#to prevent unintentional leading on

[you-can-face-this]

thinking about how my situationship that i ended & was supposed to be friends with asked if we could still cuddle sometimes and promised he wouldn’t ask for more & that he’d give me 15% equity of his startup if he broke the promise asdfja;sdfjka;sd and at first i was offended he’d be so quick to throw away our friendship but also? 

[genericpuff]

All That Glitters is Not Feminism - An Analysis of LO's Brand of "Feminism" and What Remains of its Fanbase (A Prologue)

So I referenced a certain article in a recent reblog/ask response and I just need to talk about it because what the actual fuck-

This has to have been written by either a bot or a hater who's reached peak god tier level at playing the long con sarcasm game because NOTHING about this feels sincere or even factual. Much of it almost has to be read in a mocking tone for it to make any real sense.

It says "Lore Olympus" (literally in quotations) in just about every single paragraph over and over again and every single talking point revolves EXCLUSIVELY around Persephone, which I suppose comes as no surprise considering that seems to be all the comic - and its fanbase - cares about at this point.

I really love (/s) how Persephone's "evolution" is being naive and then 'blossoming' into an independent woman who relies entirely on the rich man who groomed her to solve all her problems.

Also all she's done since becoming Queen of the Underworld is abuse lower class people. That's the stuff feminist dreams are made of <3

While we're talking about the main leads, "poster child" is definitely a word for Hades, I think a more appropriate term would be "literal child". And boy howdy, 'god of consent' sure is a title to give the guy who ripped out a lower class satyr's eyeball and beat him half to death.

This man owns slaves, btw. And both he and his "powerful wife" are equally horrible to lower class people, especially women.

This is hands-down the funniest section of the article and we're only three bullet points in.

Thetis and Persephone have never even so much as spoken one word to each other outside of the courtroom that Thetis technically put her in after plotting against her for an entire season.

Eros is a man. Nothing wrong with that but it comes with the unintentional icky hilarity of implying that because Eros is the gay best friend, that means he's a woman.

They literally don't read this fucking comic-

Everyone always relies on this weird talking point of Demeter not being able to "let Persephone go"... y'all, she just didn't want Persephone to outright move to Olympus, she wanted her to commute. That was it! That was literally the only problem! She wasn't preventing Persephone from pursuing a higher education or telling her she wasn't allowed to work, she literally fucking encouraged it! And with the added later context of Persephone killing a bunch of mortals - and, ironically, the fact that Persephone was assaulted/put in harm's way by TWO SEPARATE MEN in the first two days of her time in Olympus - yeah, I don't blame Demeter for not wanting her daughter to move cold turkey actually LOL

Also hilarious that they claim Rachel has turned "tradition" into "innovation" when the only thing she's managed to do is set back modern feminism in her young adult readers by 80 years and re-establish misogynist brainwashing in her adult ones. Rachel, your fanbase was literally shipping a victim of abuse with her abuser just a few days ago.

oh boy this is uh

this is some cult shit ngl

and the "rewriting the script of Greek mythology" part is VERY concerning knowing what we know about Lore Olympus and who it was written by. This is literally cultural appropriation, full stop, and it exists because Lore Olympus - and works like it, made by people like Rachel - exists.

I can't even commit to the original theory that this was written by a bot because it all feels very pointed and intenetional. This is being written by someone who, at the very least, REALLY sucks at media analysis and writing, because the entire article is just "Lore Olympus, buzzword, Lore Olympus, buzzword, buzzword, Lore Olympus", it's like a white knight incantation for guilty virtue signallers who have zero clue what they're talking about. And at worst, yes, it's appropriation from someone who doesn't mind taking a culture's stories and myths and promoting their erasure by people outside of the culture like Rachel.

And that's it, that's literally the article lmao

*EDIT: There was a section here before addressing the writer of the article from a very opinionated POV that, while isn't unusual for what I do here, did feel necessary to remove after I was contacted by the article writer who addressed the flaws in their original article and is now seeking to correct them with revisions/an article rewrite. So I felt it only fair as a compromise to at least remove that section as it really doesn't have a whole lot to do with this post as a whole and can be removed without entirely ruining the flow of this analysis. If/when that article is rewritten, I'll be revisiting this post and my overall analysis !

And honestly, it's all really telling, because this does accurately reflect the state of the LO fanbase.

Not only do many of the people who defend this comic like it's their job not pick up on the blatant misogynist tones that are going on in its narrative (I can't even call them "undertones" anymore, they're no longer that subtle) but whether or not they even read the comic at all is up for debate with how much stuff they tend to get wrong in their own arguments and justifications. And this is something that's VERY regularly seen in the fanbase discussions, readers will constantly be unaware of things that happened because they skimmed through it at lightning speed just to see if Hades and Persephone kiss and so they can get the top comment on Webtoons so they can be "ahead of the fanbase". It's no wonder that Rachel has gotten used to getting away with retconning things because her fanbase didn't even read what she established the first time.

Rachel's fanbase was literally defending the romance ship of an abuser and his victim on the newest FP episode preview. When that FP episode came out two nights ago and Hera said, point blank, that he didn't love her but abused her, I could only think of that portion of the fanbase who was very audibly simping over Kronos in the IG comment section. Are they actually having their moment of shameful clarity now? Or are they just gonna move the goalposts and pretend that didn't happen?

I don't want to say anything bad about Shelby here because she really seems like she's fighting for her life on this site that she's trying to get off the ground, but a lot of her other articles also come across as very one-note while being peppered with buzzwords that make it seem like what she's talking about is "progressive" when it really isn't. Case in point, Lessons in Chemistry has been commonly criticized for not actually appealing to the demographic that its Mary Sue-ish main character is supposed to represent - women in STEM career fields.

I've said it before, and I'll say it again: Lore Olympus is not 'feminism', it's white feminism that is designed to appeal to predominantly heterocis white women who think the solution to misogyny is to willingly submit to it and accept the status quo - that it's "empowering" if the woman is smiling and having all her needs paid for by a man. Sure, I can accept that different women will be looking for different relationship dynamics, some women genuinely are happy being in a relationship where they support their husbands first and foremost. But can that truly be called feminism? Or is the real feminism the choices we make along the way that we should be given the freedom to make?

It says a lot about the folks who tend to regularly prop up LO on a pedestal like this as some "revolution in feminism" despite the contrary after spending more than just 30 seconds skimming the attention-grabbing art, and Shelby is just one of many. She's not the worst of the bunch, though.

That goes to someone else who I want to give proper light to in their own essay. Someone who definitely earned a good stern talking-to this past week and has, thankfully, had consequences dished out to her for her horrible actions towards queer POC writers.

If you know, you know. If you don't, buckle up.

[ghostvibesonly]

“deep down you hide a reason for shame”

Eurylochus shameful that he’s the one who opened the bag while Odysseus was asleep. Odysseus hiding the fact he knew what would happen in Scylla’s lair.

“deep down you know that we are the same”

Eurylochus wanting to escape Circe’s island with Odysseus and leave the rest of the crew behind, letting them die by being eaten as pigs. Odysseus leading six men to their deaths by intentionally handing out six torches. Scylla has six heads

“leaving them feeling betrayed, breaking the bonds that you’ve made”

Eurylochus betraying Odysseus as a second in command (and friend) by openly doubting him and opening the bag when expressly told not. Odysseus breaking Eurylochus’s trust as a captain by leading his crew to the lair and sacrificing six men, six friends, one of them being Eurylochus (until another member of the crew pushes him out of the way and sacrifices themself)

“there is no price we won’t pay”

Odysseus pays the price of Eurylochus choosing to mutinize (and kill the cow) in an attempt to save himself and the crew (the latter although reckless and basically an unintentional death sentence being done so they all wouldn’t starve). Eurylochus (and the crew) pays the price of Odysseus choosing to save himself when Zeus arrives.

“we both know what it takes to survive”

Interestingly, during the mutiny Eurylochus and the crew chose not to kill Odysseus (at least not in the moment) and even bandaged his wounds that they inflicted while he was unconscious to prevent him from bleeding out. In that moment, they chose to show mercy. However, there is no mercy on Odysseus’s end when Zeus tells him to make a choice. There is only ruthlessness done out of desperation, as the only person Odysseus chooses to show mercy to is himself.

Both know exactly what it takes to survive, as Odysseus voice shakes with despair knowing what he’s about to do while Eurylochus, soundly sadly resigned, accepts his fate. There is a brother’s final stand coming to its end and both know it. And they know only one of them will make it out alive

[marzipanandminutiae]

I'm pulling you back onstage, what's this about the dangers of white lead makeup being known already at the time it was used?

They were!

Giovanni Paolo Lomazzo, writing in 1598. For anyone who's struggling with the typeface (spelling preserved):

OF CERUSSE, AND THE EFFECTS thereof. The Ceruse, or white lead, which women use to better their complexion, is made of lead and vineger; which mixture is naturally a great drier; and is used by the Chirugions [surgeons] to drie up moiste sores. So that those women which use it about their faces, doe quickly become withered and gray-headed, because this doth so mightely drie up the naturall moysture of their flesh. And if any give not credite to my reporte; let them but observe such as have used it, and I doubt not but they will easily bee satisfied.

