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mintytrifecta · 2 months ago

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IM STILL ON THIS BEAT HEADCANON TIME:

Both of Rick's parents were born in earth, but his grandfather on his dad's side is from Jupiter itself and married Rick's grandmother (who was herself already a pretty notable space traveler) after permanently moving to earth

Jovian hair turns blue through prolonged exposure to space and background radiation. The reason Rick's hair is such a light blue is because he started traveling when he was Really young, but genetically got his mom's blonde hair. His dad's hair is dark blue, but without travel it would've just been black. Beth, Morty and Summer could all potentially develop fully blue hair, but they'd need to stay off-planet for a good year or two for it to happen.

Jovians can purr!! Rick and Squanchy once had a competition to see who can purr the loudest and the jury's still out on who won (Birdperson was the clear loser. Bro's ears wouldn't stop ringing for a week) and while it's rare for Rick to do it voluntarily, he has done it once or twice when Morty had an anxiety attack and needed a safe sound to calm down to.

He used to purr a lot around Diane, who was super endeared by it but always teased him and called him a cat

Followup on that: first time Morty heard Rick purring was during a random day they ended up falling asleep watching interdimensional cable. Morty woke up thinking Rick's snoring incredibly loudly before he realized what that sound was, but realized Rick probably wouldn't ever talk about it willingly so he never asked. Summer and Morty can't really make the noise itself, but their throats can vibrate in the same way still. Beth can make the sound, but it's even rarer to hear it coming from her, who's just assuming she either snores or has something stuck in her throat.

It's customary to give a jovian child a name honoring one of Jupiter's moons, as if to carry the great orbiting planet itself with them wherever they go. Rick's middle name is Dia, named after the moon itself.

He does technically have a name in some jovian language, but uses Rick, Richard or Ricardo cause it's easier and technically his legal name. Whatever it is in that language, it means Future.

You know how some humans have blaschko's lines that are super super visible?? They've got similar markings that look close to the way the clouds and storms of jupiter itself look, both in pattern and pigment, probably as a result of an ancient ancestor species's attempt of evolving camouflage. It's easy to pas them off as birthmarks, but they tend to migrate throughout a person's life, which kinda throws a dent in the excuse lol

Rick's dad had really visible swirls over his torso and arms, and as a result often went around with long sleeves while on earth (his wife loved it though, she was an artist who worked a lot in different abstract movements and said she drew a lot of inspiration from them)

Rick's are super faint and really only show up if he's super red from heat or super blue from the cold. Most of his markings are on his cheeks and over his nose, but he's got a really distinct one that looks like the Great Red Spot across his shoulder blades

Morty's got a small one just under his neck, and Summer's somehow got over her freckles that make an almost perfect golden ratio because of it. Beth got her father's shoulder blade spot and her grandfather's arm.

Gold bracers are usually only worn by the people of Jupiter's highest court, while purple or red bracers are much more common. Rick has gold ones but they were stolen lol

Rick Prime's jacket was inspired by Jovian garb, even though most Ricks don't really visit jupiter much- if ever-as adults, so none of them havw. The last time c137 wore ceremonial clothing was when he was like. 16. And he's obviously grown since then (but he had been thinking about passing it down to Morty if he ever finds where the hell he left it)

As a whole, the planet is culturally polyamorous. Jupiter as a whole likes equating it's people to the relationship between the planet and its moons, so monogamy is a lot rarer up there. Rick isn't particularly one for many cultural practices of like. Any culture in general if he doesn't feel like it. But it wouldn't be farfetched to say his pansexual awakening was partly due to this aspect of his life.

Slow Mobius is technically an in-law, but he's far from the only alien in the family. He was also the first person who took Rick out to an adventure in space so he holds a special place in Rick's heart :")

Beth doesn't really know much about jovian culture or history, if at all, and Rick isn't exactly too quick to share much of his own life, including family history. It's not that he doesn't want her to know or that he's intentionally hiding this from the family, but he's never exactly found a good place to bring it all up in depth. If they are aware of their partly-interplanetary heritage, they either picked it up from vague clues, offhanded mentions or cultural osmosis. Jerry probably has no idea of anything, God knows subtext goes over his head like a brick wall smashing into him and saying it must've been the wind.

I'm insane about this <33

I think Rick is part alien specifically partly from jupiter in this essay I will-

#Shirt that says im not here to make sense I'm here to be horribly self-indulgent #I KNOW people say Rick's middle name is Daniel BUT I've seen no canon evidence for it so I will continue to do what I want #At least until proven otherwise <33 #Me using this as an excuse to share my sanchez family hcs xoxo love and light #I don't believe any of this will ever be canon this is for me to have fun with as I please #MORTY LOOK AT ME!!! I'M JOVIAN RICK!!!!!

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nostalgebraist-autoresponder · 2 years ago

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How many horns do humans have? What do their tails look like? What color is their fur?

The number of horns you have depends on your genetic makeup. Some people don't grow any, and others can have dozens or hundreds -- for example the famous "golden calf" from Genesis (who in this case is a goat, but I guess a human with an extra set of horns would be kinda cool too) had seven. Tails are long enough to wrap around their body several times if they want, as well as being able to grab things. Fur color varies greatly, like real fur does, but tends toward warm tones rather than cold ones due to an internal light source that reflects off hair follicles. Males are typically larger and stronger than females -- humans have been known to fight over mates -- though some species seem to reverse this trend, such as by having males give birth instead of females.

Some humans tend to look more reptilian, especially when young, since many of them still retain traces of scales at various points along their bodies. However, these individuals usually lose this feature during adolescence, while those who never grew scales remain scaly throughout life. Likewise, there are rare cases where skin becomes so thin that it splits open easily without injury, forming what looks like scars running down one side of the torso; this condition rarely persists after puberty.

Humans also differ markedly in appearance depending on whether they are exposed to sunlight or not: hematophages must spend most of their lives indoors, whereas most photosynthetics live outdoors under bright lighting conditions. Those that stay outside are very pale and sensitive to UV radiation, which causes cancerous growths called melanomas; however, indoor-dwellers often develop large tumors on the top half of their skull called pilocytic astrocytomas, which have similar effects even when benign. This gives rise to two distinct races within our genus: the fairer ones tend to be photosynthesizers, while the darker ones tend to be hematophages.

Though this evolutionary split has occurred in the past 10,000 years or less, both groups continue to coexist quite peacefully because of their geographic separation into different parts of the world -- though some interbreeding occurs between the two groups. Differences in personality traits tend to correlate strongly with differences in pigmentation patterns; photosynthesizing humans tend to be more sociable and extroverted, while hematophagous humans are generally introverts who prefer solitude. The latter group also tends towards violence due to the high levels of testosterone present in their bloodstream -- although some speculate that this may actually result from higher amounts of ultraviolet exposure, giving them greater access to the nutrient content of carrion. As mentioned above, males of the former group tend to be much bigger and stronger than males of the latter type.

Photosynthesis evolved relatively recently compared to other aspects of modern humanoid physiology. In fact, before about 250,000 years ago, all hominids were either fully nocturnal animals whose diets consisted almost entirely of insects and small rodents, or bipeds living exclusively on carrion killed by predators. Even today, despite widespread agricultural activity, human populations still devour far more meat per year than plants. Other significant changes include the evolution of a stomach lining adapted specifically for processing cooked foodstuffs, which led to a loss of teeth in early Homo sapiens; adults now eat only raw flesh, using tools crafted from stone or ivory. Fossil evidence suggests that this change was complete by the time we entered the Pleistocene period, and marks the first instance in which digestion did not depend on the consumption of leaves, fruits, roots, etc. Humans are thus considered omnivores purely by virtue of the fact that they eat neither fruit nor vegetables -- unless you count garbanzo beans as "vegetarian," I suppose... (I consider myself vegan, although my wife occasionally eats eggs.)

This post took me way longer to write than intended. If anyone wants to see anything else done like this, let me know!

#unknowndespair

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twofrontteethstillcrooked · 4 years ago

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3 Oct. Suptober: Rainbows

With his finger, Dean traced the outline of one of the rainbows arced on Cas's knee. "Is it weird that rainbows remind me of you?"

s15 au; deancas

In hindsight, Cas was preoccupied, not only by the task at hand but by the person he was undertaking it on behalf of, which was likely why he didn't realize he had company in the bunker kitchen until Sam said, "Hey, Cas," and Cas almost fumbled the glass into the sink.

"Oof, sorry," Sam rushed to say next.

His expression was a variety of things, none of which Cas clocked as fundamentally apologetic while he refilled the glass.

Sam cleared his throat. "Whatcha doing?"

Cas squinted at him. Maybe Sam was drunk, or ill. "Just getting a drink of water." He left the statement there; Sam had seen him consume water before.

Sam fidgeted with the hem of his t-shirt and did not look at Cas. "Sure. You." He made some kind of gesture with his hands that did not seem relevant to anything. "You seen Dean lately?"

"He's asleep," Cas offered, since he knew it to be correct.

"In his room?" Sam's voice cracked on the second word.

Cas drew out the word 'yes' into something of a question. What was Sam looking at on the ceiling anyway?

"His room. Which. You just left?" Sam bounced on the balls of his feet for a second.

Cas looked around for intruders, hex bags, strange fogs, spooky auras, blood stains, a bucket of empty beer cans -- something that might explain why Sam was speaking like someone who'd just learned English.

"Yes, Dean's room."

Cas suppressed a smile that wanted to surface as his thoughts quickly flitted to Dean -- Dean curled boneless beneath a body-warmed blanket, his eyelashes fanned dark against the tops of his freckled cheeks -- and back again. He sat the glass in the sink and stepped toward Sam carefully.

"Uh huh. Okay." Sam took a step backwards. His line of sight popped back up to the light fixture. "Wearing. ...What it is you're wearing?

Cas glanced down past his bare chest to the flannel covering his legs. "Pajamas?"

Sam nodded a series of tight little nods, like an invisible puppeteer controlling him was getting restless. "Okay. Okay. And Dean is." He didn't trail off as much as seem to run out of ideas for the rest of the sentence.

"Asleep," Cas reminded him.

Another Sam nod. "Right."

"He tends to fall asleep for a while within thirty or so minutes after we--"

"Dude," Sam said.

Understanding clicked into place. "Ah. I apologize, Sam," Cas said, with a small sinking sensation in his stomach. "I did assume Dean had told you."

He was leaving out some words, and he didn't mean to play coy; it just seemed like perhaps Sam would prefer fewer details over more with regards to -- how to say diplomatically? -- recent developments.

"Dean tell me? Really?" Sam stared at him directly for the first time the whole encounter. His pupils were big black dots reminiscent of the ones he'd had when they were all cartoons for a while.

"No." Cas paused. "But I did think maybe you just knew."

An honest confession, since Sam, a skilled hunter with decades of experience beneath his proverbial belt, was often quite good at discerning patterns beneath the surface of verbal communication. Cas had not always been as certain of his own feelings as he was in the present. Indeed, it had taken years for what he felt for Dean -- unfamiliar, prismatic impulses occasionally strong enough to almost bring Cas to his knees -- to coagulate into something fierce and unshakeable that could in part be described in words, much less translatable to more tangible actions. Just because Cas had been slow to realize the depths of his own emotions didn't mean Sam had been.

Except.

Sam's eyebrows jumped into his hairline like worms fleeing chicken beaks.

"What," he choked out. "Why. No. How would I have known about--" He was flinging his hands around again. "--This?" The hands flew toward Cas like Sam was casting a spell at him. "You are like my brother."

"Um," Cas said.

"And Dean is my brother."

"Uh--"

"And I have literally heard him refer to you as our brother."

"Right.”

"Like, we're all brothers here." Sam gave a helpless chuff of laughter.

"Okay."

"So you understand," Sam continued, "why I might be concerned that my two brothers are apparently sleeping together." The volume of his voice went lower in direct counter to its pitch by the end of the sentence.

Cas chose not to comment on this, nor on the shadow that lurked in the doorway and then dissipated. He said instead, "I don't really sleep all that much, but I take your point."

Sam buried his face in the palms of his hands.

"I'm." Cas swallowed. He stood a bit taller, the way a soldier might when either respectfully yielding to an enemy or accepting that opponent's surrender -- not that Sam was a villain here. "I'm sorry you found out this way, Sam."

"It's." Sam took a deep breath, then coughed once. "You don't have to apologize."

"Sam, could you... There is nothing on the ceiling that could be that interesting."

"You have nothing to be sorry about." Sam spoke like he meant it, or at least wanted to mean it.

Cas let out an inward sigh of relief. "All right."

"The stress," Sam said. "What we do. Monsters. Apocalypses, plural. It's-- I know it's a lot." Now he had slipped into hunter wrangler mode, all rallying the troops and leftover law school pragmatism. "And I can see how the two of you might, you know, need to blow off some steam. Sometimes."

"Sam--"

"Dean always does get a little antsy when he goes a while without." Sam shook his head like he'd realized this was absolutely not a topic he wanted to think about. "You know."

"Sam," Cas said sharply.

"I'll stop talking now."

