#compendious

[claudiosuenaga]

Lançamento do Livro The Reliability of UFO Witness Testimony (Com um Capítulo de Cláudio Tsuyoshi Suenaga)

V.J. Ballester-Olmos & Richard W. Heiden (Eds.)

Por 76 anos, observadores casuais em todo o mundo relataram avistamentos de fenômenos aéreos inexplicáveis. Experiências pessoais mais elaboradas foram relatadas por outros cujos testemunhos falam de interações próximas com fantásticas máquinas voadoras que pousam e de onde descem seres estranhos que até sequestram os circunstantes. Na ausência de evidências físicas convincentes da realidade dessas narrações, como a ciência deveria estudar observações imateriais e testar essas afirmações? O próprio padrão de confiabilidade de testemunha está em jogo aqui.

A Confiabilidade dos Testemunhos de OVNIs é o primeiro grande livro a focar de forma abrangente na discussão e nas visões atuais sobre os problemas e desafios apresentados pela confiabilidade dos testemunhos de OVNIs. Este é um compêndio interdisciplinar de artigos de 60 autores de 14 países diferentes. Eles são especialistas em ciências sociais, físicas e biológicas, incluindo psicologia (predominantemente), bem como psiquiatria, sociologia, antropologia, história, filosofia, folclore, religião, jornalismo, engenharia, computação, medicina, educação, analistas com experiência no estudo crítico de observadores de OVNIs e outros profissionais. Este volume compartilha ideias tematicamente convergentes sobre a plausibilidade de explicações alternativas para o fenômeno OVNI.

Os 57 capítulos deste livro são divididos em sete seções: Estudos de Casos, Perspectivas Psicológicas, Sobre o Testemunho das Testemunhas, Pesquisa Empírica, Abordagem Antropológica, Métrica e Escala e Questões Epistemológicas. O assunto é analisado desde o trabalho estatístico até a avaliação clínica, psicometria, inquérito comparativo e de avaliação e outras perspectivas temáticas.

Alguns trechos do prefácio, escrito pelo Dr. Leonard S. Newman, Professor de Psicologia na Universidade de Syracuse:

"Entre os colaboradores deste livro estão algumas pessoas muito inteligentes. Há todos os tipos de questões às quais eles poderiam dedicar sua energia intelectual e todos os tipos de contribuições acadêmicas e de pesquisa que poderiam fazer. Eles não precisam escrever capítulos cuidadosos e rigorosos para um livro chamado A Confiabilidade dos Testemunho de OVNIs, mas foi isso o que eles fizeram. E assim o trabalho continua, como atestam os artigos deste volume. Não tenho certeza se existe alguma coleção de artigos sobre qualquer tópico que possa pretender resumir de forma abrangente tudo o que se sabe atualmente sobre ele. Mas este chega bem perto."

Este livro de 711 páginas foi lançado online no portal Academia.edu, onde pode ser baixado gratuitamente:

Simultaneamente, a UPIAR Publishing House (Turim, Itália) publicou duas edições impressas em formato A4 de capa mole, uma em preto e branco, outra em cores (ISBN: 9791281441002). O livro pode ser adquirido através deste link:

Quatro acadêmicos de destaque forneceram notas elogiosas a este volume. Foi isto que eles disseram:

Elizabeth Loftus, Ph.D., Ilustre Professora de Psicologia na Universidade da Califórnia, Irvine, EUA:

"Quando cidadãos comuns afirmam ter encontros extraterrestres, como ver OVNIs ou encontrar seres alienígenas, o que devemos pensar? A abdução alienígena realmente aconteceu ou foi uma farsa? Alguém está mentindo deliberadamente? São memórias falsas? Os leitores ficarão surpresos, encantados com as histórias de casos que são apresentados em A Confiabilidade dos Testemunho de OVNIs, um volume onde sessenta especialistas examinam essas questões com profundidade e discernimento. Esses casos nos ensinam muito sobre como os humanos acreditam que vivenciaram eventos bizarros que podem nunca ter ocorrido."

Steven Jay Lynn, Ph.D., Ilustre Professor de Psicologia da Universidade Binghamton (SUNY), EUA:

"Este livro cativante atrairá qualquer pessoa interessada em OVNIs (e quem não é?), nos caprichos da memória, na percepção de testemunhas oculares e na percepção errônea, na análise crítica de fenômenos intrigantes e na avaliação de alegações científicas versus pseudocientíficas. Este volume está classificado na categoria de leitura essencial para estudantes, cientistas e curiosos sérios entre nós e, portanto, tem minha mais alta recomendação. Bravo!"

Henry Otgaar, Ph.D., Professor de Psicologia Jurídica, Universidade Maastricht, Holanda, e Universidade Católica Leuven, Bélgica:

"Alegações de avistamentos e experiências de OVNIs continuam a nos fascinar. Este livro reuniu um conjunto único e diversificado de estudos de caso e artigos críticos sobre como essas experiências se desenrolam e qual é a autenticidade dessas alegações. A coleção desses diferentes artigos é verdadeiramente inovadora e é o primeiro conjunto completo sobre a validade do testemunho de OVNIs."

Benjamin E. Zeller, Ph.D., Professor e Catedrático de Religião, Faculdade Lake Forest, Illinois, EUA:

"Ao referir-se ao contato extraterrestre, Carl Sagan disse que alegações extraordinárias requerem evidências extraordinárias. Este excelente livro procura contextualizar o que tais evidências implicam. Eles se baseiam em uma gama impressionante de perspectivas metodológicas, acadêmicas e científicas e consideram tópicos como a natureza da cognição, memória, tipos de crença e testemunho, psicologia e a racionalidade da crença. Céticos, crentes e estudiosos da ufologia irão todos acham este livro fascinante!"

Para informações adicionais por favor contate:

Editora UPIAR: info@upiar.com

Editor: V. J. Ballester-Olmos, ballesterolmos@yahoo.es

A Objetividade das Testemunhas e a Subjetividade dos Testemunhos

Cláudio Tsuyoshi Suenaga

Tive a honra de ser um dos seletos convidados pelo insigne Vicente-Juan Ballester Olmos, um dos organizadores e editores deste alentado livro científico-acadêmico, junto com o igualmente insigne Richard W. Heiden, a escrever um trabalho sobre a "confiabilidade do testemunho de testemunhas de OVNIs", aspecto crucial das pesquisas ufológicas, já que, na falta de evidências materiais do fenômeno, esta é a fonte primária com que lidamos, a "matéria-prima", digamos assim, a perpassar nossas análises, ainda mais para quem não lida apenas com relatos de "segunda mão", mas os vai colher diretamente com as próprias testemunhas, em por vezes rudes e hostis condições de campo.

Em minha contribuição intitulada "A Objetividade das Testemunhas e a Subjetividade dos Testemunhos" ("The Objectivity of Witnesses and the Subjectivity of Testemonies"), procedi a uma análise crítica da base de referência geral do problema OVNI, o testemunho, visto como fonte cultural autêntica e indiscutível, mas que apresenta sérias distorções. Um dos principais pontos por mim questionados foi o valor exato dos depoimentos que formam a base dos relatos e, portanto, do fenômeno OVNI. Procurei dar um tratamento científico adequado a esses dados e fatores relegados a segundo plano pelos ufólogos: os parâmetros subjetivos observacionais, os aspectos perceptivos, a linguagem e o contexto histórico-cultural da testemunha e as variáveis psicossociológicas, ou seja, tudo o que foi depreciativamente chamado de "ruído de fundo", o "refugo sociológico" desprezado em detrimento do "sinal".

Consulte e tenha sempre à mão, portanto, este que é o primeiro grande livro a enfocar de forma abrangente a discussão e as visões atuais sobre os problemas e desafios apresentados pela confiabilidade dos testemunhos de OVNIs, um compêndio interdisciplinar de artigos de 60 autores de 14 países diferentes.

