#trying to source wild clay

[imalsorettish]

Ive been processing materials all week trying to make clay. Heres how it went, ill add to this as the days go by. this is just a recap

Gathered clay from my folks backyard. The soil there has always been shit to grow things in because its so high in clay. And the clay sits directly at the surface as well, its not just a foot down or anything. the whole fucking thing is clay. Ive tried to do this once when i was much younger, less even paced, and far more impulsive. It wasnt successful for a number of reasons.

- Got the material wet before i could even attempt to refine it down to just clay, which then meant id have to pick thru sludge with my hands to remove rocks and other debris.

- I decided to let the bucket sit to dry out, and then i never picked it up again.

- Straight up didnt know what i was doing. Well, i knew the essentials. It was obvious we had clay. I knew it had to be wet. It occurs to me now that i might have had an easy time recogbizing what was there and what to do because my grest grandparents were potters. My Mémé (Great grandma, ik it says meme. whats truly hilarious is she married a guy called pepe.) was a BITTER and mean woman. She and my grandmother would let me play with clay while i visited them, but i dont have good memories of this. I didnt investigate the craft due to the discouragement i got from them both. i found it intensely frustrating and it really clashed w my adhd.

- Clay takes a LOT of patience to work with. Even more to source it yourself and fiddle with the consistencies and ratios so u can manipulate into an actual piece, and EVEN THEN its not guaranteed that it will work well at ALL. Pieces often crack, dry incorrectly, shrink up, and even explode esp in the kiln. I do not nor have ever had a pottery wheel or a kiln. My only goal to satisfy doing this, then, was just to make clay and do nothing with it at all. Just to try it, see what my capabilities were, etc. There was absolutely no plan.

Since then, I found myself thinking about clay periodically. Every few months or so id return back only to the idea, and then brush it off. But ive never quite shaken it. I was 19 then. I turn 24 this march. Its been 5 years. So im trying it again, because i want to, and because i found pottery that finally interested me and i think would be fun and challenging to make.

[a-dinosaur-a-day]

Fossil Novembirb 6: Tropical Denmark

Septencoracias by @quetzalpali-art

We have a whole host of early Eocene ecosystems filled to the brim with birds - such a reversal from the Cretaceous and the Paleocene! - that we had to keep highlighting these ecosystems. So, next on our list is the Fur Formation of Denmark - another very early Eocene ecosystem, right after the PETM, that shows how Neoavians diversified so rapidly in the wake of the K-Pg extinction.

Associated with volcanoes, this ecosystem was periodically buried in ash, leading to the exceptional preservation of its fossils. It was a tropical forest, like most of the world at that time, near the coast; allowing the fossils to preserve a variety of marine as well as arboreal species. So, good news for us bird lovers!

In fact, there are so many different birds in this ecosystem, I can't possibly list or talk about them all. So, I'm just going to have to do my best to summarize!

Eocypselus by @saint-nevermore

This formation shows the oldest known members of many bird groups still found today, which is an important piece of the puzzle of Neoavian evolution. The earliest Rollers, Trogons, Swifts, and Ibises are all known from this ecosystem - as well as a wide variety of other birds that have older representatives, such as the Lithornithids.

In fact, for all the absence of Palaeognaths in the Cretaceous and earliest Paleocene, around the PETM the Lithornithids really took off - pun intended! They were found all over North America and Europe, which may have given them a prime position from which to radiate to the rest of the world... and evolve into the Palaeognaths we have today? Maybe. More work on that question is, of course, necessary.

Other interesting birds include Morsoravis, the early Parrot-Passerine relative with flexibly zygodactyl feet and kinetic skulls, allowing them to manipulate food and climb around on trees - common in its ecosystem. What's wild is this was very similar to the foot of living mousebirds - which are nowhere closely related to Parrots or Passerines - showcasing this as a case of convergent evolution in avian feet! That happens a lot, actually...

Rhynchaeites by Diego Ortega

Septencoracias was another fantastic bird of this ecosystem, being the oldest known roller. Previously, it was thought that rollers only appeared in the Miocene, so this pushes back their origin by tens of millions of years and also indicates that modern-type rollers appeared very early on in avian evolution. Furthermore, Septencoracias was found with fish in its gut, indicating that rollers at the time had a wide variety of food sources!

Eocypselus was another fascinating fossil of an early swift-hummingbird, ie, a relative of both groups but not more closely related to either. This showcases that these birds evolved their small size first, before specializing into the niches they hold today. It was black in color, and was probably an insectivore, like its living relatives!

The first ibises showed the long beak distinctive of the group, as seen in Rhynchaeites/Mopsitta, and had long legs for wading just like in living members. And relatives of modern rails, Messelornithids in the form of Pellornis, were wading along the shoreline right with them.