That's putting it mildly- ceruse could also cause skin peeling, hair loss, paralysis, seizures, organ damage, a host of other symptoms, and even death. But still, they were at least aware that it was Not GoodTM, and it's possible other sources I haven't read more accurately stress the gravity of the danger. Certainly it was known to be deadly by the 18th century, when the death of 27-year-old socialite Maria Gunning, Countess of Coventry was ascribed to her alleged use thereof. (I've never seen proof of this, and it's important to remember that as an Irishwoman, she may have faced undue hostility in English high society- and had very light skin naturally).

It's also difficult to trace just how popular ceruse even was, because less harmful forms of white face paint and powder also existed. One could speculate that this woman or that used ceruse, but nobody did a survey of such things. It was definitely real- cosmetic white lead tablets have been found dating as far back as ancient Greece -but whether it was the Sephora foundation of its day or the BBL (ie a dangerous beauty aid that a few devotees turned to but most eschewed) cannot truly be known.

By the 19th century, ceruse makeup had passed completely out of use as far as I know. Its legend grew as a cautionary tale on the dangers of vanity; the "fact" that Queen Elizabeth I used it was repeated over and over until it became common- if totally unsupported -knowledge. They had arsenic complexion wafers in the latter half of the 1800s- although one brand much advertised in the US was tested by contemporary scientists and found to be mostly lactose with only tiny amounts of arsenic or none at all, so cost-cutting entrepreneurs may have accidentally prevented illness or death. IF the wafers were popular at all, which once again remains unknown- certainly few letters and diaries I'm aware of mention them, if any.

(Interestingly, there's an echo of Maria Gunning's legend in Victorian newspaper stories about socialites "enameling," or applying a plaster-like layer of semi-permanent toxic makeup to their faces. Enameling was alleged to be undetectible but It's Definitely There; Trust Us; A Friend Of A Friend Of Alva Vanderbilt's Cousin's Underbutler Said, etc. This is similarly lacking in any solid evidence; recipes for a product called "enamel" do exist in period texts, but it always seems to be more akin to liquid foundation today, and I've personally only seen one such preparation containing lead. Many even included zinc oxide, which might have provided some unintentional SPF.)

[deliciousangelfestival]

Tears In His Ferrari || Chp 9 - B.Barnes

Character: Bucky Barnes x Farmer!Reader

Summary: Bucky Barnes, used to a life of luxury, takes on farm challenges in a bet with his father. Mud-stained Ferraris and a rustic farmhouse lead to unexpected personal growth, guided by the stern mentorship of Y/N, a farmer making his city-boy life difficult.

Theme: Fluff, Slice of Life, Heart-Warming.

Main Masterlist || If you enjoy my work, please consider buying me a coffee on: Ko-fi

Thank you to anyone who gave a like, reblog, and left a comment. It motivated me to write more. 

Chapters: Chp 1, Chp 2, Chp 3 , Chp 4 , Chp 5 , Chp 6 , Chp 7 , Chp 8 , Chp 9 , -Chp 10 , Chp 11 , Chp 12.

Bucky, noticing the strained atmosphere between Kate and Y/N, decided to take matters into his own hands.

"Hey, Y/N," Bucky interjected, his voice laced with a hint of urgency, "could you teach me how to clean Alpine's hooves?"

Y/N paused, her expression softening as she recognized Bucky's attempt to diffuse the tension. "Of course," she replied, offering him a reassuring smile.

With a sense of relief washing over him, Bucky led the way to the stables, eager to learn from Y/N and escape the brewing conflict with Kate.

Meanwhile, Kate seethed with frustration, her hostility towards Y/N palpable. Clenching her fists, she struggled to contain her anger as she watched Bucky and Y/N walk away, leaving her behind.

"Shit!" she muttered under her breath, her perfectly manicured nails leaving indentations on her palms as she pressed them tightly together.

Turning to her assistant, Kate issued a terse command. "I want you to gather information on someone."

Kate couldn't fathom how Bucky could abandon her for a mere farm girl when there were plenty of wealthy suitors vying for her attention. The thought fueled her irritation, exacerbating her already sour mood.

With a frustrated huff, Kate stomped her expensive shoes on the ground, unwittingly stepping into a patch of mud. The dirt splattered across her face, staining her clothes and ruining her pristine footwear.

"Fuck!" she exclaimed, her outburst startling the nearby animals, who responded with their own cacophony of sounds.

As the chickens clucked "Buk-buk-ba-gawk!!!" and the cows mooed, "Moooo…!" Kate felt a surge of indignation. She despised the rural setting and everything it represented, longing for the comfort and luxury of her city life.

Determined to uncover any secrets Y/N might be hiding, Kate hoped that the information her assistant obtained would give her the leverage she needed to regain control of the situation.

***********

At the stable, Bucky observed closely as Y/N expertly cleaned Alpine's hooves. Her movements were precise and confident, a testament to her familiarity with the task.

She explained, her voice calm and knowledgeable, “Regular cleaning is also the only way to remove impacted dirt, mud, and manure from the hoof. When you give your horse a bath, take the time to carefully clean out their hooves to prevent horse scratches and infections.”

Bucky nodded attentively, absorbing her instructions. “I see. I'll try my best to take care of Alpine.”

Y/N smiled approvingly. “Good. You're getting better at living on this farm.”

Bucky felt a flush of shyness at her compliment. He hadn't expected Y/N to praise him. “Hehe, but I'm nothing compared to you.”

As she brushed Alpine's coat, Y/N chuckled softly. “Well, I'm already used to this. If you asked me to drive a sports car or make a vlog, I wouldn't have a clue.”

Bucky's curiosity piqued. “You've never driven a sports car?”

Y/N rolled her eyes playfully. “Not everyone is as rich as you.”

Realizing his unintentional insensitivity, Bucky hurriedly apologized. “Uhh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean it that way.”

Then, an idea struck him. “Do you want me to teach you?”

Bucky said, "You have taught me how to drive a truck. It's more difficult than driving my Ferrari. I think you can do it."

Y/N paused, considering his offer. Bucky couldn't see her expression from his angle. “Hmm, I'll pass, but thanks for the offer.”

Disappointed but understanding, Bucky nodded. He had hoped to share the thrill of driving a sports car with Y/N, to give her a glimpse of his world, and understand his passion for racing.

Suddenly, Toby burst into the stable, his usually cheerful face now drawn with worry. “Y/N, Bucky, I need to go home!”

Concern etched across his features, Bucky approached. "What's wrong?"

“My grandmother,” Toby gasped, his voice trembling. “She's having a hard time breathing.”

Y/N wasted no time. “Get in my car, and I'll call the doctor on the way.”

Bucky, feeling a surge of determination, stepped forward. “I want to help.”

Y/N hesitated, considering Bucky's offer. “It won't fit since we're going to pick up both his grandparents.”

But Bucky wasn't deterred. “I'll use my car. It's faster. I'll meet you at Toby's house and then drive his grandma to the hospital.”

Y/N nodded, seeing the logic in Bucky's plan. “Alright.”

With determination in his eyes, Bucky hurried to his red Ferrari and fired up the engine.

"VROOM!"

The roar of the Ferrari's powerful motor sent a thrill through him. “Let's help someone,” he declared, gripping the steering wheel tightly.

As they drove towards Toby's house, Bucky followed Y/N's truck, his mind racing with thoughts. He couldn't help but marvel at Toby's resilience, realizing that the young boy had been walking to and from the farm every day.

Bucky remembered Toby, who never seemed tired each time he came by.

He felt like all his life he had the privilege to own a car and have a private driver to drive him around.

Arriving at Toby's house, Bucky took in the scene before him—the abundance of bee boxes and honey jars, a testament to the family's livelihood. Yet, despite their hard work, they lacked the resources and transportation in times of emergency.

Feeling a pang of guilt, Bucky reflected on his life of luxury, provided by his father's wealth.

Entering the house, Bucky saw Toby's grandparents. The love between them was palpable, even in their moment of distress. Toby's grandmother struggled to breathe, her frail form supported by her husband.

Bucky sprang into action with urgency, lifting Toby's grandmother gently into his arms.

Toby's grandfather regarded Bucky with curiosity who carried his wife into the small car. “Who is this young man?”

Toby assured him, “He's my great friend. Trust him, grandpa.”

As they hurried Toby's grandmother into Bucky's car, Toby's grandfather's eyes reflected both worry and gratitude, hoping for the best for his beloved wife.

With minimal traffic on the road, Bucky navigated the streets swiftly, arriving at the hospital in just 10 minutes. Carrying Toby's grandmother into the emergency room, he conveyed the urgency of her condition to the attending doctor. "She's having a hard time breathing. It's been 20 minutes."

The medical team, already briefed by Y/N, sprang into action, swiftly preparing a bed for the elderly woman. "Quick, put her here," they instructed, their sense of urgency matching Bucky's own.

As he received updates upon his arrival, Bucky prayed for Toby's grandmother's swift recovery. The weight of the situation settled heavily on his shoulders, a newfound sense of responsibility driving him to do everything in his power to help.

Ten minutes later, Y/N, Toby, and his grandfather arrived at the hospital, their anxious expressions mirroring Bucky's own concern. "Where is she?" Toby's grandfather inquired, his voice trembling with worry.

Bucky relayed the nurse's assurance. "The doctor is still looking after her, but the nurse told him her breathing problem has already improved."

Relief washed over the group, evident in their collective sighs. Toby's grandfather extended his hand to Bucky in gratitude. "Thank you, young man. Thank you so much."

Though unused to such displays of appreciation, Bucky accepted the gesture with a sense of humility, his heart warmed by the genuine gratitude.

