#i'm applying to a CALL CENTRE

[folkloresthings]

Hello darling I have a request from prompt ‘we were supposed to be just friends’. Lando x fem!reader, she work as legal for McLaren, they met at the McLaren technology center, and from the begging they had this special bond. During a party in a disco in uk with his friends, he stay very close to her and try to kiss her. After a sec of confusion, they kissing each other.

❛ ARE WE STILL FRIENDS? ❜ ❨ lando norris x reader ❩

where lando has loved the mclaren legal officer from the second he set eyes on her and has finally decided to do something about it.

eight months out of university and working in a coffee shop was not exactly how you had pictured your life post-graduation. you had a law degree from one of the best schools in england, but all it was doing was gathering dust on a frame in your living room. nights were spent in front of the television, only half paying attention, with your laptop screen lit up with job postings. it was like the four years of knowledge was itching to be used, instead of idle hands pouring overpriced iced lattes.

admittedly, you didn't remember applying for the job at mclaren. you were so desperate that you had sent your resume to every posting you could find, barely sparing a second glance at the job summary. it was only when they emailed with an interview date did you do your research. they were a formula one team, and a pretty good one at that. the sport had never much been your thing so you hadn't a clue what kind of work you'd be doing.

but it was work. legal work.

the interview went smoothly, then the second, and the third. they seemed to love you and your education. thankfully the internships you had done during university made up for your lack of experience. they hired you and had you come up to headquarters the next day. the drive from london to woking was full of jitters, turning your radio up to block out the nervous thoughts.

"ah, y/n! welcome to the mclaren technology centre." zak brown was the one to greet you by the front desk, with a smile and a firm handshake. you had spoken during your last interview, the final hurdle with the boss, and thankfully you got along fine. despite your age and greenness in the legal world, zak admitted he saw potential in you. they had gone through six other employees in the past two years for this position, all much older and more experienced. they needed a change.

"this is where you'll be working when you're in-office," zak explained, leading the way through a tour of the centre. it was much bigger than you expected, so modern and open. yeah, you could picture yourself here. "we usually would have you here one or two days a week, the others you can work from home. is that okay?"

"that's perfect," you agree, nodding happily. "i live in london, so the drive is only about an hour."

zak grins, continuing the tour and filling each space with small talk; your education, upbringing, hobbies. he only laughed when you sheepishly told him you knew very little about formula one, and didn't have a huge interest in the sport.

"you'd be surprised how many people here don't watch it," he chuckled, his american accent strange in the midst of the english countryside. "ah, speaking of. boys!"

in the foyer, at the end of the hall, two heads whip around at zak's call. both in the mclaren colours, one was thinner and smiling crookedly. the other, well. he was...

"lando, oscar, i want you to meet y/n. she's our new internal legal officer," zak explained. "meaning if you fuck up in any way, she'll have to deal with it."

the three men laugh, bringing your own bashful smile to wake.

"hi, i'm oscar," the thinner boy speaks in a soft australian accent, shaking your hand. "but it's lando here that you'll have to keep an eye on. i'm always on my best behaviour."

lando. he'd been staring at you since zak dragged you over to them, barely blinking despite for the odd laugh. he blushes then, gently nudging oscar with his elbow. he meets your eyes and his mouth goes dry, lips parting like a fish out of water as he tries desperately to think of something witty to say.

"don't worry, if you don't do anything wrong then i won't have anything to do," you jest, breaking the silence. a grin pulls at your mouth with the words, soon mirrored by the two drivers.

"i think i'd rather you didn't, then," zak scoffs, patting your shoulder. "go get settled, i'll come check on you in a while. boys, we've got that meeting in ten — c'mon."

smiling gratefully, you nod towards zak as he leaves — a silent thank you for his hospitality. oscar waves shyly, turning on his heel to hurry after his boss. lando follows suit, just about pulling his eyes from you, but only makes it a few steps before he's turning back.

"it was, uh, nice to meet you," he murmurs, clearing his throat. "hopefully i'll see you around."

biting at your cheek, holding back a small laugh, you nod. "hopefully."

lando finds himself grinning, walking a few yards backwards just to spare another minute looking at you. oscar calls for him and forces the teammate to hurry, shoes scuffing against polished tile as he catches up.

"stare much?" oscar asks him once they're side by side, a knowing smirk twisting upward.

"shut up," lando mumbles, but his own smile flickers. "she's pretty."

after that day, lando and you became close friends. he would sneak upstairs from briefings to bring you a coffee ("extra caramel, of course") and hide out in your office. he would vent to you about changes zak was, or wasn't, making with the car. you would confide in his about particularly stressful cases you would get handed. on days you weren't in the office, lando would text you pictures of him and oscar bored in meetings.

but the worst was race weekends. very rarely did you go along with the rest of the team, as there was little need for you there. if something went wrong, you could fix it from your desk in england. lando sent you updates from each city, everything from the track to sightseeings. you would often reply with a picture of your rainy window in central london and a sad face. and each sunday, you would sit up and watch the race with your fingers crossed. no matter the time, you were there. and when a race went particularly bad, you would wait up for the phone call from lando, needing a shoulder to lean on.

the staff at mclaren began saying you two were joined at the hip, partners in crime, so often not seen without the other. the best of friends.

"hey," lando chirped, knuckles rapping on your office door one friday morning. he had two coffees in his hand, as usual, perching both them and himself on top of your desk. "you going to the office party tonight?"

"open bar, free cocktails, seeing mark from marketing drunk?" you hummed thoughtfully, sipping at the hot drink. "you bet i am."

lando laughs, head thrown back slightly. the knowledge that you'll be there relaxes him, actually letting him look forward to the mandatory night out. "okay, good. i'll see you then."

"see you tonight," you call after him, watching until he disappears around the nearest corner. luckily, zak lets everyone go an hour early in account for the party starting at eight. you hurry home, sorting through every outfit option and getting ready as quickly as you can. the club was on the other side of london, at least forty minutes on the train, hence your rushing out the door with only one heel buckled.

inside of the club, completely booked out by zak for the company's pleasure, you realised just how many people worked in the world that was mclaren. legal was such a small part of it, a tiny cog in the whole machine. it was quite overwhelming, if it wasn't for the fact that you knew so many of the faces.

"y/n, hey!" the familiar sydney accent pulls your eyes to the nearby bar. oscar waves you over, smiling as you weave your way into a hug. "this is lily, my girlfriend."

you recognised the girl from pictures, but she was even prettier in real life. you exchange bright hello's, hugging in greeting while oscar orders you both some drinks.

"it's so nice to finally meet you!" lily beams, tucking her hair behind her ears. "i've heard so much."

curiosity peaks you, head tilted ever so slightly. "you have?"

"yeah, of course. lando is always—"

her words are cut short by a wide-eyed oscar, shoving in between you both to give you your drinks. "ha, hey! let's go sit, hm?"

your brows furrow, only more confused when lily shoots you an apologetic look. she takes your hand to lead you through the crowd to a booth at the other wall. amongst a few individuals you vaguely recognise, lando sits sipping a beer. he looks up when he hears oscar greet them, but his eyes instantly shoot to you.

"jesus," he mutters, quiet enough that only max next to him hears. you look absolutely stunning, your figure newly shown off by the little dress you have on. it falls to about mid-thigh, the rest of your legs accentuated by the heels you had on. your hair and makeup has been done a bit more than it would for work, and the sight has lando's stomach churning.

you squeeze in next to lily, across the table from lando. he can't tear his eyes away from you, even when max tries to strike up conversation. all you're doing is talking to lily, leaning over into each other to hear properly, face lighting up every so often with a laugh.

"so, that's who's had you so distracted recently?" max eventually catches lando's attention, watching his best friend's eyes widen. "she's pretty."

pretty? lando though. she was gorgeous.

"we're just friends," lando explains, shaking his head.

"bro, you've been staring at her like she's the only person in the room for the last twenty minutes," max laughs airily, nudging him. lando scoffs and rolls his eyes, but doesn't deny the fact. after another moment, you catch his gaze and smile softly. lando blushes, lifting his hand to wave slightly.

"okay, let's dance! this is my favourite song," max suddenly exclaims, standing up with a slap to the tabletop. a few follow suit, and you turn to lily with raised brows.

"oh, no," she shakes her head with a giggle. "i need at least two more of these drinks before you get me up there."

"well, drink up. i'll save you a dance."

smiling sweetly, you slip off of the seat to give her attention back to oscar. lando stands at the same time, smiling playfully when he looks at you. a hand of his stretches out and you can't even fathom denying it, slipping palm to palm and letting him drag you to the middle of the dance floor.

the song is drake or the weekend, something you don't really know, but the beat is so loud that you can feel it in the floor beneath you. falling into a rhythm, you giggle as lando begins moving with you. he sings along, but you don't recognise the lyrics, only the movement of his lips as his eyes shut. your chest thumps in time with the music, the heat of the people around you creeping onto your bare skin. the music mixes, changing into a melody you instantly know.

"i love this song!" you squeal, grasping lando's arms to shake them in excitement. he chuckles, watching on in admiration as you begin dancing again, reciting every single word to abba's lay all your love on me. your hands sneak down from his arms to his hands, forcing him to move along with you. he spins you around again and again just to watch your hair and dress float around you like magic, the lights of the club basking you in a heavenly hue.

somewhere in the midst of the second verse and chorus, lando feels his judgement cloud. he'd like to blame it on the beer, but he had only drank one, and he knew it was that usual intoxicating presence you carried around everywhere. your lips mould around each lyric, having listened to the song so many times (and your endless summer rewatches of mamma mia, as you once told him) that it was engraved on your memory. you looked perfect, the same as every day he snuck glances at you in the office or scrolled through your instagram late at night when he couldn't sleep for thinking about you.

you were it, for him. everything he loved and dreamed of, the only thing that had kept his feet on the ground this past season. and here you were, chest pressed to his thanks to the swarm of drunken guests, so close that he could smell your perfume and the shampoo from your hair. you had used a darker lipstick tonight, he noticed, unlike the usual clear balm you wore at work. it made you lips look even more soft than they normally do - he knew, because he spent a hefty chunk of his day staring at them.

abba fades out, along with the loud and out of tune singing filling the club, and all lando can think about is kissing you. it wouldn't be fair, for such pretty lips to go unkissed. and it wouldn't be fair on him, who has spent hours on end imagining how kissing you might feel, to let such an opportunity slip away from him.

so, he's tightening the hands that are already on your waist to pull you even closer, until there's not an inch of space left between you. his lips around rough, unmoving as they press against yours, eyes screwed shut and cursing the long seconds as he waits for your mouth to respond. eventually, he peeks through hesitant eyes to meet your surprise. your lips, colour smudged a little now from the contact, are parted and your eyes are wide. he can't discern what you're thinking, but he would bet it wasn't pure elation.

blame it on the beer, blame it on the beer, blame it on the beer.

his mouth opens just as all of his senses wire back in again, the end notes of the song just ringing out when he begins making his excuse. but your surprise and panic fills you so much that you can't breathe here, not with so many people around and lando's body heat still so close. stumbling, you push past him and everyone else that you meet to escape the busyness. the neon exit sign beckons you to the fire door, gasping when it opens and the fresh night air hits you.

thankfully, there isn't a soul to watch you and your flushed cheeks struggling for breath, and you wait until you hear the door shut behind you to fully relax again, frankly not caring if you lock yourself out. but the click of the lock doesn't come, only a familiar sound that crumbles you again.

"y/n—"

lando stands helpless in the doorway, eyes pleading for forgiveness when you turn to him. your head shakes, searching for something to say.

"i... you, what—” you struggle to grasp the right words, eyes squeezing shut. "i thought we were just friends?"

"we were! we are," lando corrects you quickly, striding towards you. "but that doesn't change the fact that i—"

"lan, please don't."

"— love you, y/n. i've been in love with you since your first day at work. how couldn't i be?"

his voice is smaller than you've ever heard it before, urging guilt into your throat until you have to swallow it back down. you make yourself look down at the ground, your heels and his sneakers facing each other, because you know you'll fall apart once you see those damned brown eyes.

"lando..." you murmur through a sigh.

"don't you feel it too?" he asks, desperately grabbing at your clammy hands. "us, me and you. it's right there."

you cave then, heart taking over from your mind, chin raised to look at him. lips turn into a frown, searching his lovelorn eyes for the moment he'll laugh and tell you its all a big joke. because he's lando, and you're just you.