(formato grande, 711 páginas)

Você pode baixar o livro gratuitamente no meu Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/posts/83285171

[literaryvein-reblogs]

more words for worldbuilding: size & numbers (pt. 5)

attribute of quantity: about, affluent, altogether, below, better, bountiful, brimming/brimful, depleted, double, elephantine, excessive, exiguous, extravagant, extremely, flush, further, hardly, inadequate, just about, leftover, limited, lush, many, most, new, other, over, residual, rich, slender/slim, spent, supplementary, thin, unreasonable, wholesale

attribute of range: abysmal, across-the-board, all-out, besides, blanket, bounded, broad, catholic, comprehensive, dead, deeply, diffuse, eclectic, encyclopedic, expansive, extensive, far-reaching, full-scale, general, global, inclusive, indiscriminate, international, lower, mixed, more, most, motley, multinational, multiple/multifarious, overall, pervasive, primarily, quite, rampant, relatively, slightly, substantially, sweeping, universal, utmost, very, wholesale, wide, within, without

attribute of size: angular, baby, better, brief, burly, capsule, chubby, commodious, compendious, corpulent, cumbersome, elephantine, extensive, full, giant, grand, gross, hefty, hulking, immeasurable, imposing, incalculable, inflated, large, major, massive, midget, miniature, miniscule/minuscule, minute, monstrous, narrow, pocket, prodigious, puny, roly-poly, scrawny, small, small-time, stocky, strapping, stunted, teeny/teensy, thin, titanic, vast, wee, wide

capacity: brimming/brimful, compact, crowded, full, spacious, vacant, void

change of quantity: accession, develop, grow, growth

decreasing: attrition, cut, deduction, depreciate, diminution, drop off, fall, recede, sag, sink, taper/taper off, wane

depth: abysmal, profound, skin-deep, unfathomable

distance: about, away, contiguous, distant, far, far-flung, farthest, immediate, near, off, onward/onwards, yonder

height: alpine, elongated, gigantic, lanky, long, midget, precipitous, short, squat, stubby, tall, towering

increasing: accretion, accrue, amplification, bulge, enlarge, expansion, increase, inflate, leap, peak, reach, swell, widen

large: abounding, aggregate, appreciable, colossal, considerable, excessive, extremely, fantastic, generous, gigantic, great, handsome, hulking, incalculable, inordinate, legion, massive, mighty, monstrous, multitudinous, numberless, opulent, plentiful/plenty, prodigious, redundant, stupendous, surplus, tremendous, unwieldy, voluminous, whopping

length: extended, lengthy, short, tall

measurement: degree, mark, proportion

number: amount, estimate, number, pair, point, quotation/quote, sum, trio/triple, zero

portion: among, asunder, fragmentary, half, sectional

quantity: agglomeration, amount, avalanche, backlog, batch, bundle, cascade, cipher, deluge, duo, extravagance, figure, flow, gust, lot, mass, minimum, myriad, oodles, pile, plenty, surge, total, trio/triple, turnout

range: bound/bounds, compass, expanse, gamut, length, scads, scope, superabundance, waterfall, width

relative: cumulative, fairly, influx

small: compendious, dinky, few, infinitesimal, less, little, marginal, measly, miniature, minimum, miniscule/minuscule, minute, nominal, outside, piddling, scant/scanty, scarcely, skimpy, teeny/teensy, trifling

unit of distance measure: depth, foot, mile

unit of height measure: altitude, height, mile

unit of measure: acre, degree, dimensions/dimension, mass, measurement, proportions, size, volume, width

unit of scalar measure: above, lesser, over, under

unit of volume measure: capacity, volume

unit of weight measure: ounce, weight

width: broad, wide

NOTE

Excerpted from Roget's 21st Century Thesaurus, Updated and Expanded 3rd Edition, in Dictionary Form, edited by The Princeton Language Institute.

The above are concepts classified according to subject and usage. It not only helps writers and thinkers to organize their ideas but leads them from those very ideas to the words that can best express them.

It was, in part, created to turn an idea into a specific word. By linking together the main entries that share similar concepts, the index makes possible creative semantic connections between words in our language, stimulating thought and broadening vocabulary.

Source ⚜ Basics & Refreshers ⚜ On Vocabulary ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

[unsoundedcomic]

Glass-sensei, you've inspired me to read Moby Dick and I was struck last night by a line in chapter 108. I feel like I know the answer to this, but is Duane's neck pymaric (and perhaps his tacit port seemingly anchoring his soul to his body in Chapter 14) intentionally reminiscent of "one small, compendious vertebra"?

Haha, I wish I had a prize to give you - I didn't think anyone would ever find that!

There is a very specific reason mechanically why the tacit port is where it is, why Bastion's apparatus is where it is, why it looks the way it looks, and why Bastion specifically was the one to create it - but outside of the mechanics, yes, I think the seed of it came from that particular line in Moby-Dick. Good job! Let me know anything else you find intriguing about the book, I think I'm due for a reread.

[magicalbats]

Kinktober Day 11: Pet Play

Rating: R-18+

Word Count: 5711

Warnings: Afab!reader, coercion, abuse of power, exploitative dynamic, pet play/puppy play, vaginal fingering, humiliation/degradation, dubcon, use of ‘good girl’ and other gendered language

A/N: Sorry this one is late, I physically could not keep my eyes open to do the editing 😭

⭐

“This is an abuse of power, I hope you know that.” 

Looking up at the low hiss, Al-Haitham casually moves his book aside to peer down at where you’re knelt on the floor. You can feel his eyes burning into you but refuse to actually bring your head up and look at him, far too embarrassed to meet his gaze. Just glimpsing the shift in your peripheral is almost enough to crumble your resolve and send you running from the room but you had an objective here. A goal you refused to back down from no matter to what frustrating lengths he went just to stonewall you so you fiercely maintain your position, even when your arms shudder and threaten to give out. 

You couldn’t believe him. The nerve he had, putting you into this kind of situation! Not only was it a major abuse of power but also a punishable offense in the Akademiya’s code of conduct that would have escalated into quite a buzzing scandal were it not for the fact you had no one to turn to about it. Even if you did try to file a complaint it would just end up on his desk by the next morning and you would be worse off than you’d started. 

You’d always thought the Grand Sage held far too much sway and authority over the Akademiya’s internal affairs with nothing to keep them in check, and Al-Haitham was just further solidifying that belief. 

A long moment of terse silence settles over the still office, and you really don’t expect him to even dignify that assertion with a response when the only reason he was entertaining this in the first place was to prove a point. But then, to your dull surprise, he eventually draws an apathetic breath. 

“No one is forcing you to do this, least of all myself. You’re welcome to gather up your belongings and leave at any time. It’s not like I’m holding you hostage or anything.” 

You bark out a humorless laugh, bitter and strained. That was certainly easy for him to say when he was the one with all the control here. If the roles had been reversed, you were sure he would have been squirming too. 

Well … maybe not. This was Al-Haitham you were talking about but that was hardly the point! 

“I’m not leaving,” You grit, trying very hard to keep the tremor out of your voice. “Not until you sign that paper!” 

Shrugging as if he really could care less, Al-Haitham returns to his book without a second thought to the matter. You curse him under your breath, rather creatively too, but it’s like he doesn’t even hear it. Completely unperturbed and eternally at ease, he just sits there in his high backed chair with one ankle crossed over the opposite leg while he reads — you steal a quick, harried glance at the title on the cover. The Compendious Book on Calculation by Completion and Balancing? Was that seriously what his mind was focused on right now? 

Stamping down the urge to seethe through your teeth, you stiffly readjust the placement of your hands on the floor and try to distribute your weight more evenly. You probably shouldn’t have been surprised to end up in this situation after bursting into his office against your better judgment and prostrating yourself at his feet, begging for his signature and promising to do anything he asked in return. You’d expected, perhaps, monetary favors, personal debt, indentured servitude or maybe even transactional sex but this went far beyond what you could have ever anticipated. 

He’d simply told you to stay like that. Nothing else and no further instructions. At first you’d thought this was just a bizarre precursor to an inappropriate sexual liaison with the Acting Grand Sage, that he was just far more perverted than you’d initially thought and he got off on having women kneel at his feet like some kind of brute. So you’d stayed like that, on hand and bended knee, but it was fast approaching an hour now and still he’d barely even looked at you, never mind made any kind of advance. 

You were furious with him as much as yourself. But pride could be a funny thing and you were a bit too stubborn to give up now when you’d already stooped this low. Even if he stayed here all night reading his stupid book in perpetual silence you weren’t leaving until you got him to sign off on that damned budget request! 

Unfortunately you were quickly losing strength in your arms and you gingerly rock back to settle more squarely on your knees, attempting to lessen some of the pressure. You grimace at the deep ache that throbs through your limbs as you try to discreetly roll some of the tension out with slow rotations of your wrists but it does little in the way of good, and you give a small hiss.  

“You’re getting tired.” It’s a statement, not a question, and you nearly jolt right up off the floor in your surprise. 

“I’m not!” Stubbornly, you return to your original position even when it makes the screaming tendons in your limbs cry out in protest. You couldn’t let him win. If you gave up now he’d just send you packing and that paper would never get signed. “Your book must be pretty dull if you’re still focused on me though. Maybe you should stop playing this silly game already and just give me what I came here for.” 

Al-Haitham lowers his book to look at you again. “I’m playing a silly game?” Quietly scoffing, he lowers his arm altogether to let it rest across his bent knee with the book dangling towards the floor now. “Look, I don’t say this to discourage you but I’m really not sure what you think this is going to accomplish. I didn’t agree to anything nor did I make a bargain with you. You’re the one who decided to camp out here under the assumption that your obstinance would net you the result you wanted. Honestly I’m a bit surprised at how stubborn you’re being about this.” 

“I need that budget sign off!” 

“You might need it but that doesn’t mean you’re going to get it.” 

You can’t quite stop yourself from snapping your attention up to gape at him. He couldn’t be serious! “How dare you talk to me like a child …” 

With a slow, deliberate blink of his eyes, Al-Haitham tips his head to one side, looking for all the world like an observant predatory bird regarding its prey. “How else am I supposed to treat you when you’re acting like one?” 