Not just him, but Y/N felt it too. Watching Bucky's efforts to help Toby and his grandparents, Y/N's perception of him changed. He wasn't the spoiled person she had initially thought him to be.

*************

As they waited at the hospital, Bucky's thoughts drifted to his father. Reflecting on their strained relationship, he wondered when they had last spent quality time together. The sight of his father's graying hair flashed in his mind, prompting concerns about his health. Had his father undergone regular check-ups?

His musings were interrupted by Toby's grandfather's somber conversation with a doctor. "We couldn't afford the surgery," he overheard, the weight of the words settling heavily on Bucky's heart.

Caught in a moment of helplessness, Toby echoed his grandfather's sentiments. If only his father hadn't succumbed to gambling, they would have had the means to afford the necessary medical treatment for his grandmother.

Feeling helpless, Bucky watched as Toby and his family grappled with the harsh reality of their financial limitations. Meanwhile, Y/N, ever resourceful, discussed options to assist Toby's grandmother with the hospital administration.

In the midst of the chaotic scene at the hospital, Bucky felt overwhelmed by the raw emotions surrounding him. The sight of an 80-year-old man in tears and the anguished voice of another man grappling with his inability to provide for his loved one brought a lump to Bucky's throat, threatening to unleash his own flood of tears.

In stark contrast to his usual composed demeanor, Bucky clenched his fists in frustration, his heart aching with the weight of helplessness. In a world where a simple swipe of his card could solve most problems, he now found himself powerless in the face of someone else's suffering.

Determined to make a difference, Bucky stepped outside the hospital, his resolve firm as he dialed his father's number.

“Hello,” came his father's curt greeting.

“Dad. I need your help,” Bucky began, his voice tinged with urgency.

His father's response was laced with skepticism. “What did you do this time?”

Bucky's frustration mounted as he struggled to convey the gravity of the situation. “Huh? No, Dad, this isn't about me. I want to help someone.”

But his father's skepticism persisted. “Really? It's not the same as when you ask for a private jet to pick up your friends for a party?”

Bucky winced at the reminder of his past selfishness, feeling ashamed. “No, Dad, this is different. This is about someone's life. A farmer I know is facing a medical issue and can't afford surgery. I want to help them, but I don't have the money. Dad, can you help me?”

There was a moment of silence on the other end of the line, stretching agonizingly as Bucky waited for his father's response.

“...”

“Hello? Dad?” Bucky prompted anxiously, his heart pounding in his chest.

“How much for the surgery?” his father's voice finally broke through the silence.

Relief flooded through Bucky, gratitude welling up within him. “Thank you, Dad. You're the best. Oh, can I ask one more thing?” he added, seizing the opportunity to make another request, his mind already racing with possibilities.

As he awaited his father's response, Bucky couldn't help but feel a glimmer of hope amidst the darkness, knowing that with his father's support, he could truly make a difference in someone's life.

Inside the office, with expansive windows offering sweeping views of the city skyline, sat a man of distinguished presence. David Barnes, at 50 years old, possessed an aura of approachability coupled with an unmistakable air of authority.

David was renowned in the business world for his astute decisions and remarkable success. With a seemingly effortless knack for turning ventures into triumphs, he had earned the moniker of having a Midas touch.

Yet, despite his prowess in the realm of business, David found himself somewhat adrift when it came to matters concerning his son, Bucky. His only child, Bucky's recent actions had stirred something within David, a sense of curiosity and perhaps even pride.

As he listened to Bucky's earnest plea for assistance, David felt a stirring within him. It was a rare glimpse of the young man his son had become, a departure from the carefree persona that had once defined him.

With a decisive nod, David motioned to his secretary. “Send $20,000 to this hospital,” he instructed, his voice tinged with a quiet resolve.

The secretary, ever efficient, sought clarification. “Did Bucky get hurt?” she inquired, her concern evident in her tone.

David shook his head, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he gazed at the sunset, casting its golden hues across the city cape. “No,” he replied simply, “he's helping someone.”

At that moment, as he watched the sun dip below the horizon, David felt a swell of pride for his son, realizing that there was more to success than just business acumen—that true wealth lay in the ability to lend a helping hand to those in need.

My dear readers and followers,

Could you please share your opinions about this series with me?

If you enjoyed it, I'd love to hear why it appealed to you.

If not, I would greatly appreciate your feedback and advice on improving the series.

Thank you!

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[doginprogress]

Ok. Let’s talk lure coursing safety.

A pretty awful accident occurred during the lure coursing at UKC Premier this past week. I wanna make it clear that I cannot and will not be passing any kind of judgement on what happened. I was not there, I do not know many details other than the owner themselves called it a freak accident.

And the truth of lure coursing is that even if/when things are done perfectly, this kind of accident is always a possibility. There is a certain amount of risk you must weigh and decide to take when you decide to let your dog lure course.

1. Mechanical Risks - like with this accident, there is always the possibility for injury when coming in close proximity to a thin, tensioned wire running at speeds upwards of 30+ mph. Line burns on paws and lower legs are not uncommon, and many dogs run muzzled to prevent them from cutting their mouths when trying to bite a moving line. Azula has gotten tangled and line burnt after the line, loosened by wet conditions, popped off a pulley mid run. I myself have scars from some pretty awful line burn after a freak accident while setting up the field.

To help mitigate this risk, the huntmaster should always have a knife or scissors on hand and should be closely watching the dogs running so they can cut the line and release tension at any sign of a tangle. The lure operator should be highly trained and also be keeping out for any sign of danger so they can stop the lure when needed. As a competitor, make sure you are aware of the line at all times. Not only where it is, but when it is and isn’t moving. I try to never move my dog over a moving line, and when I am moving over a line, I am either taking extra tall steps or stepping on it to make sure I don’t trip (but, DO NOT step on a moving line). Try not to grab a line unless absolutely necessary and never ever ever grab a moving line - you will cut through your hands.

2. Other Dogs - lure coursing is one of the few (maybe the only?) dog sports where multiple dogs are competing at the same time potentially hundreds of yards away from their humans. It’s a high arousal and highly competitive environment, and this can lead to conflict between dogs. Sometimes this can be mitigated with muzzles and sometimes the dog should simply not be participating in lure coursing. If it is your dog that is aggressive and putting others at risk, please do not run them in the Open or Specials stakes. Dogs can have just as much fun running in singles and no title is worth potentially endangering your dog and others by running a dangerous dog.

However sometimes the risk comes simply from dogs running together at high speeds. Dogs can unintentionally bump into or trip each other, I’ve seen dogs leap over another in the field, tumble into each other while slowing down, and run into each other when they’re paying too much attention to the lure and not enough to the other dogs on the field. Sometimes unintentional contact happens and it’s important to recognize that too. There’s really not much that can be done in those cases.

3. Field Conditions - heat, rain, snow, height of grass, dry ground, rocks, trees, and the course plan itself can all pose issues when running. The club running the event should be continuously assessing these and doing what they can to alleviate the effects, but there’s a lot that you have to judge for yourself and what you know about your own dog. Wrapping paws or soaking them in water can help minimize injury due to dry ground, soaking a dog in water can help keep them cool on hot days, and knowing how your dog may handle tight turns can help you evaluate whether you should enter based on the plan for the course.

Fields with numerous trees or other obstacles are dangerous for dogs who may be paying more attention to the lure than their surroundings. If you’ve never been to the field before I highly suggest talking to someone was has to get a feel for what to expect.

4. Honest to God Freak Accidents - sometimes shit happens. A dog steps into a hole no one noticed and breaks their leg. A group of deer pop onto the field and your dog takes off after them, disappearing for hours. A dog with no prior indications has a cardiac event mid run, and is gone before anyone can even process that they’ve stopped running.

Sometimes there is absolutely nothing that could have been done differently and things just happen. It unfortunately is part of life and something that can be so hard to accept. Occasionally, there is no rhyme or reason, no blame to lay. When you go to that coursing event and run your dog, you’re entrusting that a lot of the risk has been mitigated for you by those running the event. That’s why it’s so important to know who that is and what experience they have.

But beyond that, you are assuming some amount of gambling by participating in lure coursing. The sport itself has dangers that cannot be managed away. But so does agility, and flyball, and disc, and dock diving, and any other sport of any kind. This does not mean that any of these things should be discontinued, but that you should not take any of these lightly and consider the risks vs the rewards, both personal and for your dog. Lure coursing has unfortunately become fairly available to do on a whim in recent years when it is truly something you should be heavily educated about before choosing to participate.

[lights-at-night]

here theyre bringing back the idea of balance, which ties back into the themes of alchemy and what lena's previously mentioned. i do think that balance will be a big thing in the future of tmagp.

what's also interesting is that it says the balance of energies will be "profoundly skewed towards the fearful and despairing" - this mention of fear is of course reminiscent of tma. additionally, the year theyre chosen is 2000, which is similar to jonah magnus' choice to bring about the apocalypse on the institute's 200th birthday. additionally, at the end of the document, the writer refers to their work as a "grand ritual". i do not think this phrasing to be unintentional. this leads me to believe what they are attempting is akin to the apocalyptic event of tma.

robert smirke was also interested in balance in his studies of the fears, and converting that to architecture. notably jonah magnus would not have succeeded in his ritual if he hadn't heeded the balancing ideas of smirke. however, tma's ritual worked - unlike that of the magnus institute of the tmagp universe. i feel that this is due to the aforementioned imbalance of the tmagp ritual.

i believe this is connected to the destruction of the magnus institute late in 1999, a year after this case was written. as the protocol is most likely to be a last case measure to make sure that there isn't too much dangerous knowledge, it is possible that the protocol was enacted in order to prevent this ritual from occurring.