Eoglaucidium (a Sandcoleid), photograph by Ghedoghedo

In fact, one thing that's becoming clear about birds is that they tend to repeat the same ideas - locked in to certain developmental constraints, such as not re-evolving arms, they try out different ecologies that work well and continuously convergently evolve those adaptations over and over again. Wading, flexible feet, climbing and perching, the list goes on!

We'll see that continue throughout this series, but of course, unique adaptations will continue to come up in spades! These are birds we're talking about here.

Sources:

Mayr, G. M., A. C. Kitchener. 2023. A new fossil from the London Clay documents the convergent origin of a “mousebird-like” tarsometatarsus in an early Eocene near-passerine bird. Acta Palaeontologica Polonica 68 (1): 1-11.

Mayr, 2022. Paleogene Fossil Birds, 2nd Edition. Springer Cham.

Mayr, 2017. Avian Evolution: The Fossil Record of Birds and its Paleobiological Significance (TOPA Topics in Paleobiology). Wiley Blackwell.

[vanwritesfan-fiction]

Just The Three Of Us

Thanks to @selinbaskaya for letting me take a shot at her request! Hope I did it justice!

Based on this TikTok

Please note: this content does mention fathers and father’s day. If this is triggering for you, please do not engage.

“Thanks for inviting us for brunch, sis.” Clay says with a mouth full of crepes. “You’re so welcome, Clay. You may not be a dad yet, but I wouldn’t be able to raise Brooklyn without the help of her favorite uncle.”

“Hey!” Urban exclaimed, reaching for the bowl of hash browns across the table. “Sorry, Urb, of course Brooklyn loves you. It’s really a tie between the two of you.” You gestured across the table. “Thanks for lying to him sis, his ego is really so fragile”, Clay whispered loud enough for Urban to hear. Jack walked back into the kitchen, Brooklyn in his arms. “Everything okay, did you get her cleaned up?” You looked up at Jack as he placed Brooklyn in her highchair. “Yeah. She poops so much.” Urban grimaced, placing the bowl of fruit he was about to get a serving from back down. “Appetite officially ruined.”

“Ok, now that everyone is done eating, let’s do gifts!” You disappeared into the living room, returning with three gift bags, one bright blue with ‘Happy Hannukah’ on the front, the second with a rainbow unicorn on the front with the words ‘Make A Wish’ exploding out of the unicorn’s horn, and the third, a pink, striped bag with a baby bottle and the words ‘Hush Little Baby’ in gold lettering. You handed one to each of the guys, sitting back down at the table.

Jack raised an eyebrow at you, letting out a chuckle. “I know, I know. I gave Brooklyn a few dollars to spend at Dollar General for each of you, and she went a little wild.”

Brooklyn giggled, clamping her hands over her mouth. “So pretty, Daddy!”

You stopped everyone before they could open their bag. “I should warn you, she was very generous with her choices.” You rubbed the back of your neck, your cheeks beginning to flush. “I’m sure we’ll love whatever she picked out for us.” Jack gave you a peck on the cheek. “Ok, Urban first.”

Urban reached into his bag, pulling out a box of Super Plus tampons. “Wow, how did you know, B.” Urban joked, putting the box on the table. “I’ll take those, actually.” You shrugged at Jack as you reached over the table. Urban continued, pulling out a stapler, a pack of little green army men, a bottle of power steering fluid, and a silicone basting brush. “I, uh- thank you B. I love everything.” Urban announced, blowing Brooklyn a kiss.

Brooklyn got Clay a pair of floral gardening gloves, a bottle of window cleaner, some foundation that was at least three shades too dark, and a copy of ‘Everybody Poops’, the children’s book. “Why do I feel like she was trying to tell me something.” Clay muttered as he flipped through the pages.

Finally, it was Jack’s turn. “She was extra excited about your gifts, babe.” You rubbed his back as he pulled out the first gift. The first one was a glittery sand shovel and pail. “Ooh, for the beach, baby girl! We have to plan a trip!” Brooklyn squealed at her daddy’s suggestion. He set it down on the table. Next, he set out a value pack of Ziploc sandwich bags. He immediately handed it over to Urban. “For your weed habit.” Jack reached into the bag, stopping to look at you, his hand still inside. “Babe, did you have something to do with this?” You looked over, clapping a hand over your mouth. “Oh my god, she must have slipped that into the basket when I wasn’t looking.” You gasped, looking at Brooklyn. “What is it?” Clay asked, nosily leaning over. Jack pulled out a box of condoms, some off brand the store carried.

“Trying to get rid of the competition at the source”, Clay nodded, reaching out to Brooklyn for a high five. Brooklyn slapped his hand, a big smile on her face. “I told you she was a born hustler.”

