#savannah ( reflection )

[wandering-jana]

Savannah River reflections. Coastal Georgia.

[tyrantisterror]

David Attenborough: And here we have the father lion with his newfound cub. This male has sired many young with his pride, but only this season has he produced a male. He will teach the young lion all he knows, before it grows up to make a pride of his own. Right now the father shows his cub the extent of their territory, an important fact for any lion to learn. -later- David Attenborough: It is highly unusual for two male lions to share a territory, but the bond between these two is strong. Though leaner and bearing more scars than his stronger brother, the second male has an important role to play, patrolling the outer bounds of their shared territory. -later- David Attenborough: The mutually beneficial relationship between hornbills and lions is not extensively documented, and in fact this documentary is the first evidence of such a relationship ever recorded. It is, however, not unheard of for a clever bird to ally with packhunting mammals, as crows will do the same with wolves a continent over. -later- David Attenborough: The scarred male lion may have bitten off more than it can chew, having stumbled into a truly enormous pack of hyenas. Extraordinarily large, in fact, there may well be more than a hundred individuals in this family group. The hyenas, however, show... deference? to the lion, and ... are... are they goose-stepping? Well, it would appear they are acting out a choreographed homage to the film-making of Leni Riefenstahl, and all at the apparent command of one of their natural competitors. Fascinating. -later- David Attenborough: As the male lion clings to dear life, who arrives but his brother, the loyal second in command of the pride. Surely a boon for our new fath- oh. Oh, that looked almost calculated. But we must remember that such cruelty is only practiced by men, and that lions probably aren't very skilled at helping each other climb up cliffs, given their lack of thumbs. -later- David Attenborough: Orphaned and separated from his pack, the young male lion is likely due to die. But what's this? A warthog in a mutually beneficial symbiosis with a meercat has adopted the cub. Strange, yes, but perhaps this warthog is acting on misplaced affection, as animals that have lost young of their own may sometimes adopt children of other species. This warthog may have been a young moth- oh, no, that's a dick and balls. Well... huh. -later- David Attenborough: Somehow, despite subsisting entirely on insects for years, our young cub has managed to grow into a fully healthy male lion. We can only attribute this success to a mixture of luck and determination. -later- David Attenborough: Now we see the courtship dance of the lions. Notice how... holy shit, that lioness is giving him bedroom eyes. Wait, what's that music? Is... is that Elton John? -later- David Attenborough: As the young lion survives is encounter with the wild mandrill, it takes a moment to reflect by... hold on... hold on, in the sky, is that... is that a fucking ghost? Is that a lion ghost? What the fuck is going on in this savannah?

[lunarloveletters]

Sometimes when you look into yourself, when you peel back the layers, you find something you never expected. Perhaps, you find a way out.

[jamvvvs]

Eclipse reflection and premonitions for autumn/early winter

I have a good feeling about November. Since the summer ended, I feel collectively we’ve been in a whirlpool of tumultuous emotions. Coming down from the high that was the first ‘real’ summer in two years, we hit hard reality as soon as autumn put its foot in the door. Things are ‘back to normal’ and we’re overwhelmed. In hindsight, the retrogrades were a warning sign of this. As retrogrades do, they flagged us to take one thing at a time, that the momentum of summer is gone. Naturally we’re supposed to slow down in this transition anyway. But we kept pushing, and everyone around me felt ‘crazy’ for lack of better words. I thought my own. Schedule would slow down but inside my head time crunched smaller and smaller, leaving me short of breath.

The eclipse came with the new moon, and I think the energy has completely shifted. This was confirmed by my coworker and another acquaintance- they felt it too. November, and I think until the rest of the year, the energy is going to be about settling and preparing for a slow winter. Think cabin in the woods energy, preparing food and chopping fire wood to be benefitted from as the days grow cold. I personally have a debt I am almost done paying and hopefully am wrapping up my book so it can smoothly reach the hands of others in the next year. I am feeling called to hold loved ones close and cherish small moments with them as we begin the descent into winter. I know finding the balance of closure and holding space for people around me with certainly be a challenge, but if I remember to take things one at a time all will go well.

I am also learning to come back to myself. Unfortunately through this tumultuous period I spent too much time on my phone, too much time neglecting health and well-being, my priorities. I started doing yoga everyday again and it feels so good to be back. I am caring more about what I put in my body too. This is all important for the preparations to come of course, but is helping me show up for myself and others in the present now. I deleted the Instagram app off my phone. I’m walking without headphones more. I hope to be actively reading again in the next week, because I’ve neglected that too. I’m coming home, I’m coming home.

*

A spark of action has ignited in me, but I have to be patient. It will catch fire the beginning of next year, I know it. I have to chop the firewood first to feed the fire.

[life-imitates-art-far-more]

Frederick Carl Frieseke (1874-1939) "Reflection (Marcelle)" Oil on canvas Located in the Telfair Museum, Savannah, Georgia, United States

[mediumgayitalian]

prev

———

For a moment there is absolutely nothing. No one moves, no one blinks, no one breathes. The rain stops, sunlight pouring slowly through the dusty room, but no one so much as twitches, cemented in position. Medusa could walk in and stare at them all and no difference would be made. There is nothing but the muffled chatter of the news program, and the sound of Will fracturing.

“—end of the rainy front! Nothing now but sunny days and warm fronts from the south, John, things are looking up —”

There is no sudden break where everyone jumps into movement, hovering over Will, clicking off the TV, running for Chiron. There is only silence. Silence, except the chirping of the birds from outside, hopping around for worms, and the upbeat chatter of the news anchor, and the rustle of Will’s shirt against his shorts as his entire body trembles.

“Will,” Nico says, except his voice is so hoarse he doesn’t say anything at all except a punched out exhale from his own chest.