"tell me that you don't, that there's nothing here," lando mumbles lower, gripping your fingers for dear life. "tell me this isn't real and i'll walk away. but — but i can't leave you if there's a chance."

your lips part with a breath, lips dry, and your sense screams at you to tell him no. that it'll never work, it's impossible. but something tugs in your chest and you realise something you had never wanted to admit to yourself: you loved lando norris.

"it'll be too complicated." you settle for excuses instead, chewing the inside of your cheek, wincing when you nick the flesh. "we have to work together, so if something happens then it'll mess everything up."

lando steadies your shaking head with his hands, one on each cheek, staring deep into your eyes. "what are you so scared of?"

you swallow, shoulders raising with each shallow breath. "i don't want to lose you. you're my best friend, the only person i can talk to. i don't want to mess that up."

your confession melts his heart, affection bringing his thumbs to graze across your cheeks. "i won't let that happen," lando promises, tongue sincere as can be.

you wait a moment, scouring his features before the trust solidifies. gently, tentatively, you search for the taste you barely got inside of the club, lips ghosting together. strawberry and beer mix on your tongues, hands wandering over body heat and mouths hungrily moving together like two teenagers in a back alley. only when breathless does lando fall from your lips, hands still steady on the round hips of your dress, keeping you close.

"i'll always be your best friend," he whispers like an oath, a boyish smile tugging at the corner of his swollen and lipstick-covered mouth. "but can we be best friends who do that, like, a lot?"

writer's note: wrote this in one sitting and may have gotten carried away but pls enjoy <3

[beep-beep-imma-sheep]

"The entire country without electricity, hospitals collapsing, and they're like this. We're not to be demoralized nor weakened, 25 years are already enough".

This is El Cuartel de la Montaña. There's where Chávez rests are. During the entire blackout, that, for me, was 19 hours long, that place had electricity.

El Helicoide, the largest torture centre in LATAM also had electricity.

"A patient in the Noriega Trigo hospital in San Francisco just died. She was intubated and glued to a respirator.

The hospital doesn't have a power plant, nor UPS for the devices. They tried to resurrect her with CPR and nothing".

friend since 4 in the morning without electricity. The light came on about an hour ago with a lot of force and burned down a small refrigerator that we have with my mom and sister's insulin. This is a disaster. We went out to buy ice as best we could and the neighbor lent us some Colman coolers to store them in because the heat here is very intense. God willing, we'll get away from these people. Thank you. Anonymous. Please.

In Lecheria, girl.

Maria Corina is very badass, she flew with her rocket and left us all without electricity EXCEPT Chavez, Helicoide and Miraflores... it's incredible that they are even incoherent when it comes to lying.

— Without showing evidence, Freddy Ñáñez blamed María Corina Machado and Edmundo González for the national blackout: "People like that cannot be considered Venezuelans" "FREDDY ÑÁÑEZ BLAMES MARIA CORINA AND EDMUNDO FOR THE NATIONAL BLACKOUT"

Do you still believe that everything that has happened in Venezuela (electrical failures, shortages) in these last 25 years is the fault of others? No, gentlemen, it is a system of psychological conditioning to exhaust every Venezuelan.

— Hospitals, nursing homes, schools, homes... WITHOUT LIGHT The Helicoid TORTURE WITH ELECTRICITY What is this called? STATE TERRORISM

And this happened already.

Additionally:

Two former Colombian soldiers, Alexander Ante and José Aron Medina Aranda, were detained in Venezuela during a stopover while returning from fighting in Ukraine. Following their arrest in Caracas, both were extradited to Russia, where they now face charges of having fought against Russian forces as mercenaries. A Moscow court has ordered their provisional detention, which could lead to a sentence of up to 15 years in prison. The family, who had been waiting for their return in Colombia, were devastated to discover that they had been sent to Russia without warning.

@lasttarrasque

@tren-trenvilu

@punishedsaints

@fuckyeahmarxismleninism

@prensabolivariana

@thegreenbisamurai

This is what y'all supporting 🫵

—.

Everyone else, feel free to tag any other chavista/ tankie/ communist / leftie who is speaking about Venezuela when they know nothing about us or out history.

Disclaimer: those terms do not apply to any Usamerican / foreigner who is actually being respectful, I'm only refering to the ones that defend a dictatorship who lets people die while they keep the power to themselves.

[nualaofthefaerie]

Hexquad Cambridge University AU! Moodboards/Headcanons ✨️

A/N: A fun Au, but I'm too lazy to write it so instead I made some moodboards for each of the four pookies and some headcanons. 🎓🏫

Viktor, 26, an honourable Eastern European mix (Czech/Polish mom, Serb/Bulgarian dad)

Position: PhD in Applied Mathematics and Theoretical Physics, minor in Philosophy

Last name too difficult for Westerns to pronounce, so he is known simply as Viktor with a k at the university

He has been a prodigy since he was a child, winning innovator competitions left, right and centre

The State supported his education up until university. When his scholarship got rejected, his long-term tutor, the Dean of the Physics department, Professor Doctor Cecil B. Heimerdinger in combination with a letter of recognition from Sky's father (a prominent academic) paid his tuition in full

He offered some lectures to the Master's students and that's where he met Jayce and took him on as a research assistant to his project - Hextech.

He has certain insecurities as a result of how people viewed his disability as a child (Eastern Europe is not for the weak of heart) but with time he comes to accept it was not his business to educate or accept other people's remarks in regards to himself

Is highly respected among his peers

Also often hit on by students (can be quite oblivious to flirtations unless he knows or is interested in the other parties. For example, he always knows when Sky and Jayce are hitting on him)

Still, that level of attention from strangers annoys him so he takes his breaks in the botanic garden, pestering Sky who often could do without her crush looking over her shoulder and asking "How do these species interacts?"

His hobbies include silence, reading and sewing, believe it or not (rare, only when he has the time to really focus on it)

Jayce Talis, 25, Latino as far as he cares (his mom is Mexican, his father was supposedly English, he wouldn't know)

Position: Master in Experimental Physics

Raised by a single mom

The guilty money of his deadbeat dad paid for his tuition

Was not the brightest student in Elementary school but something just shifted in middle school and since then has acquired the moniker "Golden Boy" - valedictorian of his high school and bachelor program

Has crippling ADHD (on and off meds)

Is a big fan (has a crush) of Viktor's theories so he followed him around until the latter agreed to take him on as a research assistant (even pays him a bit)

Needs to create with his hands when he is overwhelmed so he found the only blacksmiths in Cambridge and works there on the weekends (loves it, sometimes Viktor or Mell will show up to encourage him or pass him a warm tea in the winter)

Is taken on extravagant vacations with Mel, whenever brands allow her to get a plus one and as a result has traveled a great deal of the world

Likes glitz and glamour just as much as he likes physics and getting dirty in the forge

Finds Sky Young and her passion for the outdoors difficult to understand but also hides in the botanic garden whenever a panic attack knocks on the door (they butt heads a lot but their hatred for a lot of other people unites them into an unstoppable force)

Doesn't get hit on a lot because everyone is scared of Mel (rightfully so)

Mel Medarda, 26, American heiress (both of her parents are American)

Position: PhD in Politics and International studies

Has a substantial online following and likes to nurture it. Wouldn't call herself an influencer but people do gawk and stare at her at campus.

Has never in her life known what it means to fail. Excels in every exam, every picture and every schedule she sets her sights on.

Picky with people, but charming to strangers

Likes to spend time in the lab with the boys whenever she has the time. Absorbs knowledge like it's nobody's business. Often offers a different perspective to their problems.

Her parents sent her off to England when she was 10 to a boarding school so she wouldn't grow too attached to them (they have never been a strong presence in her life). That built up a level of insecurity and anxiety within her that whenever they DO show up they're always disappointed she is not hanging out with those that could elevate her status.

Is close with her brother however (he is an aspiring politician). He likes all of her lovers/friends.

Due to everyone's attention always being on her, she TOO hides in the botanic garden to spend time with the human version of lily flowers. Also has a crush on Sky Young as much as Jayce has a crush on Viktor (they are excelling at bisexuality). Sky put a Marigold behind her ear once and told her everything will be alright and Mel's heart never quite recovered from that.

Also enjoys spending time just with Viktor. Jayce can be overwhelming at times. Viktor provides a slower pace and a more structured conversation. Brings him to galas where her parents have some level of involvement. He provides her with a lot of emotional support due to his DNA's idgafism.

Any attempt to hit on her falls flat. It's the equivalent of "baby...we couldn't even get a drink together."

Sky Young, 25, Mixed (Eastern European mom, British dad. Her mother's genes didn't even put up a fight, they just resigned)

Position: Master in Biological Studies with a focus on Plant Science

Has a full scholarship from the university. Also chose to assists the dean of bio studies (makes good money out of it) as to not burden her parents

Sky's and Viktor's moms were close when they were young so Viktor and Sky grew up relatively close whenever Sky traveled "home" for "vacation". She'd throw stones at anyone who had something to say about Viktor's disability (she never understood how they could be so mean to someone so inspiring)

Her parents nurtured her love for anything she wants to be (she's very emotionally healthy)

A shy extrovert. Needs a minute to get going. She makes acquintances very easy and can't quite figure out when sweetness borders on flirtations with those she truly cares for. (Doesn't understand how counting the moles on your childhood friend's face while holding it, putting flowers in the hair of the most gorgeous woman and hugging someone through their dark episode, is not something anyone would do)

Assigns flowers names in the garden.

Collects old volumes of classical literature

Writes short stories in her free time and bakes from time to time (designated birthday baker)

Can't drive, always walks or takes the bus (Mel would pick her up from time to time)

The only one of the four with a proper, clean apartment (they all hang out there, she makes them keys at some point)

Gets hit on a lot (she genuinely thinks people are just being nice and polite to her because she is to them)

A/N: I actually love that Au so much, if anyone has more thoughts, I'd love to hear.

[youneedsomeprompts]

I am currently writing a story, and almost every character I’ve introduced so far uses she/her pronouns. I keep having to use their names over and over and it looks redundant and odd. I’ve used epithets a few times but I absolutely hate having to do that.

Is there any advice you have for this sort of issue, and if so, it would be great if you could share some! Thank you :)

Multiple Characters with the Same Pronouns

Having multiple characters with the same pronouns in one scene can make describing the scene a little difficult. I'm not sure if I have entirely new tips for you because you already pointed out the three most common ways to refer to a character (name, pronouns, epithets (a term used to characterise a person/thing)) and what the problems with each one can be. But I'll try my best :)

Repetition of Pronouns

First off, there is nothing wrong with using the character's pronouns a lot, as long as the reader can follow. A good thumb rule is that all fitting pronouns following the mention of a name (or an epithet) are referring to that mentioned character.

"Eleanor stormed out of the house. Her feet carried her aimlessly down the gravel path. She didn't care about the stares and she wouldn't slow down no matter what they would call after her. She had her mind made up."

This example is rather clear because there is not much back and forth between multiple characters with the same pronouns. It is very obvious that every 'she' and 'her' refers to the character named Eleanor. Now, if we have, let's say four characters in a scene that use she/her pronouns, we can still try to apply the same rule. Use an epithet or the name when the focus wanders from one character to the other. In between, when treating the same character, you can easily use their pronouns.

"Eleanor gritted her teeth. Why did she have to listen to her mother's long sermons? It wasn't fair. Everyone knew she had more important things to do. But now her mother's eyes bore even more accusingly into her. 'Do you think this is a joke, Eleanor?' Mother's voice flipped as she drew out the syllables of her daughter's name. 'Oh, leave her be, mother!' Ivy chimed in. She was always ready to defend her elder sister. She was such a sweetheart, Eleanor thought. Meredith, of course, had a different opinion. 'I don't know why Eleanor should get a different treatment than we. All she does is make trouble, and now there isn't even a consequence, or what?' She wasn't hateful, she just had a very strong sense of justice. Too strong maybe, Eleanor thought. People were different enough; a good reason to treat them individually and not by some harsh standards that Meredith so liked to set."

I don't know if this is the best example but I hope it demonstrates a way to deal with the problem. Just as using pronouns a lot, it's also alright to repeat the characters' names quite a few times. It can help the reader 're-centre' in the story and be clear about which character is actually doing what.