[yurizzsblog]

Plot Twist Ideas

Mystery/Thriller: The detective investigating the crime turns out to be the real culprit, having manipulated the investigation to cover their tracks.

Science Fiction: The protagonist discovers that their reality is a simulated world created by advanced AI, and they are actually a sentient program fighting for freedom.

Fantasy: The hero learns that the powerful artifact they seek is actually cursed, and using it will bring about the very disaster they were trying to prevent.

Romance: The seemingly perfect love interest is revealed to be a spy sent to gather information, but they have genuinely fallen in love and must choose between their mission and their heart.

Horror: The protagonist realizes that the haunted house is alive and feeding off their fear, growing stronger with every attempt to escape.

Drama: The main character's long-lost sibling, thought to be dead, reappears and has been living a completely different life with a new identity.

Adventure: The treasure map the adventurers have been following is a fake, designed to lead them into a trap set by a rival seeking to eliminate them.

Historical Fiction: The key historical figure the protagonist is trying to save is actually orchestrating events to ensure their own rise to power at the expense of everyone else.

Crime: The person the protagonist has been trying to protect and clear of wrongdoing is actually the mastermind behind the entire criminal operation.

Supernatural: The ghosts haunting the protagonist are not trying to scare them away, but rather warn them about a much greater, impending danger.

Comedy: The series of unfortunate events and misunderstandings leading to chaos were all part of an elaborate, unintentional prank by a well-meaning but clueless character.

Young Adult: The protagonist discovers that their best friend, who has been helping them navigate their newfound powers, is actually the villain who gave them the powers in the first place.

Dystopian: The oppressive regime that the protagonist is fighting against was originally established by their own ancestors in a well-meaning attempt to create a utopia.

Psychological Thriller: The protagonist's supposed allies are figments of their imagination, created by their mind to cope with a traumatic past.

Epic Saga: The seemingly invincible antagonist is revealed to be a future version of the protagonist, who has gone down a dark path and become corrupted by power.

[masha-nikita]

The Archetypes of Red Rose, White Rose

I need to balance my brain out due to sudden onset of depression. It is the result. Rommel is probably the only general who, even if you draw him from the back, he's still recognizable- flowers, a camera, and love for beauty. Rommel has a Venus-Mercury conjunct with a direct Neptune influence; he is going to appreciate artistic expressions.

In fact, this colored-doodle with an unintentional Mucha vibe has the energy of his wife Lucy in mind. According to some sources, Rommel wrote home to Lucy daily, as it was reported to be his mental crutch- I imagine it to be transcendental emotional support, not unlike my own experience, my own relationship with our Tumblr community here. Whether you guys interact with me directly or not, you keep me alive. My sincere thanks to you.

Lucy was a formal dancer in Danzig with a decent middle-class background, her father seemed to be a land owner- Lucy being able to do art, probably added to his admiration for her- fellow artists, angelic companionship.

I suppose he did need emotional supports, and a lot of it-- Rommel is the only high commander with whom Kessering "the smiling Albert" did not get along-- which is a feat. After all, Kessering was very renowned for his exceedingly cordial and diplomatic temperament. The same could be said of von Rundstedt, the calm, gentlemanly, old Prussian field marshal. These two could put up with some bad BS from any one else, except Rommel. He was too intense, too mentally off-balance, too difficult to deal with for his colleagues.

There are a few things I noticed from Rommel's biography (including the Trail of the Fox, 2005), that allow me to make some observations. His love for Lucy appears to be non-sexual. They had their only son 12 years after marriage. That is a pretty long time, not customary with a Scorpio man who has a 8th house Mars (who is supposed to have at least above average sex drive).

As a matter of fact, Rommel had a daughter with Walburga Stemmer before his marriage with Lucy was finalized. At that point Rommel’s family felt the need to step in and strong-armed him back with his fiancée-- one reason being to prevent the young lieutenant from the pitfalls of sex and alcohol. In my humble opinion, the subtext here might be Lucy would not lead him astray in that regard, therefore his conservative family would rather have him marrying Lucy.

A side note, Stemmer family still holds a collection of hopelessly romantic letters from Rommel. Did Rommel write comparable letters to Lucy at that point in time? A bit hard to tell.

I could not recall which article comments that Rommel was "hen-pecked' in the household, but Lucy was dominant at home, that part had been very true.

Ouch, I don't know, some aspects of this living environment must've been toxic to Rommel no matter how much some folks wants to romanticize it. It is horrible to be in a friend group where there's a mean girl boss who takes pride in ruling over her husband and turning any girl who crosses her into a persona-non-grata. But I digress. Back to my title.

Nevertheless, for me, Lucy being archetypal White Rose still holds water as a concept.

The Red Rose- White Rose archetypes originated from the same-titled short novel by Zhang Ailing, one of the 20th century's greatest female writers. She depicts love's tragedies as Chin dynasty fell apart and China marched into an era of post-colonialism, world war II, civil wars and partisan conflicts-- and eventually, modernity.

White rose is your ideal wife, the guardian of your family's social standing. She is angelic, she seems docile, she reminds you that you are from a place of honor and integrity, not of seedy backgrounds and carnal desires. White rose kills love by loving you, by being stable, by calming you down whenever you freak out. Very slowly, she castrates you, she brings you home to domesticate you.

The Red Rose symbolizes those dark desires, a black hole that sucks you in to have sex with you, a fragrant bed, a sex dungeon you do not have the will power to claw yourself out of. Red rose loves you by conquering you, destroying you and everything you represent and cherish with triumphant strides. Very quickly Red rose tears you down, burns all your bridges, until you are beyond recognition, until you are flesh, blood, fire and desire, a literal mess.

It is implied in Ailing's novel that men invariably choose the White Rose, because they are human, all too human. Marrying her, he regrets it; not marrying her, he regrets it even more. Such is love's tragedy in the face of humanity, and tragedy is the only inevitability in Ailing's universe. That's why I pull Lucy in as a faint through-line in my Montgomery x Rommel fanfics... not that I am going to write any more, I don't think so.

And yes, Red Rose is synonymous with Bernard Montgomery, in my fandom brain's humble opinion.

I know I am weird.

[pampersgirl5]

Simplified Diaper Training

No matter if you are just starting out or have been doing it for years, the results are always the same. "Why can't I be Incontinent?"  The answer is staring you in the face. It's all in your head. Keep reading to find out what is holding you back, and I promise you will be surprised by what this article says.

-----------‐-----------‐-----------‐-----------‐-----------‐-----

On a scientific level, incontinence is not an unconscious act. Nor is it the unintentional leakage of pee or poop that so many, if not everyone, are confused by.

Rather, incontinence is the inability to hold bodily fluids, i.e., Incontinence is the unwanted leakage of pee and poop that is either unstoppable or uncontrollable due to a long list of reasons. Self diaper trained included.

Even if you are healthy and have no prior incontinence, be sure to stay hydrated, and you can have these unstoppable and uncontrollable accidents so long as you put your mind to it. When that strong urge hits you, immediately think about where the nearest toilet is right. Well, if you want to be diaper dependant, then instead of thinking about finding the nearest toilet, you should think about where the nearest diaper is. Oh wait, it's on you, so forget about the urge. Ignore it completely and let it happen naturally when it inevitably does happen.

-----------‐-----------‐-----------‐-----------‐-----------‐-----

Food for thought:

Be sure to drink fluids to replace the fluids you pee. Say every time you pee, drink a cup of water or whatever you like to drink. Over time, you will be peeing more often. Now, with that said, think about the following.

0-2 years old: Babies feel the need to go but don't know what to do so the body does it for them. This is why they sometimes cry. Some grunt and squirm uncomfortably. Some get red in the face. This is their POO-PEE Reflex. It's all they know, so they just let it happen this way

2-3 years old: Most toddlers feel this sensation however they have connected this to accidents and begin to control there potty needs and they do still hold it until they can't any longer but because diapers are all they know they just go in the diaper.

Becauce, they continue holding it, this keeps the sphincter muscles weak. When a toddler begins to hide to go poop in their diaper, you can't say they didn't know they had to go...

Furthermore, when a toddler comes to you and says I'm wet or I'm poopy it is there que to you saying they know what it is and that they can hold it to a point.

3-4 years old: When toddlers become preschoolers, if they are still in diaper's, they will continue this way of going potty. Hold it until they can't hold it anymore then have an accident but be OK with having the accident because they know there diaper will hold it and they know what there diaper is for and they know they don't have to stop playing. So it's all around easier and better for them to just have the accident.

I would say with my understanding that bedwetting is easier to prevent if potty trained earlier in the groth cycle with a child with no developmental delays or psychological traumas.  Though, allowing a child to wear and use diaper's doesn't always cause bedwetting. I do believe it is the primary cause.

PART 4: Bedwetting in young children depends on many factors, though if completely healthy with no emotional or developmental delays, the cause could just be because of a weak sphincter muscle, small bladder from prolonged diaper usage. From the abdominal pressure not being felt well unconscious during sleep. So when they have to pee, they don't feel the urge. They do not wake up, and they just pee.