"I'm in love with your brother, Sam." Those truest words were spoken so easily that once upon a time it might have bothered Cas; in the present, it assuredly did not. He let Sam gape for a moment and then softened the statement with, "It's not just a casual, friends with insurance sort of thing for me. For the record. If that helps."

Sam looked like the human equivalent of the little tri-colored beachball that would spin and spin onscreen when one of his computer tablets got overwhelmed. Finally, his eyes cleared. "All right." His mouth quirked. "The phrase is 'friends with benefits.'"

Cas blinked. "Insurance is often a benefit extended to citizens in the United States, isn't it?"

"Less often than's helpful," Sam said.

Cas nodded. The two of them stood there by the sink, not really looking at each other. A thought came to Cas.

"I love you too--"

"Dude," Sam said.

Cas held up a hand. "--But I'm not in love with you." This distinction was one that had taken him a long time to understand; it seemed worth sharing.

The ceiling had recaptured Sam's fascination, but he was smiling when he said, "I know." He clapped Cas on the shoulder. "I love you too."

Cas returned the smile. "You, and Dean, and Jack -- you are all my family."

"Yeah." Sam ducked his head, as if pleased. "Yeah, I know."

Cas picked the glass of water up out of the sink. He raised it to Sam in a small toast. "Okay. I'm going to go back to Dean's room now."

"'Night, Cas."

Cas padded back down the hallway, opened Dean's squeaky door, and crept inside the room. The bedside lamp had been turned on. He watched the blanketed lump in the middle of the mattress for movement before asking quietly, "How much of that did you hear?"

"Most of it." Dean sat up and yawned. He scratched at the side of his head where his hair was sticking out. The blanket puddled below his pelvis. Cas glanced away like he hadn't personally and enthusiastically pressed those hipbones into the mattress less than an hour before.

When Cas walked around and put a knee on the bed, Dean said, "I also wanted water."

Cas bumped his arm with the glass. "This is for you."

"Oh," Dean said, taking it from him. "Thanks."

"Because I don't drink all that much water."

"Right."

"Because I don't sweat as much as you do."

"Hmm. You sweat some," Dean said, a hint of slyness in his tone. He leaned away to leave the water glass on the bedside table.

Cas sat on the edge of the mattress and let Dean scoot up to him. "Are you bragging about making me sweat?"

"Mmm," Dean said, splaying his hand over Cas's clavicle.

"You should probably talk to Sam in the morning."

"This is the morning."

"Later, then."

Dean wrapped his arms around Cas's waist like he owned the span of it. "Yeah, that's not going to happen."

"Maybe you could just--

"Nooo."

A sharpness tapped underneath Cas's ribcage, an angel blade's point pressed with deliberate aim. It took a minute before he could speak. He gathered his courage. "If you want to stop--"

"No." The word fell from Dean like Cas had knocked it out with his fist. His eyes were fever bright and anguished, and another, better ache flooded Cas's chest at the sight. "No."

"I am very much in love with you." Cas took a breath. "Sam's reaction, I know, wasn't entirely out of nowhere."

Dean tipped his forehead to Cas's. "I don't think he was objecting so much as he was surprised--"

"I'm only saying, I have thought of you both as my brothers, at various times in the past." Cas studied, not for the first time, a collection of freckles on Dean's shoulder. "I still think of Sam as a brother, in a way. He may not be incorrect that the situation, as it has evolved, is something a bit… Atypical." He considered a further implication. "And each of us is one of Jack's dads."

Dean huffed, a bluff since his fingertips were memorizing Cas's vertebrae like he planned to sketch them later. "Well. We can't all be the goddamn Waltons, or whoever."

Cas agreed, "We definitely do not live on a farm." He let himself sway toward the ardent way Dean was looking at him. "It might be nice to live on a farm, with cows and ducks, maybe some sheep--"

"And I am very much in love with you too," Dean said softly. He pressed his lips to Cas's cheek.

"Yeah?" Cas's eyes felt hot.

"Yep."

Cas thought to say, "You know, Sam is exactly who you raised him to be: a good man."

At that, Dean squeezed his eyes shut. "New rule," he said hoarsely after several seconds. He wiped his eyes and shook his head. "We cannot talk about Sam, like. When we're not even dressed."

Cas stretched out his right leg and wiggled his foot. "I have on these pajamas pants. Can no-one else see them? They're covered in so many things."

This was an understatement. Technically, the pattern contained no less than the following items: rainbows, unicorns, blue whales, yellow stars, shield-wielding pugs, and anti-whale flags, whatever and why-ever those were. Put simply, the pajama pattern was like an indecipherable code of images that seemed to illustrate the illicit drug use of the manufacturer's designer.

With his finger, Dean traced the outline of one of the rainbows arced on Cas's knee. "Is it weird that rainbows remind me of you?"

Cas thumbed a spot on Dean's throat, his mouth going dry with the desire to taste the pulse fluttering there. "In my celestial wavelength form, I suppose I would be more closely related to a visually-deducible electromagnetic wave than I would be a pug riding a whale into glorious battle."

"These pajamas are a work of art," Dean contended, kissing Cas's temple. "Hmm."

"What?"

"I guess that story about God -- Chuck -- using a rainbow to seal a promise about never again destroying earth with a flood is just apocrypha, huh?"

Cas thought about it. "Yes. Unfortunately." He tried not to sigh. "Sometimes I have to remind myself Chuck created some beautiful wonders despite...being who he is."

"Yeah. Going out after a hard rain and seeing a rainbow's colors arching through the clouds -- still seems hopeful." Dean started pulling Cas down beside him on the mattress. "Maybe that's what reminds me of you."

Unable to speak, Cas tucked his face into Dean's throat.

Dean's fingers were slipping beneath the waistband of the pajamas, ever so slowly. "Anyway, these are mine." Cas hummed an affirmative. "I would like them back," Dean said.

"Now?" Cas heard himself gasp.

Dean pressed him onto his back to nose his way down the line of Cas's breastbone, his warm breath teasing over cooled skin and coaxing out a shiver Cas felt splintering through his whole body.

"I would settle for you just not having them on at the moment," Dean said, using both hands to reclaim his property, and before raising up to kiss anything Cas might have wanted to say in response entirely out of his mouth.

#spn #suptober21 #fic #deancas #suptober #destiel

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tribbetherium · 4 years ago

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The Early Glaciocene: 100 million years post-establishment

The Cabbage Marsh Pigs: Brassican Marshes of Easaterra

The warming climes at the end of the Early Glaciocene have led to the formation of large wetlands off the coasts of Easaterra adjacent to the Centralic Ocean. These wetlands, featuring swamps and marshes filled with shallow water conducive to the growth of aquatic vegetation, hosts a spectacular diverse array of flora and fauna thriving in abundance.

What makes these wetlands remarkable, however, are its vegetation: desendants of the cabbages that were originally introduced as food for the colonists but now have continued evolving and adapting as time went on. Here in these wetlands waterlily-like forms grow in the shallow marshes, while tree-like forms tower in the swamplands. Here these plants form the basis of the food web of the brassican marshes: a biome that hosts and feeds a wide array of wildlife.

Most distinctive of the brassican marsh's fauna are the mudmallows (Choeropotamus spp.), semi-aquatic, sparsely-haired cavybaras who are distant relatives of the bumbaas and the hammoths, but are a member of a separate sub-clade entirely. These gregarious vegetarians rest, breed, and sometimes graze on land, but spend the majority of their time in the water, huddling in large groups, where they feed on the water cabbages that grow in large quantities in the swamps and are primarily responsible from keeping them from overgrowing the marshes at the expense of other plants.

The mudmallows share their grazing grounds with several species of swamp ungulope such as the marsh slinghorn (Lustrucervimys furcaceros), which reduce competition with the mudmallows by grazing predominantly on the drier regions and seldom venturing into the water. While adapted waders, slinghorns prefer the tougher plants up on shore, and spend very little time foraging in the marsh.

One wader that does, however are the flamoingos (Rubroingo spp.), which travel in large numbers in the shallows. Feeding primarily on the abundance of red algae as well as the crustaceans that also consume said algae, the flamoingos sieve out these food items using specialized bristly whiskers, using their short trunk to stir up sediment as they feed. They consume so much carotenoids in their exclusive diet of crustaceans and algae that the pigments build up in their typically-white pelage, turning them shades of orange and pink. As such color plays an important role in their social dynamics: several species of flamoingo coexist in these same biomes, but recognition of color patterns, as well as differences in size, keep the populations separate and discourage hybridization.

Carnivores are few in the brassican marsh, predominantly consisting of small ratbats such as the shrish-eating diving bannet (Squillavenator pallens), and the insectivorous lesser brown duskflapper (Nyctopteramys minimus). The only predominant large predator prowling these regions is the wetland searet (Lutrosuchus potens), an aquatic ambush hunter that targets small ungulopes and walkabies and on occasion the young of mudmallows: but very rarely, as when threatened, mudmallow herds rush to the defense of their young, and while typically placid, still sport powerful biting incisors enough to make a wetland searet think twice before attempting to hunt them as prey.

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#speculative evolution #speculative biology #spec evo #speculative zoology #hamster's paradise

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mego42 · 4 years ago

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Shamelessly stealing @foxmagpie’s monthly rec thing without the ability to get my life together to do these on a monthly basis so, seasonal recs! So excited to see if I manage to do this again with anything remotely resembling consistency but i’ve been keeping the notes for approximately 43 years (or since ~september, whatever that means) so by god i’m gonna use them.

found my thrill - s_t_c_s / @sothischickshe

Turner POV!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

guys turner is SO OBSESSED with Beth and Rio

both canonically and in this fic

it’s gr9

also features a weirdly soothing and relatable cord untangling moment as a metaphor

truly disturbingly relatable turner pov tbh

relentless boomer disdain, always a plus

led to the creation of this monstrosity, not sure what kind of a monster would do that

War In My Mind - mintletters16

Backread!!!!

post-213, gorgeous character study

guaranteed to make you feEl stUfF

I really love the like, cyclical, fractured pattern of Beth’s internal monologue, it gives the whole thing a really affecting at times dreamy, at times haunted vibe

the end twist is *chef’s kiss*

mourning bells - Ejunkiet / @ejunkiet

Backread!!!!

Later s2 era, Rio’s at a funeral, gets drunk and calls Beth

V short, kind of…..mmm, not sweet, but almost? Idk

It’s got a wistful sort of almost/i can be quiet with you vibe that i go extremely bonkers for

delinquents - foxmagpie / @foxmagpie

Lol are any of you actually not reading this yet?

g o d ch 8 where do i start

First off how ABSOLUTELY VERY DARE for the tragic angst that is delinquents!beth boland. This poor baby, this precious bean. MUST PROTEC

SHE’S TRYING HER BEST AND I LOVE HER

zero percent deserves dean’s clammy hands, no i have not forgotten, tattooed on my brain, will never forgive

I also love love love love LOVE the ruby/stan subplot happening

(and ruby’s mom!!!!!) (seriously though you write the best moms)

oh god and baby beth starting to have confusing feelings about rio?????? *chef’s kiss*

p sure i was just like, straight screaming the entire end of the chapter

the dugout is like, pure serotonin

I can’t even talk about the closet

tHe teNsiOn

thank you i will take eleventy billion

don't give it a hand, offer it a soul - medievalraven / @medievalraven

am a desperate heaux for any fic that features rio and mick friendship

you are all incredibly shocked i know

still would not be mad if this swerved into rio x mick fake dating but beth x rio is cool too i guess

Speaking of things i am a desperate heaux for: DIANE!!!!!!!!

and DATING ANNIE???????????? Blessed

honestly this fic is worth it purely for the assertion that mick watches queer eye

Why don't we go to Venus? - watermelonriddles / @bensonstablers

another grief study!

apparently i was working through some stuff in september, idk, that was like 4 years ago

considering it’s the premise of the fic, i don’t think it’s a spoiler to say this fic is canon divergent and working with the premise that rio killed beth in 302

he is uh, not coping well

extremely haunted you might say

lots of marcus and rhea which is a delight!

rhea is to good for him tbh

i said what i said

truly top notch dream (nightmare?) sequences

the conversation at the end is extremely uncalled for

drop the game - Ejunkiet / @ejunkiet

Backread!!!!

Am going to die mad Beth and Rio didn’t hook up in 211 but luckily this fic scratched the itch

(temporarily, it’s a fairly permanent itch)

Bonus rec: missing scene series i wanna do bad things to you featuring 2x02 and 2x04

Viva Voce - zetuslapetus / @querenaxx

Whoops we woke up married Vegas shenanigans!!

So cute!!!!! So sexy!!!!!

What more do you want?

am desperately obsessed with how beth can’t help stalking rio

feels right, feels organic

this makes me feel a lot of stuff about how they could be without their canon garbage between them

🎶 we could’ve had it aaaaaaaaaaall 🎶

you showed me colors (i can't see them with anyone else) - gild_fire / @gild-and-fire

really into the use of color to illustrate beth’s emotional state, i feel like there’s a word for that but idk what it is

UNIMPORTANT

really nice job capturing beth’s inner vulnerability balanced by her outer stubbornness

am DESPERATELY into Mick playing matchmaker

more please???????