Epithets

As to epithets, you don't have to use them excessively if you don't like it, but I feel it can be a great way to loosen up the story a bit here and there. As you said, with quick changes of focus between the characters, there is not much possibility to use the pronouns because we have to 'reintroduce' the characters whenever the focus of action changes. We don't always want to use their name for that. So? Epithets? Maybe it helps to find the right epithets for your story. Maybe it doesn't feel cohesive to use attributes like 'the red-haired woman' or 'the grim-looking, old man'. Maybe it fits the story more to use the characters' roles like 'the teacher' or 'the butler'. I think when using the fitting epithets it can feel so coherent that you don't even notice them. E.g. Of course, character X is the driver, so we refer to them as the driver every now and then. Of course, character Y is the father of Z, so we can use epithets referring to their parental role. This, for example, can feel very natural, but what exactly feels natural is individual to every story/scene. It can be one way to look for the epithets that are most natural to the character to not interrupt the flow of the story. Or it can be another way to look for the epithets that most set the character apart from the other characters to make a clear distinction of who exactly is acting right now. You can make this choice again and again with every new sentence. And of course, there are a lot more ways to categorise and choose epithets (I could maybe make another post about that if there is interest). But I hope this may already help a little :)

Let me know if you have more questions about this topic!

[parasupport]

Para / 🥄 Support Resources (and intro)

emoji code used: here I am always looking for more resources, please send them in, especially if they're non-🗺️ resources

Generally Applicable:

⤸ Find a helpline ⤸ Your closest help centre ⤸ Find therapy ⤸ 🥄Carrd ⤸ 🥄Disorders

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⤸ Therapy tips for 🗺️s and here (applies to other paras too)

⤸ Other 🗺️-focused organisations, websites, and services: B4U-Act, Path2Prevention, StopItNow, ASAP International, VirPed, Global Prevention Project ⤸ B4U-Act also has a forum: bB4um ⤸ 🗺️Support Club - Prostasia Foundation

⤸ A 🗺️'s Journey (podcast) and 🗺️Accuracy (blog) specialised episodes: (1) benefits and challenges of therapy, (2) age dysphoria, (3) female 🗺️s, (4) transgender 🗺️s, (5) recovery after offending, (6) recognising and stopping grooming, (7) parenthood as a 🗺️, (8) working with children as a 🗺️, (9) supporting minor 🗺️s

⤸ 🗺️resources.info (support groups, guides, research, volunteering, etc. Also has help for🗺️CSA survivors, minor 🗺️s, P-OCD, and more) ⤸ further resources ⤸ and more resources ⤸ 🗺️Misconceptions

Personal Intro

Hello, you can call me Wraith (no pronouns or he/him if you must)

I'm a psychology and counselling graduate, panpara / omniphile, and non-contact 🗺️tivist and para activist. I have experience volunteering for 🗺️ organisations like the ones I've listed and providing peer support for fellow -philes, which I'd love to do here if Tumblr so allows it

I also have experience with receiving therapy as a minor and young adult for a para disorder. I've since gotten a lot better and no longer meet the critera for said disorder, but still receive therapy because it's tough being in this situation when society sees you as a danger

I use transids and identify as transeverything myself - currently looking into dissomei identities but not sure about switching yet I have schizoaffective disorder and experience delusions

Tags do not necessarily reflect my identity, I'd just rather this post access the people it needs to

[youremyheaven]

The Absorbent Nature of Venus: An Astrological Exploration

I was inspired to make this post when I saw pictures of Bella Hadid with her new boyfriend, Adan Banuelos.

For context, Adan is a professional cowboy and Bella Hadid used to be an equestrian (she trained for the Olympics back in the day). Bella's new pictures (after a long absence from social media) feature her in all her horse girl glory. But I couldn't help but notice how Bella has a tendency to morph into her boyfriend(s).

This is not to say that she adopts a persona that is entirely alien to her, but more so that she channels one aspect of her personality and lets it take centre stage. With Adan, she is the laid-back horse girl, channelling the side of her that grew up on a farm in Santa Barbara riding horses.

Prior to this, she was dating Marc Kalman who is an art director. Idk how many of you are familiar with those "pov : you're talking to an art director at a party" reels/shorts/tiktoks but Marc fits that bill to a tee. He's the edgy, weird alternative androgynous guy and in the 2 years that Bella was with him, she morphed into a caricature of him almost.

her y2k style had a huge impact on fashion trends/pop culture but it soon kind of became a parody, as it seems a bit over the top to be wearing 25 things that do not belong together.

There was also a drastic shift in Bella's public image; she was more earnest & open; this period also saw her at her fashion nerdiest as she openly spoke about her love of finding and collecting "vintage" designer pieces from the 90s and 2000s. He was the weird edgy art director, she was the weird edgy art kid.

The only other man she dated publicly before Marc was The Weeknd and if you look at her style/persona from this period, you can see a tendency to opt for darker, grungier aesthetics. She herself has called this her "sexbot" era.

Its crazy but almost every picture of the two of them together feature both of them wearing black😂😂

This brings me to what I hope to discuss today, which is the absorbent nature of Venus.

Bella Hadid is Purvaphalguni Moon & Rising and is a Venusian. Venus is the planet of beauty, harmony, love, creativity etc. Venus exalts in Pisces ("exaltation"= it functions at its best). Pisces being a watery sign and the final sign of the zodiac is very telling in this context. Pisces is the culmination of the zodiac and contains the qualities of every preceding sign (this is why they're so chaotic lol, they have too much going on) and in water, which is where life originated, everything is at home. Pisces thus has the unique ability to find beauty in everything; water signs are known for their empathy, intuition and psychic abilities, this is because water holds the qualities of everything within it. Scientists have purported about "water memory" and water's ability to remember is linked to its natives high sensitivity, more than literal memory, its a kind of cosmic memory or inner knowing that I refer to in this context. Pisces natives tend to report psychic abilities more than any other sign in my observation and to be psychic/clairvoyant/clairsentient/claircognizant/ clairaudient is essentially to have a higher degree of empathy/sensitivity than most people. Although in some cases it may apply to tropical Pisces natives, what I'm speaking of here primarily applies to Sidereal Pisces natives.

Its easy to see how water absorbs information and retains memory but we must ponder upon why Venus, the planet of love, beauty etc exalts in a water sign and why so, in Pisces specifically. Pisces' all consuming all absorbent nature is the essential or true nature of love, beauty & harmony, to absorb, hold and possess all that there is and all that there will be, without trying to restrict it or limit it (water has no shape or form, it takes the form of whatever its poured into, pointing to the adaptability of these natives to get along with anyone or belong anywhere). Understanding love as devotion means allowing yourself to be consumed by it, it borders on religious fervour because you're losing all sense of yourself and giving your all. Its to give until you yourself are lost in it, with no sense of boundary between you & God or you and your lover (Sufi poetry extols this).

Only someone who has the ability to have this kind of all encompassing, profound divine kind of love for others, for creation, for source has the ability to connect to the ether and make art. there is a reason why the most spiritual art often tends to be abstract, there is much that cannot be expressed logically or in a straightforward way. much can be said without using language or words, some things are understood in a far more abstract way, its understood by the senses, by the subconscious, not the rational, thinking mind.

Beauty then, is the ability to perceive beyond the surface, there is nothing shallow or superficial about it, it is to understand the sum or whole of something, its essence, its core and understand its value and why its separate from the rest. True beauty then is rare but there is immense beauty all around us. Both these things are true. This is the true nature of Venus which is also the planet of refinement, it sees value in things that are unpolished, raw and original wholly but also in what is practiced, deliberate and refined. Venus is a planet of immense contradictions as the themes associated with the planet itself are contradictory in nature. To know or experience love, beauty, creativity etc one must also be well acquainted with its opposite. There's no middle ground and there's nothing lukewarm, you have to go all in. To understand and appreciate beauty truly, one must face brutal ugliness, to know the nature of creativity or to access it, you must first experience the lack of it. Its out of nothingness that things manifest but this means nothingness must first be experienced.

Sorry to have gone off on a tangent (me with everything I post lol) but its important to understand the nature of Venus in this specific context because its not the other attributes that makes Venus so absorbent of others influence. Its such a creative energy for the same reason, it absorbs and is influenced by absolutely everything. However, it can be hard for Venusian natives to feel as though they have a strong sense of self.

Granted that the "self" is an illusory concept and we are all an amalgam of numerous influences (people, places, culture, literature etc), Venusian natives are more susceptible to lacking true individuality since they absorb projections far too easily. This is also why Venusians are so highly desirable. You can always tell when someone's Venusian or has an exalted Venus, they are projected onto HEAVILY by others, but by having desire projected onto them, they become more desirable. We fall in love with the reflections we see in others and dislike those who project our shadows (this is literally a Jungian concept, v fascinating pls look it up). Venus inspires others to project unattainability, mystery, romance, beauty and desire and the more they see it, the more it manifests.

However this has its pitfalls. Without solid grounding, Venusians turn into chameleons who are constantly morphing into their environment; they are known for their hospitality and pleasing demeanour because of their innate ability to pick up on these cues and behave accordingly. Bella Hadid herself is self admittedly a "people pleaser" (Venusian natives struggle with this a lot).

What does it mean to not have a solid sense of self and constantly be serving as a mirror to others?

We see Bella's shifting style/demeanour/persona with every boyfriend. There is rather embarrassing clip of her speaking with a French accent (juxtaposed against an old clip of her using AAVE). Venusians are more prone to picking up accents/emulating the behaviour of those around them.

The Venusian tendency to absorb can extend to picking up accents, mannerisms, style, self-presentation, persona etc it can sometimes be very superficial but in some cases natives immerse themselves in it so deeply than they live their lives under the guise of a pseudo persona borrowed from someone else.

This video of Bella is a good example. If you've watched her in other videos you'll know that she does not usually speak/present herself this way. If you watch this video of Carla Bruni also discussing her iconic looks (it came out in the same year 2021, several months before Bella did hers) you can see how Bella is emulating Carla in her video.

Now its quite well known that Bella Hadid "copied" Carla Bruni's face through plastic surgery. This is what I mean by some Venusian natives taking the absorption thing too far. We imitate the things we want to embody/what we're inspired by, Venus is a planet of constant refinement/self improvement, while its good to be inspired by people we look up to, it does not bode well for one to embody them completely, stripping yourself of your own identity. This is also why Venus in 12h (Pisces) is said to be illusory. Its hard for these natives to discern what love really is, since their natural inclination is to simply embrace things at face value. This is why they are susceptible to abusive and toxic relationships, simply because they are blinded by their own loving nature and cannot see the faults in their lovers even when its plainly obvious to others (think Bella & The Weeknd).

Let us look at Miss Ariana Grande. She has Mars in Bharani atmakaraka.

Ariana has gone from baby voiced teen star to blackfishing r&b singer to vaguely asian looking in the span of her career.

She's also changed her voice, speaking style & mannerisms MANY times.

I don't think enough people talk about how Miss Grande essentially stole Victoria Monet's mannerisms, voice tone, speaking style etc

Ariana essentially emulated this woman and that was her at the peak of her career. She's to Ariana what Carla Bruni is to Bella.

Its really unfortunate that Ariana changes races every few years like they're a passing fad and this is a really unfortunate manifestation of her Venusian influence.

Her Venusian influence is also really obvious in her music, especially her Bharani Mars because her music is very sensual but also straight up crass and horny, there's also a tendency for her to use revenge-y themes (break up with your gf im bored?? yes, and??)

Claire Nakti had spoken about how this purple blue-y iridescent esque lighting is very Venusian and consistently used in films by Venus natives. I found this true of Ariana's stage sets/design when she's on tour.

god is a woman is a very Venusian coded song/music video, from the colour palette to the Yonic imagery at display.

Brad Pitt is a male Bella Hadid in the sense that he has a tendency to morph into his girlfriends. He went from Cali stoner surfer guy when married to Jennifer to humanitarian serious filmmaker when he was with Angelina. He likes to switch up his persona based on his partner at the moment. He has a Purvashada Stellium (Mercury, Mars & Ketu)

Johnny Depp is known for his broadly European/British accent despite the fact that he's from Kentucky/Florida. He's a Purvashada Moon

Madonna is another celebrity who is notorious for her fake accent. She lived in England briefly after marrying the British director Guy Ritchie and spoke with a British accent.