[lost-technology]

Earning the Nickname

Tri-Tober Fanfic shorts Prompt 2: Stampede Setting: Trigun Stampede with Badlands Rumble references. Rating: General Summary: And this is why you might see a wild toma someday.

Prompt 2: Stampede Earning the Nickname   There was a time before infamy for Vash – a time for first crimes.  He'd come to stay in small towns during his early days wandering the sandy planet in his searches for Nai and seeing to the welfare of his sisters, who would call to him in his dreams.  Tomas were invaluable friends then, pack animals and mounts that were the hardiest of hardy creatures, save perhaps the worms, but far friendlier to humans and human-like Plants.  They had been brought over from old Earth, stored as embryos and Vash was never certain if they were bred down from something called an “emu” (which had apparently won an actual war that humans had waged on them once in the wilds of their own territory), if they were genetic-constructs with origins similar to Plants or if they were a project to bring back some extinct species, some kind of “elephant bird” that Rem had once told him about and that he couldn’t wrap his head around imagining.  In any case, Brad back Home had showed him how to care for them.  You had to keep your mount happy if you had any chance of coming back Home from a trip to the desert, after all.  It wasn’t very long before the survivors of the Big Fall started using their valuable steed-birds for other purposes.  Eggs as a food source were, of course, a given.  Meat followed afterward.  While Vash could never imagine eating his own mounts, he understood the survival needs of the population.  It also, he hated to admit, took some pressure of the Plants to have livestock around.  It took him a bit longer to take to eating toma-meat himself, but when he did, he found that he’d liked it.  It could be dried rock-hard into something that could be taken off a fossilized chunk in slivers and made for a good long-term, long-distance ration that was surprisingly filling for how little one could flake off with a knife at a time.  Regardless of knowing what these cute, big goofy birds tasted like, Vash could not stand to see them in any kind of ill-treatment.  Even birds doomed to slaughter deserved to be fed and watered in the meantime.  So, when a young Vash, one who was not yet the subject of pursuits and wanted posters came upon a small ranching town where he saw a pen of toma panting and swaying, rolling and suffering in the dust from thirst-induced bloat and inquired about empty troughs and got an answer from a farm owner that it just didn’t matter if the birds were watered because they weren’t long for this world, anyway – “We’ll just take the fresh ones and any that die in the pen can be used for leather,” well, that didn’t quite sit well with Vash.  The town had a Plant-source reservoir not an isle away.  He took out his big gun and blew off the locks on the main gate.  “Oops, looks like your fence is broken!”  “Why you!”  Seeing freedom and smelling water, the toma flowed as one.  The ground shook and people dove for doorways or looked out of windows at the dust and covered their ears for all the squawking.  After the creatures had made their way to the reservoir and drunk their fill, none of the resident ranchers were able to round up a single one.  The place became known for its population of wily feral tomas that lived among the canyon rocks and the scant flora scrub eating small worms and stealing garbage.  The town was renamed from something forgotten to Big Bird Gulch.  There was a war fought against them to try to rein them in, but in the end, like their ancestors before them, the toma won.  They retained their right to live and to continue to be a local nuisance.  In exchange for all of the loud nighttime trash-scavenging outside the homes, businesses, bars and brothels, they became quite a tourist-attraction.  Artists in the town painted pictures and made little clay sculptures that sold well as souvenirs. People from all around brought money into Big Bird Gulch going on tours around the scrub in hopes of catching a glimpse of one of the world’s only “wild toma.”    And a young man named Vash became Vash the Stampede ever since. 

[nunubug99]

Surprise!!

I guess I’m :

✨💖 Back on my bullshit 💖✨

Thinking about how Bruce and Clark land on the idea of swapping partners to spice things up. Although it was an of hand joke made under the influence, neither could let the idea go.

Clark bringing it up to you, another meta, and Bruce to Selina. Clark blushes and fumbles through the confession, but eventually he asks what you think. Shock hits you first, but then the more you think about it, the more appealing it becomes.

The 4 of you decide that this will be a way to explore yourself and your partner better. Almost like a couples retreat! Although you all are excited to learn new tips, tricks, and honest feedback that you wouldn’t otherwise get, you all agree it’s best to come up with rules and safe words ahead of time.

