas went into the general election with nearly empty coffers, and she barely squeaked out a win against a GOP nightmare candidate Mike Erickson – a millionaire Oxy trafficker, drunk driver, and philanderer who tricked his then-girlfriend by driving her to a fake abortion clinic and telling her that it was a real one:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/10/14/competitors-critics-customers/#billionaire-dilletantes

SBF is in prison, but there's no shortage of crypto millions for this election cycle. According to Molly White's "Follow the Crypto" tracker, crypto-affiliated PACs have raised $185m to influence the 2024 election – more than the entire energy sector:

https://www.followthecrypto.org/

As with everything "crypto," the cryptocurrency election corruption slushfund is a bezzle. The "Stand With Crypto PAC" claims to have the backing of 1.3 million "crypto advocates," and Reuters claims they have 440,000 backers. But 99% of the money claimed by Stand With Crypto was actually donated to "Fairshake" – a different PAC – and 90% of Fairshake's money comes from a handful of corporate donors:

https://www.citationneeded.news/issue-62/

Stand With Crypto – minus the Fairshake money it falsely claimed – has raised $13,690 since April. That money came from just seven donors, four of whom are employed by Coinbase, for whom Stand With Crypto is a stalking horse. Stand With Crypto has an affiliated group (also called "Stand With Crypto" because that is an extremely normal and forthright way to run a nonprofit!), which has raised millions – $1.49m. Of that $1.49m, 90% came from just four donors: three cryptocurrency companies, and the CEO of Coinbase.

There are plenty of crypto dollars for politicians to fight over, but there are virtually no crypto voters. 69-75% of Americans "view crypto negatively or distrust it":

https://www.pewresearch.org/short-reads/2023/04/10/majority-of-americans-arent-confident-in-the-safety-and-reliability-of-cryptocurrency/

When Trump keynotes the Bitcoin 2024 conference and promises to use public funds to buy $1b worth of cryptocoins, he isn't wooing voters, he's wooing dollars:

https://www.wired.com/story/donald-trump-strategic-bitcoin-stockpile-bitcoin-2024/

Wooing dollars, not crypto. Politicians aren't raising funds in crypto, because you can't buy ads or pay campaign staff with shitcoins. Remember: unless Andreesen-Horowitz manages to install Web3 crypto tollbooths all over the internet, the industries that accept crypto are ransomware, and technologically overconfident hit-men and drug-dealers. To win elections, you need dollars, which crypto hustlers get by convincing normies to give them real money in exchange for shitcoins, and they are only funding politicians who will make it easier to do that.

As a political matter, "crypto" is a shorthand for "allowing scammers to steal from working people," which makes it a very Republican issue. As Hamilton Nolan writes, "If the Republicans want to position themselves as the Party of Crypto, let them. It is similar to how they position themselves as The Party of Racism and the Party of Religious Zealots and the Party of Telling Lies about Election Fraud. These things actually reflect poorly on them, the Republicans":

https://www.hamiltonnolan.com/p/crypto-as-a-political-characteristic

But the Democrats – who are riding high on the news that Kamala Harris will be their candidate this fall – have decided that they want some of that crypto money, too. Even as crypto-skeptical Dems like Jamaal Bowman, Cori Bush, Sherrod Brown and Jon Tester see millions from crypto PACs flooding in to support their primary challengers and GOP opponents, a group of Dem politicians are promising to give the crypto industry whatever it wants, if they will only bribe Democratic candidates as well:

https://subscriber.politicopro.com/f/?id=00000190-f475-d94b-a79f-fc77c9400000

Kamala Harris – a genuinely popular candidate who has raised record-shattering sums from small-dollar donors representing millions of Americans – herself has called for a "reset" of the relationship between the crypto sector and the Dems:

https://archive.is/iYd1C

As Luke Goldstein writes in The American Prospect, sucking up to crypto scammers so they stop giving your opponents millions of dollars to run attack ads against you is a strategy with no end – you have to keep sucking up to the scam, otherwise the attack ads come out:

https://prospect.org/politics/2024-07-31-crypto-cash-affecting-democratic-races/

There's a whole menagerie of crypto billionaires behind this year's attempt to buy the American government – Andreesen and Horowitz, of course, but also the Winklevoss twins, and this guy, who says we're in the midst of a "civil war" and "anyone that votes against Trump can die in a fucking fire":

https://twitter.com/molly0xFFF/status/1813952816840597712/photo/1

But the real whale that's backstopping the crypto campaign spending is Coinbase, through its Fairshake crypto PAC. Coinbase has donated $45,500,000 to Fairshake, which is a lot:

https://www.coinbase.com/blog/how-to-get-regulatory-clarity-for-crypto

But $45.5m isn't merely a large campaign contribution: it appears that $25m of that is the largest the largest illegal campaign contribution by a federal contractor in history, "by far," a fact that was sleuthed out by Molly White:

https://www.citationneeded.news/coinbase-campaign-finance-violation/

At issue is the fact that Coinbase is bidding to be a US federal contractor: specifically, they want to manage the crypto wallets that US federal cops keep seizing from crime kingpins. Once Coinbase threw its hat into the federal contracting ring, it disqualified itself from donating to politicians or funding PACs:

Campaign finance law prohibits federal government contractors from making contributions, or promising to make contributions, to political entities including super PACs like Fairshake.

https://www.fec.gov/help-candidates-and-committees/federal-government-contractors/

Previous to this, the largest ever illegal campaign contribution by a federal contractor appears to be Marathon Petroleum Company's 2022 bribe to GOP House and Senate super PACs, a mere $1m, only 4% of Coinbase's bribe.

I'm with Nolan on this one. Let the GOP chase millions from billionaires everyone hates who expect them to promote a scam that everyone mistrusts. The Dems have finally found a candidate that people are excited about, and they're awash in money thanks to small amounts contributed by everyday Americans. As AOC put it:

They've got money, but we've got people. Dollar bills don't vote. People vote.

https://www.popsugar.com/news/alexandria-ocasio-cortez-dnc-headquarters-climate-speech-47986992

Support me this summer on the Clarion Write-A-Thon and help raise money for the Clarion Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers' Workshop!

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/2024/07/31/greater-fools/#coinbased

[iamtheonethinginlifeicancontrol]

I have thoughts on this week's episode of Ranma 1/2 (ep 11)!

I thought that the re-framing that the anime did of Shampoo and Akane's match was very interesting. Choosing to have Akane lob a desk at Ranma and then have him hit in the head by a football (holy head trauma, Batman!) was such an interesting change to make! Ranma being unconscious for a minute or two before running off in search of Akane gave the match more time to occur, built more suspense, and gave Ranma himself more urgency in his search.

The rest of what I have to say contains spoilers (can we say this of a manga series that finished in 1996?) for the end of the manga, under the cut

I'm a die-hard 乱あ shipper and have been since I first read Ranma 1/2, so this episode delighted my little shipper heart. There are some small but significant deviations from the manga that I wanted to expand on, and one particular change that is narratively significant in light of manga canon.

Putting aside the issues of Shampoo's newer fixation on Ranma-as-male as her future husband per Amazonian law and how that impacts the dynamics of our tsundere couple in this ep, I'm choosing to focus on the scenes related to Akane's showdown with Shampoo and the changes that the anime made from the manga (and why I'm living for them).

As mentioned, the decision to knock Ranma unconscious is an interesting change to make, but I'd argue that it works well and was a well thought-out deviation from manga canon. As I said above, it gives the match more time to occur—whether that impacts the duration of time that the Xi Fa Xiang Gao technique takes is yet to be seen. It also builds suspense for the audience, especially in light of the younger generations/newer audience members who may be interacting with Ranma 1/2 for the first time. Most importantly, though, it gives urgency to Ranma's search for Akane that isn't quite there in the manga. Sure, he's worried as he runs after Shampoo and Akane after he gets delayed (by Akane slamming a window in his face lol), but the time that elapses between the two girls going off to fight and Ranma going after them is very short. Maybe 30 seconds, 60 at the very most. I'll include a panel below to illustrate this:

And of course, I'm not arguing that Ranma isn't worried about Akane or fearful that she'll get hurt. But there's a fairly significant difference in how this is portrayed (see below) versus how the anime chose to approach this.