In his head Nico stands. In his head he is calm, hands steady, voice clear, as he says let’s get to the hospital, as he guides him gently up, as he walks him out. In his head they make their way to Savannah General ask for Naomi’s room and find her recovering. In his head he handles things.

In reality Will makes a gaping, choking sound, like his organs have slithered up his throat and splattered on the floor. Like he has been flipped inverse. It is a sound like bone snapping, like scissors slicing, like thread unravelling fiber by fiber. He bends slowly over, until his knees touch his chest, until his hand-covered face hits the floor; he looks, startlingly, like the Algea, like the Statue of the Woman Grieving, hair curtaining his face, except for the speck of lint on the back of his shirt. A single little speck, that ruins the image. The Statue of the Woman Grieving, plus a speck. A chip.

“Mama,” he chokes out, and Nico flinches, a full, bodied thing.

Mama.

Ozone. Burning; burnt marble, burnt air, burnt flesh. Taste or pennies. Stale, frigid stillness.

Mama.

Father’s shimmering suit, quietly gaping mouth; Bianca’s wide, black eyes, blinking, blinking, blinking.

Mama.

Mama.

Mama.

Will makes the noise again, a horribly grinding groan, as a cry rips itself out of his chest, as air is yanked slowly through his vocal chords like the chain cranked around a tow truck. His eyes stay glued to the TV screen, hands fallen limp and open-palmed in front of him, turned to the heavens. His face is blank but the sounds don’t stop, they pour out of him, steady stream, rusted chain, beating heart. Nausea churns Nico’s stomach and saliva floods his mouth, like it did on the drive to the Lotus, when they passed a Nevadan slaughterhouse. Will sounds like he is being butchered.

“Mama,” he moans again, and this time there is a gag, this time someone jerks, out of the corner of his eye, darts out of the room. Retching echoes follows them, and then, quickly, clotting hooves, practiced and speedy. The doorframe creaks as someone hunches under it, walks through the threshold.

“…Children?” Children, children children; Mama, mamachildren, mothers, babies. “Will? What’s —”

The muscles in Nico’s body contract of their own accord, springing him forward. Upright. Diaphragm up, lungs in; out, inout. Quadriceps contract, release. Again.

“Will,” he tries, and this time it works. His tongue forms the word and it tumbles from his lips, bouncing off the floor, resting somewhere twisted in his hands. “Will, c’mon, I’m taking you to the hospital.”

Will doesn’t actually move. He doesn’t shift or stand. Nico doubts that he can. But he lets Nico manoeuvre him, and manages to put one foot in front of the other as Nico guides them, hand on the small of his back, across the room. Chiron moves back as they approach, and when Nico looks there is something in his eyes, something he has seen twice, now; dancing along the reflection of the pyre’s flame. A simmering kind of grief, a stilted, shut-off beg.

“Kayla,” Nico murmurs, pausing at the door, “Austin, c’mon.”

He doesn’t wait for them to move, but hears them, joints creaking along with the couch, footsteps even and robotic as a metronome following him down the hall, through the meeting room, over the porch. Across the common and to the ancient garage in the back, to the wet gleam of the van.

Will doesn’t make any more sounds.

They pile soundlessly into the van, Kayla and Austin crawling into the back seat, legs hooked at the ankle, fingers clenched until they’re bloodless. Nico settles against the threadbare driver’s seat and adjusts the rearview before he realizes that Will hasn’t moved; stands rigid, hands twitching in front of him, one shoe sliding slowly into a mud puddle.

Nico climbs nimbly across the dash, pushing the passenger door open and staring, for a moment, at Will. His mouth moves, ever so slightly, but the blankness hasn’t shifted from his face, and staring into his eyes makes Nico feel like he’s small in the dead centre of the Grand Canyon. Like there is nothing for miles ahead of him but empty air and the memory of rushing water.

“C’mon,” he says quietly.

Will does not move. His shoe slips, slightly forward, and he jerks along without, knee slamming into the dented metal of the door. Kayla flinches.

Nico pushes the door open again and stretches out as far as his arms will let him, fingertips brushing Will’s knuckles. With a tug he has him stumbling forward, barely catching himself on the seat, twisting by memory alone to situate himself properly. His head dips, low, like a wind-up toy rattling to its end, like a marionette drooping from behind the final curtain. Austin untangles himself from the back, reaching over and stretching the seatbelt around his brother, clicking it into place. He holds his hand there, waiting a beat, before shifting it to rest over Will’s.

“We’ll figure it out,” he whispers. “I brought — some salves.”

Nico chokes back a sudden and violent sob. He is reminded, right then, that Austin is eleven years old. He is also reminded that Will was eleven, the first time he lost.

He peels down the hill fast enough the whole car jerks, and speeds onto the road.

———

next

[teddyfalls]

WHY WON’T YOU BE MY GIRL? — conrad fisher

PAIRING. conrad fisher x conklin!reader

SYNOPSIS. conrad asks you to go to the beach with him late at night so that he can teach you to surf and things lead elsewhere.

WARNINGS. fluff but angst if you squint, ooc conrad, shy reader, fem!reader (implied), you/yours pronouns used

WORD COUNT. 1.1k

TEDDY TALKS. hi!! this is my first fic posted on here so i hope you guys enjoy it. it’s also dedicated to my best friend and the moon to my sun <3

masterlist. | who i write for. | divider credit: @cafekitsune

this fic is based on “why won’t you be my girl?” by william hinson.

THE NIGHT HAD FALLEN FASTER than you had fallen in love. It wasn’t a new thing by any means—anything Conrad did made you fall even more head-over-heels for him, even if that was near impossible. But tonight, it felt different. It felt like the love had come anew.

“Are you coming then?”