Let’s meet our cast shall we? :

Y/N :

The Jack of all trades. Making a name for herself along the eastern seaboard, Y/N is a black freelance artist who works as a museum curator. Her power allows her to have superhuman strength, speed and endurance, while her meta gene allows her to bend, absorb, and manipulate solar energy. Much like Clark, her power comes from the sun. Known as the Golden Gladiator, her heroics are only brought up in times of severe crisis. She often prefers her civilian life and the privileges it affords, as her secret identity has only been shared with those she can trust. Wild card : Likes when she and Clark can let go of being cautious and careful. Since they both have similar energy sources, their lovemaking can actually be a way to transfer solar radiation. Whether it’s in the middle of a battle or at home, this has proven to be extremely rewarding over the course of their relationship. Because the two of them are metas, they can focus on each other rather than their ✨destructive✨ actions. Extra Bonus : Y/N is curious to see how this experience will improve her skills and impact their relationship.

Note : Although this is not an OC, as I write Y/N I am imagining some of Teyonah Paris’s characteristics.

Kal / Clark :

Strong and Sensitive. This big boy is the definition of the “Country boy I love youuu!” Vine. Between his responsibilities as a reporter and as earths biggest hero, he always makes sure he has time for you. His biggest asset is his attention to your senses. Over the last few years of marriage, you’ve found that he can always tell how you’re feeling before the words even leave your mouth. His size comes as an added bonus, but his wild card is using it in his knack for overstimulation. As an attentive partner, he’ll make sure that all your needs are taken care of and catered to at the utmost importance. All he asks in return is that you try to keep up with him. :) King of Aftercare. Will talk you through it while showering you with his praise. Both physical touch and words of affirmation are his ways of showing his devotion. Extra bonus : He becomes a slight tease when you’re loopy. He’ll ask you to tell him what you want or how you want it; and when you can’t deliver, he’ll keep going until you can.

Bruce :

Calculating and Experienced. The opposite of the man from Smallville in almost every way. Where Clark likes to be soft as if he was working with clay, Bruce is more equipped to be as efficient and in control as possible like a botanist with a bonsai tree. King of edging. Won’t let you cum until he thinks you deserve it. Will make you beg in the best way. Has a knack for public play and shibari. All his travel and escapades has made him extremely aware of his likes and dislikes, so it’s very unlikely you’ll surprise him with any requests. He’s usually playing brat tamer so this will be a nice change of pace. Wild card : Is not afraid of his sexuality or pushing his limits. He shows his adoration in gifts rather than words. His past consistent lovers would usually be showered in parting gifts, for example Selina’s Tiara collection. You would be no exception to this rule and in his aftercare you will look up things you want. He will get annoyed if you speak up about prices; and as punishment he’ll make you add more to your cart. Extra bonus: Can and will make you cum without touching you. His biggest goal is to beat his personal record of withholding your release.

Selina :

Sensual and Clever. Selina will play her partners like a symphony. The woman is the perfect match for the man who plans for everything. This cat found her way to Gotham City after trying to find a fresh start when her first life was taken from her. Her objective is to leave them wanting her more than they ever thought possible. Wild card : She revels in the idea of being both a brat and a dominatrix. So being able to play with both roles has her more excited than anyone. Before getting down to business, she usually likes to set the mood for the evening. Whether it’s roleplay or even a drink, she finds that the most alluring part to her is the foreplay before the fun begins. Bonus : Although her hands are usually tied up, she’s actually very intentional about her nails during play. Because of this, she dabbles in both S&M as well as sensory play whenever she can.

(Taking inspiration from both the Harley Quinn series and the Catwoman movie featuring Halle Berry)

Although I mainly thought of this because of the endless possibilities that a chaotic superhuman wifeswap would entail; I do credit some of the inspiration from the “Listening Party” Series by @canumoveurseatup-no Aka Bexie. Literally one of the greatest writers of our time! I can only hope that one day I’m able to express my thoughts and ideas like they can 💖

Due to my schedule, Idk when I’m gonna actually post 😬 However I will be working on the first installment this week so we’ll see what happens 🤷🏾‍♀️

[franceblr]

half-baked headcanon #2

initially, sasori didn’t understand deidara’s preference for keeping his hair long; it’s very difficult to mantain, takes up a lot of deidara’s time, is unpractical, attracts attention, and is an inconvenient handle for opponents to grab onto in battle. despite silently appreciating the aesthetic value of deidara’s blonde locks, sasori often made pointed remarks about his partner’s hair, openly suggesting deidara cut it off short for the sake of practicality. deidara of course never even considered the idea, as his mane is a great source of pride and vanity for him. like most neglected children, initially deidara didn’t have a very strong concept of self care and hygiene; sasori, who always keeps his clothes, puppets and workspace pristine and tidy, couldn’t bear to share his living space with a grubby and chaotic teenager, and he took it up on himself to correct deidara’s messiness, and teach him the very basics. but even back when deidara was a wild and filthy child, deidara always took great care of his hair.