Thinking about PARTS 1-4 leads me to the understanding that the above-mentioned could be true if practiced. Studies show that holding your pee often does lead to incontinence issues. So, if practiced purposefully constantly all the time, then it will speed up the process, and always going in a diaper this way should result in the same type of incontinance that an unpotty trained child has. So potty training yourself to be dry again should be the same with the same results.

If you want incontinance, you just have to want it bad enough. Stop worrying about the Perminant stuff because that is what is holding you back. If you want it, just do it.

[bamdelune]

Contemplation in Crimson (2/2) ✧ villain!scara x hero!reader

✧ notes: VERY LENGTHY. gn!reader, definitely ooc scara me thinks, angst and more angst, cursing, light violence & mentions of sharp objects (originally wanted this to have a little more fighting, physically but just threw that out the window because I finished this at the ass crack of dawn) - speaking of that: apologies if there are any grammatical errors, whether spelling or just the technical grammar in general because this was definitely not proofread by anyone including me. reblogs, likes, and comments + asks are always welcome and appreciated!

✧ link to part one !

The days seemed to get more hectic as they passed on. Every day of the week felt like a blur. Your comrades rushed around, coming and going from your headquarters to the different offices and amurtas of the Akademiya. You assumed that the Acting Grand Sage and the General Mahamatra were getting sick of your special operations squad coming in and out of their work areas.

To say you were thoroughly exhausted and overwhelmed by the workload was an understatement. As a cherry on top, Scaramouche seemed to be becoming someone out of your reach. He became someone more distant and you couldn’t think of a reason why.

Your squad just couldn’t find clues and leads in regards to the whereabouts of the Balladeer. Every piece of information proved faulty when you had the time to come to the site of the clue. Every damned witness magically forgetting what he looked like. You were hitting dead-end after dead-end after another dead-end and you were running out of time.

The chair of your desk held your defeated frame, preventing you from registering the creek of the door to your office. Your lieutenant stood in front of your desk while you rested your head on the hard surface of your table.

“Commander.” His voice makes you jump into awareness.

“Lieutenant,” you cough to clear your throat, “What’s your business here? I didn’t hear you come in.”

The other looks pensive as he held a 2 sheets of paper. “Clearly.” He mutters in an attempt to lighten the mood. The squad wasn’t a stranger to your exhaustion this week and some were a few unlucky ones to be on the receiving end of your unintentional irritation. It just slips out without a filter which you heavily regret.

“Listen,” the lieutenant begins, “I know how important catching the Balladeer is but I think you can hang back on it for now, Commander.”

Your eyes quirk up in confusion, “Yeah? Exactly, why would I stay back? Did you find him?”

The lieutenant avoids your eyes for a moment and sighs, hesitantly coming forward and placing a few documents for you to read on your desk.

Your confusion doesn’t subside until you’ve picked up the sheets of paper and had read through halfway the text.

The silence was absolutely deafening at your revelation as you continued to read on, the pieces that held your heart together beginning to chip away inside you.

Your eyes blink and your eyebrows furrow, you were in denial.

He couldn’t be.

No.

No.

No.

This was simply just a sick game. A dream, a hallucination—whatever atrocious lie the world could toss at you.

Your mouth parts in hurt and shock at the words printed onto the paper.

“…What?” You whisper, visibly crestfallen.

It took another few minutes of silence for you to gather your bearings before you manage to croak out a few words to your subordinate.

“Let’s move out.” Your voice was devoid of any and all emotions. A certain numbness clawing at your feelings as you clasp your harness that carried your weapons around your waist.

Your lieutenant seemed conflicted for a moment as he stood frozen in place, struggling for the words to say.

What can he say during this moment? What do you say to your superior who just found out the love of their life who they held so deeply to their heart was the one person who unleashed the countless malice that coursed throughout nations?

“Sorry your boyfriend turned out to be the criminal mastermind we’ve been tracking down for a year. Tough luck, chief. It happens around here.”

Now, that was pure cruelty. But nothing could be crueler than what fate had to offer right now.

Night fell onto the city of Sumeru. You had to briefly get over the heartbreak that was taking place in the depths of your emotions to create a plan to finally make the arrest on the Balladeer—or rather, your boyfriend. There really wasn’t any point in denying it anymore, was there?

You had asked the rest of those who knew of Scaramouche’s whereabouts to keep it under wraps. Just until you could carry on with the next phase of the plan.

Humanity, you call it, was whenever you felt Kunikuzushi’s presence in the room. The presence which always made you feel at ease. The presence that made you forget the harsh realities that took place in this wretched world, the one that had you thinking that this wasn’t so bad after all.

Humanity was when you felt yourself in his arms, so vulnerable and secure. Maybe that was what he wanted. Your vulnerability. The safety you felt when you took in his dizzying and familiar scent. The comfort of the plush of his arms.

Was any of it real? Was the sweet nothings he whispered into your ear ever genuine since the beginning? Did the tears that pricked your eyes and raw emotions you let tumble from your lips ever fall on knowing ears? Or was it all silenced by his end-goal, whatever it was.

Numbness eats away at your body as you approach your shared home with Scaramouche. Taking a deep breath before inserting the head of the key to the entrance and turning sideways in the lock, it opens with a click and you push it open.

The aroma of a freshly cooked meal greets you once you close the door behind you.

“I’m home” You greet, your voice echoing throughout your home. Only the silence answers back but you had a good idea where Scaramouche was. Your feet shuffle to where the kitchen was to see him hunched over the stove, a pot emitting steam sat on top of it.

Scaramouche wore a modest, plain sleepwear. His fringes fell onto the sides of his face. Your mind seemed to forget the events of today and you smile fondly at the sight of your partner. You quietly approach him, wrapping your arms around his chest as you nuzzle your face into his shoulder. Scaramouche tenses at the feeling initially before relaxing once he realizes it was you.

“I didn’t hear you come in. You came home early, didn’t you, love?” He greets, stirring the contents of the pot before lowering the heat to talk to you.

You only stay silent, keeping still in your place as you breathe in the familiar scent of his clothes mixed with the gentle smell of the food. Kunikuzushi has always been proficient in cooking.

He doesn’t ignore your unusual silence and turns to face you with a worried expression, something quite rare for a curt man such as him.

“Darling?” He tilts his head in confusion but you insist on holding him longer.

“Just.. Let’s stay like this for a moment.” Whether you meant the embrace or the quiet state of your relationship, you didn’t know. You only wanted to feel him close to you, searching his body language for any signs that his feelings were genuine after all.

Scaramouche sighs admiringly, his face relaxing a little before turning off the heat with the free hand that wasn’t settled on your waist.

“So clingy, how eccentric.” He mutters but you knew he meant well. At least, you think he meant well. You only hum in response, your face still nestled into the crook of his neck.

“Rest. I’ll come join you in a bit.” He whispers to you before planting a chaste kiss on your forehead. You only nod and reluctantly let go of his figure, walking to your room. You miss the way his expression looks conflicted, something vague flashing in the pools of his eyes.

When you settle down in the mattress of your bed, you feel drowsy but is shaken awake by a weight shifting onto the bed, knowing it was Scaramouche.

He gently lays down and holds your hand. “Tough day?” He asks, although softly as to avoid rattling you too much.

“Mhm.” You think back on the happenings of today. The sinking feeling of finding out that your boyfriend completely betrayed your trust like this. You’d rather have him take part of an affair rather than this. In fact, maybe you shouldn’t have indulged in the deepest and loneliest parts of you at all. Maybe you would’ve protected yourself from all this hurt had you not crossed paths with Scaramouche.

“You wanna talk about it? You’re the one who keeps saying we shouldn’t bottle our feelings up. All your nagging makes me worry about you too.” Kunikuzushi scoffs, taking your hands to his plump lips before kissing the bumps of your knuckles.

“Maybe not today. I have to figure out some stuff first, Kuni.” You reply, rubbing the pad of your thumb against his hand. “Goodnight.”

Scaramouche shifts closer to you before saying the same. “Goodnight.”

You don’t catch the guilty string of apologies he mutters under his breath when you fall deep in slumber.

You wake up before Scaramouche when morning comes. Immediately clocking into work as the commander after your morning rituals or routines. You’ve agreed to initiate and carry through with the arrest of the Balladeer.

It took you a while to employ a trusted and competent informant slash spy but it was all worth it in the end. The Balladeer had no plans of leaving Sumeru soon (you briefly wonder if this had anything to do with you), and he would be visiting the Sanctuary if Surasthana later on. You requested for an inconspicuous lockdown of the vicinity at the permission of both Al Haitham and Cyno with an extra go-ahead from Nahida so that way, only you and the Balladeer would be face to face when the time comes, save for the backup you’d be calling if things go sideways and no one except yourself would be harmed in the process. It was a plan everybody else thought was foolproof but you knew full well that it may as well be a suicide mission for you, given that you were know at square one in terms of truly knowing about who Scaramouche was.

You had elite squad members concealed in vantage points throughout the area and it was now time to confront the Balladeer. Not your boyfriend, but the threat to the dreams that you protected with all your will and might.

Scaramouche wore a darker apparel when the moonlight peeked through cloudy skies that was begging to cry with tears. He walked around the area of the Sanctuary for a while before heading to the entrance with a deep breath. He stops in his tracks when your voice comes up from behind him,

“The Balladeer is hereby under arrest with the charges of multiple accounts of murder and conspiracy against various organizations in Teyvat. Any further pleads would have to answer to the council headed by the Akademiya and any refusal to cooperate will be deemed hostile, thus will be dealt with accordingly.” You voice out, a hint of abrasiveness scratching at your tone. You held your weapon on one hand and the other fell limp onto the other side.