Even his voice sounded like honey. A perfect melody mixed intermittently with the midnight wind, like his voice was made to make you fall in love with him right then and there.

“To the beach?”

You ask, wondering why on Earth he was asking you to come to the beach with him at nine at night, just days after you’d gotten to Cousins. Conrad had been in a far better mood, that lovely light-bringing smile on his face, his past teasing demeanour at its full potential. Yet something still felt… off with him. Like something was toying with his mind, but you didn’t want to ask. Didn’t want to ruin his mood.

“Yeah, the beach. Obviously. Do you— d’you not want to come?”

There was a hesitance in his words that you wanted to point out, but your mind didn’t dwindle on it for too long.

However, you did stay silent for a moment, causing him to tilt his head to the side in mere confusion. It didn’t take him long to figure out that you had sensed the hesitation within his voice, and his eyes softened their glare.

He rested his hands against the smooth side of his surfboard, which was completely light blue in colour and reflected the moonlight against its surface.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to. I just thought it’d be nice to offer, you know? Take you surfing like you asked last summer.”

That brings a smile back on your face.

He remembered.

You nod rather eagerly, and he smiles back—all teeth and lips, a complete sure smile that never faltered. It made you so glad to see him like this, no darkness behind those eyes, just a sparkle in them. A sparkle that only seemed to appear when he was with you.

—

It took you both only a couple of minutes to get down to the beach, the wind running through your hair making Conrad’s look rather neat compared to yours. It made him laugh quietly watching you spin against the weight of the wind to try and get it out of your face.

He stopped just before the crux of the ocean, where it swam up against the shore and licked the sand with its cold waters. He wanted to actually try to teach you before you got in the water, knowing it’d be safer for you that way (and knowing Steven would have his head if he put you in harm’s way).

As he planted his surfboard in the ground beside him, he held a hand out for yours.

“Oh? You want this?” You say with a laugh. “You’ll have to come and get it!”

And with that you took off, running down the beach and kicking your sliders off on the way, looking back at him.

He laughed wholeheartedly, yelling as he watched you run off.

“There’s no way I’m running!”

Even though it was dark—being nighttime and the time when you would usually be watching a movie with your mother and Savannah—you could still see his face lighting up with not just the moonlight, but with a happiness that you hadn’t seen in a long time. Happiness that you knew no matter what that he deserved more than anything.

Despite his words, the moment you’d stopped to turn around to see if he was following, he took off too, running after you with sand kicking up behind his feet.

He managed to catch up with you quick enough, hands reaching for yours blindly as the moon hid behind a cloud for a second. The moment he touched you, you’d dropped the surfboard you were holding and let it clatter to the ground as the moon came back out, coating you both in a glittery shimmer of moonlight. His hands were still clasping around your wrists when you moved one of your hands to manoeuvre the hair from his eyes, wanting to see that sparkle in a closer proximity.

“C—“ you began, but he cut you off.

“I think I caught you.” He says, breathlessly. Practically panting into your face, his eyes search yours, that smile on your face fading to something of a miniature grin. A knowing one.

“Yeah?” You whisper lightly.

“Yeah.” He mutters back, eyes flicking momentarily to your lips. His hands flex around your wrists, letting them go once his mind had returned to what he was actually doing.

Looking like he had more to say than just simply that, he gulps. Your Conrad—the boy you’d liked since, well, forever had you wrapped around his finger. Yet he was the shy one.

“I wanted to, ahem, ask something,” he manages to get out, a cough between his words, voice still low in the moonlight as he starts to make space between you, all too well conscious of the minimal amount of it from beforehand.

“Ask away, Conrad. I’m here.” You say, voice equally as quiet, if not more.

“Why won’t you be with me?”

You look extremely confused, so he presses on.

“Why won’t you be my girl?”

With that the proximity between you immediately minimises again, his breath fanning against your face in quick, short intervals. You look into his eyes, almost pleading him to say something, to break the silence before you have to do it yourself.

The hands by his sides move, almost in slow motion, but then it’s as if fireworks explode in your mind and you can’t help but let your body move without willing it to do so, letting your body have a pure mind of its own as you move even closer to him. He lets your bodies easily become one, hands coming up to cup your face as if it’s second nature.

Then he’s pressing his lips against yours and it's like nothing else in the world exists anymore. The more he tilts your chin up into his the more he smiles, and you smile too, and those fireworks feel like they’ll never cease to exist.

You’re the one to break it. Break the silence and the kiss, panting rugged breaths as his hand moves a strand of your hair from your eyes, just as you had done for him.

“I will.” You whisper, holding onto his wrists now.

“I will be your girl, Conrad.”

⌗ teddyfalls

[savannahsdeath]

hi Savannah!!! was thinking abt this idea for a while and thought that your amazing writing would so do it justice. maybe popular Ellie! x loser-ish s/o and they’re going to prom together. readers parents or Joel (whoever’s house they’re at) could be taking pictures and commenting on how cute they look together. after they end up going to prom and they’re so happy and cute with each other. maybe some angst where like someone’s makes fun of readers dress or something. they could be like jealous of reader since she’s kind of a loser and Ellie’s more on the popular side, idk. do whatever u want. bye!!!

POPULAR!ELLIE WILLIAMS X READER

warnings: none i think ?? just reader having a mean fake friend;(((

writers note: omg anon i love u !! you and your idea !! i had to stand up and start pacing around my room writing it cus ohmygod .

your dress hugged your figure, the fabric stretching with every movement, clinging to your curves. it shimmered as you walked, catching the light as a slight glimmer. it draped down to just above your ankles, a slit on the side accentuating your legs. you stood in front of a full-body mirror, trying to decide if you should keep your hair down or...