An affronted burst of sound comes out of you, but when you draw a sharp breath to snap at him nothing comes out. You’re just left with your mouth hanging open like a fool, so you slowly close it again and try to rein in your temper. You couldn’t let him get under your skin like this. The sooner he turned your own emotions against you the sooner you’d be sent from his office empty handed. Maintaining a level head even in the face of his infuriating attitude was likely the only thing that would see you through this standoff and, steeling your resolve, you narrow your eyes up at him. 

“I’m not leaving until you give me your signature.” 

“Do you really think you can outlast me?” 

“If that’s what it takes, yes.” 

A quiet beat passes over the room while he seems to consider that in his mind. Not that his typically unreadable expression told you much of anything, but he hadn’t returned to his book yet and his viridescent eyes had taken on a distant quality that would seem to suggest deep thought. You aren’t sure what he’s going to come back at you with — grudging acquiescence, just to get you out of his office, or a call for the guards to come and take you away by force — but it’s certainly not for him to sedately uncross his legs and lean forward, elbows bracing on his knees. 

You go ramrod stiff, so shocked you can’t even find the wherewithal to properly react when he slouches down to look you square in the face and you abruptly realize just how close you really are. You’d never seen him from only a scant few inches away like this, the strong cut of his jaw and handsome brow catching you completely off guard. How had you never noticed how striking he was?

“Fine.” He intones, surprising you so much you have to do a double take.

“What?” 

“I said fine. Since you want to play this game so badly, I suppose I’d be willing to meet you somewhere in the middle. Unless, of course, your precious budget isn’t worth the gamble?” 

You realize what he’s doing immediately. It would have been a little hard not to when he was staring at you with those deeply impertinent eyes, just daring you to take the bait and see who came out on top. This wasn’t a compromise, it was a flat out challenge! He was so damn confident he could best you that the notion of having to actually sign off on your paper clearly wasn’t even a concern in his mind. You hated him for it, handsome or not, and you don’t try to hide it as you harden your expression. 

“You’ve got yourself a deal, you bastard.” 

“Alright.” Straightening up, Al-Haitham snaps the book in his hand shut to finally give you his full attention. “Take off your clothes.” 

Your heart sputters and nearly extinguishes. “Excuse me?” 

He actually has the audacity to quirk a brow at you, like you were the one with the problem, and you run even hotter than before. The nerve of him! But if that was how he wanted to be then fine, you would simply meet him head on and see who could really outlast who. 

Teeth gnashing, you jerk your body upright and viciously tear at your robe to get it pulled up over your head before he can say anything else about it. You were so mad, so incredibly pissed at him that you nearly knock yourself off balance and tip over from how hard you yank your own clothes off. He wasn’t going to win, though. You would sooner jump into the endless ocean without a life preserver before ever admitting defeat to the likes of him! 

Irritably tossing everything aside, you gradually work your way down to the bottommost layer but you don’t stop long enough to let it give you pause. Your silk chemise comes off with a snarl and then you’re tugging soft bloomers down so you can inelegantly kick your way out of them as well. Finally, you find yourself kneeling in the Grand Sage’s office, completely naked and chest heaving uncontrollably as you glare daggers at him still sat comfortably in his seat. But he just impassively looks at you as if he wasn’t in any way moved, neither impressed by your nudity or all that interested by the looks of it. Just another factor to humiliate you with. 

“You forgot your shoes.” He says at last, and your blood pressure spikes so hard and so fast that you momentarily forget how to breathe. 

Twisting around, you rip off one of your slippers so you can cock it back with every intention of sending it flying right at his smug face. But you barely have enough time to get your arm up before he suddenly grabs you by the wrist, halting the motion before you can follow through. Choking on your anger as much as your surprise, you watch him slowly rise from his seat so he can lean over you and put his face close to yours again. 

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” He tells you in such a bland, unconcerned tone that for a split second you’re not even sure if he’s actually being sincere or not. But then he expectantly holds up his unoccupied hand and you whither under that inscrutable gaze. “Give me the shoe.” 

You desperately try to keep hold of your fiery rage but it sputters out quickly enough under his cool, mild temperament and you suddenly feel a bit silly — it was hard not to when Al-Haitham looked at you like that — and you obediently hand it over to him when he lets up his hold on your wrist. Feeling appropriately cowed, you ease back to sit on your haunches while he straightens up to his full, towering height to speculatively regard your shoe for a moment. Listless, you reach back and shove the other one off your foot without a care to where it may fall. 

Finally, he looks at you again. “Back into position.”

A short beat of confusion marches through your mind before you realize what he wants, and your face quickly starts to heat up again. He was certainly pushing his luck today. And although you may not have had your anger to cling to anymore you still had your resolve, and it doesn’t abandon you even now. Grudgingly, you comply. 

Shifting forward to brace on your hands and knees again, you settle into place before him even when it only seems to highlight your stark nudity. Your breasts sway softly with the motion, nipples puckered tight in the decidedly cool office, but you try your best to ignore it. Instead, you bring your head up, ready to snap at him — but his hand coming to rest on top of your head abruptly stops you in your tracks. 

“Good girl.” 

Your stomach lurches. What the hell did he think he was doing? 

“Y - you — I don’t —“ You choke and stammer, unable to get so much as a single coherent sentence out, but he just … pets you. Idly rubs his (frustratingly) large hand over your head for a brief moment before pulling away without even a hint of shame to show for it. As if it was the most natural thing in the world for him to be doing and not incredibly, deeply belittling. 

But if he recognizes the look of affronted disbelief on your face he certainly doesn’t show it and merely shifts back to settle his weight to one side. With your slipper still clutched in his fingers, you bitterly note. 

“Now that we’ve established you can follow directions, here's how this is going to work. I’ll give you an hour of my time since you wasted one of yours hoping I’d change my mind about the budget paper. I don’t usually negotiate or give in to demands like this, but if you can show me you have the resolve to back up your beliefs with meaningful action then I’ll give you my sign off. Your field holds a great deal of potential but that was no small sum you asked for. I want to know if you can actually back it up or not.” 

“And how am I supposed to do that?” You growl, feeling your temper start to spike again. 

Without missing a beat the hand at his side shifts, gesturing towards the spot next to him with a quick snap of his fingers. “Come here.” 

Your body gives a subconscious, angry little jerk at the sound but you bite your tongue, knowing if you allowed yourself to speak now you’d just flush everything down the toilet. It’s exceptionally hard to do when you knew too well what he was actually asking you to do, but you try to remind yourself what was on the line. Why you were even doing this in the first place. Any humiliation suffered would be well worth it once you got your hands on that budget and you could always deal with him later, after the next Grand Sage had been officially chosen. 

Resigned, you silently rock forward and crawl the few paces across the floor, keeping your head down while making a valiant effort not to think about how ridiculous you must look in that moment. But he doesn’t react when you shuffle up to him, his expression as unreadable as ever when you chance a quick look. You almost ask what else he wants you to do and then a blood curdling thought occurs to you. He was rather blatantly treating you like a dog now, so did that mean he wanted you to come to heel? 

Your motions are stiff with annoyance as you carefully readjust your position and spin around until your upper body is perfectly lined up with his legs, your hand resting a scant few millimeters from his boot. To your simmering annoyance, he once again bends down to give your head a rather condescending, if not impartial, pat. 

“Good girl. Now sit.” 

You shoot him a quick, dangerous look but still ease back to sit on your calves. That doesn’t quite seem to be enough for him though and, jaw clenched tight, you slowly straighten out of your hunched position to sit up, blushing red hot when it effectively presents your tits to the room. 

Al-Haitham’s hand finds your head again and he murmurs another soft ‘good girl’ that makes you feel a million abstract emotions all at once. You can’t quite decide if you hate him it or not, and try to pull away with a half choked sound of annoyance. Luckily, (for you or him, you couldn't decide) he lets you twist from him without comment and you have to bite back the whimper that rises in your throat when he slowly straightens up to tower over you again. Alright, so this was perhaps even more deviant than making you kneel at his feet all day, and you feel the hot stab of embarrassment at that deep in your chest, but surely this was going a bit far, even for him? 

“You don’t have to keep doing that …” You grumble, pointedly looking anywhere else in the room. 

“Oh? And how else am I supposed to reinforce good behavior then?” 

Your cheeks grow even hotter. “I am not a dog, Acting Grand Sage. Nothing needs to be reinforced!” 

“I disagree. The way you burst in here was bad enough but then you took it upon yourself to try and force my hand when I wouldn’t give you what you wanted. That’s not how sensible adults behave. Clearly you lack training.” 

Is that what this was? Correctional action? It was so absurd you almost laugh. You might have been out of line in coming here to try and strongarm him, but then what did the current situation say about his behavior? He had you naked, following his commands like a pet, and he didn’t see anything wrong with that? You’d never before known someone more absurd or audacious.

“Even if that were true, do you really think it’s your place to do the training?” 