this debate reached its climax when deidara was 16, and they were tasked by pein with a mission which required to track down three missing nin and extort the intel they possessed. easy enough. except they proved to be extremely hostile and caught sasori and deidara off guard, who in turn had to take on a more aggressive approach. sasori ended up taking on two of the missing nin, opting to keep one alive for the interrogation, but as he was finishing them off he was interrupted by the sound of deidara screeching nearby. Making quick work of disposing of his opponents, sasori rushes to deidara’s aid, finding him on the ground, clay pouches cut off and thrown to the side, fruitlessly struggling against the broader and heavier nin straddling him, clawing at his arms; head bent backwards by a hand harshly pulling his hair, holding him in place, sasori barely has any time to notice the glint of the kunai against deidara’s throat and the blood blooming underneath it, before the ninja drops agonizing on top of deidara, all blood and silent screams and no information. now, deidara is a formidable long distance fighter; but he’s still rather small, developing muscles not yet strong enough to take down an opponent without his explosions, and he’s no match in hand to hand combat against a skilled shinobi. but sasori sees red. his mission has been an absolute disaster: he failed to interrogate any of the missing nin, has no information to relay to pein, efforts and time wasted in pointless travel and preparation, simply because this fucking brat could not hold his own, and decided to keep his hair down. had it not been for sasori’s intervention, deidara would be choking on his own blood right now! hadn’t sasori told him that long hair was the most obvious of liabilities in battle? shaking with rage and deciding to teach deidara a lesson about pride, vanity and listening to his elders, sasori gets out of hiruko stalking over to deidara, fists his hand in his hair and grits out that now he’s fucking done it, violently dragging him away from underneath the ninja’s bloody corpse. deidara seizes with fear, resisting, pulls at his hands and kicks, screams and begs, something sasori has never heard him do, but his resolve is of iron. he gathers all of deidara’s hair in one hand, and that’s when the realization hits deidara: sasori’s going to cut all of his hair off. he pleads with sasori, apologizing, twisting his head to try and look at his face with tearful eyes and beg sasori to spare his hair. he cries loudly as sasori chops his hair off with a kunai, jagged strands hitting the back of his neck as the blade unevenly cuts through his beautiful golden mane. after sasori is done, he snakes his hand underneath deidara’s jaw, the blood trickling from the wound on his throat stains his wooden fingers, and he forces deidara to recline his head and look at sasori’s face, at his ire, as he cruelly seals his punishment spitting out that if deidara’s irresponsibility sabotages one more mission for the team, he’ll cut off all four of his tongues next. deidara says nothing to this, stays on the ground crying bitter tears even after sasori is done patting down the bodies of the dead shinobi searching for any clues on the information sasori and deidara were looking for.

deidara doesn’t say a single word for a very long time after that. not that night at the inn, when he assesses in the bathroom the damage sasori’s done to his hair (sasori had shown a little mercy, his choppy hair reaching slightly below his jaw, long enough for a small bun); not when they return to the base and all deidara keeps on getting from other akatsuki members is double takes and awkward silence. it’s clear it wasn’t something deidara did himself, and nobody dares to ask whether sasori really did do just that. shearing one’s partner felt like such a huge overstepping of lines that shouldn’t be crossed among teammates. but then again none of the other akatsuki were tasked with essentially raising and training an out of control teenager into a functional member of an international terrorist organization. or so sasori reasoned to himself. truth be told, he hadn’t thought much about the consequences when he did it, too blinded by his wrath and too fed up with deidara’s antics. but deidara going that quiet on him was something sasori would have never seen coming. he expected violent oubursts, screaming matches, dramatics and retaliation. he expected deidara to try and set hiruko on fire. he didn’t expect deidara to not be able to look at him, to not stand being in the same room as him. never had it occurred to him that instead of defiance and vengeance, he could be met with betrayal and avoidance. he didn’t know when that started to bother him; didn’t notice when deidara’s silence became defeaning instead of a relief. sasori didn’t feel guilty, but he didn’t expect his actions to have this big of a repercussion either. somewhere in the back of his mind sasori knew that if the mission had failed, it wasn’t entirely because deidara refused to tie up his hair, and that he was just as much to blame. somewhere deep within him grew the awareness that cutting deidara’s hair was less about the mission and more of a big show of power, of sasori’s dominance in their partnership; a tangible reminder that sasori was in charge, that he was to be respected and feared, and there would be sore consequences if deidara were to disobey him again. it wasn’t quite regret, but it was a growing weight in sasori’s mind, making him uncomfortable, and making him want to avoid deidara even more than usual.