Many have accused Madonna of being a wannabe Angelina Jolie when she started to focus on humanitarian work & adopted several children in the mid 2000s. She is a Purvaphalguni Moon and Rising.

Camille Rowe (Purvashada stellium; sun, mercury and saturn) is often accused of having a fake French accent as she mostly grew up in America.

Hilaria Baldwin (Purvashada sun) is infamous for pretending to be Spanish, speaking with a fake Spanish accent and giving her numerous children Spanish names despite the fact that she's a plain old white woman.

Austin Butler is by now infamous for speaking like Elvis (he's now working with a coach to lose his Elvis accent lmao), he has Mars in Purvaphalguni as his amatyakaraka.

Lindsay Lohan (Bharani Moon, Mars in Purvashada amatyakaraka) has also switched accents and often spoke with an Arabic accent and has had an on & off relationship with Islam. Its unclear whether she's still practicing the faith but at one point she did convert. I do not mean to ridicule someone's faith or use it as an example of Venusian persona switching but a lot of Hollywood celebrities have a tendency to experiment with Eastern religions/traditions/culture like its some trend or fad and drop it when they lose interest. I do not have enough information to make a clear judgement but LiLo has had an unstable public image to say the least. I sincerely hope she is peaceful and safe.

John Malkovich is another celebrity who passes off as a European even though he's from mid-western America. He has a hard to place accent. He is Purvaphalguni Rising

Aishwarya Rai is known in India for being fake or "plastic" (I'm Indian) she has an unnatural non-Indian accent despite the fact that she's lived in India her whole life. She is a Purvashada Moon.

Numerous celebrities whose public image/persona is incongruent or at odds with their real personality also tend to have major Venus influence in their chart.

Charlie Chaplin is the father of slapstick comedy and is very well known by the persona he created for himself but irl he has been described as "sadistic" (by Marlon Brando and others) and he's known to have been a terrible person all over (multiple teen wives, abusive to his children among other things). He has Bharani Venus conjunct Mars and Jupiter in Purvashada conjunct Ketu

Elisabeth Moss is known for having played several iconic feminist characters but irl she's a scientologist. She has Ketu in Purvashada

This absorptive quality of Venus can also manifest positively. Meryl Streep, Bharani Moon is known for her uncanny ability to do just about any accent and completely blend into her character.

I will add more examples as I find them but for now this is it!! If you think of any others do let me know!!<33

[formula1fanfiction]

Max Verstappen / George Russell

Title: From all the horrible things we love now

Pairing: Max Verstappen / George Russell

Characters: Max Verstappen, George Russell, Kimi Antonelli, Charles Leclerc, Alex Albon

Prompt: After an unexpected one night stand, Max and George take a pregnancy test together. (No warnings apply, completely clean and innocent)

A/N: This was supposed to be a one shot, but it's turned into a series over an ao3 if you are interested in reading more.

Ao3 link

Strange things have been happening to Max since losing his virginity to George. They had both had a meeting about their leaked encounter in the elevator, it was just easier to say the broken-down elevator caused George to go into a stress heat and Max’s instincts had reacted, but nothing had actually happened between the two drivers, and quickly the press had forgotten about it.  

Max knows better obviously, they have hardly spoken since then but for reasons Max can’t explain, he has a compelling urge to be close to the omega. He can see George right now, he’s filming some kind of content with Kimi, the omega stumbles and falls face first, Max doesn’t even think, he runs over.  

“Oh my god, are you ok?” Max crouches down beside George’s and helps him back onto his feet. “Uhh, I'm fine.” George looks embarrassed more than anything, Max can’t calm down his nerves. “You’re bleeding George. Do you need me take you to the medical centre?”  

“He’s bleeding? Let me see.” Kimi shoves him out of the way, Max’s has a sudden urge to growl at the baby alpha, he has no idea what overcame him, but luckily, he managed to hold it back before any awkward questions can be asked. “It’s just a scratch, he’s fine.” Kimi pats George on the back, then leaves. “Are you ok George, honestly?” George’s bottom lip wobbles, he looks like he wants to say more. “I’m fine Max.”  

Max watches George walk away, he scans the area looking for his jacket, how strange he’s sure he had it with him when he came over to George, oh well. He’s been losing items of clothing all weekend, the team always replace them without asking.  

“What’s going on between you and George?” Max almost runs into Alex heading out of his debrief after an underwhelming qualifying session, stupid McClaren's. “What are you talking about?” Again, there is a sudden urge to growl at the alpha, after remembering what George had said to him. Alex knotted my ass, Toto wasn’t happy. Max is quite sure he’s going crazy; he doesn’t even like George.  

“Don’t act stupid Max, are you courting him?” Turns out Alex is the crazy one. “Courting? Me and George. Don’t be stupid Alex.” Alex looks like he wants to scream, he pulls his hair in frustration. “Something going on with you two, you can’t stay away from him, wherever he is you are lingering somewhere nearby, and his nest is full of your Red bull clothes, the pair of you are stupid.” Oh that explains his missing clothes.  

Max can’t help but growl this time, he manages to bite back the stay out of his nest. “Don’t growl at me Max Verstappen, just because I called you stupid. Alex growls back. Thank god, he’s got away with that one. “Why don’t you ask George yourself, he’ll tell you the same thing as me.  

“He’s acting strange.” Alex looks concerned for a second. “He’s been really protective over the pups, very clingy with the other omega’s, he didn’t want me anywhere near him, then he ran into the omega bathroom to throw up.” Max’s instincts become alert suddenly. “When was this?” Alex scrunches his nose in confusion. “What? Just now- Max doesn’t let Alex finish, he bolts into the bathroom.  

He finds George bent ungracefully over the toilet throwing up, Kimi is slowly rubbing his back, again there is an urge to growl at the baby alpha. “You’ll feel better once it’s all up, it’s ok.” Kimi gives him a strange look but doesn’t say anything.  

“I got you some water George.” Charles runs in the bathroom, not seeming to notice Max. “They didn’t have Evian or whatever that is and I was too scared to ask Toto, so I just got you this from the Ferrari garage.” George whines. “Acqua panna, I wanted Evian.” George takes a sip then vomits again.  Charles whines back. “I’m so sorry, I thought all water tasted the same.”  

Max realizes he’s been gawping, he feels bad for making the hair dryer comment now, when George had asked for private bathrooms, at least three different people have watched him throw up. “Uhm, I could see if Red Bull has Evian?” George keeps throwing up, but Kimi and Charles turn to look at him, Charles’ eyes are glowing amber, in the way that an omega’s does when pissed off.  

“This an omega bathroom, get out.” Charles hisses, baring his teeth. “He’s in here.” Max says, pointing to Kimi. “He’s a pup, you should not be able to see omega’s having a vulnerable moment.” Charles is in his face now, still hissing, teeth still bared. If he’s honest with himself, Charles is a little bit scary, so he bare's his neck, showing he means no harm.  

“Look I'm sorry, I can’t explain but I've had a strong urge just to be near to him, to protect him.” Charles takes a step back. “You fucked, didn’t you?” The omega giggles turning to Kimi. “Questo spiegare” Kimi nods, still rubbing George’s back.  

“Sorry about that, I must have eaten something a bit dodgy.” George looks up, he looks unwell. Max has the urge to swaddle him in blankets and take care of him. “Do you really believe that George?” Charles asks, George just looks baffled. “What else can it be? I’m not really ill, it’s not all the time just in the morning’s and when something smells weird.”  

“Almost like there is a pup in your belly, huh George?” George head snaps to look at Kimi, like he’s been slapped. “No, no- I've been careful.” Charles looking equally delighted turns to Max. “Almost like a pup can bring the alpha into protective mode, huh daddy?” George pales even more and throws up again.  

“It’s ok George, its ok.” Kimi rubs his back, why don’t you just take a test and go from there?” George pulls his head out of the toilet and turns his head to Max. “Are you coming?” He doesn’t need to be asked twice, he wraps his arm around the omega’s back and helps him hobble into his driver's room.     

“Is it definitely mine?” The overwhelming smell of George smashes him in the face, he watches as the omega rummages through his bag and pulls out a pregnancy test. “I used birth control Max; I don’t get it.” A small tear rolls down George’s cheek. “It can only be yours, I'm sorry.” George slams the door closed; he can hear the omega peeing through the door.  

“What does it say?” Max asks, watching him reappear, the test clutched against his chest. “I don’t know, I'm scared to look.” George presses his back against the wall and slides down to the floor, pressing his knees against his chest. Max slides down beside him.  

“If it’s positive, you don’t have to do anything Max. None of this is your fault.” The sour smell of a distressed omega fills the room. “Does that mean you are keeping it?” George nods. “It’s happened so much earlier than what I would have liked, but this is what I've always wanted.” Max clutches George’s free hand and gives it squeeze. “I’ll help you; we can bring the pup up together. I’ll even stop racing if you want, if that’s what it takes.”  

“What are you saying?” Max grips George’s face and forces the omega to look at him. “We’ve had our differences, and I haven’t always like you but since that encounter in the elevator, I've wanted you in more ways than I can explain.” George giggles. “Well, I don’t know if you’ve noticed any of your clothing going missing, but I've been stealing them for my nest.” George lets his head drop on Max’s shoulder, who runs his finger through the omega’s hair. “Shall we see what it says?”  

“it’s positive.” Two very clear pink lines are on the test.  

“We’re going to be parents George.”  

[piplup335]

Tisha x gn reader angst! (dandy’s world)

*inhale* I'M BACK FROM THE DEAD, FELLASSSSS (for now lol) I managed to squeeze out some time to finish up this story, so enjoy! :D

this is my first DW fic by the way, please go easy on me :D

also, just to try out something, I’ll be tagging everyone with dialogue or more than 1 mention in this fic, not just the main character(s) involved! hope you all don’t mind :,)

oh, and I also tried incorporating a poem into my fic! here it is :>

hope you enjoy!

⋯⇋ ૮(•͈⌔•͈)ა ⇌⋯

Ever since the Gardenview Educational Centre and Museum shut down, your only solace was that you still had your best friend, Tisha. She was almost like a mother to you, ensuring that isolation didn't make you go insane and that you'd still take care of yourself. Although no children were left to see the torn-apart state all the Toons were in, she still ensured you were at least somewhat presentable for the day ahead.

To keep yourselves going, Vee and Brightney created an optimised schedule for Toons to go down the elevator for daily supply runs, bringing back food, ichor and occasionally a trinket or two. This ensured that not only did each Toon have enough food to survive, but the power in the museum could function for a bit longer. Plus, with how supply runs were coordinated, each Toon would have enough time between their scheduled supply runs to rest up and recuperate from any injuries they may have suffered.

After all, everyone knew about what lurked on each floor. Failed prototypes of themselves- Twisteds, most called them, would be there to pick off each unsuspecting Toon one by one. They wandered around aimlessly, ichor dripping off their body. Some had maniacal grins on their faces, their bloodlust having taken over their souls. Others could only amble on with frowns etched on their faces, silently questioning what they did to deserve the treatment they got, but not being able to resist the spread of ichor throughout their body as they hunted down the perfect, finalised Toons that came down through the elevators.

The Twisteds' bodies had been warped beyond recognition, especially when it came to the mains. Although Astro was still relatively normal in his twisted form, the only difference being that he was taller and cried ichor, he was the only one where that applied…notably because all the Twisteds, if they cried, didn't cry regular tears, but cried ichor instead. Plus, all the main Twisteds were taller anyway. Twisted Sprout's left arm had become a giant claw tainted by ichor, and his scarf now acted as a tendril to stab people. Twisted Vee and Shelly were both mutilated, their bodies elongated and torn apart, held together by the sticky ichor that composed their bodies. For Vee, it was simply ichor dripping down from both halves. For Shelly, however, only her legs were gone, now replaced by a sharp dinosaur-like ribcage connected to horse-like hooves and a pointy tail. Twisted Pebble had it the worst, as everyone agreed. Based on Rodger's research, his legs had been torn off him and attached to his head as ears and ichor had forcefully shaped new rocks for him to use as a torso and legs. It attached these new body parts to Pebble in a crude and haphazard manner, everything held together by nothing more than a few thin strands of ichor.

Regardless, you were now waiting for the others to return from their supply run. Tisha was out with the others to retrieve supplies from the lower floors today, so you sat by the tree facing the elevators. It was 6 pm, and the groups usually returned by that time anyway. As the central elevator's door opened with a clang, you scanned the people in the elevator for Tisha.