“For the next fifty-five minutes? Yes, it is.” Ignoring the incensed noise you make to that, Al-Haitham pivots his body to stand in front of you now, effectively swapping your starting positions. He’s so close you have to crane your neck back to look up at him but his expression remains as passive and disinterested as ever. “It’s a shame I didn’t have time to prepare anything for you beforehand.” He murmurs, more to himself than to you. “I think you’d look perfect wearing a nice collar and leash. Maybe something pink with a bow? I could probably even find a tail for you in a backroom of the bazaar somewhere.” 

His words have their intended effect of making you squirm in place, flushing hot with shame at the mental image he’s instilled in you. For someone who didn’t even look all that invested in the first place, he sure was letting his imagination run wild. “In your dreams, you creep.” 

He gives you another of those long, deliberately slow blinks. “Then let’s teach you a new trick. You’ll like that, I’m sure.” Lifting his hand just short of chest level, Al-Haitham gives his fingers another snap. “Beg, pretty girl.” 

So gradually it feels like your skin is crawling, every single hair on your body stands on end until you feel vaguely like a puffed up, incensed cat. Your mouth works but nothing comes out around the simmering rock now lodged in your throat. Of all the upsetting things he’s said and done to you, this was somehow the worst yet — and the addition of ‘pretty girl’ certainly wasn’t making it any better. 

“You - -!” 

“Ah, ah. Not like that. Dogs can’t ask for things or yell at their owners, can they? Do it without using your voice.”

Another snap of his fingers has you seeing red. You didn’t understand how you were supposed to do this in a way that would satisfy him … and more to be cute than anything else, you stiffly bring your hands up and curl them into loose fists. To your surprise he nods once but doesn’t lean down to pet you or call you a good girl so you take that to mean he wasn’t quite satisfied with it yet. You had no idea what else he expected of you though. Trying to sit up a little straighter, jutting your tits out in the process, likewise doesn’t earn you his acknowledgement though and you soon start to panic. If you weren’t able to meet his expectations — whatever they were — he was just going to send you away. You had to think of something, quick! 

“W - woof?” You try hopefully, genuine surprise washing over you when he allows himself the briefest smile. 

“You’re getting there, but not quite. You just need to fix your position.” 

Fix it? Fix it how! 

It takes a long moment for it to sink in, the full weight of what he’s asking you to do, and you outright grimace at the thought that finally comes to mind. You couldn’t think of anything more embarrassing but, seeing what little choice you actually had, you carefully get your legs under you and then push up to balance on your feet in a leapfrog position. Still, though, that’s not enough to please him, and you start to feel well and truly like you might cry out of frustration. This was impossible. Considering who you were dealing with you probably should have anticipated as much but …

Al-Haitham abruptly shifts forward then and it makes you give a subconscious little twitch. To your wary confusion, though, all he does is lower himself down to crouch in front of you on the balls of his feet. “Like this. You need to straighten your spine, and sit nice and tall for me. You want to get my attention don’t you?”

Your face feels like it’s going to catch fire at any given moment. He sounded far too reasonable for someone making you debase yourself like this but even for as obtuse and arrogant as he was, you still trusted his word. Geniuses were usually a bit eccentric in one way or another but Al-Haitham, at least, was a man who didn’t misspeak (whenever he bothered to speak at all) so if he said this would  get your paper signed you believed him. 

You have to pause to steady your nerves before you do it but, at length, you finally push up to center your balance on the balls of your feet as well and then straighten your back. For good measure, you lift your hands to your chest and curl them into loose fists again, pinning him with a flustered yet plaintive look even when every fiber of your being was screaming at you to cover yourself. You can feel the air in the room waft against your bare cunt, acutely aware of how this humiliating position spreads your pussy lips slightly and bares you to his steady gaze, but you try very hard not to think about that right now. 

“Good girl.” He finally relents, his usually bland tone softening almost imperceptibly, but it still stabs you in the gut as if he’d taken a knife to you. 

Wavering, you force your legs to steady under your weight when he reaches out, heart pounding a wild, erratic beat inside your chest as you track the motion of his hand. A soft whimper bubbles up in your throat at the casual way he slips those long fingers between your spread thighs and ever so softly brushes them over your cunt. The slight nudge against your clit forces you to draw a steadying breath, so hot and jittery with nerves you start to feel faint. Although you’d half expected him to ask for sexual favors when you first forced your way in here, this was not quite what you’d had in mind … 

It’s something far, far worse than what your imagination could have ever come up with, but you let him pet at you with unhurried strokes of his fingers, teasing over creases and folds as if to map out the feel of you through touch alone. His fingertips are blunt and surprisingly rough for a scribe, and it catches you off guard how your skin clings to him because of it. Your clit, especially, feels incredibly soft and pliant under his hand, and the periodic nudge against it makes your legs twitch with the urge to squeeze them shut. 

“See? I knew you could follow directions …” Trailing off, Al-Haitham studies your face for a long beat with that perpetually unreadable expression of his. Like he was deliberating over what to embarrass you with next. 

Shyly, you try to divert your gaze elsewhere so you won’t have to look directly at him but he’s knelt much too close. He takes up almost all of your field of vision no matter what you do, and your mouth drops open when he suddenly reaches further back to prod at your entrance. 

“Now speak.” 

Lightheaded and more than just a little dizzy now, you try to work out what he wants you to say — and then it hits you. Whining low in your throat, unable to hold it back, you shift to steady your faltering balance and subtly angle your cunt from him. “Wh - woof … woof, woof …” 

Unhesitatingly, his fingers follow you and press up, just dipping into your body. You go stock still and shudder so hard you almost tip over, struggling to make sense of what’s even happening anymore. But true to nature Al-Haitham has no time or patience to waste on explanations, and he breaches your cunt at a tortuously slow pace that leaves you gasping for breath. The stretch that comes with his two fingers brings tears to your eyes, threatening to spill over when he finds slick waiting for him inside. 

“Good girl. You’re being so well behaved for me now. Much better than your earlier foolishness,” Pausing at the first joint, he takes a moment to simply feel around and wriggle his fingertips, encouraging your pussy to open up for him and relax around the intrusion. The motion draws a soft, wet click from your body, and you all but whither right there in front of him. “You can ask for things without being such a brat about it. Good behavior will net you far better results anyway, and it will keep you out of trouble too. The next time you think about strong arming someone into giving you what you want, I hope you remember this … and if you ever need a refresher I’d be happy to give it to you.” 

You don’t quite get the chance to fully process what he’s saying. His fingers angle further up, using the natural lubrication of your cunt to slide in a little deeper, and you throw your head back to seethe at the ceiling. He’s gentle about it but insistent and demanding at the same time, and your cunt slowly relents under the stilted pressure. The second joint stretches you open and then — he’s inside you, straight down to the knuckles. Swaying, your legs start to shake from maintaining this position when you wanted nothing more than to scuttle away from him as much as from the onslaught of sensation that comes with it. You felt faint. Delirious. 

How were you possibly supposed to rationalize that the Acting Grand Sage was buried deep inside your pussy and your squeezing guts were actively trying to milk him dry? 

“Beg, pretty girl. Let me hear you.” 

Struggling just to breathe, you awkwardly shift on your feet and readjust the demeaning position of your hands where they’d started to droop. “Nnghn … w - woof woof … woof wo — oof!” 

The startled sound punches out of you when Al-Haitham curls his fingers at such a hard, unrelenting angle it nearly pulls you off balance. Up towards your belly button, he briefly massages along the inner sleeve of your shuddering body until he finds the spongy nerve cluster he’s looking for. The pressure he exerts on it sends you to the very tips of your toes, a futile effort to escape the demanding attention, but he remains ever one track minded. Now that he's found it, he attacks the spot with merciless focus and the constant barrage makes your whole body twitch and tingle like you were a lit firecracker just waiting to explode. You hated it, the way he was turning your body against you like this, but there was no denying the innate reaction you were experiencing. 

Your pussy practically floods around his fingers and the sticky suction rapidly increases under his ministrations until the attention grabbing click coming from between your legs seems to dominate the room. It even threatens to drown out your gasping, heaving moans as you helplessly rock on your feet, doing everything in your power just to stay upright. It’s a true test of willpower when your muscles were so taxed and aching, and the rapidly swelling pressure in your cunt certainly wasn’t helping either. But still, your stubborn pride won’t let you give up and, still, you were determined to beat him at his own game. 

So you keep barking even when your breath is robbed from you, what was once hushed and begrudging noises meant only to signal your compliance quickly devolving into tiny little yips and pleasured groans. You couldn’t have stopped it even if you’d wanted to, and you no longer had the wherewithal to even keep up the pretense of not enjoying this on some level. It felt good, much to your horror and shame. You hated it as much as you hated him, but your baser instincts had effectively taken over and it sweeps you up in its current with a raging vengeance. 

“That’s it. Cum for me, good girl.” He says, evidently recognizing the stricken look on your face for what it is. You think — in a far off, distant kind of way — that he must be out of his mind. That he was sorely mistaken if he thought you were going to climax for him, just like that. 