it came to the point where pein had to summon both of them and tell them they had to straighten their shit out for the sake of the organization. once dismissed, back in their shared room, with a leaden tongue sasori gives his best shot at an apology. it does little to soothe deidara’s distress. truth is, despite deidara’s provocations, stubborness and rude speech, he really did respect sasori, and considered them to be kindred spirits to an extent; he didn’t expect the same level of consideration from sasori, he made it clear deidara wouldn’t get as much. nor was it the first time sasori got physical with deidara, his patience so thin and deidara reveling in any attention he was shown. but this… this felt personal and nasty to a whole new level, and it made his chest ache and his throat close up. it left him lonely and ashamed, and so very desperate. desperate to leave, desperate to retaliate, desperate to set the entire base ablaze, desperate to cling to sasori’s knees and beg for comfort, beg to be soothed, beg for forgiveness, or whatever it is sasori would give him. it left him feeling small and battered. yet sasori’s the only one he’s ever gotten this close with, even if the sentiment is one-sided, and deidara has nowhere else to go, the akatsuki will make sure of that. so deidara breathes in, and takes it for what it is, and quietly buries it all deep where he stores things like these. by the time his hair begins to grow back, he’s erased the incident and their relationship goes back to normal fairly quickly, but sasori doesn’t miss how when deidara smiles at him, it never reaches his eyes.

[thewapolls]

this one's a smaller family tree but covers a surprising amount of ground...

CLAY PUPPET and EARTHEN FIGURE are both actually rather enduring figures in the franchise bestiary individually, but I'm bundling them together here because they're not just recolors they're synonyms. They don't have any apparent source material nor any obtuse meaning, they just both describe a humanoid made of clay or dirt/soil. On the one hand these are fairly generic, with maybe a certain archeological tone to them, but they're also pretty obviously some iteration on the Jewish Golem, whether directly or thru a chain of other influences. Also probably some parallel evocation of things like dogu and haniwa in Japanese archeology.

WENDIGO is a kind of evil spirit cited in the lore of several different Native American groups. It is attributed with the possession of human hosts that it drives to violence and cannibalism (among other typified behaviors) most often in the onset or depths of winter and/or far northern regions where and when food scarcity and starvation would threaten a community. There is a... fraught history, to say the least, of the Wendigo being grossly appropriated in western media that really ramped up since the 1980s, probably peaking with the extremely tacky and insensitive use of it in the 2013 Hannibal TV show.

WIGHT in a really neat kind of obtuse reference with a lot of history. So on the one hand the Wight is also a D&D monster, but as a fairly generic undead warrior, which isn't the reference being made in WA2. In lieu of that you might be tempted to look to J.R.R. Tolkein's use of the full word Barrow-Wight and undoubtedly the root of its pop culture presence. But there too they're just undead warriors. No the root of this reference (and a similar line of thought goes into the Wights of Game of Thrones) is that William Morris's 1869 English transaltion of the Nordic Grettis Saga invented the term "Barrow-Wight" as a translation of Haugbúi --haugr refering to a kind of burial cairn or mound +‎ bui meaning “dweller,” both being old norse. But because William Morris was something of a pioneer and eccentric he opted to try and retain the archaic sound of the old norse, and so instead of translating the term literally into contemporary English, he used "Barrow" a type of burial mound native to britain dating back to pre-christian eras, and "Wight" a term that was already archaic by Morris's time, used in the middle ages, to refer to a person but in a derogatory or vilifying manner, all together to give both the literal meaning and an archaic and ancient tone. So it is once again referring to the undead, and specifically characters who were warrior kings, but also this original use carries with it the connotation of Norsemen, and that is where the affiliation with the ice and cold comes from, hence the white furred yeti-like model in WA2, and the soldiers of the long winter in GoT/SoIaF.

WRAITH is another historical English term referring rather vaguely to ghosts or figures of the dead in the underworld. Dating back to the 1500s in a translation of Virgil's Aeneid.

GASNOID 1ST is a fun one as it kind of cleverly recontextualizes the shared model with WIGHT and WRAITH as gaseous rather than spectral. But it's also an obtuse reference to the Japanese 1960 horror/sci-fi movie, GAS Ningen Dai-ichigo[ガス人間第1号]: "Gas Human #No.1." (the English title is The Human Vapor) Although the name in Wild Arms gives the impression of THE FIRST... in a European style lineage of a ...GASNOID family. The actual Japanese used in the game is in fact, GASNOID1st[ガスノイド1st]. (I wasn't actually thinking about it when I compiled the image, but it's possible that the enemy EM BEING is actually a reference to Denso Ningen[電送人間]: "ElectricalTransmission Human" (aka The Secret of the Telegian) a rival movie that came out in the same year as Human Vapor.)