"come on, babe!" ellie shouted from the hallway, quickly making her way to you. "you ready?" she gave you a hug from behind, loosely wrapping her arms around your waist. you stared at her reflection. she, obviously, wasn't wearing a dress but a white, formal shirt decorated by a messily tied tie, probably stolen from joel. and somehow, she still looked so attractive.

she spun you around, pressing her lips to yours with a light hum. "i hate these little school parties." she admitted, still standing suspiciously close to you. "but at least i get to see you in pretty dresses."

you smiled, fixing her tie before tugging on it and turning around to walk away. she followed you everywhere like a puppy, tangling your fingers together anytime she had the chance to.

"i'd rather stay home." you agreed with a slight shrug.

she filled her glass with water, not letting go of your hand as she drank. "and what would we do?"

as she finished, you took the glass out of her hand and put it in the dishwasher, knowing she wouldn't do it herself. "i'm sure we'd come up with something."

you heard someone clearing their throat, making you slightly jump. it was joel, standing in the doorway, scanning both of you with his firm gaze.

"what do you think?" ellie proudly wrapped her hand around your waist, bringing you as close as possible.

he nodded with a barely noticeable smile. "she looks like a millionaire's wife." he pointed at you with his chin.

you looked down, trying to hide your flushed face.

"well, of course." ellie huffed, her hand stroking your side. "and i'm the millionaire."

"hell no." he immediately shook his head. "you're just a random homeless man." you giggled and she immediately gave you a disappointed look, as if to judge you for finding joel's taunting funny.

"homeless men have good style." she rolled her eyes, before adding a; "sometimes", and slowly guiding you to the living room.

"hey, kiddo, you know i'm kidding." joel's smile widened. "you both look great."

she mumbled a quiet; "whatever", though you could tell it reassured her, so you turned to joel and mouthed a silent thanks to him, knowing ellie would be in a bad mood for the next few hours if he wouldn't take his silly insult back.

joel wouldn't let go so easily, trailing after you with his phone covered in the, typical dad's, flip case. he raised it, telling you to pose.

"joeel—" ellie whined. "we had a deal, no pics."

you laughed, playfully nudging her. joel frowned, still focusing his camera on you. "your girlfriend's parents would definitely want to see how you look." he insisted, but she persistently shook her head. he managed to stealthily take a few photos of you both, smirking as if he just did the most illegal cheat ever.

"how do you feel now, ellie?" he asked, shooting a video.

"what do you mean?" she frowned, though it wasn't visible on the camera, since she didn't bother to turn around.

"you know, you're growing up." he shrugged. "you probably want to move out."

she was propping herself against the countertop, suddenly stopping doodling something in her diary. "what did you just say?" she turned around, seeing joel catching her reaction on the camera.

he laughed and stopped recording, sharing a chuckle with you. "just kidding, just kidding, no need to stress. it's not like i'm kicking you out."

"yeah, i fucking hope so." she muttered, looking away with an annoyed expression.

joel huffed, though the amusement was still palpable in his tone. "language." he warned with a toothy smile.

⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

"i'm not into girls, but jesus-" a voice from one of the bathroom cabins sighed. even though you couldn't tell who said it, you felt the admiration in the girl's voice.

you and ellie sat on the windowsill, listening to their conversation. overhearing wasn't fair, but how could you miss out on something like that? they were talking about your girlfriend, after all.

"and her girl—" someone added, but the previous girl mockingly laughed. "c'mon now. she's all right, but out of ellie's league." another mocking laugh. "and somehow, they're still together." "i dunno, maybe she's rich." rich? so people think ellie's with you because you pay her for affection? "i just don't believe in the good personality bullshit. and it definitely aren't the looks either." the voice continued.

you heard the sound of glasses hitting one another, as if raising a toast, though it was probably an accident. hiding in the bathroom to drink and talk shit, how mature.

"she's just as fine as ellie!" someone's annoyed voice rang out. "you're tasteless as fuck if you really believe what you're saying. now," another bang of bottles, "drink up." the voices took a break to down their glasses, before the argument continued. "okay, i admit, no one's better than williams, but still—" "no fucking way. m' not hearing you out!" another pause, way shorter this time. "oh, hey, sorry for talking like that about her. i forgot— you two are friends, aren't you?"

a third voice, one that stayed silent before, spoke up; "no, we're not." you quickly recognised the tone of your best friend, or at least a girl you thought is your best friend - layla. you opened your mouth to shout at her, but ellie brought you closer to her, gently covering your lips to keep you quiet. meanwhile, layla continued; "i don't know what ellie sees in her, either."

your eyes immediately watered up and your puffy lips trembled against your lover's hand. she pulled you closer to her, stroking your hair and planting little kisses on your forehead or nose. you sniffled, but the hiding girls didn't seem to hear it.

suddenly, one of them - the meanest one - started excitedly squealing; "look who texted me!! look, look!" you could see the dim light of phone screen from the gap above the floor. they packed their things, slowly spilling out of the cabin. and, well, when they finally noticed you and ellie, she had her lips persistently pressed against yours, making them freeze. she pulled away and stood up, giving them a nonchalant look. "hi, girls." she winked, extending her hand for you. you dragged her out of the bathroom, and when you were finally out of the girls' sight, you burst out laughing.

ellie smiled, though your sudden joy seemed weird to her, and her eyebrows knitted together in confusion. "what?"

without answering, you continued tugging on her hand, letting go only when you were at the dance floor. you wrapped your hands around her neck as she placed hers on your waist, still surprised by your actions.

you rocked back and forth to whatever song was playing now, thinking of how to explain your reaction to ellie.

eventually, you just softly chuckled again. "i love you, els."

her frown disappeared, replaced by a look of pure affection she felt towards you. "i love you too."

she brought you closer to her by the grip she had on your hips, and your arms slowly withdraw, stopping when your hands reached her cheeks, cupping her face. you shared a long, slow, passionate, but most importantly - real kiss. you forgot about all the people surrounding you and focused on her tongue, which softly lapped against yours.