Boxten, Gigi, Poppy…but no Tisha. Eight Toons went in the elevator, but only seven came back. You ran up to Brightney, who also came back in the elevator. "Brightney! Where's Tisha? Where did she go-" The lamp cut you off with a sigh. "…she didn't make it to the elevator in time, I'm afraid. Tisha handled the Twisteds since Flutter was low on health and Sprout was low on tapes. We forgot to alert her that the elevator was leaving the floor soon…" Upon seeing your dismayed expression, Brightney waved her hands to calm you down. "B-but it's okay…! We didn't lose her too far down, maybe somewhere around…floor 15? We'll send a rescue team to retrieve her ASAP tomorrow morning, and you can come along if you want…!" On the outside, you calmed down, silently nodded, and headed back to your room. Internally, however, you were silently screaming to yourself. You didn't understand how they could be so careless. You didn't understand why, out of all people, the Toon that went missing had to be the one that kept you sane. You wondered if maybe, just maybe, Tisha made it to a higher floor. Nearer to the surface, where she'd be safer…but not in the clear. She wouldn't be safe until she was back in the museum. And without anyone to prevent you from acting on your irrational thoughts, your emotions took over.

11 pm. The lobby was locked by then, with Vee being the sole keeper of the key. However, you learnt some skills from the children visiting the Gardenview Museum. With two of your hairpins, you carefully pried one open, bending the end of the pick to craft it into a makeshift pick and twisting the other end of the hairpin into a handle. You bent the other hairpin to make it into a lever of some sort. You inserted the lever into the keyhole and successfully pushed the pick above it, gently prying each of the pins up. With a few satisfying clicks, the heavy padlock fell onto the carpeted floor with a satisfying thud. You opened the casing of the elevator's buttons and pressed it, allowing the elevator to slowly descend to the Toon Rooms with a low rumble. Before any of the Toons could wake up and find out what you were doing, you deftly stepped into the elevator and pressed the button to go to the lobby. The doors closed with a few clatters and clangs. Not that anyone would know. They were all dead to the world, anyway.

The elevator door creaked open, and you stepped into the lobby. Everything was quiet at that hour, the only sounds being the crackling of some outdated electrical wiring and your uneven breaths. Flashlight in hand, you walked towards the central elevator- located just behind the tree, when viewed from the entrance. That's how you remembered it. You got in and pressed a button. The elevator doors closed and the elevator went down… …down… …down… …down… …until it finally reached its destination. Floor 1. You knew of all the threats that hid there, and you also knew how it could be fatal if you were to go down unsupervised, with no one to serve as your saving grace. But it didn't matter now. After your not-so-meticulous preparation, you couldn't give up. Not now. Besides, you already had some rather detailed background knowledge as to each floor's layout. You stepped out of the elevator, and the doors behind you shut with a dull clang. Your task had begun.

Floor 1. Twisted Boxten and Poppy. Floor 2. Twisted Shrimpo and Cosmo. Floor 3. Twisted Brightney and Looey. Floor 4 was when you had your first major shock. It contained Twisted Tisha and Connie. Upon seeing the failed prototype of your best friend, your desperation overtook you.

"Tisha! It's you! Are you oka-" The sky-blue tissue box turned to you, its eyes not filled with the joy your best friend always exuded. As you always heard the Toon Handlers say, one's eyes are the windows to the soul. This version of Tisha…its eyes were depthless. Soulless. Devoid of any life. This wasn't your friend. As the creature lunged towards you with its ichor-tainted feather duster, you knew you had to run. It was painful for you, seeing what looked like an exact replica of your friend lash out towards you like you were a complete stranger. It hurt to run away. It hurt, knowing the only way you could see your friend was by running away from failed experiments of her.

Floor 13. At last, you were near the danger zone. Footsteps could be heard from the depths of the floor. Soft stomping…accompanied by growling. Twisted Pebble was on the floor.

You racked your brain for an escape plan. That stupid Dandy animatronic that popped out of the hatch in the floor to sell the most useless stuff gave you three bottles of soda, at least. Maybe that would be enough to evade Pebble if he…no, it…saw you.

The doors slid open. It was that stupid gift shop again, the one everyone hated navigating because there were just so many obstacles in the way. With a deep, shaky breath, you stepped out onto the floor. Despite all the beings living on the floor, it still felt so dead. Cold. It was seeping into your bones, and you hated it.

You hesitantly stepped out of the elevator onto the floor, the elevator door slamming shut behind you. Two capsules behind a nearby shelf caught your attention. "Might as well help Rodger collect some more research…" you thought. Something deep inside told you that picking up the capsule would be a horrible idea. But the thought of finding your friend drowned out everything else, and you picked it up. The moment your hand touched the ichor capsule, however, it shattered to dust in your hands. It was only then you realised the capsule did not have any tapes around it. That capsule wasn't a research capsule at all. It was Twisted Rodger's capsule. Ichor drenched your legs, and the added weight coupled with the viscous substance on the floor slowed you down. Twisted Rodger burst out of his capsule, and with a calculated glare, shot a laser straight at you. One heart down, two to go. Not a good start. You quickly ducked behind a shelf, narrowly avoiding Twisted Pebble’s sharp sight. Holding your breath, you scoured your backpack for the remainder of whatever supplies you may have brought down with you. All you had were three bottles of pop from your descent. Nothing else. Nothing to heal, nothing to save yourself. You only had one chance. As Rodger melted back into the floor, another replacement capsule taking his place, you reached out a hand to pick up the second capsule. [+1 Tisha research!] You froze up. Tisha research. Not Twisted Tisha.

The capsule was warm in your hands.

She was somewhere on the floor.

Pebble’s stomping reverberated around the entire floor. You still had that rabid, mutated dog to worry about.

As you carefully navigated the floor, you took caution, not wanting to alert the dog. You knew how he acted around regular Toons.

Pebble was just a normal dog. He wasn't privy to the human rules by which you all lived. He had not a Toon’s gift of speech, nor the ability to express himself as beautifully as he wanted. Pebble was a normal dog. He couldn’t express his pain like other Twisteds. His body had been mutilated and ripped apart beyond repair. He just wanted the normal life of a dog, happily running around his loving owner and getting headpats every day. Pebble was a dog. He was happy to see his creators. He waited all day for them to return to the lab. He didn’t mean to hurt them…to scratch them when he jumped up to greet them. He was just too happy to see them. He waited all day, every day, in that cramped metal cage stuck in the bleak, white-walled prison they called a laboratory. He was such a precious thing…he didn't know he was made of sharp edges and pointed teeth. He didn't know that he was made of something that could stone people to death. He was too cherished to know how to use them. Pebble was a dog. He was faulted, scolded and scorned when he came up to the employees, tail wagging as he knocked everything off the desks. His one and only trespass that led him to this state was the fact that he was a dog and did not know how to be anything other than a dog. His only sin was that he loved them.

So when he heard the elevator doors open, the two jagged slabs he had as ears perked up. He was truly a wild dog. Being abandoned in a facility, doomed to never see the sky…it took a toll on him. He wanted out. But more importantly, he wanted vengeance. The scientists faulted him for being a dog. They hated him for loving them. Once a loving puppy designed for the enjoyment of young children, now a heartless beast that wanted nought more than blood on its paws. It roamed the floor, growling and panting…waiting, watching…for its victim.

Step, step, step… Three entities on the floor. One a dormant being, one a soulless creature, and one…your friend. You saw some ichor trails leading to somewhere deeper within the facility. Where they led was beyond you, but the footsteps…they looked like that of a normal Toon. The only normal ones on the floor were you and Tisha. Your heart rate sped up. Finally. A clue as to where your dear friend had gone. Your pace subconsciously quickened as you followed the trail. Past the shelf, through the maze…she didn't seem to have gone far. Lady Luck wasn't on your side, however. You were so invested in following the trail that you didn't notice Pebble's head snap towards you with an agitated snarl. His bloodshot eyes were locked onto his target. The only thing you heard before getting brutally bitten was a bloodthirsty growl coming from the rabid dog. Two hearts down. One more left. One more chance to save your dearest friend. You quickly took cover behind a shelf as Pebble savoured the taste of ichor in his maw like a starved wolf. One look left and one more right…with that, he was gone, back to his hunt.

Back to your search, you went. You clutched your wounded arm as you trudged off, leaving a faint trail of ichor behind. Various wounds littered your body from all the attacks you endured beforehand, haphazardly patched up by plasters and bandages.

One more turn, and… …the trail you were following had finally come to an end. A familiar tissue box came into view. With a laboured but ecstatic laugh, you stumbled towards her. "Tisha…! Is that you…?" The sight that you were met with was so foreign, but yet so familiar. Tisha was no longer the happy tissue box she once was. Splotches of ichor stained her dress. The tissues from her head were stained with ichor, and the feathers on her duster were almost completely drenched in ichor. But the gaze in her now bloodshot eyes was one you knew all too well. "(Y/n)…it's you! I'm sorry…I ended up like this, like the others…" You wrapped your arms around her in a tight hug. You missed her…but you were so tired. Too tired. You just wanted to return to the surface, rest and recover. You missed your friend dearly…and now that she was back, it didn't matter what she looked like. "No, Tisha…you're not like the others. You're unique. You're you." "But (Y/n)…you know Vee configured the elevator to reject anyone tainted by ichor, right?" You froze in horror. You completely forgot about the adjustments Vee made to the elevator to protect everyone from the Twisteds. Even if they had a soul somewhere inside there, such as Twisted Glisten…a Twisted was a Twisted and should be avoided at all costs. It was for everyone's safety. Heavy stomping could be heard from behind you. Pebble sniffed out the ichor trail left behind by you…and tracked you down. Tisha looked at the homicidal animal behind you and tried to push you off her. "(Y/n), run! Return to the surface now and forget about me! Please!" But you didn't budge. You stayed like that, arms around her in a final embrace. "I'm exhausted…" you managed to force out. "Please! Run! You'll die if you stay like this!" You sluggishly raise a hand to pat her on the back. "…I may die like this, but you're the only one that truly makes me feel alive. Besides…" Pebble was closing in on you, ready to finish off the hunt he started. "…you're the only one I'd want to spend my final moments with."

With a sickening crunch, Twisted Pebble's jaws snapped around your throat.

⋯⇋ ૮(•͈⌔•͈)ა ⇌⋯

and that's all for today! I hope you enjoyed, and I'll see you soon!

[birdofmay]

I briefly want to talk about why "proving your diagnosis" to strangers online is absolutely useless, and especially if you want to prove it to a stranger.

I'll use two documents I was allowed to upload.

What does this photo say or prove to you? Well, first of all, absolutely nothing if you don't understand German. And all my documents are in German. This is it in English:

"Diagnosis: Motor coordination disorder with dynamic equinus"

I don't even know how to translate this properly. It's not developmental coordination disorder, aka dyspraxia. It doesn't even have an ICD code. Doctors love not to use ICD codes when it comes to the development of disabled people where I live, they rather describe the symptoms. All it means is that I struggle with motor coordination, either due to brain damage or specifically because of my cerebral palsy. And that I limp (equinus).

But does it really prove that? No, all you know is that somebody took a picture of this document and uploaded it. It has no date and no name and you can't even see the name of the institution. Because you always censor that, that's basic internet safety.

Another one:

In English:

"You are applying for coverage of the costs of early intervention at the early intervention centre [redacted] for your above-mentioned child.

According to the medical opinion I have received, your child requires early intervention because of an imminent or significant disability."

If you know German law, you'll realise that this is an older document because they don't say "wesentliche Behinderung" anymore now. Alright. But does it tell you that I'm disabled and was in early intervention? Does it tell you that there are medical documents that prove that I have a significant disability?

No, it tells you that somebody uploaded a medical document. And that sensitive information is redacted. And you always redact sensitive information, that's basic internet safety.

I could be someone who has access to these documents, maybe because a family member is disabled. Or because it's my job and the document belongs to one of my patients.

It would be even easier for autistics who really were in early intervention and group therapies or special education, and therefore know many peers who "have it worse", so to speak. Maybe I'm friends with someone who's severely developmentally delayed, and they once sent me something that proves their significant disability. I could censor and upload that, and I could start roleplaying because 1. I absolutely know what their life is like and 2. I have the "proof" to back it up.