For one thing, the framing is very different. Akane getting injured, while of real concern, is being shown in a humourous way; her facial expressions (like the swirly eyes) and Takahashi-san's characteristic "るーみっくサイン" (rumic sign) are used for comedy, to make it seem like any hurt Akane might incur won't be too serious. Plus, while Ranma does try to diffuse the tension after Akane grabs P-chan from the tray and gets the Kiss of Death for her trouble (lol Shampoo just gives those things out like party favours, doesn't she?), and tries to avert the fight between the two girls, the time that passes doesn't truly allow his concern to sharpen further. As seen above, Ranma's worried-but-determined. He's not flooded with anxiety (or particularly intrusive thoughts imo).

However, the anime chose to allow Ranma to actually lose consciousness at the beginning of the girls' match. We don't (and probably won't) know how long Ranma was actually unconscious, but it certainly was long enough to warrant his frantic search for Akane.

And frantic it is! This man starts running around the entire campus yelling her name, escalating to screeeeaming by the end. Please see below (subs are Akane's name [あかね] and onomatopoeia/sound effects for running and heavy breathing):

But don't worry, guys, he's super laid back, super chill. Jk just in these screenshots alone, he's calling/yelling her name 10 times.

Let's talk quickly about framing here! This is pretty starkly different from how the manga frames these scenes. The colouring is dark, the sky is cloudy, there's no lightheartedness to be seen, and Ranma's frantic and anxious, underscored by the, uh, musical scoring. The anime is treating this as Serious Business, which does make a lot of sense, given that Shampoo chased onna!Ranma all over China trying to kill him, and that experience is what's informing Ranma here. He has an interspersed imagination spot (see below) of Shampoo hitting Akane point blank in the chest with one of her chuí, and we see Akane exclaim in pain, fall to the ground, and remain motionless. He's panicking because he knows how dangerous Shampoo is, and he's afraid for Akane. He doesn't want her to get hurt; he wants to protect her wellbeing, especially because he's seen that she's less concerned with that than he thinks she should be. His insult from the skating arc makes another appearance here: he calls Akane "鈍い女" [nibui onna; slow/dull girl chick], which in his imagination looks like Akane leaving herself completely open for a sternal strike? But his anxiety is informing this mental image, so he's probably imagining a worst-case scenario. I'd hope that his opinion of Akane's capability would be higher, but I digress.

After he stops running about and screams Akane's name in desperation, he quickly hears Ryouga-as-P-chan's voice, he dashes toward the sound, finding Akane unconscious on the ground: fears confirmed!

And here's where, to me, it gets really interesting. We see that Ranma is calling Akane's name and cradling her in his arms; very different to this scene in the manga, where he's on his knees next to her, calling her name and saying, "hey, [untranslatable word that could best be read as] just..." (see below):

And in the anime, this becomes what I think must be an intentional reference to the end of the Saffron arc in the last volume of the manga (38). Ranma says the same thing in one of the last scenes of that story arc, cradling an unconscious Akane in his arms, calling her name, and begging her, "起きろよ、あかね" (okiro yo, Akane; wake up, Akane], among other things. See below for comparison of the manga (upper left-hand panel, specifically) vs the anime:

And here's episode 11's parallel:

Well, gee, what does Ranma screaming her name while holding her with tears in his eyes remind me of? I'm glad you asked! It's the next panel in the manga!

Spoilers, but really.

I've reached my pic limit on this post, so I can't compare and contrast much more, but I do have more to say on this parallel. Might make another post later, so that I can show more pics for illustration.

Whether I make that follow-up post or not, my immediate thought when I saw this in the episode was both that it was an intentional reference to Jusendō, and that it was intended to be the first of a pair of narrative bookends (i.e. recurring or similar scenes meant to refer & compare to one another within the narrative to illustrate something, whether character growth, story progression, relational changes, etc). If we do get the Full Ranma Series animated (may it please God), this is both foreshadowing and bookending, and I'm delighted by it!

Also, even if we don't get to see the Jusendō arc animated, Yamaguchi Kappei will have had the opportunity to play a version of that iconic scene from the manga and do his best "Akaneeeee!" scream.