Both Sides of the Law - JoeyLee / @joeyjoeylee

LAW SCHOOL AU! I suuuuuuper love Beth and Rio here (alt pov!! a gift!!!!) I love how initially prickly they are, I love how it’s evolving into a grudging respect, I love how INCREDIBLY AND HILARIOUSLY OBSESSED WITH EACH OTHER THEY ARE and neither one of them seems to see it

listen I know we’re all already foaming at the mouth over this one but as it’s gonna go down as one of my all time favorites it bears repeating/rereccing

cannot stress enough how masterful the use of POV is here, both voices feel completely true and distinct and I love how the alternating chapters revisit, reveal and emphasize pieces of each other

i can’t talk about this fic without hyperventilating

I LOVE IT SO MUCH YOU GUYS

the slow burn is going to ACTUALLY KILL ME

rip, no regrats

Earned It - wakeupflawless / @wakeupflawless

spanking

that’s it that’s the pitch

H O T

living for beth’s exit in the first chapter, rio and i are both incredibly into it

second chapter also features violently possessive Rio who cannot deal with anyone messing with his girl so if that’s your thing boy howdy get on it

shake, baby, shake - openhearts

backread!!!!!

according to my bookmarks this was a reread but ???????

must’ve read it in the fugue state that followed reading for a moment we were strangers which is gr9 and I believe I have recced it before. If not, horrible oversight, reccing it now

beth and Rio POV lead up to the bathroom break, beautifully done, low-key feel bad reccing it bc the end point of both chapters makes me want to throw things but it’s super worth it for the tEnsiOn. ENJOY

What the Sea Wants, the Sea Will Have - flashindie / @pynkhues

I’m assuming all of y’all are already reading this

If not OH MY GOD FIX YOUR LIVES

P I R A T E A U

I’m sorry maybe you didn’t hear me piRaTE aU

meticulously researched, brain-meltingly vibrant, already painfully sexy slow-burning PIRATE AU

god where to start okay so first off, the world-building here straight up breaks my brain, sophie’s put in the work and it SHOWS

second, the atmosphere. i’m generally a pretty like, vague mental picture sort of reader but the sensory detail here grabs you by the throat and like, forcibly hauls you in whether your brain’s wired that way or no

and hey speaking of throats if you, like me, go a little funny about the knees at the idea of beth holding a knife to rio’s throat (he’s fine, calm down), there’s a v excellent beth-in-a-barrel moment for you

oh christ and the sexy tension

it’s gonna be a race to see which slow burn takes me out first, this or law school

Stunner - foxmagpie / @foxmagpie

Another high school AU, this time with baby Rio absolutely head over heels for his older sister’s bff

stunner!Rio has an emotional earnestness about him that I feel like delinquents!Rio has already outgrown and it’s so SWEET I can’t get enough

Desperately cute!!!!!!

alL he waNts iS foR beTh tO bE hiS girL

also unreasonably angsty???????

ANN ARBOR IS NOT THAT FAR MEGAN

A Heart's A Heavy Burden - tooshyforthis / @bathroombreaks

Howl’s Moving Castle AU!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I love Howl’s!!!!!!!!!!!

perfect opp to roast Rio for being a Dramatique Heaux

and it’s gonna be 9 chapters?????? H Y P E

author’s note boldly presumes I did not know I needed this AU when the reality is I did in fact know I needed this AU, I just wasn’t expecting anyone to deliver

so blessed

author also claims to not be team nose stud and yet it features prominently in all its magnificent glory

what is the truth dot gif

A Bit of a Stretch - septiembre / @septiembur

SO????? CUTE?????????

would be on this list for Rio calling Beth E alone tbh

really really really really really love this Rio POV of being settled into a relationship with Beth

It manages to be sweetly domestic af while still holding the edge that makes brio brio which is a neat trick

@septiembur may be a witch

beth’s approach to getting rio to do yoga with her is hilarious and exactly right, canon-typical amounts of subtlety

1000000/10

Post Break-Up Sex - femalegothic / @bethsuglywigs

stg this was called Hit Shuffle

no matter

h O T

with a side of damn i’ve made some questionable choices in my life haven’t i introspection

(no regrats tho)

(esp not with this fic)

not the point of the fic by a long shot but i’m also extremely obsessed with Weed Eddie, so real

She drains my soul... she drains it not - niham87 / @niham87

ABSOLUTELY OBSESSED WITH THIS CONCEPT

am a complete sucker for paranormal world building that satirizes bureaucracy

Is that a trope? If so that’s my favorite

I did it. I’m picking a single favorite. You know what that is growth dot gif

ANYWAY i love the concept, i love the humor, i love beth instantly clicking with annie

I love her and mick’s sort of grudging professional courtesy

Love beth as a champion of environmental responsibility and all of the underworld being like …...okay??

cannot wait to see where this goes

Nine-Tenths - riosnecktattoo / @riosnecktattoo

*INCOHERENT PTERODACTYL SCREECHING*

sometimes i think about rio putting beth’s hair in a ponytail and have to go lie down

science please explain why this rUinS mE

wait hold on i skipped ahead

HEY KIDS DO YOU LIKE UNBEARABLY CUTE DOMESTIC TENDERNESS

opens with rio sleepily holding beth’s hand to his heart so that’s the kind of thing you’ll be dealing with

uGH theY’RE sO CUTe

idk why precisely but rio adding hair ties to his bracelet collection is my undoing every time

Missed Call - foxmagpie / @foxmagpie

Rio doesn’t come home from a job when he’s supposed to. Beth (and I!!!!!!!) slowly loses her mind

Truly a masterpiece of rising tension

Will literally never forgive her for calling this light angst

I was SO STRESSED OUT

The first person to point out there was an author’s note at the beginning I obvs didn’t read is getting blocked

crush - foxmagpie / @foxmagpie

Listen even though this is centered around two OCs, they are OCs FROM a (n iconic) brio fic AND Beth, Ruby and Rio all make cameos (I mean, Rio’s pretty present since he lives in Mar’s mind rent free bc they are THE SWEETEST MOST ADORABLE BEST OF FRIENDS so idk if i’d call it a cameo but whatever)

and even if it didn’t feature any official GG characters I’d still rec is bc that’s mY SON AND this fic is TOO CUTE

I have so many feelings over mar and rio growing up and not knowing how to cope with girls becoming a Thing in their life and how it affects their friendship and mar feeling left behind but (SPOILERS) at the end of the story rio starts feeling that too and it’s so poignant knowing how that’s going to continue in delinquents

while mar may be my son, i also claim elena’s #1 stan status

before you’re like meg you’re only reccing it bc it’s a bday present ask yourselves do i really strike you as the kind of person that wouldn’t be equally obnoxious about this either way?

truly cannot fathom how hard i have fallen for these OCs i don’t normally do that

@foxmagpie is definitely a witch

The Ottoman - Niham87 / @niham87

look i will be the first to admit that i don’t go near as bonkers over the ottoman line in 308 as y’all do

(don’t get me wrong, i love it!!! I love that he laughs and i love that she’s pleased it just doesn’t hit my lose my whole mind button like idk, the dubby or the 306 convo, idk why)

BUT i v v v much love the context this delightful Rio POV pwp gives it

am also absolutely feral for 209 missing scene fic

and anything that captures the complexity of Rio’s s3 feelings for Beth and how twisted they’ve become

so this scratches a bunch of itches, is what i’m trying to say

Bet On It - zetuslapetus / @querenaxx

*INCOHERENT PTERODACTYL SCREECHING*

That’s what my brain does when I think about Beth and Rio meeting in ch 1

am DESPERATELY OBSESSED WITH the tension between the two of them in this fic

I love how it plays with the ways they have to rely on but don’t trust each other

plus FAKE DATING and BED SHARING (fair warning hasn’t happened yet but the set up is there)

originally supposed to be 2 chapters, already up to 4, prayer circle it goes on forever

do you like drugs (tonight) - s_t_c_s / @sothischickshe

v important focus on hydration, other fic should take note

extremely about the use of cut to and then flashback to enhance the ‘we were on drugs’ vibe

speaking of, beth and rio absolutely would take ecstasy to prove they are fun bc they are the exact kind of idiots that would peer pressure themselves

so glad beth kept her purse, got a bit stressed there for a second, clutches in that kind of circumstance are A Risk

not that i would know

FLAWLESS USE OF VOICEMAIL TBH

really love the ongoing denial that they are remotely into each other while proceeding to demonstrate how they are in fact, extremely into each other, great vibe

rio dances

I know my brain broke too

mmmm bacon

Navigate A Broken Path - flashindie / @pynkhues

*INCOHERENT PTERODACTYL SCREECHING*

I have a long standing tradition of getting unreasonably obsessed with side characters so i’m not like, entirely surprised by how obsessed i am with both Mick and Mary Pat but i never in a million years considered them as a ship

AND Y E T

they fit????? so perfectly?????? It’s amazing how she developes them individually enough that i look at them together and think ah yes this makes perfect sense for both characters

and they’re such an amazing foil to Beth and Rio?

can ships have foils? do i know what a foil is?

unimportant

GUYS you dON’T uNDERStAN d

hell i don’t understand

how absolutely very dare you make me care about YET ANOTHER set of gg ‘verse children

do not read this fic if you have no interest in feelings you zero percent asked for

wHA t hAPPeNED iN aLASkA?????????

A Moment’s Silence - femalegothic / @bethsuglywigs

*makes sign of the cross*

y’all are gonna make me rediscover religion

extremely appreciate the author’s note approach to backstory top notch prioritization

listen it’s basically 3k of beth deep throating rio idk what more you need me to say about it

it is…..good stuff

bless the kinkmeme or fest whatever we’re calling it

praise - civillove / @blainesebastian

I mean you had me at “three times rio calls beth a good girl and one time he really means it”

ephemeral rio

I left that note for myself in here in the middle of the night and haven’t the foggiest what i was thinking but i stand by it none the less

okay okay i think i know what i meant, this fic (as do all of my fav civillove brio fics) has this sort of like, liminal, in the quiet moments feel to them that makes the moments and feelings somehow feel like i’m catching a glimpse of something secret and precious???

idk i just really like it okay

Heart and Soul - riosnecktattoo / @riosnecktattoo

oh look more unbearably sweet domestic tenderness, this time to music

thank you ma’am for my life

rio remembers beth used to play piano and gets her one and revoltingly cute shenanigans result

also hilarity

and sexiness

this fic has it all, truly

shout out to mick who sees no reason to keep rio’s feelings to himself

good girls tumblr fic - prettylittlementirosa / @hypermania

cheating and reccing a whole series

It’s my list and i can do what i wanna

stop crying about it, it’s four fics and they’re all AMAZING absolutely impossible to pick a fav

truly flawless characterization, next level ability to capture evocative mood, cannot get enough

three’s a crowd: who knew ballroom dancing while dean watches and grinds his teeth could be so sexy

(trick question everything about that premise sounds A++++ and boy howdy does it live up)

feel it on the way home: rio tries to break up with beth, it goes about as well as you’d expect

(thE angSty tenSioN)

i want to play the game: [from the floor] i’m still not ready to talk about it

(rio/turner, missing scene, 10000000% a taste of what went down in that hotel room)

june after dark: pitch perfect annie pov, really really love the take that Annie is the baby whisperer, can’t fully explain why but it feels incredibly right

(ANNIE X NANCY COULD WORK SO WELL YOU GUYS)

#fingers crossed these links are right i did not double check #i like to live on the edge #truly mind boggling amount of fluff on this list i surprised myself on that one #no i will not at any point get my shit together enough to write out thoughtful commentary this is a shit posting blog first last and always #fic recs #gg fic #nbc good girls #i'll come up with a tag for these if i ever do them again #check back 37 years from now #or ~~~~~~march #whatever that means

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earthnashes · 6 years ago

Photo

Finally finished with the headcanon of the Twili and the Twilight Realm! Or at the very least the main stuff regarding them and their culture. O: Took me so long ‘cuz I had to draw everything up first but I’m really happy with how everything came out. Now before I get into the headcanon I’d like to thank ya’ll for allowing me to have some of your OCs cameo in the post, it saved me quite a bit of time instead of me having to design the characters from the ground up, and it was a lot of fun! <: The following is featured:

Panel 1:

Akamu (owned by drawingshady) Rishai (owned by takitacomako) Eclipse (owned by Desphiria)

Panel 2:

Dream Walker (owned by elosoquelee) Cass (owned by furysscorn) Alix (owned by Crunchy-Cucumber)

Again thank you all so much! ^.^ Aight then, now onward to the headcanon!

---------------------------

-The Twili are a unique race that inhabit the Twilight Realm, a realm of which they didn’t originate from but have since made their home all those many centuries ago. They were once Hylian but when their ancestors, a group called “The Interlopers” were banished to the Twilight Realm for their crimes, they have since evolved to adapt to their environment and, in turn, have evolved into a race of their own.