But then he reaches up with his unoccupied hand and pinches one of your nipples, giving it a possessive little tweak, and you feel the tension in you become that much more unbearable. Reeling and gasping, you sensitively rock forward on your toes and try to angle your cunt away but it’s no use. He’s completely unrelenting, and your eyes start to roll back in your head as the tremors tear through you faster than you can even comprehend. 

“Oh - oooh!”

“Archons, you’re soaking my fingers. If I’d known all you needed was some discipline, I would have done this much sooner.” 

A little piece of your ego seems to chip away and dissolve when your quaking hips give a stiff jerk at that, and your pussy clamps down around him so fiercely it almost hurts. And just like that the pressure tips. You fall over the edge into an uncontrollable fit of spasms, your orgasm rocking you straight down to your core. But even in the throes of your wild release you’re still acutely — horrifically aware of the moment your cunt gives under the pressure and squirts slick all over his hand and wrist. 

Suddenly your pleasure is ripped from you, instantly replaced with a suffocating, reeling sense of shock and disbelief even as you helplessly judder through the remainder of your orgasm. Tipping your head down to take a numb look at the space between your legs, hardly even daring to believe it, you feel a chill rush over you at the wet stains you see on the lush carpet. There was no way … 

Gradually, Al-Haitham eases up on his fingers when you start to go still, just eyeing your face with that inscrutable look for a long, quiet moment that’s interspersed only by your labored breathing. He doesn’t say anything at all as he slowly withdraws them from your body, ignoring the way you grimace and seethe at the resulting sticky slurp, but he does manage to take you by surprise when he reaches up to help steady you by the shoulders. You reluctantly accept his help, a little too shell shocked to maintain your attitude when it seemed like all you could do just to keep yourself together. And to your great relief he carefully helps you sink down to sit on the floor, which you do with nothing short of immense, overwhelming relief. 

It felt like your legs would never work properly again after crouching like that for so long, and that was to say absolutely nothing of your pride. What was even left of it. 

“You did well.” He suddenly says, prompting you to bring your head up to look at him. 

Despite your reservations, you allow yourself a slow, hopeful smile. “Does this mean you’ll sign off on my request now?” You venture to ask in a thin, trembling voice. 

“No. Not yet. You’ve still got another thirty minutes, I’m afraid.” 

Groaning, you drop your head and try not to scream. How you hated this man!

⭐

Crossposted: here

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

By: Tom Slater

Published: Mar 27, 2025

Male privilege. Toxic masculinity. Smash the patriarchy. A thousand dumb slogans have shaped our debate about the respective lot of men and women for the past decade or more. But this past week, the agreed-upon narrative – that essentially nothing has changed since Victoria was on the throne; that women remain as stifled and disenfranchised as ever, while men continue to lord it over them – has begun to collide with reality.

While we were all arguing over Adolescence and Andrew Tate, a report compiled by the Centre for Social Justice (CSJ) has quietly laid waste to the prevailing orthodoxy. Lost Boys: State of the Nation makes brutally clear that a lot of young British men have very little privilege to check. Males lag behind females at every stage of education, from nursery to university – in higher education, women now outnumber men by three to two. That gender pay gap you’ve heard so much about? It’s now been reversed among the young, with women out-earning men. Young men are much more likely to be unemployed, too. To those who have been paying attention, none of this will come as a surprise. But rarely has it been spelled out in such compendious, stark and irrefutable detail.

Of course, a big part of the picture here is the history-making strides made by women in education and the workforce. If, as victim-feminists have so often told us, young women still have the deck stacked so mercilessly against them, young women certainly haven’t got the memo. But these emerging gaps aren’t just about historical wrongs being righted – a new equilibrium being reached. Going by the report, this shift has at least as much to do with men falling backwards as it does women pushing ahead. Since the pandemic, for one thing, the number of men aged 16 to 24 not in education, employment or training has increased by 40 per cent, compared with seven per cent for women.

The chattering classes have long struggled to compute such facts. It upsets the hierarchy of victimhood. It grates against the notion that men are only ever the oppressors, the beneficiaries of ‘structural sexism’. To talk about the challenges faced by young men and boys will often see you smeared as anti-women, or some crybaby men’s rights activist – desperate to insist that men are the real victims, thwarted by the girls. Wokeness, it seems, is a zero-sum game. You couldn’t possibly care about, say, the barriers to re-entering the workforce women experience after having children and the barriers many young men face to finding gainful employment at all.

This has always struck me as bizarre. Not least because many of the struggles many young men face today have little to do with their sex and everything to do with their social class. Indeed, when we talk about the issues confronting men and boys, we’re usually talking about working-class men and boys. Just as it is ridiculous to pretend that women in boardrooms and women in call centres share identical challenges and interests, so it is also ridiculous to suggest that the prospects of an unemployed 21-year-old lad, yet to break out from his council-estate boxroom, is intimately connected with those of a Russell Group Hooray Henry, slogging away at grad-scheme applications.

While young women are pulling ahead of young men even among university graduates, the so-called lost boys are really to be found among the poor and working class. Over recent decades, radical shifts in society and the economy have corroded many of the old certainties working-class men once relied upon. Manufacturing, agriculture and construction – industries that used to provide secure, decently paid jobs to young men who weren’t destined for, or couldn’t afford to go to, university – have withered on the vine. In 1970, the CSJ notes, these sectors collectively made up more than 40 per cent of UK GDP. By 2023, this stood at just 16 per cent. Fatherlessness has also exploded among lower-income groups. ‘One of the most stark inequalities in Britain’, Fraser Nelson notes, ‘is the unequal distribution of fathers: 95 per cent there for those at the top, 60 per cent absent for those at the bottom.’ And while this can be tragic for boys and girls alike, it is particularly perilous for boys growing up in neighbourhoods where trouble isn’t hard to come by. Indeed, a full three-quarters of children in custody report having an absent father.

Just as class explains many of these problems, it also explains the blindness to them. While the media and politics have become more superficially ‘diverse’ in recent years, working-class ‘representation’ – if we must use the r-word – has actually gone in the other direction. And so, those charged with discussing and addressing the issues confronting working-class people are more detached from them than in decades past, when a less thoroughly bourgeois Labour Party brought manual workers into parliament and local newspapers, long since disappeared, offered a trade to bright kids who lacked the connections and expensive educations that have now become all but obligatory in mediaworld.

This ‘crisis’ among men and boys, then, is another symptom of the neglect of the working classes. Of the indifference to the decay of blue-collar communities, and the industries that once sustained them. Of the total capture of almost every institution, even those explicitly founded to represent workers’ interests (I’m looking at you, Labour), by the metropolitan middle classes. As class politics has given way to identity politics, the lives of ordinary men – and women – have become ever more inscrutable to those in positions of power and influence. There’s a lesson in this, perhaps, for the few who might be lured by the mirror-image victimhood of the ‘manosphere’. Identitarianism – whether of the left-wing or right-wing variety – is forever a deadend.

--

At the Centre for Social Justice, we have always asked: what is really going on in our homes and communities, and where can we make a difference? We listen to those working on the frontline - the teachers, youth workers, charities, and parents who see, day in and day out, the struggles playing out in the lives of young people. And in recent years, they’ve been telling us the same thing: something is going on with our boys.

Lost Boys is our attempt to find out what that is.

What we have uncovered is stark. Boys are struggling in education, more likely to take their own lives, less likely to get into stable work, and far more likely to be caught up in crime. The numbers don’t lie - something has shifted, and we cannot ignore it any longer. It’s not just about Andrew Tate or online influencers; they are the symptoms, not the cause. The deeper truth is that too many boys are growing up without the guidance, discipline, and purpose they need to thrive.

But let me be clear - this is not a message of despair. Boys and young men have enormous potential. They always have, and they always will. We must stop seeing masculinity as a problem to be solved and start seeing it as a strength to be nurtured. Strength, resilience, responsibility - these are not traits to be suppressed but harnessed for good.

This report, Lost Boys, is not just an exploration of the challenges young men face but the beginning of a journey to offer a hopeful, positive vision for masculinity in Britain. We need strong fathers, mentors, and role models. We need a culture that values the unique contributions of men and supports boys to grow into good, responsible adults.

This is just the first step, but it’s an important one. It sets the scene for the next stage of our work where we will begin to offer solutions to the challenges outlined below.

We must be willing to listen, to act, and to restore hope for the next generation. Because when boys thrive, our whole society benefits.

==

The left - my left - used to be about workers and the lower class. Now they're about elites with the right identity markers, and large tech and media corporations which endorse the same view.

[kindwhispers]

Veil: Raised between the two, so fine that they can't see it, but it tickles them

In the first few volumes, we see so much of a couple epitomising the many subtle ways of showing intimacy. As the volume progresses, we can also see the clarity of the veil that is within Emma and Aleksander's relationship- that is, the love that is continually blossoming yet still somehow confined by this veil. There’s sooo much love embedded in Emma & Aleksander’s subtlest, tiniest gestures that scream “I love the nearnesss of you.”