SHAITAN a super late addition to the franchise, but it shares its model with GASNOID in WA5. It's actually just the Arabic borrowing of the Hebrew Satan[שטן]. And as you'd guess it refers to any of a variety of evil spirits and tempters basically hitting all the marks of its Christian and Hebrew predecessors while also adding in a pretty robust array of unique Islamic lore in the Quran. That's a pretty severe over simplification of things but I'm not about to jump down that rabbit hole because there's just no room here, and stupid William Morris already took up so much...

[bishiglomper]

You know dad called me the other day to check up on us. Whenever he calls I keep reminiscing about the trip to New York 😗 (Also every time I get a low glucose. Because I'm always like "at least its not as bad as that time..")

And the latest fixation is. When we got back to the hotel for the night he suggested I go out drinking. Alone.

In New York.

And I panicked for a second like. I am fuckin' autistic man, I'm super dependant- I cannot be trusted to wander a city like New York and not fuckin die 8D I also get lost super easily. Even trying to find the hotel room by myself is anxiety inducing. I am just not fit to be released into the wild, okay? That's why I dragged him there in the first place.

But I have yet to tell him about being autistic because he is the type of person (autistic) that does extensive research on any and all topics and cites all his sources. Even if its just suggesting a vitamin for me.

And my self-diagnosis comes from a few years of crowd-sourced experiences I've related to and referenced to form my own diagnosis. I don't know of any articles that could sum that up specifically enough to convince him without further debate over it.

And I am not very good at organizing my thoughts enough to have that conversation 😐

I dont mind explaining my chronic illnesses because those can be in itemized lists and practically graphed but autism cannot. 😅 How I feel and react to things are not so easily categorized.

It's just. So frustrating.

And one of the things I know that frustrates him is my lack of motivation to do things. It's bugged him my whole life

And i have determined I never had/have any ambition because i lack the dopamine. Even the things I LIKE arent enough to give me the juice i need to push it further.

Like with my crafts, I could try to do those sculptures he wanted, clay used to be a decade long hyperfixation. I could look up and learn all the techniques i need to learn to get it done. ....but also, I dont want to. I've been wanting to do some clay. But not enough for all that. And it's frustrating for all parties involved when that happens. I was born with literally 0 fortitude and a shitty constitution

And I know I'm a whiny pissbaby over it, I admit I was definitely spoiled. But alas, still don't have the fucks to give to change it.

I wish I were just gay, that would be easier to explain. 😂 I already told him I was asexual. Maybe didnt use the label, but explained.

Btw his only response was a sad look and the comment "But you should have someone to rub your butt. D: "

I mean. That was a new one, at least. 🤔

[dulcetash]

In Which I Claw Off My Blinders So That I May Examine Them

So, I’ve been having a high old time with Dracula Daily, and I’m learning fascinating new things along the way.  A dear friend shared how formative Jonathan Harker’s May 16th entry in Dracula had been for her from earliest memory, in response to my reblog of this post, wherein I’d encountered an enlightening, new-to-me definition of “swoon.”

Her words led me to confront something about myself that has been creeping around the edges of my brain for awhile.  I’m truly bothered by my lack of awareness and lack of-, of impressionability, in my own youth, to this kind of formative influence.  To put it bluntly, I am a basic, basic bitch.

I started to respond on the original post, but my thoughts rapidly spun out in a way that would derail that post’s thesis, so I’m giving them their own space here.  I rarely share of myself in public this way, but it seems necessary tonight. So here is my reply:

... it’s a fantastic passage.  And the first time I read it, probably when I was in my 20s, it went right over my head.  So many things that I’m now finally learning to see as queer-coded, or even just sexually coded, were a gigantic blind spot for me until, well, pretty much my 40s (likewise, some of these meta posts on DD are teaching me to see anti-semitic coding that I had NO IDEA about: separate issue, same source).  And this “bit of well-known shorthand,” with regard to swooning?  It certainly wasn’t known by me, AND I WAS AN ENGLISH MAJOR.  

All those jokes you see today about those dense heteronormative scholars who say, “these women who wrote about the joys of undressing each other, you must understand it was merely a form of social bonding that indicated emotional closeness and the discomfort of corsetry, blah blah blah...” I have been that dense reader for most of my life.  My own formative coming-of-age literature went from Beverly Cleary and Laura Ingalls Wilder and Louisa May Alcott and even friggin’ Sweet Valley High, directly to rapey 80’s bodice-rippers and Stephen King.  There was no transition or middle ground between tender/sweet/romantic/sexless and titillating/explicit/traumatic.  And for whatever reason, I never thought to imagine any.

In that Jane Eyre podcast I’ve been listening to, one of the hosts mentioned Rochester’s threat to rape Jane, and I was like, *record scratch* -wait WHAT?  She referred to this:

“Jane! will you hear reason?' (he stooped and approached his lips to my ear) 'because, if you won't, I'll try violence.”