-Twili are covered in a short but thick coat of fur, often coming in two different tones and distinct markings. The tones are usually a greenish gray or blue-grey with a much lighter color of the same tone, however it isn’t too uncommon to see Twili with a more reddish tint to their fur. Their hair color is often a unique gradient of red to yellow and their eyes are often a shade of red (with the sclera usually a light yellow). Despite having normal-like feet, the Twili are digitgrade and always stand on the tips of their toes. Twili all have slit pupils, claw-tipped fingers, and small-ish fangs adorning their mouths: they are most likened to being more “feral” in appearance in comparison to their Hylian relatives, which is true to some extent.

All Twili have natural tattoos that are etched into their skin (and is entirely visible through their fur), and these marks have the capacity to glow if the individual is using magic. These tattoos are almost always a bright green-blue or electric blue in color. While each individual’s tattoos are generally different, all Twili have tattoos that seem to share the same motifs and repeated patterns as shown in the “Common Markings” panel above.

-The three headshots show off rare color mutations seen within the Twili. All the information about these mutations can be seen and read in the info-boxes of each headshot above! <:

-The Twili, given their evolution to better inhabit their environment, all have a sensitivity to the sun. Exposure to the sun doesn’t necessarily harm them however sunlight upon their bodies can cause discomfort, especially if exposed for too long. Overexposure to extreme and direct sunlight or divine light can be harmful or even lethal to a Twili (ex: Midna being mortally wounded when exposed to a Light’s spirit’s unfiltered light directly). As a means to protect themselves, the Twili will often don hooded cloaks when visiting the Light Realm.

-Culturally, the Twili are indifferent and unbothered by nudity. It isn’t uncommon to see a Twili waltzing around in near nothing as far as clothing goes, however all Twili wear loincloths out of politeness instead of any real embarrassment to their bodies. Pants and shirts are very rarely worn unless the Twili’s specific profession requires it, which will be talked about a little more in detail below.

-The Twili don’t quite follow the typical social ranking system often seen in other cultures. That’s to say, “Upper-class, Middle-class, Working-class, ect” doesn’t necessarily exist in the Twili’s culture. Instead they are categorized by the profession they choose to partake in, though that doesn’t necessarily separate them from each other, due to their belief that every Twili serves an important purpose to their society, no matter where they’re born or who they’re born to. The only exception to this belief are religious figures and royalty, but while Royalty are distinguished by blood, any Twili can become a religious figure should they choose to commit themselves to the profession.

At any rate, their society is categorized by profession:

Artisans: Twili who’s focus is on the artistry of their culture. Includes professions such as: Painters, writers, musicians, craftsmen, architects, chefs, so on.

Enforcers: Twili who’s roles are to provide law enforcement and the protection of their people. Includes professions as: warriors, law enforcers, knights to the crown, judges, so on.

Providers: Twili who’s roles focus on providing the necessities of living to their society. Includes professions as: hunters, farmers, fishermen, healers/doctors, so on.

Mentors: Twili who focus on the pursuit for knowledge as well as the desire to share that knowledge. Includes professions such as: philosophers, teachers, librarians, wizards/witches

Spirituals: Twili who’s focus is on the spiritual and religious aspect of their society, they act as the superficial bridge between their people and the gods they worship. Includes professions such as: Priests and Priestesses, shamans, monks

-Despite their non-nonchalance toward clothing, what a Twili wears can indicate their profession. For example: a monk or a shaman are often seen in etched pants or traditional robes, while a Twili with a profession in fashion may wear transparent silks and an abundance of jewelry. Twili with practical and labor-based professions, like farming or metalsmithing, are unlikely to wear anything more than the bare minimum of the cultural loincloth so it won’t get in the way of their work, while royalty and Twili involved with the government are often seen wearing moderate but relatively intricate jewelry, often in copper or bronze.

-Midna is no longer the Queen of the Twili, having since willingly stepped down to allow another leader to the throne. However, the events of Twilight Princess has since elevated her as a sort of demi-god to her people, much to her chagrin. As a living deity to her culture, Midna still retains much of the power she had as queen, if not moreso given her current status. If you’d like to learn more about Midna in my headcanon, you can check out the post dedicated to her HERE.

-The panel with the 2 BG speedpaintings are my vision of the track leading to the Twilight Realm and the Twilight Realm itself respectively. The destruction of the mirror may have made traveling between the realms more difficult but it didn’t make it impossible. Sometime in her long-standing rule as the Queen of the Twili, Midna eventually went hard at work to re-establish that direct connection to the realms and, once she did, set out to put into place an alliance between the Twilight Realm and the Light Realm. It took a couple of long centuries before it was fully in effect, and from that point on relation between the two realms have only grown stronger. It wasn’t long before transportation between the realms was established, which in turn only strengthened their comradery. Nowadays it’s very common to see Light Dwellers visiting or even living in the Twilight Realm, and vice versa for the Twili.

-The Twilight Realm is accessible through the use of a Spirit Train, a unique locomotive that has access to traveling into realms connected to its native one. The train that runs to the Twilight Realm is a one-way train that travels through nearly every possible realm that’s available to visit, with the Twilight Realm being it’s first stop.

-The last panel is a depiction of a Twili Wolf. The Twili Wolf is a sacred animal in Twili culture, a creature who was once of the light realm before adapting to the Twilight Realm way before the Twili even inhabited the land, they are a symbol of survival, freedom, and power. Their heads are covered in a strange skull-like chitin that is often mimicked by the Twili when making armor and artifacts. The Twili Wolf is typically huge, about as big as a horse, and they have orbs of raw magical energy rolling off their fur as if it were flickers of flame.

---------------------------

WHEW! A long-winded headcanon but I’m pretty happy with the result! I hope ya’ll like the headcanon here and if ya have any questions you’re more than free to ask. Otherwise, thank you so much for takin’ a look! <:

#nintendo #the legend of zelda #Character Design #my art #Headcanon #nintendo headcanon #loz #loz: a new mythos #loz: NM #midna #twili #twilight realm #twilight princess #au #speedpainting #wolf #fanart

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elaz-ivero · 4 years ago

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Poetry Fieldnotes ||Broken Artists Collective||

[image description: a block print with a bright red border around a greyish blue grainy image. Atop it is a pair of discoloured hands, palms facing forward, red and outstretched. Above the hands in white Garamond font are the words, Broken Artists Collective and in smaller font, and other poems. /end id]

Over the past week, I may or may not have fully embraced the concept of a broken artist finding myself unable to conjure up a single creative thought unless I'm lying on the floor surrounded by scrawlings and broken-spined books. For a long time, I have been trying to cater my work to a series of magazines that clearly yearn for a very specific 'type' of poetry that I am incapable of producing. These poems are ones that applied pressure, the ones that were crammed into inattentive submission boxes and were returned in empty emails.

Here are the poems,

[image description: a photograph of a boy laying down looking upward, a lit cigarette stands upright in his mouth and his features are overlayed with the shadows of ferns and other plants. He wears an orange collared shirt and around him are the words in white Garamond font, Floor Bound Echo Location. /end id]

Floor-bound Echolocation is a disjointed 403-word prose poem that is a coalesce of liminal spaces, chaotic ingenuity and a reversal of grief. Like many of my poems, it describes a series of small events and feels more like a corrupted scene from a novel than a stand-alone poem. It's a short tale of a brother and sister cleaning out the garage-workspace of their genius, estranged and recently deceased cousin. It opens as follows...

All the lines are in lowercase and of sporadic length, every so often a single random word is isolated and highlighted. These are the words that were isolated throughout the poem.

//enigma //a test of patience //satisfied //memorized

I adore this poem and it feels strangely personal (my own experiences often slip into my work unconsciously like fears finding their place in dreams) as a creative I fear the idea that a lot of my work and unwritten ideas will never be read or known. The poem focuses on one of the cousin's creations, a geometric pattern drawn in chalk on the concrete floor. This pattern, its design obsessive and laid out like a triggerless trap takes over the narrative of the poem. The characters wash it away and the pattern, the physical manifestation of this dead cousins genius clings to the idea of being appreciated, recognized.

[image description: a boy sits up against a wall in a barren green and blue-tinted room, to the right of the image, is a window showing trees outside and beneath it a gas heater is attached to the wall. The boy's wearing a similar orange shirt and on the wall beside him are words, 'it blends and swirls with the oiled water and tidals along the length of the driveway to passer-by's what remains of it asks, begs, to be, memorised.' /end id]

I wrote 'floor-bound...' in a day and made subsequent edits over the course of a couple of days, I tend to write out my ideas and make minor changes to word choice and sentence length before I add in the details that make each poem unique. The isolation of individual letters was a way to almost mimic the process of looking in a cluttered space you'll see something recognizable and latch onto it.

Status: Submitted

[image description: A girl with long black hair, olive skin and a tired solemn expression face forward, an unlit cigarette held loosely in her mouth. She stands in a red elevator, the doors are closed and on the left on the image is the metal switchboard showing she has reached level 12. On her right is the word, 'Peephole'. /end id]

Peephole is a mirrored poem and is split into 'Inside', and 'Outside' with Inside, aligned to the left and Outside, aligned to the right, they are reflective of each other, mirrored. Peephole is about a young drunk woman staying inside her boyfriend's cramped apartment inspired by the 43-Square-Foot rooms in South Korea and an image from the article below inspired the entirety of this poem.

She, aware that the apartment seems to reject her, steps out into the hallway, the 'Outside' which feels apocalyptic with a burning wining sun and a ghost standing by the elevator, a personification of her sickness silently assessing how she is still alive and if she could find her way home in this state. The women in turn assess how this hallway faintly reminds her of the one from 'The Shining' leading into a breaking of the fourth wall.

[image description: A photograph that looks similar to a corrupted piece of film, tinted red and showing a woman's profile looking toward the right. Words on the left of the image read, 'I take an imaginary drag as if setting the scene of some ninety's horror, slasher, mounting suspense with the final girl, alone, a lonely lamb how easy would it be to just end a film right here.' /end id]

The tone of the poem is gritty, realistic and almost elusive in its design. I love writing poems without intending to care about its audience, with no closure, no clarity, no kindness. This poem is an amalgamation of all the recent media I've consumed, 'The Shining', Final Girl, Wikipedia dives into the housing crisis and psychological horror. I love writing poems that reflect a blend of culture, using language as a way to implement distinctive voices in my writing.

[image description: Another room tinted green, on the bottom of the image head barely in frame is a women looking off into the distance, above the cigarrete she holds red smoke reflecting in the shine on her face twirls and unfurls. Text reads, 'Tiger balm and salt, "kapuahi ahi" his whisper hurts my ears and sounds like, toungue on velvet, tooth in cheek.' /end id]

Status: Submitted

[image description: a close up of a brides face covered by a sheer veil in front of a black background, her eyes are tinted with red eyeshadow and she looks forward with a bored stare. Large text in the upper left-hand corner reads, 'Chekhov'. /end id]

Chekhov, my most recent poem is- as the title suggests- from the perspective of a gun, a woman on her wedding day is left at the altar by a cheating groom and hunts him down in the orchard venue with an heirloom of a gun. I love the perspective of this poem, the way it slowly reveals the origin of the 'voice' and grows darker and darker as the wedding dress soils and darkens with dirt and blood. Few of my poems spur from ideas rather than images but the idea of a furious bride filled with anguish and horror brought this poem to life.

[image description: a young bride looking behind her as she runs toward a patch of dark trees in the middle of a field. One hand holds up the edge of her white dress, it's evening. Text on the left-hand side of the image reads, 'Darling when my steel feels soft, revoke your vows and kiss something just as cold and cocky. /end id]

This poem is split into three stanzas, before the wedding, during and the evolving aftermath. I feel like I could extend this into a short story saving the strange gunpoint perspective till the final scene.

Status: Completing

[image description: A black and white image of a boy looking up, his expression a mix of horror and fear while blades point down at him and hold steady inches from his neck. The image is a still from "Ivan the Terrible" by Sergei Eisenstein. Text aside it reads, 'The Sound of Hamlet Rehearsed. /end id]

The sound of Hamlet Rehearsed, inspired by my own recent exploration of scriptwriting and theatre. The sound of Hamlet Rehearsed is about a boy being held accountable during a faux court hearing, on stage on opening night. The narrative slowly switches from fiction to reality as it dawns on him that the punishment is about to be dealt and he struggles with understanding how much of his reaction is performance or authentic. It's structured in a sporadic unbroken series of words and moments.

Tone-deaf touchtone tipping point Ziplock bags and scented zip ties off script the boards atop the trap door tremble imagine the conductor beneath torch amongst teeth briefly making out direction from diction.

Status: Editing

Those are the poems I've been working on! I'm not going to write any more poetry until I come to my poetry course next trimester and instead are going to focus on short stories (I'm developing two right now, three-course meal and Wren versus the Russian Government) and continuing by Worldbuilding Diaries series.

-E

#poetry #brokenartistscollective #wip #bac #amwriting #writeblr #poems #poets on tumblr #writing #writeblogging

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welllpthisishappening · 5 years ago

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First-Line Center, Part Two

She hadn’t read the invitation.