I always say how much I love Kotteri drawing gestures esp the sequences of their hand movements– hands with so much tenderness & warmth reaching out til their fingertips touch & fall down into the skin of another.

Volume 4 looks to me like an emphasis on Aleksander’s gaze to Emma; how Emma’s grasps allow him to surrender to her touch, leaving him to stare at her ‘to his heart’s content’. His eyes emanating with admiration over her beauty, wandering around as he starts to unravel her habits. Frustration of wanting to touch her & this ‘veil’ comes in between.

Kotteri said there are scenes we feel the veil tremble slightly & I think scene 39 highlights that the most. Veil that is used to describe their relationship, intimacy & closeness & familiarity & sometimes the restraints.

One of my favourite parts in Volume 5 is Aleksander & Emma verbosely addressing their relationship that is still fringed by a thin veil yet both, so outwardly, holding onto the same fondness for each other that keeps growing. I really think that is the allure of their special connection.

Aleksander talking abt Emma, grasping the glass as he thinks of how she sees & familiarises by her touch. How Emma relishes at the mere presence of Aleksander & his ornate ways of describing her. They are just so so magnetically intimate with each other I’m so in love with them.

In Volume 6, we see what is, indeed, the first compendious dive on Emma’s inner introspection about not being able to see. We have always known that Emma sees best through the touch that come from her gentle hands, & this chapter has reiterated that more than ever.

What I love the most is reverting to this very fact; Emma was starting to see her world with dull colours, then we see Aleksander extending his hands & painting Emma with warmth, the way she has always viewed the world. Really stunning how essentially the colours were used here.

This is all just so, so beautiful! We see so much of their shared vulnerabilities to their own worries, & each time they see through another & show their admiration in their own language: which I think are all a testament to their blossoming relationship. I love them so much.

[aziraphales-library]

Hello! Thank you so much for your hard work, people :D I found lots of amazing fic from here and I must say, I very much appreciate it. The titles you people recommend are always amazing.

I wanted to ask for your help on recommending me fics in which Crowley is a human and Azi an non-human, if possible? Preferably Azi as an angel, but anything is fine. I've read when it was Human Azi and Demon (or other non-human entities) Crowley, so I was searching for the opposite. Once again, thank you!

Hi! You can check our #human crowley for more fics like this. Here are some to add to the collection...

The likeness of a man by hapax (G)

There was something … wrong … about Aziraphale. Well, not wrong, exactly, but not right either.  Not … normal. No matter how nice he was, there was no getting around the fact that Aziraphale was too weird to pass for a high school student. That didn't mean that Crowley didn't want to be his best friend.

out of touch, out of time (out of my head when you're not around) by popcornizuku (T)

"Uh, are you a demon?” His face crumbles, clearly distraught by the implication, and Crowley winces. He shakes his head vehemently, “Oh, Heavens no. Quite the opposite, really.” Before Crowley can question whatever that means, he raises a brow, considering, “Were you attempting to summon a demon? I don’t believe that would be a very wise course of action. Awful company, demons are. They have never been known for their manners, I can assure you.” “Er, right. I’ll take your word for it… Wait, no, I wasn’t trying to summon a demon!” (Or, Crowley accidentally summons an angel, attempts to find his soulmate, fights some demons, and falls in love.)

Guarding Anthony by Magnolia822 (E)

When middling angel Aziraphale is assigned as guardian to one Anthony J Crowley, aging playboy and heir to an industrial fortune, he finally has the chance to prove himself to Heaven and earn his place on Earth. Armed only with the compendious yet vague Binder of Guardian Angel Protocols, he must learn to trust his own instincts if he is to stop Crowley from self-destructing. Anthony Crowley has been living his life in the shadow of a tragic incident from his past. He never expects help to come from the most unlikely quarter: a dowdy, yet intriguing, bookseller named A.Z. Fell. Neither of them expects to fall in love. But on this crazy place called Earth, anything can happen. Can't it?

Pure of heart by taj_mahal (G)

After a particularly harrowing day in heaven, trying to avert the Second Coming from the inside, Aziraphale decides to treat himself to a visit to earth to indulge in one of his most treasured earthly delights – a meal at a new up and coming restaurant in London. He is not prepared for what he finds.

Who wants to live forever? by jessescreations (NR)

Antony Colby is a young man living in London, who is suddenly plagued by nightmares of fires, angels and demons. In search for simple answers he discovers big errors in his life - trying to make sense of things, he comes in contact with a bookshop owner who seems to know more than he wants to admit and the longer the search goes the larger the pile of questions grows - in the end of it all Antony Colby has to make a choice or Crowley is punished with a mortal life and does not remember the past 6000 years.

The Mourning Star by RavenMelon (M)

In the aftermath of the thwarted Apocalypse in this alternate universe, Crowley has forcibly lost his memory and taken on a humble life as a greenhouse keeper in Upper SoHo. Meanwhile, Aziraphale, believing Crowley perished during the tumultuous events of heavenly punishment, has adopted a young girl he named Nebula in his process of healing. Their paths unexpectedly cross when Aziraphale seeks horticultural knowledge for Nebula, leading to a heart-wrenching reunion with a forgotten past. Will the Angel be able to find new happiness? Will he bring his Crowley back to him from beyond?

- Mod D

[eah-confessions]

I just had the longest yap about Apple White (Omg how original) on my notes app and it amounted to 21 pages of pure Apple White slop.

Like. I quoted the books and linked specific webisodes with timestamps to support my nonsense. But why did I do that?? No one is going to see it anyway??

I feel like I led a scientific investigation and I feel so smart but. LMAO no. I'm NOT the first person to try dissecting her character — Ik I'm not even the first person today to do that. But I'm on a roll so um. I feel powerful. If not a lil stupid. Bc I could have spent my time doing literally anything else, like giggling over Dexven or giggling over Ashlynn or Cupid or Lizzie or Darling. That would have been more productive!

But you know what I did instead? I pondered a character that's already been pondered to hell and back!! By people who can articulate their points in a more compendious manner than my word vomit!!

I'm not upset at myself though LMAO. All of this is actually really funny to me and I'm still proud of myself!! I'm just out of breath and need to tire myself out skskslsk

Anyway um, Hi!! I think Ashlynn is amazing. Also Lizzie had the best fits. Also I think Faybelle's Epic Winter outfit was her best. Also the Mad Hatter has my heart, the silly silly man.

-

[riesenfeldcenter]

Noah Webster's first dictionary (and the first American dictionary!), A Compendious Dictionary of the English Language, published in 1806.

"No person acquainted with the difficulties attending such a compilation, will flatter himself or the public, that any thing like perfection is within the compass of one man's abilities. Nothing like this is here promised. All that I have attempted, and all that I can believe to be executed, is a dictionary with considerable improvements; a work required by the advanced and advancing state of science and arts. The dictionaries of a living language must be revised every half century, or must necessarily be erroneous and imperfect."

Not only does Webster go from A to Z, but he includes a chronological table of events events going from Adam and Eve to 1806. If you look closely enough, you can find out when and where Henry II first wore silk stockings.

[cliozaur]

Stephen Fry's no 1 recommendation is Erotic Vagrancy by Roger Lewis about Taylor and Burton:

Roger Lewis’s Erotic Vagrancy is my book (and title) of the year. A magnificent, compendious and fantastically readable account of the phenomenon that was Taylor-Burton. It manages to be hilarious and at the same time deeply insightful and understanding. What emerges is a truthful and scintillating picture of the couple and their astonishing impact on each other and on the world around them. What makes the experience of reading Erotic Vagrancy so matchless is that Lewis writes, word on word, sentence on sentence, better that any biographer alive.

It would be nice to finish the year the way I started it with a book about Burton.