So what would really prove it?

I'd have to take a picture of an identity card or maybe even my disability ID card, and then I'd need to start a video call to show them my face and, again, my ID. That would prove that I am me, and that the documents belong to me.

And you don't do that with strangers, especially not internet strangers.

So you see, there's absolutely no way to reliably prove your disability to internet strangers.

Therefore, whenever somebody asks you to prove your diagnosis, just ignore them. You can't prove it. You just can't.

[stubz]

grandma said

"I wonder what's taking Max so long?" mumbled the human, waiting with several younglings and children for the other human to come so that they can leave the centre.

"Kim can we go now?"

"Not until Max and Ezshi come."

"But Ezshi takes light years to get ready~" whined the child.

"I know but--"

A wail like no other echoed throughout the halls. The screams bounced off the walls into the human's body, from their heart to their skull they felt the vibrations of the child.

"Cover your ears and stay here!" they said before sprinting inside the classroom.

The wailing grew the closer they got to the source which was little Ezshi who was being comforted by the other human.

"What happened?!" even at Kim's loudest her yells were easily drowned out the reptilian's wails and cries.

Max pointed at the youngling and she looked down to see their tail swollen and slightly discolored. He then drew her attention to the door leading outside of the centre.

Ah shit it had to be the tail. As younglings Caimunes had incredibly sensitive tails as they were still developing the necessary healing abilities to allow them to regrow them.

'Anyting I can do?' she texted.

'Just take the others to the garden without us. Ezshi' cries r probably hurting some of their ears. Text management to send over a sub in my place and close the door to muffle the noise.'

'K, gud luck' and with that she left leading the younglings far away from the pained wails.

.

..

...

What the hell do I do!? They don't want an ice pack or a cold cloth or me to even breath on it and it'll be at least another 15 minutes till Eza get's here...

The poor human had spent the last 15 minutes trying to comfort and help the youngling to no avail. He tried applying first aid but Ezshi wailed even louder at the thought of anything touching their tail. The human then tried soothing them with words and rubbing circles on their back but that had only worked for mere seconds at a time.

So far the only thing he managed to do was give them a pillow to sit on and reassure them that their Bubba was coming as fast as they can.

A Caimunes tail is the most sensitive body part, equivalent to a human's fingers or toes...think think think. This isn't that far from when I slammed my finger in the closet door so what was done to help me?

He cried; just like Ezshi. He didn't want anyone to touch it; just like Ezshi. He calmed down but that was because he trusted his parents when they put his hand under cold water.

There has to be something...

"Oh." and Ezshi whimpered for the human had gotten up and went to the small kitchen they had.

*wHinNE*

"Don't worry I'm coming back buddy. I just remembered something that could help. Something my Grandma once said." they opened the top cupboard and came back with a small bag.

"Now don't tell anyone about this because this is for next week," he took out a small wrapped upped square and began to open it, "but my Grandma said that it's harder to be sad when eating something sweet so we're going to give it a try." he placed the small smooth square into the youngling's claw.

They sniffed it then plopped it into their mouth. It was strange to them. It was hard but then chewy and sticky. Sweet but tangy.

"It's called a Starburst. A candy from Earth."

The youngling started to cry once again but to the human's relief it was a much quieter cry.

"What does it taste like?"

"...*whimper*"

"Is it sweet?"

Nod*

"Kinda tangy?"

Shake*

A little sour?"

Shake*

"Just sweet?"

Nod*

"Huh, usually I find that flavor to be a little tangy. It's cherry by the way."

"...can I have another one?"

"Of course."

They sat like that until Eza came. Max fed Ezshi different flavors and asked them questions about the flavor until he had them try and guess which flavor they were eating. By then the cries were far and few between one another.

Later when the Caimunes had left the human was contacted by the med bay about a hearing test as 90% of those who hear a youngling Caimun wail go deaf. Max was ultimately fine and actually found the experience interesting as he had experienced a full inner/outer body vibration from the soundwaves coming from Ezshi

[mwagneto]

cbs watson really is fascinating as a case study coz like, holmes and watson are so essential to each other that i think any adaptation that doesn't get their relationship is doomed to be bad, let alone one that doesn't have one of them in it (unless it's specifically about that absence which can be interesting, albeit miserable, to watch), but it is possible to make something that has holmes and doesn't have watson. like you can kinda do anything with sherlock holmes because he's an extremely recognisable figure who can be stretched and transformed any way you like and even if he's not even remotely book accurate, as long as you give him a name that vaguely resembles "sherlock holmes" everyone will get who they're dealing with. you CAN make an adaptation without watson. i mean you shouldn't but you can. but does that apply to watson as well?

(mini essay under the cut this got away from me. and for the record i am NOT complaining i'm just thinking. pondering even)

like you can move holmes out of england to america, change his name, job, appearance, personality, etc etc but literally all you need is his last name's initial and him being good at figuring things out and everyone will understand that gregory house is sherlock holmes because he's such an iconic character. but what about our less often described pov character, watson? what makes him himself?

obviously their lives centre around each other the same amount and again *i* think it's essential to have both of them but what is watson without holmes? i mean there's a reason the original stories skip the time between the final problem and the empty house because what is there to say really. he's just this sad shell of a man til he gets his friend back. but in all other aspects he's still dr john watson. so what about here? he's been taken from his era and put in the modern day, removed from his home in london and placed in america, isn't disabled from the war (unless they're gonna touch on that later?), isn't a journalist, and ofc doesn't have holmes... so what's left? is there anything else to john watson that cbs can use to make the audience really feel that they're watching watson and not just a nice smart doctor who has the same name as him?

i'm just ruminating, i don't have the answers but i do think it's gonna be very interesting to see if and how the show will try to make itself feel more like a holmes adaptation even without the era, the country or, y'know, the holmes. i do think the insane amount of references to the original canon are one of the main ways of doing that but i also think that while that's fun, it should not be the only thing they have because the cynical part of me keeps thinking that if they're gonna change everything about the character, why even call him watson other than brand recognition and the knowledge that being a holmes adaptation instead of Generic Medical Drama inherently has a higher chance of success?

in any case i'm very glad to have a new holmes adaptation and even more glad that it's something i get to think about, excited to see what's coming

[beatinginavoid]

Can you write something about a young man being stabbed to the heart and left to bleed out? He's still conscious as the tamponade compresses his heart muscle and someone eventually finds him and calls an ambulance. A dramatic resus scene ensues...

Hello, hello! Sorry for the long wait. I'm not big on resus, but I hope I did the request justice.

🗡️🫀

It was quick. It was all so fast. One moment Dan was leaving the building and walking to his car, the next someone else appeared seemingly from nowhere. It was late, and he had stayed behind at a café to try and enjoy a drink, some food, and some background ambience before going home.

A person, dressed entirely in dark clothes, had blindsided him. Silver flashed under the moonlight, then a sharp pain engulfed him. He had fallen to his knees and then collapsed onto his back.

So here he was, staring almost unseeingly at the night sky, the light pollution reducing the visible number of stars.

An odd warmth covered his chest. Dan raised his hands and clumsily patted across his chest. He looked at his palm to see glistening red liquid.

Oh. He was bleeding. That was bad, right?

His mind, whirling and confused, told him pressure – apply pressure. Dan found the spot that hurt the most and placed both hands over it, trying his best to press down. It was only then did he notice his hands were directly over his heart.

In that moment, the pain truly registered. Every beat of his heart panged in pain, every agonising thump pounding in his head as well as his chest.

This was bad. This was so bad. Dan knew nothing about medical things, but any idiot would know that getting stabbed in the heart was way up there on the bad scale. His lungs were still working, but his vocal cords had decided to take an impromptu vacation. Any attempts to call out for help were thwarted before they started.

He would likely die here, and some poor soul would trip over his cold corpse hours from now. What a dismal way to go. Crimson warmth pulsed underneath his palm at a steady rate. How long did it take the average person to bleed out? It would be quicker since the blood was being pumped directly from the heart – the centre of the circulatory system.

The process being fast meant it would be less painful until he no longer felt anything. Which was looking better and better as the pain in his chest started growing. Despite the blood leaking out of him, Dan’s chest began to feel tight, as if a band was around his ribs slowly compressing them tighter with every shaky, desperate breath.

His head felt strangely floaty, but his heart was sending clear signals to his brain. Every contraction of his cardiac muscle, every inflation and deflation of his lungs, was screaming inside his mind, cutting easily through all of the fog.

Each thump pounded even as it felt like a fist was around the pump, the fingers squeezing without relent. The beating in his head sounded muffled and breathing became more and more of a chore.

“Holy shit!”

A guy appeared over him, looming like a vulture, eyes wide and mouth open in horror. The man fumbled for a moment before bringing a phone up to his ear. Dan heard the word ambulance spoken amongst a bunch of gibberish and a tiny spark of hope lit up in his struggling heart.

His blood soaked hand was nudged aside and a folded jacket replaced it, two hands pushing it down far more firmly than Dan had managed. His breath hitched slightly and he groaned at the pressure and increased pain. Now it felt as though there was a heavy weight trying to crush his ribs from the front, even as the imaginary band around them squeezed the sides tighter.

Dan’s heart thudded awkwardly, feeling as though it skipped several beats, then stumbled its way through several more, before doggedly picking up the pace under the new onslaught.

The poor thing did not feel up to this challenge anymore. Although going faster, the beats did not feel as strong as before. Dan’s mind vividly conjured up the image of his cardiac muscle shaking and wobbling like a runner on their last legs, the blood barely being moved until the muscle spasmed once then fell still.

Was he dead?

No, no, he could still feel the organ pumping inside his chest.

How much longer could the injured and stressed heart keep going?

The guy’s face was looming in his blurred and shrinking field of vision again. The mouth was moving, but nothing seemed able to penetrate the cotton wool stuffed in his ears, and surrounding his brain, except for his own thoughts, shallow panting, and uncertain heartbeat.

Ba-thump, ba-thump, ba-thumpathump… ba-thump… ba-thump… ba-thumpthumpthumpthumpthump…… ba-thump, ba-thump, ba-thump, ba-thumpathump…ba-thumpathump…ba-thumpathump………… ba-thump……… ba-thump…… ba-thump…… ba-thump…ba-thump…ba-thump…ba-thump, ba-thump, ba-thumpba-thumpba-thumpbathumpbathumpbathumpBATHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMP… BA-thump…BA-thump…ba-thumpathump…

There was no dancer in the world, no matter how talented, that would be able to dance to such an erratic, off-key, mess of percussion.

Dan could no longer feel his fingers or toes. If he was moving them, he couldn’t tell. Were they even still attached? His head felt so floaty that he wasn’t entirely sure it was still stuck to his neck. His neck, which was linked to his torso. His torso, that was being crushed, squashed, and squeezed relentlessly. The effects of which were making it very hard for his lungs to inflate like they should. His lungs, that surrounded his heart, were unable to give the beating muscle enough room for it to do its job adequately either. His heart, pierced, injured, somehow still gamely struggling along.

A struggle that was all too likely to end soon.

The guy was still hovering over him, still pressing down his chest, still talking. The words were no more audible than before, but now the man’s face was no longer in the dark. It was oddly alight, flickering quickly between red and blue, like he was in a colour limited rave.

Dan didn’t remember going to a rave. He had been in a nice, quiet café, right? Was he still there? No… No, he’d left. He was outside. That was right, outside in the cold. He didn’t feel cold. Shouldn’t he feel cold?

Not being cold didn’t feel bad though. So, it was a good thing, right?

Something about that set alarm bells ringing in the back of his mind. But his mind was too fuzzy to properly register them, let alone dredge up the energy to do anything about it. Dan was tired. So, so tired.

Tired people should sleep, right? Sleep was healthy and important.

His eyes were halfway closed when a new blurry figure popped into view, also flickering red and blue. Their mouth was moving too, although Dan couldn’t hear them either.

Had the rave damaged his hearing? No, he hadn’t even been at a rave. He’d just established the events in his mind, hadn’t he? Ugh, thinking was hard.

His head, which he was ninety-nine percent sure was only hanging by a thread, pounded dully in time with the out of tune drum in his rib cage. It really was an awful beat - musicians would weep in sheer horror and frustration.

The guy pressing into the drum really needed to stop and let the poor instrument retire.