[cursedcola]

You know, I really like how Yana has a different “Yuu” for each chapter in the TWST manga.

I hadn’t a moment to truly look at it until now - but I feel like the story is perfect for an alternate reality theme. The only way any Yuu would be able to ‘fix’ every problem would be if they were some kind of Mary Sue or shounen protag.

I love how each Yuu is reflective of the Dorm leaders. Of *course* the Heartslabyul chapter is going to have a strong, buff, very jock-like Yuu. That’s the complete foil of who Riddle is. Not to mention how it’s reflective of the Dorm’s rambunctiousness.

And *of course* Savanaclaw’s Yuu is a woman. Women are powerful and respected in the Sunset Savannah. Leona’s more likely to listen to a female Yuu, and most of the students in his dorm are strength-oriented that would crumble under the authority of a feminine god.

Then we have Octavinelle’s Yuu - my favorite, personally. He loves food, has a tender heart, and has a bit of chub. Now - yes he’s what Azul fears he will become but *also* I think this Yuu is reflective of Azul’s mother and her ideals. Or at least is the man she was raising Azul to be until his self-hatred began. I feel like most Octavinelle students have a flip side to them, so a Yuu that’s true to himself is perfect for this chapter.

I write my fics similar to this actually - every character has a Yuu in my mind that I think would match them. I don’t just write with one personality for Yuu in my works. Just an example, but the Yuu I place with Deuce is extremely different than the one I put with say Floyd when writing. Both physically and personality wise. It gets a bit wishy-washy since I have to write in 2nd person most of the time, but it’s still there when I’m formulating scenarios. Especially when I write anything that has dialog or flitters into Yuu’s thoughts. This really came out when writing the plot for my game since it’s dialog heavy.

I won’t make it because I’m already doing one game (and I want to move on after this), but there’s some good wiggle room for an alternate reality spinoff using TWST. Like once TWST finishes its main plot, there could definitely be some branching where Yuu has a bit more personality and different routes to go down depending on their chosen dorm.

[probablyasocialecologist]

The only thing we can reasonably infer about social organization among our earliest ancestors is that it’s likely to have been extraordinarily diverse. Early humans inhabited a wide range of natural environments, from coastlands and tropical forest to mountains and savannah. They were far, far more physically diverse than humans are today; and presumably their social differences were even greater than their physical ones. In other words, there is no ‘original’ form of human society. Searching for one can only be a matter of myth-making, whether the resultant myths take the form of ‘killer ape’ fantasies that emerged in the 1960s, seared into collective consciousness by movies like Stanley Kubrick’s 2001: A Space Odyssey; or the ‘aquatic ape’; or even the highly amusing but fanciful ‘stoned ape’ (the theory that consciousness emerged from the accidental ingestion of psychedelic mushrooms). Myths like these entertain YouTube watchers to this day.

We should be clear: there’s nothing wrong with myths. Likely as not, the tendency to make up stories about the distant past as a way of reflecting on the nature of our species is itself, like art and poetry, one of those distinctly human traits that began to crystallize in deep prehistory. And no doubt some of these stories – for instance, feminist theories that see distinctly human sociability as originating in collective child-rearing practices – can indeed tell us something important about the paths that converged in modern humanity. But such insights can only ever be partial because there was no Garden of Eden, and a single Eve never existed.

David Graeber and David Wengrow, The Dawn of Everything

[awkwardbirdsdreaming]

Bird #32 - the emerald starling (LC)

The emerald starling is found in woodlands and lush savannahs in parts of West Africa.

Any iridescent colours you see in birds are not produced by pigments. Instead, teeny tiny structures in the feather reflect the colours we see while 'trapping' other colour wavelengths so they never make into our eyes. In starlings, these structures are made from hollowed out granules that usually hold melanin. So the pigment granules have been repurposed to make these vibrant structural colours instead! (isn't that a great thing nature does? if an old thing isn't working, make it beautiful rather than giving up on it?)

[apocalypse-shuffle]

PENELOPE GARCIA (criminal minds | criminal minds: evolution)

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“As Always” (Penelope Garcia x Fem!Reader)

| You reassure Penelope about her choice in outfit for y’all’s group night out (that’s really a double date) after she gets a little too in her own head about her appearance. As far as you’re concerned though she looks fine…very fine.

| SFW, getting ready, established relationship, the reader-insert is absolutely taken with Penelope (the feelings are mutual)

| Source: Criminal Minds & Criminal Minds: Evolution

| 700+ words

“Are you sure this’s okay? I really don’t want to be one of those women that shows up overdressed to an event on someone else’s big day,” she snaps her fingers, eyes widening behind her wide-rimmed cat-eye glasses, before her hands go back to smoothing nonexistent wrinkles from the skirt of her dress. “Like wearing white to someone else’s wedding— oh my god! Is there too much white on this dress? Do I look like some hack attending a wedding who’s wearing white out of pettiness?”

At the rush of her words you don’t even bat an eye, raising a single brow at the other woman.

“Penelope, Sweet Girl, it’s just the club.”

“Yes, but it’s also Derek and Savannah’s first night away from baby Hank. I don’t want to make it weird by showing up dressed too sexily.”

Penelope wasn’t wrong per say. Savannah had bounced back crazy good after giving birth, only retaining baby fat in ‘all the right places’ according to Derek’s forward ass, but she’d still undeniably transitioned to dressing more like a “mother” than she used to.

Only slim fitting pencil skirts and the occasional maxi length dress for y’all’s girl now.