[thecoffeelovingfreak]

𝒊𝒕 𝒊𝒔 𝒐𝒏𝒍𝒚 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒚 𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒈

chapter II of and her heart is a bird on a spit in her chest

Pairing: Teenage!Arlecchino x gn!Teenage!Reader

Genres: politics & law, fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, strangers to friends

Word count: 2.3k

Warnings: mentions of blood, toxic familial relationship, vivienne becomes pretty bad pretty fast -- manipulation tactics, weaponizing trauma & coping mechanisms; discussions of crime, panic attack

1 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | epilogue

~~~

The afternoon light poured brightly over the garden where a young woman sat reading behind a large oak tree. The book in her hands was stolen from Director Vivienne’s library – a place none of the children were allowed since the books were deemed too complicated to share, at least by the director’s standards. Garden tools lay well-organized in front of the bushes she was supposed to trim, but instead, her attention was on A Compendious History of Fontainian and Snezhnayan Relations. 

“Marie! Marie!” the director called into the back courtyard.

The young woman quickly tucked the book into the bag for the tools and slid on her usual black gloves before shaking her head quickly and grabbing a pair of hedge trimmers. She looked just dirtied enough to pretend she was doing her task.

“What is it, Mlle. Vivienne?” she yelled back.

“Hurry inside, please! We have to organize for a new resident!”

She huffed before throwing down the trimmers and grabbing the tool bag. Her worn boots pounded against the cobblestone as she ran inside.

—

The drone of the black car silenced as the ignition was turned off. The chauffeur came and opened the bailiff’s door which you slid out of afterward. He grabbed your bag from the back before bringing it to you and tipped the edge of his hat before retreating to the car. The bailiff said nothing as she walked up the stairs next to you to the front door of the orphanage. Grabbing the golden door knocker, you struck it against the plate.

A woman in an elegant yet simple greyscale dress answered the door, golden brown hair mixed with silver falling long over her shoulders.

"Hello, Amélie!" she welcomed, shaking the bailiff's hand with both of hers.

"Hello, Vivienne." the white-haired woman responded curtly.

The director's eyes drifted over to you as she spoke, "I take it you are __?"

"Yes, mademoiselle."

"Wonderful," she said smiling. "Please, follow me."

You nodded goodbye to Amélie as you entered the older building. The white crown moulding in the foyer complemented the pale blue walls well but seemed like such a contrast to the owner's taste. She led you further down the hall toward an occupied lounge space. A young woman sat with tea dressed in a red button-up with black pants, gloves, and boots. Her white hair was blended with shades of dark grey and a strand of bright red. Black and maroon eyes gazed at you with inquisition and tiredness.

"Marie, please welcome __." the director stated.

She put down her tea on the small table next to the armchair she occupied before rising to step forward and hold out her hand. You reached out and took her hand, briefly shaking it and feeling the copious heat of her hand through the glove. 

"Hello, __." she spoke evenly, her voice strong and smooth.

"Lovely to meet you." you replied after a beat of momentary surprise. Something about the person in front of you seemed familiar, yet you couldn’t place where the feeling came from.

The director set a hand on Marie's shoulder as you brought your hand back to your side. "I have chosen our oldest here to guide and aid you for your first month. I do hope you two will get along. Dinner will be at six-thirty this evening, please show Mx. __ around in the meantime."

With that, she dismissed herself.

The lounge was quiet before the young woman spoke up, “Would you like me to take your bag?” 

You shook your head, “No need.” You did not want to hand off your only belongings to someone you just met, even if you sensed a kinship with them.

She looked into your eyes for a moment, as if assessing something you couldn’t perceive. With a light sigh, she moved on, “Well then, would you like to see where you’ll be sleeping?”

—

The bedroom of the orphanage was decorated in a plain yet aquatic theme that would have suited its location if not for the lack of extravagance. The white crown moulding continued into the room, but the walls were a dark teal instead of pale blue. Full beds with white sheets sat on metal bed frames, some had torn or well-kept stuffed animals, while others had blankets or satchels of the same condition. There were three large windows on the northern wall, bringing the shadows of leaves into the room.

Marie entered the room first, guiding you around the beds. A few young children ran around playing tag, but one, in particular, came running up to you, grabbing your hand with an excited smile on her face.

“I’m Lucette! Are you a new kid here?”

She had such a contagious spirit, you couldn’t help but reply, “It’s nice to meet you Lucette! I am new here, my name is __.”

The girl jumped up and down twice before turning toward the figure on your left. “Manon! Why didn’t you tell us?”

Your eyebrow raised slightly at the nickname as the girl left your side to stand in front of Marie. The young white-haired woman picked up the little girl and gestured for you to follow them.

“I didn’t know they would be arriving until only an hour ago,” she replied softly. “If I knew before I would have told you, Luce.”

“That’s still an hour!” the girl huffed, crossing her arms.

Marie placed her down on the floor when she reached a pair of beds. Ruffling her hair, she laughed.

“Stubborn as ever, I see.”

The girl glared playfully at her, “So are you.”

Another light laugh left Marie’s lips, and you felt warm at the sincerity between the two. It seemed that family was something highly valued by your overseer.

“Why don’t you go ask Mlle. Vivienne if you can help with dinner?”

“Okay!”

The girl quickly called for her friends and they all left the room a moment later.

“You can place your bag there.” Marie said, pointing to the bed on the right.

You placed your bag at the foot of the bed and decided to lie down for a moment. The bed was softer than you expected, and you sighed as the bed to your left creaked. Marie sat waiting for you, simply looking out the window.

“What brings you here?” she asked quietly.

You waited a moment before responding, “Unfortunate events.”

She hummed, bringing her gaze the short distance to you. Her striking eyes drew your attention, and you found yourself looking at her as well.

There was something odd stirring in her eyes, an unfamiliar emotion for someone appearing both bold and bitter. It seemed to you like fascination and perplexity, but you could not tell much of the inner workings of her mind. All you knew was that she likely cared deeply for those she loved.

You rose to sit on the side of your bed, your eyes still never leaving hers.

“What brings you here?” you queried.

She huffed and closed her magnetic onyx eyes. “Something far too complicated.”

You left her with no reply and continued to look at her. She opened her eyes once more a moment later, a flicker of recollection dancing behind them.

“Why do you keep looking at me like that?” you questioned, slight confusion on your face.

“I could ask you the same.” she replied, tilting her head.

A minuscule smile rose on her face, and you felt a peculiar sense of pride.

—

The sound of a knife cutting harshly against a plate was drowned out by chatter to everyone else but Marie as she channeled her frustrations into slicing her dinner. From her seat to the right of the director, she was able to get the best observance of you across from her. The silent companionship was not enough to curve her growing state of vexation after a long week of acting in front of the director though. Having been here for five years, she thought she would be used to the back-and-forth of the woman’s behavior, but if anything she has grown to learn that she just performs for others as well. Perhaps every citizen of Fontaine was made for the stage, whether that be the courtroom, theatre, or everyday society.

“How was your first day here, dear?” Vivienne asked as you placed your glass of water down.

Marie’s eyes remained low as she waited for your response.

“It went very well, Mademoiselle.”, you replied, smiling gently.

“Well, that’s lovely to hear.” she returned, cutting a slice of her steak.

After taking a bite, she continued, “Now, I know you arrived with the bailiff, but I’m afraid I was not fully briefed on why. Would you mind sharing with me?”

You exhaled and leveled eyes with Marie before moving them to the director. Her heart surprisingly jumped at the action, a mix of anticipation and a sentiment she was unfamiliar with.

“I was out at the butcher’s shop buying a steak and bumped into a customer. Blood from the meat leaked out onto my shirt, and when I left the shop I saw someone in pain. Their side was bloody and when I reached them they were unresponsive. Patrolmen came by not much later as I was trying to help them and interpreted me as the murderer. I ran into my older brother while being chased by them, they stunned him and apprehended us both. I faced my judgment day and arrived here.”

The director chuckled at your story, and Marie watched as your eyebrow perched.

“That somewhat reminds me of a certain someone,” she said, placing her chin on the back of her hand and grabbing her glass of water.

No. Not now. Not in the presence of someone new.

Marie knew the panic was growing in her eyes, prompting her to shift them down to her plate and tightly grip her utensils. Only Vivienne could break down her mask, and often only for the sake of her amusement.

“About five years ago, I received a child convicted of three counts of voluntary manslaughter. They were badly traumatized by the incident and treated others very coldly. It was hard to get them to leave the bedroom, much less complete any chores. No little one would spend time with them, and they grew very lonely. With time, though, they eventually grew to be like normal children here. It was a very soothing development.”

With a sharp exhale and scratch of a chair against hardwood, Marie stood up, “Please excuse me.”

This was not the first time Vivienne had done something like this, and it was certainly not going to be the last. 

There was a partial stumble to her walk as she traversed the halls to the bedroom – she needed to be as far away as possible from this area. Her breath was shortening and she felt the chill of danger run fierce through her veins, a shivering sensation rising from her elbows to her fingertips. She ripped off her gloves as she felt her head almost begin spinning when a wave of nausea overcame her.

She thought she was over this. She thought she had stopped reacting so viscerally to her past.

Entering the darkness of the bedroom was like returning to her childhood. The doom inside of her intensified as she crossed only a short distance into a corner of the room. If she just closed her eyes, this living nightmare would dissipate.

—

Your eyes honed in on the smirk covering Vivienne’s face as Marie left the room looking far too frazzled for your liking. The dining room was getting quieter in her abrupt absence, but your appalled stare did not leave the director. You threw your napkin down on your plate before rising from your seat.