Scaramouche only sighs, “I had a feeling you could be catching up sooner or later, darlin—”

“Don’t call me that.” You spat, anger fueling you with every sarcastic word that falls from his mouth.

The Balladeer turns around, a cocky smirk played at his face. “Do you really have the courage to arrest, much more kill me off when you need to, Y/N?”

He crosses his arms, shifting his weight slightly onto one leg before chuckling.

“Would you be daring enough?”

Something in you just snaps and you lunge at him with full speed, making the both of you collapse onto the tiles that reflected the moonlight as it started drizzling, the rain gradually getting harsher. The droplets blended with the frustrated? Heartbroken? Betrayed tears that welled in your eyes, you taste the salt slightly when they run down your face. You sat on top of Scaramouche, your torso slightly leaned forward as you hold a sharp dagger to his neck, the tip begging to pierce his ivory skin.

“I’ll cut your throat, that will shut you up.” You grit, your heart thumping loudly that you swear you can feel it in your throat.

Your chest heaved up and down erratically. The Balladeer only gives you a somber smile before caressing your cheek with his palm. Just like how you did with him every morning that you woke up next to each other.

“Have I ever told you how beautiful, you’ve looked? You've always looked unfairly ethereal, Commander.”

Your resolve falters for a moment at his words. You didn’t know what was real or not anymore. Who was speaking to you? Your Kunikuzushi or the pretentious trickster that was the Balladeer.

You had to let yourself go, just for the last time. You needed answers. Not more questions.

You sniffed as your chest tightened, your heart twisting painfully. How could it possibly do that when at the same time, everything felt numb at the moment.

“How much of it was real?” You say, a grimace falling on your face.

…

He stays silent.

“Fuck, Scara.” You curse, the steady flow of your voice cracking just a bit. “I offered myself to you. I poured myself out to you. So I ask you this. How much of your fucking mind game was real? Or were you just there to hold me up? Were you there to prey on my vulnerability?”

“Was that what you wanted? To feel a sick emotion of breaking me like this?”

Scaramouche only stayed silent for a few seconds.

Your throat felt constricted as an onslaught of salty tears pricked at the corners of your eyes.

“No. No, it wasn’t. You’re fucking lying to me, aren’t you? You’re lying to me just like how you did when you met me. All you’ve been fucking doing is just deceiving m—”

Scaramouche wanted to scream at you. To scream the truth. To scream that, no, he wanted to be with you. Sure, he lied to you and betrayed you and he felt drawn to you throughout your time together. But he needed to push you away. You needed to despise him to the limit. For the sake of both of you.

“Did you really think that I cared for you that way? That’s quite adorable.” He chuckles lightly in response. "As much as I'd be honored, you're fighting to protect what you believe in. Nothing will get in the way of that. We may be two sides of the same coin. But we're never going to meet in the middle." he says. Scaramouche inwardly recoiled at his words, his statement only serving as a dagger that stabbed the both of you in the end as painfully as he can make it.

Your hands soften the grip on the hilt of the dagger at his words, piercing you right in the correct places.

A lovesick fool of a human was in the place where the rational commander should’ve been. Your hands trembled, making the dagger shake above the skin of Scaramouche’s neck.

“Tell me a part of it was real. That you loved me some time along the way.” You croaked. The rain seemed to be booming at you to finish the job but you… just couldn’t.

Yes. Scaramouche thought. Everything, from that point where I started comparing you to the brightest of stars. Even if I believed they were a hoax, you somehow made me believe that one genuinely existed. That star was you. It’s always been you. I would’ve chosen you if I could.

Kunikuzushi, whether he took the form of the peril of those who knew his name or the form of stranger you once adored, was never good with words. It has always betrayed his true sentiments. He opted for showing his thoughts through his actions instead but even then, it still went against every train of thought that died on his tongue.

Tell me a part of it was real. He replays your desperate plea in his head. The way you looked defeated. Maybe to others, you looked as if you wanted to murder him on the spot but Kunikuzushi has studied and memorized every part of you like a scholar would. He never missed the way your tone cracked with hurt or how your eyes portrayed the deepest sentiments that plagued your mind. Eyes are the windows to the soul, is it not?

“No. I wanted to play with you like how a puppet master would. Cherish your comfort, find out your weaknesses, and break every part of you as if you were made of glass.” His words dripped with false venom, grinning at you as if to mock you. Truth be told, he was also mocking himself.

“Do you dare to kill me, my love? Pierce me right now, I dare you.” Scara mocks at your hesitation.

You muster all your courage, restraining yourself from picking him up from the ground and kissing him to show Scaramouche how desperate you are. To prove something that wasn’t there, you thought.

Instead, you impale the ground with the dagger beside his head with all your strength before you stand up. Your knees buckle slightly but you catch yourself.

You initiate the signal for the others to come and restrain Scaramouche and finally arrest him. Once your squad takes him in, you watch their retreating forms.

Kunikuzushi never once looked back at you during that moment.

( main masterlist )

© bamdelune may 2023. do not repost or plagiarize any of my works, thank you so much! reblogs, notes, and comments are always appreciated!

[lonewolfel]

So ever sense we saw Caleb one thing has been irking me. The fact that Caleb seemed to have white hair at a young age. 

Like obviously people can have premature white hair but it seems like such a weird detail to have. Especially with the known related characters (Hunter and Philip) having different hair color.

Hunter’s is a two tone (I think that is what you call it) blonde.

And Philip has brown hair.

Now yes it could be a genetic mutation but then the trailer dropped. (Spoilers under the cut)

Caleb looks gaunt and tired. I saw someone make a comment how he might of had a fatal illness and came to the Boiling Isles for a cure so he won’t leave Philip alone (please tell me who said that I want to give them credit).

So while I was bored at work I decided to look at chronic illnesses that could lead to white hair and I came across hyperthyroidism.

So I’ll start out with saying that there is a connection between premature grey/white hair and hyperthyroidism. It doesn’t have any proven research but there is a link and is a believed to be a possible cause.

Then I looked at the symptoms 

Unintentional weight loss, even when your appetite and food intake stay the same or increase

Rapid heartbeat (tachycardia) — commonly more than 100 beats a minute

Irregular heartbeat (arrhythmia)

Pounding of your heart (palpitations)

Increased appetite

Nervousness, anxiety and irritability

Tremor — usually a fine trembling in your hands and fingers

Sweating

Changes in menstrual patterns

Increased sensitivity to heat

Changes in bowel patterns, especially more frequent bowel movements

An enlarged thyroid gland (goiter), which may appear as a swelling at the base of your neck

Fatigue, muscle weakness

Difficulty sleeping

Skin thinning

Fine, brittle hair

(Mayo Clinic)

Weight loss and fatigue are obvious in that photo. 

What if Caleb experienced worsening tremors which prevents him from being able to carve. I am going to assume that was his job. He possibly could have heard of a folk healer who could cure any illness. Caleb goes to her for healing. Philip follows as well wanting to hang her for being a witch. The witch panics and they all end up in the Demon Realm. 

This will likely be debunked but I don’t care. 

TLTR: Caleb has hyperthyroidism no one can change my mind.

[dykesbites]

hi can people suggest edits/let me know if this sounds good

Hello,

I would like to change my display name in Canvas to the name I prefer, but [Community College] has disabled the settings that allow students to do that. As a transgender student, this makes my experience at [CC] difficult, especially for my online classes. It is deeply uncomfortable for me to repeatedly be referred to by a name that does not represent me by my fellow classmates. This is through no fault of their own, because there is no way for other students to quickly see my chosen name.

I am sure that many other students with name changes, transgender or otherwise, are experiencing the same dread whenever they are asked to post discussion threads by their professors. Allowing students to change their names is an easy way to make [CC] welcoming to transgender individuals. By restricting these abilities and forcing students to reveal their legal names, you are allowing not just unintentional deadnaming, but enabling potential harassment towards transgender students.

When I was a student at [Previous University], I was able to change my display name to the name I preferred, while I was still registered under my legal name. This prevented any confusion as to whether I was enrolled in a course, if my grades were accurate, or if I was being charged for tuition correctly, without violating my privacy and allowing me to participate in class like any other student. I strongly suggest that [CC] follow [Prev U]'s lead in this matter and I am confident it will benefit many students.

[copper-dragon-in-disguise]

Ik you like talking about this and I’m actually like rly interested so what’s the aids quilt and triangle shirtwaist factory fire?

(It’s in your bio and as you probably know I hate looking stuff up and prefer talking to people-you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to)

*jumps up like the human equivalent of !!! and sprints to the computer to answer this properly with sources and shit* !!!!!!!!!!!