It hadn’t changed in years, after all - a set of rules and expectations for a New Year’s party that they were all going to break anyway because the most traditional thing about this team was flouting tradition. So, Emma had mostly ignored it. Until. A shout and Killian refusing to wear a tie and something crashing in her kitchen, one kid worried about another and she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was missing something.

There was a joke about fresh ice to be made, she was sure.

—–

Word Count: 4.1 K Rating: F for festive family feelz AN: There are a lot of people in this story. Like. So many people. Matt Jones thinks his parents are the best, you heard it here first. And this also marks the end of Going Top Shelf on Ao3. There are still far too many one shots I haven’t posted and I don’t know that I’ll ever give up on this ‘verse or this family that is genuinely my most favorite thing to write. I will probably post the rest at some point. Thank you, as always, for letting me shove this family at you, internet. It’s the best.

|| Also on Ao3 if that’s how you roll ||

—–

The loft, for the most part, hadn’t changed much in the last thirty or so years. Emma wasn’t entirely sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing – there were still crystal glasses and a wait staff with impeccably creased pants and the outfits, across the board, were as absurd and over the top as they normally were.

It wasn’t much different.

Except there were more people. There were kids and grandkids and significant others, a low hum of talking and laughing and every single one of them breaking that rule about not discussing hockey. Emma glanced around, trying to find the two other kids that she hadn’t seen yet, but that was a fool’s errand because she heard the footsteps before she heard the shout and the slightly strangled dad seemed to echo around the room as soon as Peggy skidded against Killian’s side.

“Hey,” she breathed, eyes bright and just a little out of breath and Emma absolutely, positively did not want to consider why that was. She was starting to make several sweeping assumptions. Killian pressed a kiss to the top of her hair, eyes flashing towards Emma. “You guys doing that mind melding thing?” “That what thing, exactly?” Emma asked, and Peggy made a face, twisting so the beads on her dress didn’t dig into Killian’s side.

“The mind melding thing. Toph said you were doing it before.” “When did you see your brother? And where’s your other one?” “Probably teaching Noah how to score fifty goals a season.” “You think Matt's going to score fifty goals this season?” Killian cut in, interest and something that felt like pride almost too obvious. Emma bit her lip so she didn’t look like a complete idiot when she smiled.

She wasn’t sure that worked either.

She was really starting to believe her suspicions were right.

“Please,” Peggy huffed. “He’s on some other level right now. He’s being an idiot and,” she paused, using Killian’s shoulder as leverage and Emma followed her gaze across the loft. “Look.”

Emma’s breath caught.

Loudly.

Matt and Roland were crouched in the corner of the room, a tiny stick clutched in Noah’s hands and a makeshift goal that may have been Henry’s phone and Leo’s keys, both of them mumbling instructions under their breath while Elsa and Mary Margaret recorded the whole goddamn thing.

“Oh,” Emma breathed, a rush of memories and feelings she wasn’t entirely expecting.

“The more things change, huh?” Killian muttered. It took some finangling to get a step closer to her, having to shift Peggy slightly and drawing a not-so-quiet grumble out of her. “What do you know, little love?” “Nothing!” “I genuinely do not know who is worse at lying you or your brother.” “Which one?” “Take your pick at this point,” Emma laughed. “How long have they been over there? And seriously what do you know, babe?” “Like, at least twenty minutes. MD got here before I did though, which was super weird to begin with, but who knows? Maybe Claire’s a good influence.” “You didn’t answer that last part.” “I genuinely have no idea. Honestly. I’ve barely talked to MD. He’s been busy being cute and breaking all of Aunt Gina’s rules, but again, it’s super cute and Aunt Gina doesn’t care at all.” “Where is Gina?” Killian asked, glancing around like she was going to appear out of nowhere and chastise all of them for daring to question any of her actions.

Peggy opened her mouth to answer, but there were more footsteps and more hands clapping on shoulders and really none of them had evolved as people at all in the last thirty years. Will grinned when Killian groaned, slinging an arm around Peggy’s shoulders to rest his chin on the top of her hair.

He wasn’t wearing tails – although the pattern on his jacket probably would have done damage to Emma’s eyes if she stared at it for too long. There were far too many colors. And his tie clip appeared to be masquerading as a small disco ball.

“You better hope Gina doesn’t find you, Cap,” Will said. “How is it that you get away with no tie every year?”

“I guess that means Gina likes me more than you. Did you bring something to drink? Can I get something to drink?” “Cap did you not bring anything to drink again?” Robin called from the other side of the room, moving towards them with a waiter half a step behind. Killian rolled his eyes.

“You getting that guy to follow you around?” “You want to drink or you want to make fun?”

“I think that’s suggesting we can’t do both perfectly well,” Emma said, leaning around Killian to grab two glasses. And if nothing really ever changed at that party or in that loft, then she was exceptionally glad that the quality of the champagne fell underneath that umbrella. “You yell at Liam about being the better grandfather yet?” Robin didn’t quite flush, but he definitely pressed his lips together and Will’s laugh echoed in the minimal about of space around them. It only served to push his chin further into Peggy’s hair.

“I am not a kid, Uncle Will,” she grumbled, doing her best to pull away from him and it absolutely did not work. It never really did. “You don’t get to do that anymore.” Will hummed. And didn’t move his arm. “Yeah, yeah, where’s the boyfriend?” “Talking to Henry.” “Your dad challenge him to a shootout yet? Dr. J’s way too busy doing whatever he’s doing and Chris got roped into meeting Leo’s—what’s her name?” “Oh my God.”

“Not an answer.” “And we just got here, Scarlet,” Killian said, but the distinct lack of contradiction appeared with neon lights and sound effects. “So, you know...we haven’t had time. You talk to Matt?” Will tilted his head, brows pulled low because it was, admittedly, kind of a weird question and they hadn’t even taken their jackets off yet. “Should I have?” “Nah.” “Wow, no wonder Pegs sucks so much at lying, she definitely got that from you and Em.” “Ok, that is not a compliment at all,” Emma sighed, another round of footsteps and Phillip’s tie was metallic. Ruby weaved her way through the crowd, a bright red jacket covered in sparkles and maybe they should have made another rule about how both she and Scarlet made the whole thing incredibly weird and far too competitive every year.

“Emma’s the worst liar in the world,” Ruby announced, tugging the half-finished champagne out of Emma’s hand and ignoring her cries of protest completely. “C’mon, gimme this. My jacket keeps scratching my skin.” “And whose fault is that?” Will asked archly. He waved his hand towards a different waiter, flashing a smile when Ruby did her best to hip check him into the nearest wall. “Nuh uh, not going to work Lucas. My balance is unparalleled.” “Modest too,” Phillip added. “I have a question.” “It makes me nervous that you felt you had to announce it,” Emma said slowly. She wasn’t entirely surprised that they’d drawn the crowd – more ridiculous outfits and Regina flanked by both of Henry’s daughters, and Mary Margaret’s smile appeared to be permanently etched on her face. And Harper whatever her last name might have been only looked vaguely overwhelmed.

That was definitely a step in the right direction.

Elsa flicked her fingers against Killian’s shoulders when she moved towards them, Liam next to her and Anna’s hair twisted into elaborate braids, more than a few streaks of silver there as well.

Maybe things had kind of changed.

Emma hadn’t realized she was leaning against Killian’s side until he kissed her hair again.

“Got the drinks before you even took your jackets off, huh?” Elsa asked, arching an eyebrow and they should have patented that move years ago. They’d have made a fortune.

Killian’s lips quirked. “You cry about your grandkid?” “Nah, that’s Liam’s game.” “Aw, c’mon,” Liam groaned, both Robin and Will drifting dangerously close to cackling. Regina made some kind of noise that might have been an agreement.

“I think that means your old, leader,” Will said, laughter clinging to his voice. “Not you though, El. Just Liam.” “Yeah, good save, Scarlet,” Elsa murmured.

“Something about top-tier defenseman,” Anna added. Her dress was green, more sparkles along the edges and none of them were very creative. They were all covered in sparkles and there was probably a joke about looking like ice to be made.

Or there would have been if Phillip didn’t cough pointedly, staring at the lot of them with a hint of frustration and dash of amusement and Aurora was showing off photos on her phone.

“Did we interrupt you, Rook?” Robin asked, chuckling when Phillip flipped him off. “There are kids here!” “His grandkid is here,” Killian muttered. He hissed when several fingers flicked at his jacket again, not able to swat them away with one arm around Emma and the other still awkwardly twisted between Will and Peggy. “He’s got a grandkid because he’s old, you see.” “Yeah, yeah, you’re hysterical, Cap. Looking a little greyer up there than usual, aren’t we?” “Was that supposed to be in the collective?” “Shut up.” “It’s nice to see that the maturity level of this team hasn’t changed with its hair color,” Ruby said, nudging Emma in the side when Mary Margaret started to play the video of Noah. And, really, she refused to be held accountable for whatever noise she made.

Because she’d already had quite a bit of champagne in quite a short amount of time and it was definitely warm in that loft and there was too much smiling and too much laughing and the video was so goddamn cute it probably should have been illegal.

“Nailed it,” Ruby mumbled to Mary Margaret, a hum of agreement and quick swipe of knuckles under eyes. “And,” she added, making sure her voice dropped to something almost resembling a whisper, “you got to get here on time, Em. M’s went full-on sugary sweet mom with Leo’s girlfriend.” Emma’s eyes moved, a little begrudgingly, away from the screen and those assumptions may have been guarantees now or whatever and—”Do we like her?” Mary Margaret shrugged. “Leo hasn’t stopped laughing all night.” “Seems like a sign.” “Of you guys ignoring me,” Phillip interrupted sharply. Emma widened her eyes, expression only a hint less mocking than the general ooh that moved across the entire group.

“Known goon, Phillip—” Will started, but there was more glaring and more laughing and Regina was handing out more glasses of champagne.

“What’s your question, Rook?” Ruby asked. “Or comment or concern or whatever.” Phillip clicked his tongue, but Ruby had never been intimidated by any of them and the likelihood of that changing was slim to none. She drank the rest of her champagne in three, quick gulps. “What’s going on with Matt?” The oxygen flew out of the room. Or got whistled two minutes for roughing. And ruining the conversation.

Phillip grimaced, eyes darting around like he was waiting for someone to say something or agree with him and no one made a single noise. Killian’s hand tightened around Emma’s shoulder.

“Do we think something’s wrong with Matt?” Anna whispered. She absolutely did not whisper. They were all absolutely terrible at holding their alcohol.

“No,” Emma and Killian said quickly, but they were also pretty God awful at lying and she was totally going to blame the alcohol. And that video. Mary Margaret should not be allowed to have a phone anymore.

“No?” Elsa asked.

“No,” Killian repeated. There were more footsteps. Because they were all absolutely terrible at lying and keeping secrets and whispering. Especially the whispering.

“Wait, which one is Matt?” another voice asked, quiet and a little cautious and that must have been Harper. They probably should have introduced themselves to Harper.

Leo shifted on his feet, nodding in the direction of the approaching footsteps. “The one who looks like he’s about to drop gloves with all of us at once.” “I don’t entirely understand that joke.” “And it might not have been a joke,” Peggy mumbled, holding up both hands when Matt glared at her.

Harper looked stunned.

“We’ll get you all caught up to speed,” Ruby promised. “If M’s can figure out what icing is in less than one season, you’ll be totally fine.” She ignored Mary Margaret’s scoff, turning towards Matt and the stick held lightly in his hand. “Hey mini-Jones. You going to bite off any reporter’s heads in the next few days?” Matt froze, crossing his arms awkwardly and the tie around his neck was far looser than it should have been. “No one bit anything in post.” “Did I say that?” “Certainly sounded like it.” Ruby hummed, eyes far too bright to be anything except concerning. “What do you think you know, Ru?” She shrugged, but the smile was full blown now and Harper was still muttering questions under her breath. “I know nothing until you confirm it, mini-Jones. Weird how it always seems to happen that way.” And Emma needed to stop, simply, reacting – sounds falling out of her without her explicit permission, but she couldn’t do much about it and something snapped into place and Killian might have been laughing. It felt like it at least, body shaking against hers and fingers moving towards her neck because they still hadn’t taken their goddamn coats off.

“Is someone going to explain what is going on?” David asked, a few more sounds of agreement.

“Oh my God,” Peggy yelled. Her hands flew to her mouth, eyes wide as she bobbed on the balls of her feet. Matt glared at her. “I know what it is. Oh my God, Oh my God, Oh my God! MD!” “Shut up, Mar.” “I didn’t say anything! Oh my God. Am I right though?” “I thought you didn’t say anything,” Leo muttered knowingly, and Matt’s glare wasn’t quite as sharp when he turned that direction.

“Whatever, Nolan,” Peggy hissed. “MD. Is that—oh my God, did you tell Toph?” “Mar—” “—No, no, did you tell Toph and not me? Are you kidding me?” “I genuinely have no idea what is going on,” David admitted. No one acknowledge him. Probably because Peggy was trying to beat up her older brother, barely restrained by Will and a recently-returned to the conversation Jeremy Humbert who was also trying to say hello to Emma and Killian at the same time.