Where you’re sitting on the edge of the bed in Penelope’s room, and watching her check herself out in the mirror, you don’t stop yourself from running your eyes up and down her body in response to what she’s said.

She’s staring at you when your eyes travel back upwards and her reflection meets your gaze in the mirror.

You grin, throwing her a wink.

“Mm, that’ll be impossible to help. You always look sexy.”

In real time you watch the tips of her ears shift from their usual pale to blush pink to the most poignant of reds.

Penelope laughs and waves you off with a little snort and a, “Stop it.”

“No thank you,” you respond cheekily, pushing yourself to your feet so you can walk over to her.

Once you’re standing directly behind her and you’re able to run your hands down her arms you rest your chin over her shoulder.

Lashes fluttering, she gives you this tender little smile and leans into your hold. You squeeze her wrists then rub your hands up and down her forearms.

In her kitten heels, bright colored corset, and short skater dress and matching jewelry she looks to die for.

You press a kiss to her cheek. You’d happily give a hundred peoples lives to keep that smile on her face. Not that you’d ever tell her that, obviously.

“Now stop worrying. You’ll get nothing but compliments about how cute you are right now from our friends, and you know it.”

She huffs, blonde curls bouncing with her movement and briefly obscuring your sight. You chuckle through the curtain of golden strands before delicately brushing her hair back over her shoulder and pressing yourself even more securely to her back.

“But—”

“Uh uh,” you click your tongue, “Unless you have a legitimate concern then there are no ‘buts’ here, Penny Poo.”

She pouts.

“You suck when you’re right.”

Nodding, you let go of her arms to circle your arms around her waist with a brief squeeze.

“Oh, I know,” you coo and blow a raspberry into her shoulder. “It’s a curse.”

“It’s hot is what it is.”

For a second you're helpless but to choke on your spit, you’ve sucked in such a sharp breath.

“Jesus, fuck, Penelope,” you cough, eyes watering, and back away from her so you can hack into your fist.

Her evil laughter meets your ears just as you’ve cleared your throat and then her soft hands are on you.

She rubs at your back until you're good and meets your eyes the moment you’ve straightened.

“Oh ho no, My Lovely Stunning Woman, you are not getting out of this now. Let me make you swoon like you make me everyday.”

Though it doesn’t show against your darker skin, you flush. “Right?”

“Hell yeah.” She grins then moves her hands so she can cup your face between them both, light hands ever gentle against the dewy brown of your skin. You shiver, blinking at her through your lashes in wonder. “You gonna let me kiss you, Honey?”

“I’d be crazy not to.”

“Yes,” she laughs, “yes you would be.” Then her lips are on yours and every ounce of the world around you that’s not solely narrowed in on your partner falls away.

NOTES: Hope you enjoyed!!!

I figured I’d add to the Pen x Reader cache on here because, why not, I love Penelope’s character. We’ll see how much traction this gets because I can’t even guess.

[mindblowingscience]

Researchers have found evidence that wild savannah elephants in Kenya label each other with specific vocal sounds, which they then use to communicate. The research is not yet peer-reviewed, but if the results can be verified and reproduced, it would make elephants the only known non-human animal to communicate with random names. Bottlenose dolphins can also call to certain individuals by imitating their unique signature whistles, but scientists say this is slightly different from what we humans do. Our names aren't usually based on imitations of unique noises we make ourselves (like Pikachu), but are generally reflections of something more abstract and less tangible, buried in cultural practices and values. It is this arbitrary nature of human naming that now seems to apply to elephants, too.

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[b3achysurfur]

ANALYSISSSS TIMMEEE

Call me a reacher, but actually I’m a preacher. About to make y’all learn this lore like I’m your teacher. I don’t care if you get dreary, y’all gon hear this theory.

I know y’all want the paper crane cult to be evil , but I think it’s the other way around tbh. the cranes probably aren't bad people, they believe what they're doing is correct.

They also have a reason to do what they are doing (or at least they think they do). Not sure exactly what it could be, since non-fastpass literally have crumbs of info on them, but the way I see it is they have a “being mean to be kind” mindset.

Don’t get me wrong, they know turning people into phantoms is a horrible thing to do. They are aware their actions are harmful, both through self-reflection and outside opinions. But I believe their organization is either going to end up being the lesser evil or it’s a selfish sacrifice for a greater goal.

When I say “outside opinions”, I’m referring to the other two groups currently working against (?) the paper crane cult. At least one of these mysterious groups is trying to shut down everything the cranes are doing. The other one’s goal can be anything tbh. They might want to take over, they could know the folklore behind phantoms and are more knowledgeable than the cranes are. Regardless, their interference is obviously not helping the cranes which is why they are in hiding.

Also, since we’re on the topic, I don’t believe the ‘stunt pulled in savannah’ had anything to do with Ashlyn and the main cast. We’ve been told that this isn’t the first time they’ve pulled people into the phantom dimension. So why would something they do constantly be considered a stunt?

The group is experienced enough to be able to predict the physical reactions the main cast’s bodies should be undergoing. But when things don’t go to plan, instead of revising their studies, they automatically understand that the children are anomalies. Them being anomalies is important for my next point.

Let’s go back to the basics. The cults symbol is a black paper crane. Cranes symbolize peace, while paper by itself represents newness, life, and growth. Together, this can be interpreted as a goal for a new era of peace and the recovery/growth of society. This could be the boss trying to come to peace with a situation of his past and his end goal of the phantom research is the only way he can cope/try to solve whatever happened.

But, paper cranes as origami can also be given a meaning. 1000 paper cranes are needed in order to have ONE wish granted. The origins of this belief tie back to prayers for recovery and good health. Which links back to my earlier statements about the goal of the cranes being to help something (society, the boss, a person of the past) recover or improve in health/ability.