There was an odd sensation, and Dan swore as the pressure on his heart shifted. It was as if every fibre of the moving muscle was trying to beat while being pulled completely taut, the strain visceral despite the blood that slicked the whole surface. Things slid over his skin and an image of his ribs being exposed popped into his mind.

If someone were to crack his ribs and spread them, Dan would be grateful. It would probably do wonders to help alleviate that vice grip they were currently held in. The world flickered in and out, black, red, grey, and blue cycling around and around.

Voices still eluded him, but high-pitched beeps broke through the muffling silence. They sounded random and quickly became irritating. Dan gasped fitfully as his lungs stuttered, unable to do their job. The lack of oxygen quickly affected his already stressed body, and his heart grew weaker with each irregular beat, the muscle pulsing slower and less effectively until it grew still.

The darkness swallowed Dan and he knew it would never again be light for him. His chest was no longer tight at least.

“We’re losing him!” said one of the paramedics as the heart monitor line fell flat.

“There might be too much damage,” said the other paramedic.

The first shook his head. “There has to be something else wrong. The blood pressure didn’t match the cardiac output. I think…”

He dug into the large bag next to him and took out an imposing looking needle. He pulled the cover off the metal tip and plunged it into the flesh near the stab wound in Dan’s chest. The plunger was slowly pulled back, dark red blood filling up the empty space it created.

“Of course, a cardiac tamponade,” the second said ruefully. They immediately began chest compressions, the blood-slicked surface threatening to slide their hands out of position.

Blood dribbled out of the stab wound with every press, Dan’s life hanging in the balance with every forced, artificial beat.

Thump, thump, thump, thump, thump…

Would it ever beat on its own again?

[glaciergore]

UNO REVERSE CARD!

What made your brain do an edit of john's mutilated body as your "humble application to jirvnation" (asking as someone else whose first jirvnation contribution was fanart of his dying moment (affectionate))

sincerely @werewolfsone

you got me. okay, okay, let's see... what is the appeal of jirv's mutilated body?

pioneering new kinds of top surgery

hot

no, so, first off, that post was meant to be longer. it felt too cluttered, couldn't get it to work, so I said 'less is more' and left it as you find it. that said, the body was still the first image I selected for the post, the first I edited, and the one that stayed, so it's still significant. but it's maybe enlightening that the other screens/edits were going to be 1) jirv's raggedy bandage hands (fraying bandage, symptom of decay that you are) and 2) the same dying moment as your own art (with hickey's hand over his mouth). aka, there's a recurring theme, and it's called 'I love DnD' (death and decay).

as for the body specifically — it's both the brutality and brutal beauty of it. it's antithetical to john's character (that shy, repressed, christian self vs. his mutilated corpse, basically nude, on display as the centre of attention). it's also used in a way antithetical to john's character (to deceive, to justify murder/sin, which we discussed in the comments of that post). so, on the one hand, you have his body being twisted against the purposes he applied it towards in life. this comes across even more strongly in the context of jirv's evangelicism and related values of your own responsibility in your salvation plus your 'duty' to share this with others (but all his body's used for is violence against those he might seek to convert — which can also be violence, but that's a whole other essay or ten).

on the other hand, it also drives me back to hickey's quote about him being a man afraid of chaos... which, to me, implies a man in need of control, if only over his own self. that, in death, he's entirely stripped of such control is wonderful to me. mr. uptight man gets his insides spilled in death. yippee. you can't hide anymore, johnny boy. they all see you now, grotesque, humiliated, dehumanised. all he has to hide behind is the cross that did sweet fuck all confronted with a hickey that is, in the script, likened to the antichrist. that has me thinking of the 'armour of god' in ephesians: 'the breastplate of righteousness' (cue stabbed chest), 'the helmet of salvation' (cue scalped head). so much for that, then. the image of his body can be a post-mortem confession of fundamental human truths: flesh and blood after all, animalistic, chaotic. control as illusion. a comforting prayer in the face of chaos, but not one that protects.

where I'm going now isn't very related to the tragic element of jirv's body, but probably heightens the brutality of it: I'm always struck by the incoherence of his mutilation. aka he's stabbed, scalped, has his genetalia, fingers, and parts of his chest removed. it plays like some bizarre, nightmarish, colonialist fear-driven pastiche of stereotyped 'native violence'. like someone read a heap of frontier tales (or maybe listened to one too many of hodgson's anecdotes) and stitched them together incomprehensibly. irving's mutilation is no specific practice, only a depraved approximation of one engineered to prey on existing racism to hickey's own ends. which is more relevant to a point about empire, but I think simultaneously deepens the what-the-fuckery of john's corpse and embodies (ha) the complete disrespect with which it's treated. it isn't just 'unchristian', but godless by any faith or sense of spirituality — except for hickey's pursuit of 'survival'.

it's also relevant that I'm predominantly a film person. I feel like there are two broad categories of terror-heads (it's more nuanced than this but let me have my fun): history majors with media minors and media majors with history minors. not literally, and many enjoy both aspects equally, but in terms of what brought/kept them in the fandom. so, of those, I am most definitely the latter. why is that relevant? well, as my intro states, I love my body horror! I'm an enjoyer of blood and bodies and wounds and scars and mutilation. on the surface, it's 'wow blood cool' (and, yeah, blood cool), but, on a deeper level, I adore what you can express visually through bodies, their desecration and distortion.

I also find images far more viscerally emotive than spoken or written word. which ends up being pertinent to jirv's mutilated body running amok in the rafters of my mind, because it's an image that has stuck with me since seeing it (alongside many others from the terror — the precise moment during hickey's flogging when he turns his head to look at crozier, irving dying with hickey's hand over his mouth, jop's table crawl, etc.). aka, I like chasing dread, anxiety, sad things, and expressions of pain (in the least edgy way! I approach it all with curiosity), so images evoking these have me hooked.

building on bodies and body horror as expression — what does the mutilation express about irving? fuck knows, really. look, I do love my media in context; I also love it in a void with meanings I apply to it for what they personally stoke in me (i.e., I think you can ascribe all kinds of personal meaning to a single frame of a film outside of the film it is part of). jirv, to me, is a man whose mental space is fucked. so seeing that body, as well as everything I've already mentioned, just feels like almost a cathartic (though twisted) expression of said mental fuckery in a way he'd never confess or communicate in life. bodies or wounds as embodiment of internal truths. I love physical symbols for internal things (why that frame of his bandaged hands gets me — bandages as a symbol, a sign of a wound you can't see, becoming almost an abstraction of a wound itself). but that's drifting further still to the realm of body horror, and I have drifted far enough off course.

tl;dr, bodies cool, fucked up bodies cooler, jirv's fucked up body coolest for being antithetical to his character, incoherent butchery, a representation of the failures of faith, and the undeniable, physical expression it can be for a bloke whose life appears defined by discomfort and repression (to me, shame as well).

thus it made sense to include his body in a post partly about his piety because of the perceived juxtaposition between brutality and faith (though faith itself can often be brutal) and its image of a 'human undone' or failed by god, if you want to be dramatic about it.

that was an overlong, poorly-organised, broad-strokes response, and I commend you for making it to the end! I couldn't discuss the jirvbod and my attachment to it without chatting body horror just a little bit though. thank you for the ask and long live (?) jirv's broken body

[llyfrenfys]

On Cadi as the Welsh equivalent of Queer

(image: screenshot of the entry for Cadi in Geiriadur Prifysgol Cymru)

Some of you may already know this, but for those who don't, Cadi is a Welsh word which is analogous to the word Queer in English. I say analogous, since their meanings aren't quite a 1:1 match. But for shorthand, Welsh equivalent of Queer sums 90% of it up.

It has been suggested tentatively by some to use Cadi as the Welsh translation of Queer. I'm going to explore arguments for and against, but ultimately the choice to use/not use Cadi as a 1:1 with Queer is entirely up to you. Warning that this post is quite long, but I do hope you'll stick with it- please let me know what you think in the notes!

Without further ado, let's get into it:

Definition of Cadi:

Cadi is a term which has existed in Welsh since the 17th Century (roughly) and generally refers to effeminacy in men (real or perceived). Over time, the meaning of the term has expanded to refer to other (Queer) things as well. But the term itself largely has been applied to Queer men and queer masculinities through time.

The term itself derives from the girl's name Catrin and you will come across women who call themselves Cadi as a shortening of their name (like Liz from Elizabeth and so on). In this way, there is a strong point of comparison to be had with the English queer pejorative Nancy, which also derives from a girl's name.

Can Cadi be considered the Welsh equivalent of Queer?

So now to the real meat of the post. Can Cadi be considered the Welsh equivalent of Queer? The answer to that is, unsurprisingly, complicated.

As described above, Cadi is a term which has had strong associations with male effeminacy (real or perceived) and has close parallels to the English term Nancy, which is also nearly exclusively applied to Queer men and masculinities. What this presents is a quandary and I'll explain what I mean by that. But first, we need to outline the history of LGBTQIA+ terminology in general (in the West).

LGBTQIA+ Terminology and the inclination towards cis gay language:

This is a huge huge topic which I cannot possibly do justice to here alone, so I'd highly recommend reading up on these topics when you have time, but for the sake of brevity, here is a tldr on the history of LGBTQIA+ terminology (slightly UK-centric but similar events also happened in the US and Canada, as well as other parts of Europe).

Campaign for Homosexual Equality (CHE) is a British Lesbian and Gay rights organisation founded in the 1960s, during a time of great social and political change. The organisation's membership grew and grew well into the 70s before declining in the 80s. It was during this time that some lesbian members of the organisation left citing erasure of lesbian issues and misogyny in the movement. CHE and similar gay and lesbian rights movements in this period had been inclined to centre gay men's issues in their activism, which understandably led to many lesbians feeling alienated. Some lesbians left in the late 70s and early 80s and began to form their own advocacy groups. This indirectly fed into a wider feminist upheaval at the time and led to the rise of lesbian feminism, which aimed to centre lesbian issues within feminism, but unfortunately (for complex historical reasons) did then contribute to the proliferation of rad\ical femi\nism within the Queer community, which then unfortunately contributed to the rise of tra\ns exclu\sionary rad\ical fem\inism. Regardless of the unfortunate rise of transphobia within the lesbian feminist movement, the original catalyst for the formation of these groups was a sense of alienation from the rest of the Queer community because gay men's issues had been prioritised over lesbian issues, when both could have been tackled together, with each other. This alienation was echoed in the names of organisations and events- many early homosexual rights groups only had homosexual or gay in their group names. It took many years before advocacy groups started adding 'and lesbian' to their names and events.

(For further reading, I would suggest watching this video by Verilybitchie about the history of lesbian erasure in homosexual advocacy and how that led to (some) lesbian groups excluding bi and trans people in the same way they were excluded by gay men)

What does that history mean for Cadi?:

Because of a history of lesbian (and by extension, women's) exclusion from homosexual advocacy groups, is Cadi the best term to use as a catch-all given its strong associations with men's expressions of Queerness? (namely, that as a pejorative it is largely aimed at femininity in men and subsequent assumed homosexuality). It is important to consider if using Cadi as an equivalent of Queer would centre a (typically cis) gay experience/expression of Queerness and if that would alienate other members of the LGBTQIA+ community.

However, a counterpoint to this would be that there are variations of the term Cadi which do include other experiences of Queerness:

Cadi ffan (similar to just 'Cadi')- typically used to describe femininity in men and boys [N. Wales]

Cadi genod/ Cadi merched (similar to above) - effeminate man/boy [N. Wales]

Cadi bechgyn - Romping girl, tomboy [N. Wales]

Cati fachgen - (similar to above)- Romping girl, tomboy [S. Wales]

Cadi Haf - Male maypole dancer dressed as a girl

They are, however, somewhat limited for use in reclamation and have to be qualified by another noun to indicate diversion from the original term's meaning.

But when talking about the term Cadi, we often speak in the abstract- without the context in which the term is used. So here are a few extracts from texts which use the term Cadi (or variants). Since this is a mostly spoken slang term, it doesn't turn up in print often, but there are a few examples to draw on.