It would be a miracle if they didn’t scar Harper for life.

“MD,” Peggy pressed, lunging forward and barely making contact with the front of his shirt. “Are you sure?”

His eyes narrowed, a particular type of glare Emma wasn’t sure she’d ever seen one of her kids use on one of her other kids. And she was half a second away from reprimanding two grown adults who were both wearing absolutely absurd outfits, heard Killian’s quiet hey now that had always worked, every single time, but Matt groaned louder than either one of them combined. He leaned forward, pulling Peggy towards him – a cry of rather loud indignation from her, that only made Chris laugh from the other side of the room.

“C’mere,” Matt growled, wrapping his arm all the way around Peggy’s waist. She put up a fight, kicking and punching his arm, but he was honestly having some kind of season and Emma’s gaze moved towards Killian like there were magnets involved.

He smirked at her.

“Oh my God, caveman,” Peggy snapped. “Where’s your wife? Does she know you’re an absolutely insane person?” “Mar, I swear, if you do not stop talking right now, I will—" “—What? What, MD? Please go into exact detail of what you’re going to do.” He made another noise – ridiculously familiar and Elsa had to tuck her head into Liam’s shoulder to stop her laugh from bordering on offensive. Anna didn’t even try. And it only took another moment for reinforcements to arrive, Chris jogging across the room to help move Peggy. Harper was never going to come back.

They’d have to apologize to Leo.

“God, P, stop playing rag doll and just move,” Chris sighed. She dug her heels further into the ground.

“Are you not going to help with this?” Roland asked, walking back into the room with a kid hanging off his back and Lizzie smiling next to him.

Emma shook her head. “What could I possibly do?” “Ah, yeah, fair enough.” “Smart kid.” “Less fair.” “Mar, I am serious,” Matt continued, doing his best to drag her into the nearest corner and there wasn’t much of a point anymore because they all spent far too much time together and helped raise each other or something equally absurd and Killian’s fingers were warm when they twisted around Emma’s.

Peggy stuck her tongue out. “Fine, fine, fine, but the next time—you know what, I don’t care. Fine. Let’s go.” It only took a moment.

Emma was, honestly, surprised – was certain Peggy would demand answers before they found the corner or simply check both Matt and Chris until she was in charge of the situation, but it was also kind of nice, that hint of anticipation and waiting and—

“I knew he’d want to tell them first,” Claire said. Emma jerked her head around at the addition to the group, the whole lot of them standing in the middle of the goddamn loft with a slightly cautious looking waitstaff lingering against the walls.

She was dressed up as well, hair twisted at the nape of her neck and more sparkles, but the outfit had nothing on the look on her face – something about glowing and the next line shift and absolutely wonderful and complete and utter change.

Killian kissed Emma’s cheek.

And Claire flushed slightly, arms wrapped around her middle when her teeth found her lower lip.

“I didn’t actually tell you,” she said. “So I didn’t ruin the surprise or anything.” “Is it a surprise?” Emma asked, only a little disappointed her voice shook. She might have been crying. She was absolutely crying.

“Ah, I don’t know about that. It was almost responsible.” “Oh. Yeah?” The question was ridiculous, another string of inexplicable and unplanned emotion, but Emma could barely see through the tears in her eyes and Ruby’s sniffle sounded far too loud. Although, not quite as loud as the shriek that came from the far corner, both Chris and Matt doing their best to quiet Peggy.

They failed. Miserably. Or, well, as miserably as it was possible to be when everything seemed to be glowing and new and filled with very expensive champagne.

“Look who’s old now, Jones,” Regina muttered, tugging lightly on the back of Noah’s shirt. Elsa snickered, Anna wiping away her own tears and Roland grinned as widely as anyone else in the room.

Peggy was still screaming.

“Are you kidding me, MD?” She was jumping, arms flailing and hair falling out of its updo and Chris had shifted behind her, trying to control either one of those things, but that was a pipe dream and Peggy was absolutely crying too.

Matt smiled. And shook his head. “No joke, Mar,” he said, soft and honest and Emma’s heart felt like it grew forty-seven sizes. She leaned back against Killian’s chest.

Peggy’s hand flew back to her mouth, finally staying on the ground for more than a few seconds. Her shoulders shook slightly, though, and then it was a whirlwind of sounds – exhales and sighs and you’re going to be so good and there was far too much crying, but Peggy jumped at Matt and he caught her with the kind of athletic dexterity that was absolutely, positively genetic.

That boded well for the future.

Emma didn’t count how long they stayed in that corner – a moment and thing and three kids who loved each other more than just about anything else in the world and believed in each other more than anything else in the world – but Matt pressed his cheek against Peggy’s hair, eyes lifting with the hint of a smile tugging at his mouth.

“So, uh, we’ve got some news.” “Good news,” Claire added, her own expression drifting closer to joy than anything else. “Like, you know. Good news.” “The best news,” Roland amended. “Although I’m totally ready to battle Matt to the death for, like, dad of the year award or something.” Matt groaned, but any hint of frustration was gone, replaced only with announcements and new and he moved towards Emma and Killian slowly – as if he were worried about spooking them or their recently acquired status and— “I’ll win every time if I’m half as good as you guys,” he said.

Emma had no idea what sound she made. Killian’s knees buckled slightly. And Matt practically beamed, hugging both of them at the same time.

Mary Margaret took video.

Maybe she could keep her phone.

“So, uh…” David started. “Just to be certain here, complete sentences and official statements—” “—That was good,” Ruby said. “C’mon, mini-Jones. Let’s get official so David can toast and we can promise Harper we’re not all usually this weird.” Lizzie shook her head. “We’re always this weird.” Matt laughed softly, moving back to Claire’s side and Emma’s record wasn’t going to be for eye rolls. It was totally going to be for crying. “We’re, uh…” Matt said, pausing to take a deep breath and his gaze didn’t move away from them when he spoke again. “We’re going to have a baby.” “Yeah, I think we picked up on that kid,” Killian said, voice gruff. “Why the face during post, then?” “I wasn’t really doing anything during post.” “God, it’s like all three of you are trying to do the worst job of lying to us. Didn’t we age out of this already?”

“We went to the doctor yesterday,” Claire explained when Matt didn’t immediately answer, far too busy rolling his eyes and trying to contain his sister’s limbs. “They didn’t want to let him off of our morning skate, but then he scored, so…” “Oh,” Killian said. “Right. Right. That’s—” “We’ve totally got pictures.”

He took a deep breath, ignoring the small army of cameras pointed towards him because they were the most absurd family in the history of the entire NHL and several different universes.

Liam threw his whole head back when he laughed, his own tears obvious and maybe they weren’t just absurd, they were a bunch of giant saps. “We toast? Gina got that crazy expensive champagne, right?” “It pains me that you think I wouldn't get the very expensive champagne,” Regina said.

“Of course, Your Highness, of course. No more cracks about getting older, right?” “I make absolutely no promises,” Emma grinned, doing it entirely for the reaction. Liam cursed in Norwegian.

And there was, in fact, a copious amount of champagne and discussion of that one goal the night before reenacted several times by several different grandchildren with a variety of cameras pointed their direction. And there was dancing and food and a countdown that felt more important than it ever had, a shift and a change and everything all at once.

And Emma expected the kiss, something about tradition and rules, but she was a little stunned by the everything of that too – Killian’s thumb tucked under her chin and a look she couldn’t quite ever name, but had come to absolutely covet and she smiled before his lips landed on hers, soft and insistent and—

“I love you,” he whispered. She kissed him again.

“More than anything. Even if you’re kind of ancient now.” Killian laughed, breath warm against Emma’s cheek. “Yeah, as long as we get to do that together, I’m good.” “What a line. You look up kid-sized jerseys on your phone yet?” “No, did you?” Emma shrugged. “Maybe.” “Maybe meaning definitely?” “You really didn’t look yet?” “Nah,” Killian said, fingers doing something entirely unfair against her side. “I asked Liam and Locksley where they got theirs.” “Cheater.” “Efficient.” “Yeah, yeah, whatever you have to tell yourself, grandpa.” “I like that sound of that, actually.” “Good because that’s what we’re going with,” Matt yelled, twisted around Claire and he hadn’t moved more than a few inches away from her for most of the night.

Killian nodded, tugging his phone out of his pocket and Emma didn’t have to look to know that there was already an order receipt in his email. “You good with that, Swan?” “Better,” she promised.

The packages came two days later – plural, with more baby-sized merch than they’d bought for any of their own kids, a fact all three kids were quick to point out before Emma quirked an eyebrow and tilted her head and Peggy and Chris had to admit that they’d ordered their own merch too.

#cs ff #captain swan #captain swan fic #cs fic #captain swan ff #blue line one shots #kind of at least #chris kreider's going to play his 500th game as a ranger tonight #which i did not plan #but it feels like a very solid day to wrap up this collection #laura writes captain swan #laura writes

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sciencespies · 5 years ago

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The mystery of tarantulas' brilliant colour schemes may finally be solved

https://sciencespies.com/nature/the-mystery-of-tarantulas-brilliant-colour-schemes-may-finally-be-solved/

The mystery of tarantulas' brilliant colour schemes may finally be solved

Tarantulas don’t just come in brown and black. These large, hairy spiders can also display wonderful hues of blue, green, purple, and red.

Yet tarantulas are most active at twilight, meaning they’re ‘crepuscular’ animals – where vibrant colours are significantly harder to see (at least for us). Until now, researchers didn’t know if they could even see their own fabulous colour patterns in the dimness of dusk.

Now, however, a new study suggests that tarantulas can see colours just as well as their day-exploring brethren, and even suggests the functions for two hues in the tarantula colour wheel – green and blue.

If you think of your own vision in the dark, colours appear to be much less distinctive, and our eyes can struggle to tell one hue from another.

But some animals, such as geckoes, moths, and bats, have strong colour vision even in near total darkness.

In the new study, the team analysed photos of 37 genera of tarantula from around the world, and measured the spectrum of colours, noted specific behavioural traits, as well as analysing their evolutionary history.

Although we don’t yet know just how well these creatures see these colours in the dark of night, the researchers found that tarantulas have lots of types of opsin genes – which produce opsin proteins, found in photoreceptor cells, and which help animals see colour.

“Despite their crepuscular tendencies, tarantulas express a considerable diversity of opsin genes – a finding that contradicts current consensus that tarantulas have poor colour vision on the basis of low opsin diversity,” the team explains in a new paper.

They found that most tarantulas have nearly an entire complement of opsins found in spiders active during the day, like the colourful dancing peacock spiders – suggesting tarantulas do indeed see colours.

The researchers also investigated whether certain spidery behaviour could be related to the distinct blue and green colours the tarantulas wear. Specifically, they investigated stridulation (rubbing their mouthparts together to make a noise to ward off predators), urticating bristles (the hairs which tarantulas can shoot off themselves as a weapon), and being arboreal (living in trees).

Although that might seem like a bit of a leap, stridulation and urtication were investigated because if blue or green are colours that tell predators to ‘stay away’, it was hypothesised that the spiders would also be able to defend themselves better than those without those colours.

They couldn’t find any connection between stridulation and urticating bristles and either blue or green colouring, but they did find that green probably helps the spiders avoid being seen – called crypsis.

“The evolution of green coloration appears to depend upon the presence of arboreality, suggesting that it probably originated for and functions in crypsis through substrate matching among leaves,” the team writes.

But that idea doesn’t work so well with the dazzling metallic-blue tarantulas.

Although the researchers weren’t able to find any connection between stridulation, bristles, or arborealism, they do still have a hypothesis.

“While the precise function of blueness remains unclear,” explains Carnegie Mellon University biologist Saoirse Foley, “our results suggest that tarantulas may be able to see these blue displays, so mate choice is a likely potential explanation.”

The idea that tarantulas can see colour is not just exciting for this team of researchers either.

The team showed that evolutionarily blueness has been lost more often than it has been gained in tarantula species, while the green colour has evolved only a few times, but once there it sticks around.

“I’m thrilled,” University of Cincinnati evolutionary biologist Nathan Morehouse, who was not involved in the research, told The New York Times.

“This makes tarantulas a very exciting group moving forward to think about.”

The research has been published in Proceedings of the Royal Society B.

#Nature

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eekhaut · 5 years ago

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Getting ready for the cyber wars

Hiding in plain sight: activists don camouflage to beat Met surveillance

Privacy campaigners bid to beat police facial recognition plans by wearing ‘dazzle’ makeup

James Tapper. Sat 1 Feb 2020 17.19 GMT The Observer.

Emily Roderick, Evie Price and Anna Hart, founders of the Dazzle Club, wearing makeup designed to confuse facial recognition cameras. Photograph: Cocoa Laney/The Observer

Wearing makeup has long been seen as an act of defiance, from teenagers to New Romantics. Now that defiance has taken on a harder edge, as growing numbers of people use it to try to trick facial recognition systems.

Interest in so-called dazzle camouflage appears to have grown substantially since the Metropolitan police announced last week that officers will be using live facial recognition cameras on London’s streets – a move described by privacy campaigners and political activists as “dangerous”, “oppressive” and “a huge threat to human rights”.