Hear me out now. What if, instead of using paper cranes, the crane cult uses humans as their offerings instead? Say they need 1000 experiments in order to make a break through in their research of the phantom world. Remember earlier when I stated the main cast were anomalies? What if they’re experiments 994-1,000? Ashlyn, who fosters the closest connection to the phantom dimension out of everyone else, is the 1,000th person. She’s the specialist one, and she will be the breakthrough the cult had so desperately been searching for.

Going back to the orginally topic of the cult not necessarily being evil, there is honestly an odd amount of symbolism that surrounds the members.

In chapter 44, the boss stands at a window reviewing the situation with a member of the paper cranes. In the window, there is a sparrow sitting on a bare tree. This detail can be overlooking very quickly, but the fact it comes up in 2 panels and is the only thing in the window is odd.

So, after some research, I learned that sparrows are actually a sign of good luck! Furthermore, the sparrow is outside.

A sparrow leaves when a family member has died. People need time to recover after the death of a family member. Given my earlier points, are the dots connecting? Perhaps the boss has recently experienced a death (or someone important to him/he himself is very sick) and he is doing everything he can to restore their health. Even if that means others have to die and suffer in order to save them, or even himself. This would be the selfish goal I was talking about earlier.

Or maybe it’s not just one person who’s sick/dead. Maybe it’s society as a whole? The paper cult wants to save people from their own greed and division and make everyone harmonious and equal.

If everyone became a phantom, war and conflict would cease to exist. From what we’ve seen, the phantoms don’t attack each other. Unless they are working together, they completely ignore each other.

In the case that the cult is attempting to save us from ourselves, than wouldn’t that mean the organization is the ‘lesser evil’ I was talking about before?

The charater designs of paper cult members are also very important to this analysis/theory thing.

I don’t know his name, so I’m gonna call him baldy, but look at his piercings. He has two on his right eyebrow. In some cultures, this represents a rite of passage in someone’s life.

The three stages of a rite of passage of separation, transition, and the return. This process can apply to so many theories and events in sbg that I really don’t know which to pick for this post 😭. To save time, I’ll leave it up to the reader. But I’m always open to hearing everyone’s thoughts on this(even if it doesn’t have anything to do with this post’s specific topic).

Now, let’s look at jasmine. She was the funniest to research lol. Her double piercing is on her right ear. This symbolizes life at jeopardy or the prevention of a disaster. HELLO? This covers literally all of my ealier points in one go.

Her tattoos also are quite interesting to look at too. OKAYY so I’ve seen the theory about how this specific tattoo is actually these biggies and it does make sense. However when I was originally putting this analysis together, no one pointed it out yet, and I went in the opposite direction. It still applies to my connections though so.

Originally I thought this tattoo was a centipede, which symbolize good luck, healing, and energy! All three add onto my ealier points.

I’m not 100% sure what these are but it looks like smoke to me.

There are two different thing smoke can symbolize. It can hide a situation or cloud judgement. The clouded judgement could be the emotion that causes the cult to make their selfish sacrifices or our judgement of the cult and assuming their bad people without context (even though they’re kidnappers 😓). Smoke is also important in artworks and ceremonies that deal with sacrifices. In this case, the human sacrifices being used to further the research/domination of phantoms.

This tattoo of what appears to be a snake wrapped around a dragger or staff represents medicine and rejuvenation. It can also represent overcoming a challenge or fear.

I also find the quote, “snake shed their skin” interesting because in a sense when the humans become phantoms they’re shedding their skin and becoming a new being. Just saying 🤷‍♀️

I’m too lazy to write an ending to this long thread but hopefully you guys see the point I was trying to make. Yes I know I’m reaching but also it makes too much sense and I wanted to share. Anyways feel free to add onto this or disagree with it. I’m curious about other peoples perspectives on this!

[whencyclopedia]

Hausaland

Hausaland, sometimes referred to as the Hausa Kingdoms, was a group of small independent city-states in northern central Africa between the Niger River and Lake Chad which flourished from the 15th to 18th century CE. The origins of the Hausa are not known, but one hypothesis suggests they were a group of indigenous peoples joined by a common language - Hausa - while another theory explains their presence as a consequence of a migration of peoples from the southern Sahara Desert. The cities prospered thanks to local and interregional trade in such commodities as salt, precious metals, leather goods, and slaves. Islam was adopted by many of the rulers and elite of the city-states in the 14th and 15th century CE but was also one of the reasons for their loss of independence when the Muslim Fulani leader Usman dan Fodio (r. 1803-1815 CE) launched a holy war and conquered the region in the early 19th century CE.

Geography & Origins

The name Hausaland derives from the Hausa term Kasar hausa, meaning the 'country of the Hausa language', although the area also included other peoples such as the Tuareg, Fulbe, and Zabarma. The term 'Hausa' was in use only from the 16th century CE as the people called themselves according to which specific city-state or kingdom they belonged to.

Hausaland was located in the Sahel region between the Niger River and Lake Chad in north-central Africa in what is today northern Nigeria. The Sahel is the semi-arid strip of land running across Africa between the Sahara Desert in the north and the Savannah grassland to the south. Hausland, specifically, stretched from the Air mountains (north) to the Jos plateau (south) and from Borno (east) to the Niger Valley (west). This region saw the development of towns by the Hausa-speaking people from 1000 to 1300 CE.

The exact origins of the Hausa cities are not known, but theories include a migration of peoples from the southern Sahara who, abandoning their own lands following the increased desiccation of that area, established new settlements in what would become known as Hausaland. An alternative theory suggests that the Hausa people originally lived on the western shore of Lake Chad and when the lake shrank (as a consequence of the same climatic changes that affected the Sahara) they occupied this new and fertile land and then eventually spread to the immediate north and west. There is as yet, unfortunately, no archaeological evidence to support either of these two theories. As a consequence, there is a third hypothesis, which is that the Hausa had not migrated from anywhere but were indigenous to the region. Support for this theory lies in the fact that there is no tradition of migration in Hausa oral history.