“Excuse me, but I must leave as well,” you stated, leaving quickly to catch up with your overseer.

You could hear Vivienne calming and talking to the remaining children as you disappeared down the hall, but you could hardly focus on her.

A pair of torn black gloves lay on the floor of the hall, and you heard heavy rapid breathing and crying not far from where you stood. Following the noise, you finally reached the bedroom.

“Marie?” you called out gently. “Are you in here?”

A sharp breath to your left drew your attention to the corner; there was hardly any moonlight in the room, but you could make out a crouched figure. Flipping on the iron wall lamp above the bed closest to you, a golden light was brought into the area. She did not react.

“Marie?” you beckoned again, sitting on your knees before her.

A clawed hand was immediately swung in your direction, leaving you with a light scratch over your cheekbone that you couldn’t dodge. A hoarse voice yelled desperately, “Leave me be, please! I was only trying to protect myself!”

You felt a wave of empathetic hurt in your chest, leading you to forsake her wish and riskily wrap your arms around her shoulders. Strong arms tried to stubbornly push you away, but you proved solid and constant. Moments later, hands were grasping at your back and tugging you closer. You didn’t know why you felt so heavily for her, but something within you could not find the will to leave her. Your hand came to cup her head into your neck as the other rubbed up and down her back. Time seemed to pass slowly as you sat together, Marie calming down by the minute. When she pulled back from her tight grip on you, you witnessed vulnerability and regret in her eyes – like she felt uncomfortable with someone bearing witness to her emotions. You could tell she was not fond of being defenseless.

She brought her hands to her eyes and wiped them, causing you to pause. You carefully took them in your hands, noticing the natural pitch-black color and sharpened nails. Looking up into the raw gaze of her eyes, lost memories from years ago came flooding back. With a small wistful smile, she squeezed your hands as a tear slid down your cheek to mingle with the growing streak of blood.

“I remember you, __.”

[carvalhais]

Wikipedia combines the Renassance drive for systematization of a Ramus with the project of artificial information-processing as pursued by Leibniz and Pascal, with the massive collaborative approach to learning promoted by thinkers of the Scientific Revolution such as Francis Bacon, and the compendious reader-friendly presentations characteristic of the work of Diderot and D’Alembert on the Encyclopédie, rightly seen as the culmination and the defining work of the Enlightenment knowledge project. It is, in short, a delayed achievement of the Enlightenment. Justin E. H. Smith. 2022. The Internet is Not What You Think It Is: A History, A Philosophy, A Warning. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press.

[polutrope]

I just love this bit of Christopher Tolkien's commentary on Tolkien's last version of the Quenta Silmarillion. It summarises beautifully exactly what makes it, and the published text that draws from it, so very enthralling:

... in the Quenta Silmarillion, [my father] perfected that characteristic tone, melodious, grave, elegiac, burdened with a sense of loss and distance in time, which resides partly, as I believe, in the literary fact that he was drawing down into a brief compendious history what he could also see in far more detailed, immediate, and dramatic form.

History of Middle-earth Vol. XI: The War of the Jewels, p. 245

[ghostsandgod]

1. COMMON PRACTICES BOTH INTERIOR AND EXTERIOR.

There are several interior practices of true devotion to the Blessed Virgin. Here are the principal ones, stated compendiously: (1) to honour her as the worthy Mother of God, with the worship of hyperdulia, that is to say, to esteem her and honour her above all the other saints, as the masterpiece of grace, and the first after Jesus Christ, true God and true Man. (2) to mediate on her virtue, her privileges and her actions. (3) to contemplate her grandeurs. (4) to make acts of love, of praise, of gratitude to her. (5) to invoke her cordially. (6) to offer ourselves to her and unite ourselves with her. (7) to do all our actions with the view of pleasing her. (8) to begin, to continue and to finish all our actions by her, in her, with her and for her, in order that we may do them by Jesus Christ, in Jesus Christ, with Jesus Christ and for Jesus Christ, our Last End.

-St Louis de Montfort

[rockerb0y]

     THE MUFFLED  rumble of the opening band's closing song existed as an intelligible intimation of the venue's featured performance. initial assessment from the soundcheck remained unchanged — a compendious study in nepotism and its reciprocal correlation with talent, given the owner's paternal relation to the bassist. not even a live audience could cure the abysmal ailment of their sound but at least the green room's haven diluted the brunt of its infliction.

     amusingly, even with its superficial association, the visible ' injustice for all ' text tattooed upon his bare abdomen doubled as a felicitous descriptor for the crowd's adversity outside.

     to her credit, she proved to be a persuasive distraction in spite of it all. a general admission ticket wasn't ordinarily coupled with backstage access or a private conference with someone of his contentious  caliber yet individualized invitation admitted her beyond security and into restricted realms. concerts with her in attendance fostered a euphoric high which augmented the miscellany of inebriants already synthesized in his system. she had a faculty for being seen and sought, yet another vice to hedonistically wallow in until the crack of dawn.

     stunted cigarette was stubbed out in the nearby ashtray while she collected herself, commendably more conscientious of the venue's schedule than he cared to be. initiative to claim his discarded shirt was delayed with her advance closer and swiftly was the adjustment facilitated with tactile assistance, sleek silver employing firm pressure upon hips to coax her downwards and keep her flush against him. what was thought to be a mere bid for attention soon revealed itself to be derived from a more practical basis, not that any words of demurral came to mind.

@0fbabylon: 「CLIMB 」 + 「SMUDGE」 she climbs into receivers lap, cleaning lipstick off his face

     ❝  stains're that bad, huh ? shame, thought the color sort'a suited me.  ❞

     although posture remained still while she diligently worked to clean the lipstick from features, a twitch of smile foretold of a suppressed smirk. lidded gaze surveyed the concentration inscribed upon her delicate features, divested of trademark aviators and unfiltered in their regard. the patchwork of listless applause signaled the opening band's departure from the stage and gave credence to her forecast — a cleaner image meant to better galvanize  listeners into action, and whet riotous appetites.

     upon completion of the task was gratitude imparted with kiss along the curve of her jawline down to a budding hickey nearby, restraining her for a few moments longer as a husky murmur breathed life to an idle musing. ❝ think mine are gonna be harder to scrub off, though.  ❞

SUBTLE SPICY PROMPTS / COMFORTABLE INTIMACY PROMPTS

[thebaffledcaptain]

Kanhoji Angre: the 18th-Century Maratha Admiral, Pseudo-Pirate, and All-Around Badass

So this post got more notes than I expected it to, so I figure I may as well follow through on my promise to make a post about him! You want to know about the aforementioned badass 18th-century Maratha navy admiral and pseudo-pirate who repeatedly fended off Western invasion in India? Then you shall. I wrote a paper about this guy, so here we go.

Let me introduce you to Kanhoji Angre. Information is scant on his early life and career—sources tend to disagree about his true origins and we don’t know a lot about his family status, but modern historians tend to trace his lineage to Tukoji Angre, his father, who distinguished himself in the early Maratha navy. We know Kanhoji was descended from a long line of Maratha mariners, which meant he fought in a number of naval raids and became acquainted with naval tactics as he grew up. As an adult, he began hiring out his own fleet to the Maratha navy itself, which, at the time, consisted only of numerous small ships and sought Angre’s heavier armament, which would become essentially the centerpiece of the naval force. In a sense he single-handedly built the Maratha navy into quite a formidable force, becoming Sarkhel, or admiral in 1698, and establishing numerous insurmountable forts along the coast.

Of course, the turn of the 18th century also coincided with growing European colonial intentions in India, and Angre’s presence is well-documented in East India Company records as a nuisance, a pirate, and a warlord in different capacities. To the English, he was a formidable pirate, a scourge to European ships on the west coast of the Indian subcontinent, and a menace to the Company, who suffered significant losses at his hand. Their interactions would eventually escalate into full-on military altercations, and the Company would go as far as to seek allyship with the Portuguese and the Viceroy of Goa, but Angre would remain undefeated throughout his lifetime, which consisted of many other interactions with various Western powers. He was arguably the most powerful maritime figure on the Indian coast by the time he died, but the European primary sources tend to play that down as far as they can for obvious reasons.

But I know you’re wondering—was he, then, a pirate? Well, it depends on who you ask. While Kanhoji Angre did, in certain ways, engage in actions that could be considered piracy from an English perspective, he still operated by a clear code of conduct. One account from 1716 tells of an interaction during which Angre detained an East India Company ship to determine whether they had a pass from the governor of Bombay, with whom he was bound to a nonaggression agreement, but otherwise did them no harm when he discovered they did. On the other hand, that same account quickly makes sure to mention how Angre would pursue vessels from Madras and Calcutta, the governments of which he had no agreements with. In the words of Patricia Risso in her excellent article about the topic, Angre “did not share the English legal definition of maritime violence,” which led to the inevitable branding of him as a pirate by the British, despite the fact that he did operate legally in accordance with those with whom he had such legal agreements. Whether this makes him a pirate or not is ultimately a matter of perspective, but in my humble opinion it certainly does not make him less cool.

Regardless of his status as a pirate or a military leader, Kanhoji Angre is a fascinating, highly overlooked, and pretty damn awesome figure in maritime history, and it’s a shame we don’t have more information on him. If you’re interested in more of the primary source material, I’d recommend checking out Clement Downing’s A Compendious History of the Indian Wars: With an Account of the Rise, Progress, Strength, and Forces of Angria the Pyrate, published in 1737 (free on Google Books!), for one such English perspective, which is the source I based my initial paper on. This is mostly my excuse to infodump about a guy I think history Tumblr would love, and who stands to be appreciated more for being an interesting dude and an all-around badass.