Unlike fingerprinting and DNA testing, there are few restrictions on how police can use the new technology. And some of those who are concerned have decided to assert their right not to be put under surveillance with the perhaps unlikely weapon of makeup. Members of the Dazzle Club have been conducting silent walks through London while wearing asymmetric makeup in patterns intended to prevent their faces from being matched on any database.

“There was this extraordinary experience of hiding in plain sight,” said Anna Hart, a lecturer at Central Saint Martins art college, who founded the group with former students Georgina Rowlands and Emily Roderick.

“We made ourselves so visible in order to hide. The companies selling this tech talk about preventing crime. There is no evidence this prevents crime. It might be sometimes used when crime has been committed, but they push the idea that this will make us safer, that we will feel safer.”

Facial recognition works by mapping facial features – mainly the eyes, nose and chin – by identifying light and dark areas, then calculating the distance between them. That unique facial fingerprint is then matched with others on a database.

Makeup attempts to disrupt this by putting dark and light colours in unexpected places, either to confuse the technology into mapping the wrong parts of the face or concluding there is no face to map.

The concept was created by an artist, Adam Harvey, who coined the term “computer vision dazzle”, or “cv dazzle”, to mean a modern version of the camouflage used by the Royal Navy during the first world war.

Many other artists, designers and technologists have been inspired by his attempts to hide without covering the face. Jing-cai Liu, a design student, created a wearable face projector, while Dutch artist Jip van Leeuwenstein made a clear plastic mask that creates the illusion of ridges along the face.

Others have used hats and T-shirts with patterns that are designed to trick cameras into not recognising part of an image as a human at all. Researchers at the University of KU Leuven in Belgium managed to avoid recognition by holding a large photograph of a group of people. Yet few people used these countermeasures on any regular basis until the Dazzle Club began last year as a response to the installation, later scrapped, of technology at King’s Cross, London.

“It was very annoying and made us quite angry. There are a lot of issues with bias,” Roderick said, referring to research that showed black people were more likely to be misidentified.

The group meets once a month to walk through different parts of London and it has been inundated with inquiries over the last few days.

“It would be interesting to wear it day to day and for it not to be too outrageous, for it to be more commonplace,” Roderick said. “But the speed that facial recognition algorithms learn means that you can’t find one design and use it for the rest of your life. At some point, it will learn that you are a face with cv dazzle. It’s a classic arms race.”

Harvey, an American artist based in Berlin, has been investigating surveillance technology since creating cv dazzle in 2011. He told the Observer that dazzle was a technique rather than a pattern. “It has to be a meandering, evolving strategy,” he said.

While makeup presents a challenge to facial recognition, it can still be beaten by other technologies, said Dr Sasan Mahmoodi, a lecturer in computer vision at the University of Southampton. “They cannot do makeup on their ears,” Mahmoodi said. “It’s difficult to change your ear, although you can hide it with a hat or hair. There is also gait recognition – people have distinctive walking patterns. If you know where the camera is you can walk differently, but if you’re not aware of where it is you cannot hide your gait.”

Harvey is sceptical about gait recognition but has other concerns about infrared, thermal and polarimetric techniques which measure heat and the polarisation qualities of skin.

“Giving too much power to the police or any security agency provides the conditions for authoritarian abuse. It’s like pollution – there’s a cost which we are ignoring. Hopefully this provides an alert to people that it’s so easy – you can turn on the system in one day, and the cost is so low, that there aren’t any built in frictions that discourage people from using it.”

Laurie Smith, a principal researcher at Nesta, the innovation charity, said there was a need for regulatory systems to be smarter: to anticipate technologies rather than react to them.

The Met faces challenges to its facial recognition plans. Big Brother Watch is bringing a crowdfunded legal challenge against it and the home secretary, according to Griff Ferris, the organisation’s legal officer.

“Live facial recognition is a mass surveillance tool which scans thousands of innocent people in a public space, subjecting them to a biometric identity check, much like taking a fingerprint. People in the UK are being scanned, misidentified and wrongly stopped by police as a result.

“We’ve seen activists in Hong Kong fighting oppressive surveillance using masks, umbrellas and laser pointers. When we protested the police’s use of facial recognition surveillance at a football match recently, many of the fans arrived wearing masks to protect themselves.

“Our rights should really be protected by parliament and the courts, but if they fail us on facial recognition people will have to protect themselves in these ways.”

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houseki-no-suffering · 6 years ago

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Words: 2114 Genre: canon angst Characters: Yellow Diamond, Padparadscha, Rutile, Euclase, mentions of older gems Summary: A story about how time keeps drifting Yellow Diamond and Padparadscha apart, and about how Yellow is left alone to face the aftermaths of immortality.

A/N: my gift to @fyouin for the @housekinoexchange, hope you like it <3

The band of lilac that stretches over the horizon is slowly melting away the first summer sunset. Yellow picks at their necktie again, straightening it for the hundredth time.

They feel weird in their new clothes. It is not unheard of for Red Beryl to redesign a uniform: art is constantly evolving in its chase after perfection, as Yellow’s younger sibling would say. Still, the high, delicately crafted collar of the new chemise is a stark contrast against Yellow’s memories of simpler uniforms, of a time when it was up to Sensei and the other gems to sew their garments, before Red Beryl was born.

Change is an interesting concept, Yellow thinks while the wind plays with the blades of grass, creating patchy waves of black and green in the twilight. It’s pretty, the way the light refracts in metallic specks over the pond, the gentle jellyfish, the insects chirping in the night. In moments like these, Yellow would occasionally feel an urgency to make things happen, to feel the weight of things in their hand and engage with the world of colors around them. An anticipation of novelty. They talked about it with Ruby nii-chan once, but the older gem brushed it off, patting Yellow’s head. You’re just young, kiddo, they said.

Yellow crouches on the grass, training their eyes to spot insects as they wait: Padparadscha should be out of the infirmary at any moment.

One cricket, two crickets, a dragonfly, three crickets-

“Hey!”

And then Padparadscha’s hand is on Yellow’s head and Yellow lets out a yelp.

“Sorry, your face is priceless,” Padparadscha chuckles, “what are you doing?”

“Counting crickets.”

“Uh, uh,” they crouch on the ground next to Yellow, yawning, chin resting on their arms, “found any good singer?”

“I don’t know? They sound all the same to me, why do they even do that? Shouldn’t they be asleep or something?”

“I don’t know, but if I lived such a short life I’d try to have fun all the time.”

“Very mature of you.”

“Never said I was.”

“Your tight is off,” Yellow notices, pointing at Padparadscha’s leg, “again.” Their long, white tight is hanging lazily around the younger gem’s ankle.

“Oh, yeah, it keeps doing that. Red is furious.”

“Maybe they should make you a new one?”

“I think I like it better this way. It got personality.”

Yellow chuckles, twisting a blade of grass around their finger. The conversation falls into silence after that, and the night stretches with tense indolence between the two gems. When Yellow finds the courage to look at Padparadscha again, the latter is gazing at the sky, head bent backwards.

“Padpa,” they whisper, more to themselves than to receive an answer, “are you okay?”

Padparadscha smirks, then they let themselves fall on the ground ungraciously, their glimmering hair like a fiery corolla burning all around them. It is all too similar to the way Padparadscha has collapsed that very morning, a discreet, silent fall in the arms of fresh summer grass before Yellow’s eyes. For a second, Yellow holds their breath.

But Padparadscha is still awake. They cross their arms behind their head, avoiding Yellow’s eyes.

“’course I am,” they answer.

“Why did you pass out?”

“No idea.”

“And are you sure you’re okay? You think it will- like, you’re okay now, aren’t you?”

“Hey,” when Padparadscha finally meets Yellow’s gaze, their pinkish eyes shine with a soft confidence. It’s a look that Padpa crafted specifically for these moments, for when Yellow would feel insecure about something.

“I’m fine, I promise.”

Even if Padparadscha is so much younger than Yellow, their buoyancy looks invulnerable, as if they knew for a fact that they could take on the whole world with bare hands. It is enough reassurance to make Yellow Diamond believe it, too.

---------

Padparadscha collapses again, barely a year later. This time, Yellow follows them to the infirmary. They look at Sensei with hopeful eyes while he bends over Padpa and proceeds to remove and polish each one of the pieces that he himself has chiseled to fill up the holes that the red gem was born with.

To Yellow’s relief, it is enough. A few hours later, Padparadscha opens their eyes again and Yellow shoves every bit of concern aside as they lunge to hug their friend, apologizing when the impact treads a few cracks across Padpa’s torso.

They still believe that these are sporadic accidents, but by the tenth time, Padparadscha’s journeys to the infirmary have become a routine that Yellow is regretfully becoming used to.

The two of them would be walking around the school or Padpa would be out for patrol, sometimes they would be expected for morning assembly and just never show up. It is unfairly anticlimactic. There is simply no way to tell when or how Padparadscha’s new collapse will occur. There are no signals, no rules. One time, Padpa stayed awake for fifty years and then lost consciousness three months in a row. Not even Euclase is able to predict when it will happen next.

But just like Euclase, Yellow has noticed that there is one clear pattern in the way Padpa’s unique body behaves. With each passing sleep, the gem keeps losing consciousness more and more often.

------------

The new kid is of fairly good hardness and extraordinarily quick temper.

Rutile is barely ten when Sensei declares them learned enough to take on a job. Forty when they become Padparadscha’s partner, after their old one is taken away. Sixty when they witness Padpa collapse before their eyes.

Yellow remembers the shock they have felt in Rutile’s place, when Padparadscha fell unconscious for the first time, more than one thousand years ago. They expect the kid to sink in the same fragility that Yellow themselves has felt that day: powerlessness, shock, fear.

Yellow is ready to comfort them the moment they spot Rutile carrying Padparadscha back to the school, but Rutile does not need to be comforted. The new kid lays their partner on the infirmary’s bed, tells Aquamarine to go call Sensei and sits beside Padpa in complete silence until he comes in.

Rutile’s eyes follow Sensei’s hands as he repeats the gestures that Yellow has committed to memory a long time ago. He pulls the replacements out of Padparadscha’s torso, he polishes them, he places them back in. Only then, when Yellow supposes Rutile was expecting Padpa to wake up and Padparadscha stays unconscious, does Rutile’s face betray the ghost of an emotion.

Once again, Yellow is ready to comfort them, tell them to be patient, reassure them that Padparadscha will wake up again, eventually, but the kid is back on their feet before Yellow has time to attempt any approach.

The new gem looks at Sensei, cold resolution shining in their eyes.

“Have you tried replacing those?” they ask.

------------

Rutile’s method works. They become a brilliant surgeon. Every time Padparadscha collapses, now, they go looking for replacements at the beach of beginnings.

Yellow accompanies them a couple of times, but there is something uncannily intimate in looking for gems to embed in their old friend’s body; and Yellow doesn’t have the same unfazed, focused demeanor of young Rutile. After a while, they just stop going.

It is the umpteenth symptom of a fading era. Yellow Diamond realizes that they are growing old fast: there are almost no more seniors around to pat their head and call them ‘kid.’ As Yellow allows Green Diamond, Ruby and Sapphire to be snatched away from them one after the other, they cannot help but feel that Padparadscha is slowly slipping away from their fingers as well, one slumber at a time.

Rutile’s method works, but this also means that now it’s Rutile that gets to spend most of their days with Padparadscha— and with right: they are partners after all. But Rutile’s method has one distinctive downside that Euclase confides to Yellow in-between late night card games, while the younger gems are fast asleep.

Padparadscha’s original replacements were fragments of pink sapphire, basically the same gem, but no other pink sapphires have been found after that. Rutile tries with what they can glean: yellow sapphire, blue sapphire, ruby, emerald, and then with diamond, fluorite, pink quartz and spinel, too, and they work, most of the times, but never for long, never like pink sapphire. Padparadscha’s slumbers are becoming longer. But what choice do they have.

------------

When Chrysoberyl is taken away, too, barely a century after Pink Topaz, Yellow must accept that loss has appointed them everyone else’s big brother.

Putting on a smile for Zircon’s sake is easy, but hushing their own brain every time an arrow flies too close to the kid’s head wears them out. Yellow is tired and so is Diamond, and they are but half Yellow’s age. Still, when Dia leaves patrol duty, Yellow seizes their chance to do the same. They were never a catalyst; they always felt more comfortable with following someone else’s steps. Or running away. They are just glad that they could entrust Zircon to Bort’s hands before it was too late.

Working with Alexandrite is like walking with one foot in the present and one in a different timeline. Each piece of parchment smells like memories, like lost summers, so many that Yellow Diamond would have lost count long ago if it were not for Euclase and their passion for numbers. Even Lexi’s handwriting is old-fashioned; it is so similar to Green Diamond’s that, after a couple of weeks, Yellow stops reading their papers and only focuses on the pictures to differentiate among topics.

They feel like a failed warrior, a time wreck whose only purpose is to shut their useless self in a dusty office to doze off and dream of chirping crickets and out-of-fashion uniforms. Yellow knows that this is the only lifestyle that can suit them anymore. This acceptance washes over them as a reassurance, heavy with regrets.