Examples of Cadi in texts:

Page 164- Cwm Eithin by Hugh Evans (1931):

"DAWNSIO HAF Ceir darnodiad o'r ddefod hynafol dawnsio haf yn Y Gwyl- fedydd, 1823, tudal. 306, gan un a'i geilw ei hun “ Callestrwr,” fel yr arferid hi yn Callestr (Fflint, mae'n debyg). Ym mis Ebrill arferai o ddwsin i ugain o bobl ieuainc ymuno i baratoi ar gyfer y ddawns. Gwisgai'r dawnswyr eu crysau yn uchaf wedi eu haddurno ag ysnodennau a blodau. Cariai'r arweinydd fforch bren ar lun y llythyren Y. Gwnïid lliain o'r naill fraich i'r llall, ac addurnid y fforch ag amryw lestri arian, tebotiau, llwyau, cigweiniau, efc. Byddai gyda hwy grythor yn ei ddillad ei hun, “cadi” mewn gwisg merch, ac ynfytyn mewn gwisg ryfedd â phlu yn ei ben"

[emphasis mine]

This extract is the author's account of Dawnsio Haf- a Summer dance held on May Day and his investigations into it. At his time of writing (1931) the practice has died out, but later in this chapter he interviews an old woman from the Conwy Valley who participated in the dances as a child. Evans draws upon a source from 1823 for his description of Dawnsio Haf. In it, he mentions that 20 young dancers meet up for the dance wearing shirts decorated with ribbons and flowers. A leader carries a fork in the shape of the letter "Y"- between each point on the "Y" a cloth was strung with silverware dangling from it to make noise. With the 20 dancers would be a crwth-player (crythor), a Cadi in women's clothes and a fool with a feather on his cap and odd clothes.

This usage is quite archaic and refers to a folk dance- much like mumming or morris-dancing. There is however, a picture in the People's Collection Wales titled 'Cadi'r Big' taken by the prolific photographer John Tomas c. 1875, near Y Ro-wen:

Which is very interesting as Cadi'r Big has dried flowers and ribbons attached to their clothes, much like in the description in Cwm Eithin. This is very likely a picture of a "Cadi" from a Dawnsio Haf.

Page 4- Y Ddraig Binc Issue 4 (1994):

Y Ddraig Binc was a Welsh-language Queer magazine published by CYLCH, a gay and lesbian rights organisation based in Aberystwyth. The term Cadi-ffan is included in an article about the commercialisation of Queer identity in the magazine's fourth edition.

"...Nawr te, medd wrtho’i hun, be’ gymera’ i’r mis hwn, copi o GQ ynte Arena neu ydw i, efallai, yn teimlo’n ddigon ifanc a trendi am Sky? Ond aros funud, beth yw hyn? Dau gylchgrawn steil newydd a gwynt digamsyniol cadi-ffan arnyn nhw?

Ydy, mae’r hyn a oedd y tu hwnt i ddychymyg wedi digwydd. Mae grymoedd y farchnad rydd a chystadleuaeth wedi cyrraedd y byd cyhoeddi hoyw - rhaid bod Lêdi T wrth ei bodd. Nawr fe gaiff llanc hoyw ddewis o ddeunydd darllen sgleiniog, llawn erthyglau a hysbysebion yn arbennig ar ei gyfer ef a’i rywioldeb. Hwrê! Fedr hynny ddim bod yn beth drwg. Neu a fedr o?..."

[emphasis mine]

This humorous article (dealing with an important topic, mind) pokes fun at the arrival of Queer commercialisation. The article opens by explaining that there's a ruckus in the gay world (and not two old queens getting into fisticuffs)- but that this ruckus is taking place at WHSmith (UK stationery shop and newsagents)- apparent winner of this year's most vulgar uniform award. The author goes on to describe a hypothetical situation in which a gay man walks into a WHSmith to buy a magazine. He wonders whether to get a copy of GQ or Arena (men's style magazines- remember this was published in Section 28 Era so explicitly gay magazines were not common) or is he trendy enough to read Sky? (film and tv magazine). But wait- what's this? Two new style magazines with a whiff of Cadi-ffan about them? The author explains that yes, the unimaginable has happened. The forces of the free market and competition have reached the world of gay publishing.

Now a gay youth has the choice of glossy reading material, full of articles and advertisements especially for him and his sexuality. Hooray! That can't be a bad thing. Or can it? Writes the author. The article is very witty and I recommend a read (find a pdf copy here). But the usage of Cadi-ffan here is very much in a reclaimed sense. Though it must be noted that the story is told through a stereotypical cis gay lens.

Conclusions:

As I said at the start of this post, you are free to claim or not claim Cadi as you wish. However, as awareness of Welsh LGBTQIA+ terminology increases, I wanted to raise important questions and start a conversation about the words we have, what we want them to be and how they have been used against us. I hope in any case that this post has been interesting to you. If it has, please reblog this or add any comments/thoughts in the notes, tags or in my asks.

Beth yw eich barn chi? I'd love to hear other's thoughts on this and start a conversation about it! Diolch am ddarllen

[mittch22]

An insidious leak: the analysis of seemingly shady uncloakings

My brain is rolling and spinning yet again at one thousand miles per hour and Leland Turbo is right at the centre of it. Certain writing persuits have triggered a pattern of thought surrounding the circumstances of his discovery by the lemons, and I have a few things Id like to further examine.

"This is Agent Leland Turbo. I have a flash transmission for Agent Finn McMissile. Finn, my cover's been compromised. Everything's gone pear-shaped."

He doesn't elaborate any further than this for potential reasons I shall delve into a little bit later in this post. So the question I have is this:

Why? Why did it all go to hell in the first instance? How was he compromised?

Leland is very much on par with Finn in the sense of experience. They spent both of their entire adult lives together in training at the CHROME academy and have carried out countless missions both seperately and with each other. He is more than competent with, what I estimate would be, around forty years of field experience. And considering he would have known that complacency would always get him killed, he would never have allowed himself to become complacent enough to permit his facade to come into the light. And to be permitted to perform any type of mission on his own, then his ability is extensively trusted indeed. Mistakes happen, sure. But I sincerely doubt Leland would have made one that held this type of consequence.

My current aswer to this question?

CHROME had a mole.

Upon beginning this post, I came to the realisation that there is a second segment that didn't initially cross my mind that adds evidence to this particular ideology:

"Finn, I need backup. But don't call the cavalry, it could blow the operation."

Leland knew about the mole. Or at least he had his suspicions.

Initially I simply put this statement down to 'too many cooks spoil the broth', or in this case, 'too many agents will screw up the mission.' However, I'm no longer so sure that this is the case.

Visually speaking, his face says a million words. He is terrified. Evidently, if he's caught, he knows he is in for a whole universe of hurt. And death is very much on the horizon. But the fear makes a drastic appearance when he specifies not calling the "cavalry". This makes perfect sense to me if he thinks that the lemons were tipped off about his presence. And if there was someone within CHROME who could not be trusted, then the only vehicle he was be able to notify was Finn.

He knows him better than any other vehicle in the world and trusts him with his life. He's also aware that, if the flash transmission were to be seen by any other CHROME agent by accident, and he had of mentioned anything about a potential leak, it could have put Finn in a gargantuan amount of peril. So he kept quiet about the idea, simply telling him to not get the agency as a whole involved.

Now, I can't bring up Leland in this circumstance without also talking about Rod Redline. The second agent in the equation who also lost their life because he was compromised. And the same question applies since we don't really know how it happened to him either.

Rod was also a highly skilled and competent individual, hence the statement: 'Rod "Torque" Redline is considered by many as the greatest American spy in the world.' So all, if not most, of the criteria that applies to Leland applies to Agent Redline as well. And yet, he was also caught.

His shock when Grem and Acer followed him into the bathroom at the Towkyo party is quite telling. Its indicitive that he didn't know he had been caught until that exact moment. And the lack of any other emotion but deep seated anger on the faces of Grem and Acer could potentially indicate that they knew exactly who they were looking for.

If he was discovered due to a mole, since inter-agency cooperation isn't uncommon when working on the same mission, then it may just have been the same mole that told the lemons about Leland Turbo.

And of course there's the question of how Grem, Acer and the professor knew about the agents in the first place. Zundapp even mentions them both by name.

"Hey, Professor Z! This is one of those British spies we told you about." Yeah. Most likely a mole.

So what was the mole's driving force? Money? Blackmail? Sadism? A crippling hatred for the agencies or individuals? Who knows.

Of course we might never know for sure the exact reasoning for why they were both compromised. But it's always interesting to speculate.

Chrysler help the vehicles who caused Leland's death when Finn gets hold of them. Particularly if they are someone that he once trusted.

[leviosally]

WIP Thursday Oops Wednesday

Thank you for the tag @gaiaseyes451 sorry I'm woefully late!!

I am working on a short, angst-free meet-cute for the Art of Yelling server's Sweet and Spicy Spring event!

Crowley is an artist taking a couple of classes as he tries to get out of a rut, revisit what he loves best, and bolster his career as a freelancer. Aziraphale works as a librarian not far from St. Lucius' School of Fine Art. When Aziraphale's neighbor, Anathema asks if he would be interested in a little side-gig as the life model for her Intermediate Figure Drawing class, he agrees. That's not about to awaken things in anyone, right? . . .

“You will learn to apply the knowledge you gain here in creating convincing, expressive, and dynamic figure drawings.” Sweeping around the edge of the desk, Anathema turns on a small space heater, aiming it toward a circular raised platform at the centre of the room. “Historically, anatomical knowledge of the human figure has been a key element in the traditional techniques used in European painting and drawing. It is an essential field that remains relevant and is used by animators and illustrators working all over the world today. This course runs for five weeks, at the end of which—barring any outstanding truancy—you will receive a certificate of completion.” Grabbing a large white sheet off a shelf stuffed full of clean folded linens, she shakes it out and drapes it over an orange suede post-modern-looking backless chaise crowded with squashy throw pillows and memory foam squares. “At this time, I ask that you stow all mobile phones until we break for lunch to protect our model’s privacy. Any questions before we begin?”

A contented sort of silence and a few shaking of heads comes in answer as Anathema switches on an old stereo that looks like something out of a nineties music video and inserts a CD. A moment later, some gentle classical music drifts from the speakers.

Crowley takes a deep breath as his pulse ticks up, feeling a sudden surge of anticipation (and caffeine) as he compulsively straightens his charcoals, smudge stumps and various drawing pencils in their little tray.

“We’re ready for you if you are, Az,” Anathema calls softly to their gentleman model behind the privacy screen.

You’re a professional, this is an art class, you’re a professional, this is an art class, you’re a prof—fffffnnngk.

Crowley nearly snaps a more delicate piece of charcoal in two as their model steps out, wrapped in a white silk dressing gown that drapes and hugs the man’s lush curves in a very justifiably distracting way. And, despite Crowley’s threat to himself to at least maintain the illusion of a calm, collected professional, he is definitely staring a little (okay, a lot). Lucky, really, that staring at this man for the next three hours is literally the assignment.

“Good morning, everyone. My name is Aziraphale, but you may call me Az if that’s easier. I have predetermined a variety of poses for this class today including options in standing, seated and recumbent positions. I am perfectly comfortable with questions relevant to fine art and figure study during our time together, so please do speak freely while you are working. Lastly, while I shall do my best to give both sides of the class an equal opportunity perspective-wise, do tell me if you need a little more time with any specific angle.”

Crowley, who had been inwardly waxing poetic about the sultry little spray of pale blond curls framed by the deep vee of Aziraphale’s dressing gown, feels his brain skip like a needle on a record as the creamy silk fabric slithers off his shoulders.

Unfortunate, randy, dry spell-fueled thoughts aside, there’s no word to describe Aziraphale’s body other than beautiful. It’s like looking at a closeup of an angel taken straight from the Sistine Chapel ceiling…ethereal, pastoral, captivating. Plush, cherubic curves that hint at indulgence belie an impressive musculature. (Yeah, Crowley’s biased. He loves big, powerful thighs, and he’s absolutely an arse guy, through and through. But in his defense, he’s pretty sure someone with a backside like fucking Atlas is probably commanding most of the room’s attention right now.) But there are also the tells of Aziraphale’s lived years as well; a dusting of freckles and moles on his back and shoulders, tan lines at his elbows, fine threads of wrinkles like little seams running under his arms and over his belly, a scar just under his clavicle and another on his arm—a story or two preserved in the pale puckered skin.

Aziraphale gives them all a friendly smile—Crowley thinks he can just detect a bit of nervousness flashing in his eyes, but it’s there and gone in an instant—as he makes his way up to the raised platform. Fic starts posting tomorrow! Eee! Also, if you see this, consider yourself tagged!!