YOU WANT TO KNOW ABOUT THE TRIANGLE SHIRTWAIST FACTORY FIRE AND THE AIDS QUILT?????????? !!!!!!!!!!!! YOU ARE GOING TO REGRET THIS SO MUCH ASTER I'M SO EXICTED I'M NOT GOING TO SHUT UP FOR LIKE AN HOUR THIS IS AMAZING

(you have unlocked the Special Interests and now i won't shut up ever. :DDDDDDDDDD)

....well. I wasn't going to put a cut and then it got really, really long, so there's a cut about halfway through for the sake of peoples dashboards.

first up:

The Triangle Shirtwaist Factory Fire

(tw/cw: intentional endangerment of workers, death, suicide (unplanned/unintentional), graphic depiction of death)

short version: the triangle shirtwaist factory fire was one of the deadliest industrial disasters in US History and, I believe, the deadliest industrial disaster in the history of New York City. It was a key point in labor rights & union movements, and 146 people died, almost all recently immigrated women and girls between the ages of 14-23.

long version: at ~4:40 pm on march 25th, 1911, a fire broke out in a scrap bin under a cutting table in the triangle shirtwaist factory, which occupied the 8th, 9th, and 10th floors of the Asch building in new york city (manhatten, greenwich village specifically).

the factory produced shirtwaists, a popular kind of women's blouse. (it was a sweatshop, which is relevant for future reasons). It was owned by Max Blanck and Issac Harris, who had previously had four (? possibly 3) fires at other factories, and been investigated for them (it was suspected that one or more of those said fires were the result of arson by the owners). the workers were, for the vast majority, recently immigrated jewish & italian women and girls, from age 14 and up, but most were between 14 and 25. The oldest victim was 43. (of the victims whose ages are known). They earned $7-12 a week (approx. $190-326USD in 2020 dollars), or approx. $3.65-6.29 per hour in today's money. at the time of the fire, there were approx. 600 workers in the building.

the asch building was 10 floors in total, and the top 3 were occupied by the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory. The doors leading to the staircases were locked, to prevent workers leaving early or taking breaks. There were supposed to be 3 staircases, but there was only two; the city had allowed the owners to build a single fire escape in lieu of the third staircase. this fire escape may have been broken before the fire, and it was certainly broken afterwards. one of the staircases managed to be unlocked, but it became impassible either up or down within 3 minutes of the fire's start.

when the fire flared up, the first alarm was sounded by a passerby outside, who saw smoke coming out the windows at 4:45 pm.

the fire department arrived shortly after, but their ladders could only reach the 7th floor (the fire start on the 8th). some workers excaped via the roof (several years ago I heard a story about a guy who was teaching in the building next door and him and his students saw the people on the roof and were able to help them get over to the building the professor was in and not ontop of the burning one, but I can't find it again to validate it so take that with a grain of salt), and some got into the elevators while they were still working. the elevator operators were able to make 3 trips before the elevators stopped working from the excessive heat (the steel beams holding them bent and made it impossible to attempt).

inside the building, people on the 8th floor were able to warn people on the 10th floor by means of a telephone, but with the staircases locked there was no way to warn those on the 9th floor, and a survivor said (paraphrasing): ''the first warning of the fire arrived at the 9th floor at the same time the fire did''.

146 people died. 123 women and girls, the vast majority between the ages of 14-23, and 23 men and boys (I cannot find a clear age for them). 61 people died from jumping to their death or falling to their death out of the windows of the building. the fire department had nets meant to catch people, but velocity is velocity and the nets did nothing. people jumped out the windows hoping that the nets would catch them or they might survive, or that at least that had a better chance of survival than remaining inside the fire. 20 of these were on the fire escape & attempting to use it when it collapsed, dropping them 100ft to the sidewalk and killing them.

36 people died in the elevator shaft, after it started to break. (they attempted to jump/slide down the cables, and it did not work).

49 people burned to death or suffocated in the smoke.

the entire fire took 18 minutes.

The bodies of the victims were taken to Charities Pier (aka Misery Lane) to be identified. All but 6 were, and those 6 were buried together in the Cementer of the Evergreens in brooklyn (they were later identified by a historian named michael hirsch in 2011, after 4 years of research). they are now all buried together there, underneath a monument to the tragedy.

it caused a surge in the efforts of the International Ladies' Garment Workers Union, and eventually resulted in the passing of ~38 new york state labor laws.

The AIDs Quilt

(tw/cw: regan (referenced), death (nowhere near as bad as above))

The AIDs quilt is a memorial quilt commemorating those who have died of AIDs (at any point, not just during the AIDs crisis (fuck you ronald regan)), with panels sewn by family members and friends. It was begun in 1987 in San Fransisco by Cleve Jones. It is considered the largest community folk arts project in the world, and consists of nearly 50,000 panels honoring approx. 110,000 people.

Each panel is 6' by 3' (about the size of a standard grave), and four of them are sewn together to make large blocks that are then sewn/tied together. sometimes it goes on display, the most recent time in june 2022.

there is an interactive online version of the quilt, which you can find here.

here it is zoomed out as far as I could get

here are some of the larger blocks of the quilt

and here are some individual panels.

that's mostly all I have to say about it, but its incredible, and my favorite art project of all time.

(i don't have the spoons to add image descriptions to the photos, I am sorry, I will try to do it later when I remember)

[distinctlywhumpthing]

Unintentional 27

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This one turned into one of those chapters. It sat for months, already beta-read, becoming a point of avoidance and a total bottleneck in my writing flow. It didn't feel good enough/perfect/complete in a way I couldn't put my finger on but my heart wasn't in it for a rewrite. So, finally, I need to just check this box and move on.

CW: BBU-adjacent, institutionalized slavery, dehumanization. Explicit language, victim self-blame, brainwashing, the usual. Raid/recapture, manhandling, beating, restraints, blood mention, implied nudity (nonexplicit). As always, beta-read by @alittlewhump <3

He didn’t fight. 

He couldn’t. Even if his arms weren’t aching from elbow to wrist, they were lead at his sides. His fingers too were immovable under the weight of his failure. If only he could shift them, feel them, curl them into fists to hold onto the fleeting whisper of warm fingers in his but that comfort was no more deserved than it had ever been his to claim. 

The finality of it was equal parts devastation and relief. He wouldn’t get another chance, not after this, but he didn’t want any other life than what he’d had here anyway. He welcomed the end. 

They were probably no rougher than usual but rougher than he remembered—

Training is the only thing you need to remember. You were nothing before it, you are nothing without it. 

Two agents clad in black caught him under the arms, dragged him away and shoved him to his knees unceremoniously. They held him there as a third stepped up, looming above him. 

Just a few feet away another group of agents was—

He turned his eyes toward the sky without registering its shade. 

“Identify yourself.”

The numbers were on the tip of his tongue. 

142836359. 

Always spinning away in the back of his mind somewhere. 

One-four-two-eight-three-six-three-five-nine. Snaking into the forefront of his dreams whenever he slept. From the very beginning, when they’d trained it into him. One hundred forty-two million, eight hundred thirty-six thousand, three hundred fifty-nine. An endless cassette ribbon unspooling, threading itself around each synapsis in his head. Repeating over and over until it was laced throughout. A third strand in every double helix. 

142836359.

“M-my…” He was suddenly reluctant to lose the single thing he’d been given, even though it had never really been his own. Thinking of defying such a direct order was a hurdle in itself but parsing the words to follow through was another thing entirely. “N-n-name…is—”

A baton cracked across the back of his head and he saw stars. The agents at his sides prevented him from following its momentum to the ground. The leader in front grabbed his chin but he barely felt their gloved fingers over the splitting pain in his head. 

“That was a direct order. You will identify yourself.”

He raised his eyes to meet their opaque sunglasses. Defiant. Defective—

Defective companions are immediately returned for evaluation and will be subjected to the most rigorous re-training applicable. 

The agent’s fist connected with his jaw. His upper molars cut into the flesh inside his cheek, blood seeping into his saliva. His skull rang and throbbed from two sides now.

“Identify yourself.”

He ground his teeth together. Brittle and raw like flint and steel, sparking fire through his veins. It felt familiar but he couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt like this. He raised his chin, the feeling flaring hotter. 

Your only power is submission, your only choice is acceptance. 

“Little fucking shit.” 

He tried not to flinch away from the next blow but the agent to his right held out a hand before it landed. 

“It’s no use. You know how they get after something like this. We have a witness and his wrist is enough anyway. Vocal confirmation is just a formality.” 

The lead agent took off their sunglasses with a slow deliberateness, holding them out and flipping them from front to back, to inspect the lenses. Directly in his line of sight, though the agent’s eyes only scanned the glasses like there was nothing but empty air beyond them. 

Except when the agent reached out to use the fabric of his sweatshirt at his shoulder to wipe away an indiscernible smudge before finally replacing their glasses and breaking the silence. “Did you get a fucking promotion I wasn’t informed about?”

The shielding arm had long fallen. “No, sir.” 

Their weight shifted to the heels of their combat boots as they leaned into their dominance. “So I still call the shots around here?”

“Yes, sir.” Quieter than before—

Actions speak louder than words; show me how sorry you are. 

The leader let the silence stretch again. 

The other group of agents kept their voices low as they dealt with—while they worked. He tried not to look. Better to let his bitter defiance burn through any hope that they’d ever have a last moment shared between them.

“What the fuck are you morons waiting for?” The lead finally barked, making him jump and sending a spike of pain through his aching head. “Restrain him and get him out to the van.” 

“Yes, sir.” The agents at his sides chorused, sprang to action. As good as any pair of trainees. Thankfully, the leader had turned away and missed his smirk. 

They gagged him first. Four gloved hands holding his head still and prying his mouth open to shove a bit between his teeth—

Speech is a privilege and used only to further demonstrate subservience. 

The muzzle covered his whole jaw and nose with mesh that wasn’t quite fabric but wasn’t quite metal. His eyes watered as they tightened the straps over the tender spot on the back of his head, the front digging into his cheeks. Next was a thick shock collar, metal prongs hugging his windpipe and pressing into the back of his neck. More serious than what they used for training. No doubt designed to render the wearer unconscious with a single shock.