There is, though, a foundation legend, known as the Bayajida or Daura legend, although this probably dates to the 16th century CE and reflects the increased influence of Islam in the region at that time. According to this tradition, Bayajida, a prince from Baghdad, arrived at the court of the ruler of the Kingdom of Kanem (or the Bornu Empire as it became by the 16th century CE). Receiving an unfavourable reception, Bayajida headed eastwards until he came upon the city of Daura. There, the queen and her kingdom were being terrorized by a great snake. Bayajida stepped in and killed the troublesome serpent and promptly married the queen. Together they had a son called Bawogari who then went on to have six sons of his own, each of which became the king of a Hausa city-state. Meanwhile, Bayajida had another son, this time with one of his concubines. This illegitimate son, called Karbogari, had seven sons, and these went on to rule seven other Hausa cities. This story neatly explains how the various cities were established but not, of course, just where Daura and its queen came from.

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[booksandabeer]

A Man Takes His Sadness Down to the River (The Consolation of Philosophy) (E | 150 K)

To celebrate the completion of the fourth & final part Lost Vocabularies that Might Express (The Memory of These Broken Impressions) in this wonderful series by dorian_burberrycanary.

Author's summary: The worst of times, like the best, are always passing away. How’s that for some consolation on the road? A post-The Falcon and The Winter Soldier Stucky fix-it as part of the all-American road trip, detours included.

Follow Steve and Bucky on their Great American Road Trip as they drive and eat their way across the country and beyond. From the beaches of the Jersey Shore to the graveyards of Savannah, from the cragged horizons of Mexico to deserts with (small) volcanoes, from college campuses to earthship settlements, from the mountains of Colorado to the monumental emptiness of the Great Plains and on and on and on…there is always more road ahead.

A Man Takes... is a miracle of a series that works with what should be an unworkable premise: Steve really did leave to go live in the past. He returned a few months later, yes, but he still made that choice. Knowingly. So, how can any author, any story, rectify such a colossal mistake, and how can it be reconciled with a believable, satisfying romance that short-changes neither Steve nor Bucky? Like this. With patience, and care, and often painful honesty. Just like Steve, this story slowly digs itself out from under the burden of that terrible decision.

I know that some people are very reluctant or even outright refuse to read EG-compliant fics and I understand why this might be a tough sell for them. Believe me, I do. But this series manages to neither let Steve off the hook for his choices nor does it punish him excessively. Instead, Steve and the readers are repeatedly confronted with the fact that there are no magical solutions here, no take-backs—it’s a fix-it, yes, and very much a Stucky fic through and through, but it’s not a fix-it fantasy where in the end everything turns out to have been an unfortunate misunderstanding after all. What's done is done and the only way out is through. But. even if you usually prefer to ignore anything that happened post-[insert preferred point of canon divergence here], please, please try to give this absolute marvel of a series a chance. It is genuinely one of the most rewarding and satisfying works I've ever read in this fandom. It's catharsis in slow motion.

You will find descriptive writing here that is so incredibly beautiful that it will bring you to your knees in awe. This series transcends fanfiction in many ways, as it stands out for the remarkable quality of the prose and the nuance, subtlety, and precision with which it explores both the emotional landscapes of its protagonists and a fictionalized, yet very recognizable post-Snap America. At the same time, it could only ever work as fanfiction because it stays so close to the characters and is so deeply rooted in and filtered through Steve’s inner life and perspective. Just like the real Steve Rogers, this story is smart and curious, and deeply empathetic towards its characters and the world they inhabit.

Every detail is imbued with meaning. The food Steve and Bucky eat. The clothes they wear. The art they look at. The books they read. The music they listen to. The places they stay at. The landscapes they drive through and the objects they carry with them or acquire along the way. One doesn't need to understand or even notice all of the references, allusions, or ambiguities to enjoy the series, but it makes for such a rewarding reading experience to really dig deep into the many, many layers the author has so expertly assembled into this phenomenally rich text. More often than not in this fic, the curtains aren’t just blue. Or rather, Bucky’s sweatpants aren’t just gray.

At some point amidst this sprawling, reflective journey, a bittersweet realization sets in: There simply is no compensation for the time and life lost, for the pain suffered. No money, no medals or statues, no hagiographies, and certainly no delusional pipe dreams forcibly made real, will ever make up for all that loss. You can't outrun your past, but that doesn't mean you should bury yourself in it. And maybe, solace can be found in mutual understanding, not just between these two men, but in interactions, in shared community—however fleeting—with ordinary people doing ordinary things in their ordinary lives. And in the beauty of the mundane and the relief that there still is a world in which such beauty can exist, even though it is so often a cruel and unjust place. Steve Rogers finally allows himself to feel his feelings: his grief and his shame, but also his joy and—even though he’s already so very tired—his hunger for more. More time, more life, more Bucky.

This series is a wonderful tribute to Steven Grant Rogers—an honest and affectionate portrayal of this compelling and lovable, if at times difficult, character. It is also a gorgeous, intricate love letter to the miracle of a man that is James Buchanan Barnes. As you can probably tell by now, I love it a totally not normal amount.

A most heartfelt thank you to @burberrycanary for taking us all along on Steve and Bucky's long journey across America and (back) to each other. Thank you for letting us sit in the back seat and watch as they learn to love and live with each other in old and new ways, finally find some measure of well-deserved rest and peace, and, together, face their greatest challenge, their longest fight, the eternal question:

How to live with all this survival?