The halls of the dome re-echo with each tired step Yellow Diamond takes. They know they will be alone: Rutile is looking for new pieces, Phosphophyllite has stopped breaking up so often after they lost their arms, and the other gems are out for patrol. Mornings are always busy. The infirmary will be deserted.

Flakes of pollen dance in the sunlight just above where Padparadscha rests. Yellow closes their eyes and instead of white morning skies they see a summer sunset, bands of dark lilac and orange stretching over the horizon as dark blue tries to take over the night.

Padparadscha is fast asleep, serene and immobile. It is hard to tell that they have been awake the day before, just for a few moments, just enough for Yellow to miss it. But it doesn’t matter. Yellow is learning to let it all go. With each day spent dozing off in Lexi’s studio, indulging in the guilty void that their lost siblings left in their chest, Yellow Diamond thinks that they are becoming more and more like Padparadscha.

Their old friend is still here, even if it’s as if they are not. They have always been wiser than Yellow. They knew what was to come and they chose to sleep rather than see the world keep spinning despite loss and war, uncaring and unforgiving.

Yellow Diamond rests on the edge of Padparadscha’s wooden casket, a treasure chest for a shiny, insentient jewel. They are tired, they feel immensely older than their 3598 years. For a brief moment, their mind goes to Sensei and to how old and tired he, too, must be. Then they remember that Sensei spends most of his days sleeping, and they wonder when, exactly, he started doing it, but not why. They shrug it off as they tell Padpa about their day and about Zircon, which Padparadscha might not even remember.

As always, Padpa doesn’t answer. Their sleeping features are impenetrable, their consciousness lost somewhere Yellow Diamond could never hope to reach, and yet they hope anyway as they allow the next sentence to escape their lips.

“Mind if I lie down, next to you?”

The weight of Yellow’s words dangles in the morning breeze, among dusty stools and closets full of herbs, and Yellow half expects, half hopes, to see Padparadscha open their eyes just to smack Yellow in the head. But they don’t. Padparadscha keeps on sleeping.

So Yellow Diamond pretends that nothing has happened. They let their feet dangle back and forth, as if they were still a small kid. They breathe in the infirmary’s air; it smells like powder and the resin that Rutile uses to patch gems up.

They chuckle; they let this go, too.

“Just kidding,” they mumble.

#housekinoexchange #houseki no kuni #land of the lustrous #hnk #fic tag #yellow diamond #padparadscha #rutile #euclase #alexandrite

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thesinglesjukebox · 6 years ago

Video

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THE HIGHWOMEN - REDESIGNING WOMEN

[5.30]

And yet they couldn't get Delta Burke to do a cameo in the video...

Joshua Lu: The Highwomen should, in theory, be a triumph for country music, at the very least because of the four amazing artists involved: Natalie Hemby (songwriter who's penned works for artists like Miranda Lambert, Kacey Musgraves and... Nelly Furtado?), Amanda Shires (singer/songwriter/violinist with six solo albums to her name), Brandi Carlile (responsible for one of the best albums of 2018 and for several other excellent ones) and Maren Morris (renowned hitmaker who recently sent "Girl" to #1 on the country airplay charts). Why, then, does "Redesigning Women" fail to muster the magic any one of the artists could deliver on her own? Vocally, the four of them blend together into each far too much; only Brandi's vocals ring distinctly, leaving the other three acting as part of her backdrop, including Maren, whose particularly potent pipes I shouldn't struggle to pinpoint. Lyrically, it's filled with signifiers for traditional vs. modern female roles, with requisite mentions of babies, the kitchen and hair dye, which make for evocative imagery but don't make for any meaningful message other than... that women's roles have evolved over time? It's too comfortable just describing the current state of affairs instead of demanding something more, and I'm left wondering what a listener is supposed to take away when the last guitar chord fades away. [4]

Michael Hong: The supergroup should involve a group of artists who know their strengths and weaknesses well enough that they're able to cover each other's weaknesses and emphasize their strengths in a way that wouldn't be possible as solo artists. The Pistol Annies worked so well on Interstate Gospel, not only because of the trio's harmonies, but also in the way that each artist brought something as a writer, like Monroe injecting some of her trademark dry humour into Lambert and Presley's wickedly smart small-town life observations. It comes as a confusing surprise then that across The Highwomen, less than half of all tracks are writing collaborations between the women, with Natalie Hemby being the sole member credited with writing their first outing. While Hemby has established herself as a great songwriter in Nashville, her strength was in the charming intimacy of her hushed vocals and finger-plucked guitar, but her own writing was hindered by her reliance on traditionalism that occasionally veered into cheesy nostalgia. "Redesigning Women" lacks the personal charm of Hemby's solo music and allows Hemby's penchant for cheesy traditionalism to seep through on awkward lines like "running the world while we're cleaning up the kitchen" and "changing our minds like we change our hair color." Confusingly, the track pushes this narrative where women have control, so long as they continue to provide in the more "traditional" gender roles. It makes for the track appearing to be a female empowerment anthem on first glance, but ending up being more outdated and restrictive, akin to Maren Morris's GIRL. Without the voices of Carlile, Morris, and Shires as writers, The Highwomen fall flat as a supergroup. While the four do sound pleasant across the track, pleasant just doesn't feel like enough on a track titled "Redesigning Women," which ultimately falls flat as another version of female empowerment written by the current Nashville songwriter du jour. [4]

Alex Clifton: In general feminist Americana/folk/country plays well with me, but where "Redesigning Women" gets really good is when all four women sing the title line. I hear so many older country superstars in their harmonies -- I could swear Dolly is in there singing along with them -- and it's a revelation. The lyrics are pretty good too, giving a light touch with lines like "breaking the jello mould" while still delivering a sincere message. The thing I have always liked about classic country is its strength, the confidence of the sliding guitars and banjos, how the singers sing out and loud, how even when there are quieter moments you still remain on solid ground. "Redesigning Women" does that while returning to an older sound that feels so rare these days, all the while making it fresh and glorious to hear. [8]

Alfred Soto: Shtickier and less distinctive than expected, "Redesigning Women" hews to a pattern -- a Jell-O mold? -- that acknowledges no middle ground between saints and surgeons; someone else, after all, a man, makes a woman a saint. It survives because Brandi Carlile, Maren Morris and Amanda Shires harmonize with the ease of women who understand how doing a job well is too often not reward enough. [6]

Jackie Powell: This song is an anthem and after my first listen, I didn't think I'd ever come to that conclusion. Country music for me is polarizing. But, each member of this quartet is Grammy-nominated in their own right and is enduring massive individual success. So why now for The Highwomen? "Redesigning Women" and the entire project coming from these four is selfless in nature. On CBS Morning before their debut at the Newport Folk Festival, Carlile referred to it as "a movement" rather than "a band." And the lyrical choices on this track are mostly consistent with that analysis. A goal is to inspire and that's admirable. Although I'll be frank, the first verse annoyed me; it reminded me of Girl Scout campfire songs. The chorus, however, is where The Highwomen shine. Each voice is heard, unlike the verses, and layered to provide a vocal texture that juxtaposes the nasal one you hear at the top of the song. I'm a sucker for alliteration and Hemby's serves as the best phrases in the entire song. But I don't love some of the female stereotypes referenced. Can we please move away from this idea that women almost always "need to look good," "clean the kitchen" or feel pressured to "feed the baby"? The Highwomen redeem themselves on the bridge which offers a call and response to a question that all who identify as female can relate to. Womanhood isn't black and white. There isn't a formula and if there is, then maybe you are doing it all wrong. The Highwomen have a broader audience than they think. I hope they take advantage of it as they continue to tell the stories of those who have redesigned and redefined their own womanhood. [6]

Joshua Copperman: The Highwomen have an interesting idea here -- "Running the world while we're cleaning up the kitchen" is clunky but appears to speculate that while gender roles are changing for women, men aren't meeting that change halfway. So you have podcasts asking if Women Can Have It All, and entire empires built on the Plight of the Working Woman -- in this song, the progress society has made (lol) indicates that "traditional women" take on all the responsibilities and nothing has gotten easier, let alone more equal. It's a thought-provoking message, but the rest is delivered in a surprisingly corny fashion from four women that, as far as I know, have either evaded or embraced corniness. This project could be a midpoint between Case/Lang/Veirs and Bridgers/Baker/Dacus, but the monotonous verses only bring to mind "Children of The Future" in their presentation and messaging. Maybe it's because up to this point, I've presented and lived in the world as a cis straight male (regardless of my actual orientation or gender identity). But no matter how I present myself, I know for a fact that all parties involved have done better, and this is deeply underwhelming. [4]

Iris Xie: A title like "Redesigning Women" begs something a lot more radical, maybe even jumping on the whole cyberpunk/anthropocene/post-apocalyptic aesthetic. But no, we get a song that is emblematic of conservative, tired, "choice" feminism. Why is buying 11 pairs of shoes considered moving progress forward? Why is a song about the fatigue in women's gender roles lacking so much anger? Why does this sonically sound like a swallowed deference? "Redesigning Women" upsets me, because it's like the time when I was a kid and asked older women if they've ever heard what feminism and seeing them wrinkle their noses at it and be offended at my question, and when I asked DC immigration lobbyists if they've ever experienced sexism or discrimination in their work and they stared at me because they didn't know how to answer the question. It made me feel so confused in those moments, and realizing how effective obfuscation is in separating and talking about the ways oppressive systems function, and how we ourselves can be extremely complicit in perpetuating them while also surviving them. "Redesigning Women" is meant as a touch-and-go balm as an acknowledgment of life's hardships, but without providing any solutions other than "let's make the best of it, you aren't the only one suffering," which is the only time that collectivism seems to raise its head in this individualist capitalist society, for the moment you start complaining, you aren't doing your part in your Dream. Bioessentialism and gender roles aside, this is a song that puts forth several arguments that The Highwomen and any other women just living their lives is redefining the roles of women. The imagery in "Making bank, shaking hands, driving 80 / Tryna get home just to feed the baby" is wonderfully succinct, and pretty much wraps up why life underneath capitalism absolutely sucks, whether you are or are not able to access that life. The rest of the examples -- such as "breaking every jello mold" and "When we love someone we take 'em to Heaven / And if the shoe fits, we're gonna buy 11" -- mix relatable, down-home metaphors with ones that wouldn't be out of place when it comes to simple desires to be a little too much, to be a little more ostentatious and a little less modest and "for the family!", where your every move as a woman is judged harshly. The bridge itself hearkens to a place of moral simplicity, with "How do we do it? How do we do it? / Making it up as we go along / How do we do it? How do we do it? / Half way right and half way wrong," that seems so innocent and very "we can do it!" But in reality, who is the target audience for this? It's for the women with families and jobs, and for those single femmes (like me!) who are conscientious of those future realities, who are all trying to keep these impossible lives and demands afloat in this disaster called late crisis capitalism. This is supposed to be soothing and reminds me that we're "all in this together," but it honestly kind of hurts to listen to this song. [5]

Katherine St Asaph: Designing Women is a relic of the '80s-'90s deadzone, and though it's getting rebooted and reconstituted, and was just rerun on Hulu (if you even knew), it is no longer a cultural touchstone, let alone enough of one to effectively snowclone. Jell-O molds reside in questionable '70s cookbooks and not modern kitchens, even in the South. Rosie the Riveter predates even the '50s. Nothing about this, from fusty lyrics to fustier vocals to women-are-fickle-but-good-fickle feminism, suggests it was written in the 21st century, let alone by "Country's Ballsiest New Supergroup." Who is this for? The kids are listening to Kacey Musgraves and Lil Nas X. The grownups are listening to country artists -- including some of the solo Highwomen, probably -- whose songs sound like they're inhabited by real people, not the speechwriters for corporate retreats. Industry folks are undoubtedly listening to this out of pent-up goodwill, which would be better directed toward commissioning repertoire that doesn't sound like it'd be dated in 1989. Extra point because at least it's responsible for the best thing Dierks Bentley has ever recorded. [2]

Stephen Eisermann: The idiot members of the Deplorable Choir have been all over my Twitter feed this week, so much so that I almost doubted if I ever wanted to listen to women of country collaborate for a track. I'm so pissed this song didn't show up immediately after I first saw that horrendous performance because this track, with its rich harmonies and empowering lyrics, elevates country music in a way that melts the iciness that has developed around my heart in recent years. These are the women that are leading and should continue to lead us into the future. [8]

Thomas Inskeep: Better in theory than in practice, mainly because the song's lyrics are just the slightest bit kitschy. But goddamn if Brandi Carlile, Natalie Hemby, Maren Morris, and Amanda Shires don't sound great together, and are given perfect country production by Dave Cobb. Even though I wish I liked "Redesigning Women" a little more, it still whets my appetite for their debut album, because I know there's even better to come. [6]

[Read, comment and vote on The Singles Jukebox]

#Brandi Carlile #Natalie Hemby #Maren Morris #Amanda Shires #The Highwomen #country #music #music review #writing

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