The restraints around his wrists were also more severe than anything Archer had ever used in training. Wide and tightened until his pulse beat in his hands and fingers, binding his wrists together behind his back. Similar bands went around each ankle, connected by a short chain that would have restricted his walking to a show shuffle but the agents didn’t give him the chance. They hauled him backwards off his knees and dragged him away. 

Just like that, it was all over. 

He wasn’t sure what he had been expecting but of course WRU wouldn’t waste resources on a single Reclamation. From the looks of it, he was the last stop. The others in the van were anchored down in two orderly rows. Eleven collars secured to the white walls, wrists to the white bench, feet to the white floor. Now an even dozen.

 Just like the facility, everything white and pristine again. All of these bodies reeking of sweat and fear and failure and worse were in need of sanitization. The first in the row wore an evening gown, mascara streaks disappearing behind their muzzle. Two were completely naked. Some were crying. Another was fighting against the restraints like they had any chance at working themselves free before they got shocked for their disobedience. Though from the looks of the angry red welts rising under the restraints, the agents were letting them carry on with their fruitless efforts. A few were limp, split lips and still-bleeding noses indicating they’d needed a little extra help into the van. 

He envied them. 

It was impossible to know what might have led the others here. They all must have known what was coming, tried to avoid it in whatever they may have been doing. Most of them would have agreed with him that death was preferable. 

A Companion across the aisle tried to meet his gaze with pleading eyes but the burn spanning from their hairline to their navel caught his attention first and he couldn’t drag his eyes away. If they were whining in pain, it was lost in the other muffled cries and sounds of struggle— 

Your only power is submission, your only choice is acceptance.

The clip anchoring his wrists to the bench was as thick as his fingers. There was barely enough slack in the anchor at the back of his neck for him to look down to see it fully. None of the locks were of the electronic variety that might release them to the mercy of tumbling in a tangle of immobilized bodies should the van roll. 

How many of them would have their necks broken or simply asphyxiate if there was an accident? Blunt force trauma from being so close to the walls of the van would probably do enough damage to cancel whatever re-training was waiting for them. Or at least for the others.  

Better yet, a clean decapitation. 

A distorted, muffled sound, distinguishable from all the crying, silenced the rest of the van. It took another beat of listening to the hysterical tail end of it, the inhale past saliva collecting at the corners of a bit before it bubbled out again to realize it was laughter. And another beat to realize he was its source.

All the eyes that were open and could manage the angle, turned to watch. Any distraction was welcome when you were facing hell. Had any of the others been in his cohort?  Had he surpassed them in training? 

Look at him now, Archer’s ace in the hole—

That really set him off. 

But he wound up choking on all of the extra spit and spent the next minute thinking he really was going to die in the back of this van just asphyxiating on his own spit before he finally managed to drag in a thin breath amidst all of his coughing. 

The van was still completely silent once he’d recovered his breath. Some gazes had slid away quietly. Others remained, still happy to watch him unravel. 

His cheeks burned under his muzzle but a part of him was sure that none of them could hold a candle to what had led him here. 

Some of them might have simply been displeasing. Appearances could only be changed so much. Their simple minds so very, very far from telepathic. 

Even after the full-refund window, WRU was happy to offer trade-in credit for an exchange. If that wasn’t possible, they would graciously take care of retiring unwanted Companions. It didn’t make any difference if a Companion was bought, leased, or only rented. The Handlers made sure it was always, always, in the back of their minds that no placement was certain—

The only certainty is that you are property now.

The rest would go back to being numbers on the training roster. 

He would be on a different list. 

They were removed from the van for Decontamination one by—

One-four-two-eight-three-six-three-five-nine

— each brought to their own white-tiled room. Wrists hooked above his head, holding him in place over the drain. He wasn’t sure if these were still agents or Handlers now. A different department of Handlers, maybe. They wore white rubber suits like he could be radioactive or carrying a plague, their eyes hidden behind the mirrored glass window of the suit masks. 

The relief of having the muzzle and bit removed distracted him from noticing they were cutting away his clothes. Too late he realized that with them went the last scent of what semblance of a home he’d had, of—

He didn’t have time to swallow the lump in his throat before the spray hit him. Cold and sharp like the water wanted to worm its way under his skin. There wasn’t any slack to get away from it. No way to cross his legs or twist without his shoulders and arms protesting. 

Your only power is submission, your only choice is acceptance.

He yelped when they sprayed it into his ear, gritting his teeth through the other. They pried his jaw open to rinse out his mouth until he was choking. When he was finally released, his spit was pink. 

Next was a powder, antiseptic smell sharp and familiar in his nose, making his stomach turn, misted all over his shivering body—

Your body is an object for service, your mind is a vessel for obedience. 

They scrubbed it in with brushes until the lather was turning pink too. When they brought back the water it was so hot he screamed. And kept screaming as it scalded him like the soap was turning to acid and boiling through his skin. He ran out of air before they were done, gasping in lungfuls of it, the collar tighter and tighter around his neck. His pulse fast against it, beat, beat, beating—  

Beatings break old habits, the collar corrects new—

One-four-two-eight-three-six-three-five-nine.

He was still catching his breath when they held open his jaw to let the water burn through his mouth, his throat, his lungs. 

Black spots dotted his vision. Sunlight through leaves, lying on a blanket under a tree. Right beside her. Mira. It hurt. 

His chest ached, his heart burned. He vomited up all of the water and some blood. The room spun. He sobbed.

The water was off now. 

He was saying it out loud, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” his voice echoing, the only sound in the room. 

He was alone.

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[whistlingstarlight]

Okay first part in what I guess could be considered a character analysis series? As I've said before, the characters in The Thing are all incredibly written and all have very distinct dynamics with each other and I want to talk about them.

I'm going to start off talking about Garry, as whilst he's not the main character I think he's one of the most interesting characters in the film.

M.T. Garry is the station manager of Outpost 31, leading the team of American scientists during their research in Antarctica.

We first meet Garry when the Norwegians invade the camp, aiming to kill the "dog" they've been pursuing. Garry quickly proves himself both a quick thinker and a good shot, shooting the Norwegian directly in the eye. Despite the death being necessary as far as the American team knows, Garry is shown to be remorseful for his actions, indicated by the silent look he gives Palmer after the latter jokes about Garry finally being able to use his gun.

Garry's next key scene is after the Bennings-Thing has been killed. He's absolutely devastated by Bennings' death, mentioning they'd been friends for ten years, and whilst it's clear he doesn't quite understand what's going on, he goes along with Mac's plan to burn the remaining specimens without hesitation. This scene gives us an insight into Garry's more emotional side, as well as showing he's willing to let others take charge when he doesn't know what to do.

Another example of this is when Blair attacks Windows and destroys the radio room. Garry is shown with his gun in hand, clearly ready to use it if necessary, but he again allows MacReady to take charge and detain Blair with minimal violence.

Garry, along with Dr. Copper, becomes a prime suspect when the blood reserves are sabotaged. Whilst he's quick to defend himself and seems to try and deflect blame onto Copper, everything he says is truthful and any attempts to shift blame are simultaneously unintentional and justified, as whilst it's never confirmed who did sabotage the blood, it's clear it wasn't him.

He's the first to notice Windows panicking, again showing he's quick to respond to sudden situations. Whilst he does threaten to shoot Windows after he arms himself, he makes it clear he doesn't want to kill him, allowing Mac a chance to talk Windows down before he shoots. This is Garry's most pivotal scene, as after several occasions of following his orders, this is when he officially gives up leadership of the base to MacReady. He knows he's suspicious, even though he's later proven to be human, and knows they won't get anywhere with a leader nobody trusts.

Later, when MacReady is suspected to be a Thing, Garry -along with the rest of the team- turn on him. However, this isn't a frustrating moment even from an audience perspective. We as the audience haven't seen MacReady for some time at this point, and whilst unlikely it's not out of the realm of possibility he has been assimilated. After Mac kills Clark in self-defense, Garry willingly -albeit reluctantly, vocalising his doubts- goes along with the blood test. After both the test is proven to work and Mac is proven human, Garry's loyalty to MacReady returns.

When the majority of the team have been killed and Blair all but proves himself a Thing, Garry is one of the last men standing. He follows MacReady's final plan, to destroy the base and any leftover aliens with it, even though he knows he won't be making it out alive.

Garry dies in the generator room whilst setting up detonators, when the Blair-Thing ambushes him from behind, gruesomely assimilating him mouth-first to prevent him calling out to Mac or Nauls. Whilst this contradicts his earlier scenes which show him to have decent reflexes and a strong awareness of his surroundings, by this point the survivors are all exhausted and slowly freezing to death, which would explain his slower response.

The last we see of Garry is his faceless corpse being unceremoniously dragged away by the Blair-Thing, attached to its arm.

Throughout the film, Garry shows himself to be a capable and level-headed leader, enough to know when he's not the right man for the job. He's never shown abusing his authority (whilst harsh towards Windows at times, Windows seems unpopular with most of the crew thanks to his abrasive personality), and seems to respect his crew enough not to force them to follow a leader they no longer have faith in. He's an excellent change of pace from asshole authority figures in media who take advantage of their position (see his counterpart in the 2011 prequel, Dr. Halvorson). He's not always a nice man, but he is a good man.