And I… I never thought about what that meant.  I was raised without physical violence (thank god), but I was also raised to feel that a man being angry at me was the most terrifying possible circumstance.  I never once imagined what the anger might lead to; the anger itself was The Bad Thing to be avoided.  So if I HAD been asked to imagine what form Rochester’s violence might take, it would have been, like, hurling crockery or some similar tantrum.  Jane Eyre fell into the tender/sweet/romantic/sexless category for me, so anything else was literally unthinkable. 

Later, In the same scene, he gets more explicit:

"Never," said he, as he ground his teeth, "never was anything at once so frail and so indomitable. A mere reed she feels in my hand!" (And he shook me with the force of his hold.) "I could bend her with my finger and thumb: and what good would it do if I bent, if I uptore, if I crushed her? Consider that eye: consider the resolute, wild, free thing looking out of it, defying me, with more than courage--with a stern triumph. Whatever I do with its cage, I cannot get at it--the savage, beautiful creature! If I tear, if I rend the slight prison, my outrage will only let the captive loose. Conqueror I might be of the house; but the inmate would escape to heaven before I could call myself possessor of its clay dwelling-place. And it is you, spirit--with will and energy, and virtue and purity--that I want: not alone your brittle frame. Of yourself you could come with soft flight and nestle against my heart, if you would: seized against your will, you will elude the grasp like an essence--you will vanish ere I inhale your fragrance. Oh, Jane! come, Jane, come!"

And STILL.  I’m like, yeah, Rochester’s a drama-llama all right, he imagines that tearing her chest open to get at her spirit might just be a fresh alternative to locking her in his attic, what a character.  It never occurred to me that he was thinking, “I could sexually compromise her, and then she’d be ruined and have no choice but to stay with me.”  It’s not like you even have to squint to see it, I just… had these huge blinders.  

For fuck’s sake, I’m one of those sweet summer children who thought for way too long that “Netflix and Chill” literally meant to relax and watch movies together.  Thank god I was never really on the dating scene; I thought “inviting someone up for coffee” was literally an invitation to sit around and drink coffee and converse about life.  In a previous century I’d have been that ditz nerding out over the chance to see etchings.  I NEVER KNEW ABOUT THE SEX CODE.

I find that I am angry and disappointed in the culture that raised me not to see, much less analyze, various forms of physical desire.  This culture was also deeply homophobic, not in an openly hostile or aggressive sense, but in a true “fear of” sense that manifested as nobody talking about it.  Ever.  Sometimes there were hushed whispers, quickly shut down by firm denials.  It was just weird.  Not a reason to be MEAN to someone, oh no, but as a default, Don’t Think About It; it’s an embarrassing affliction, and it’s not polite to point.  So I didn’t.  And what you don’t think about, you don’t see.  

But I also find that I am angry and disappointed in myself, about my own lack of curiosity about all of those locked doors.  About my own complacency - complicity? - in Not Thinking About Things.  As I became an adult and started to encounter People On the Internet who avidly DID think about queer romance, I was perplexed by all of these folks who seemed so determined to see things in media that - *tsk* - just weren’t there.  “People can love and care about each other without it being SEXUAL,” I’d think, because for me, the sweetest, least-problematic examples of love in media had always culminated in a kiss. And apparently, I need things explicitly spelled out.  I mean, clearly, who I am today versus who I was 20 years ago means I can learn and evolve, but also, clearly, I am the walking cautionary tale on Why Representation Matters.

*sigh*  Without knowing the code, I’ve missed out on so much.  And my own self-concept has been stunted.  Once I’m done processing and mourning that, I can look forward to rediscovering old literary and cinematic favorites through a more enlightened lens.  No wonder Wizard of Oz and rainbows are queer touchstones.  It’s like seeing colors after a greyscaled lifetime of dismissing them as a vanishingly rare phenomenon.

[wcrstarter]

@skjebne​

It had been four winters since Viktor had tried to kill her and exiled her to the new world. The first winter she had spent largely healing from the terrible burns she had suffered, hiding in a cave that provided her shelter without wild animals bothering her during the daylight hours. Once her burns had faded into scars, the vampiress had swiftly gotten to work on building herself a homestead, felling timber from the forest around her and building a sturdy small cabin not too far from her original resting place. Her old amor and weapons were stored int he back of the cave, with a few personal effects that she kept out of sentiment but didn’t want to see daily.

She learned the lands she had settled on, every inch of terrain, the animals that roamed it, the river that ran nearby and where the clay deposits were in its bed in case she ever had to repair the insulation of her cabin. After four winters in she knew every rock, tree and plant of the territory, every water source and the behaviour of the animals that dwelled alongside her. Sonja had been forced into being entirely self reliant and had not spoken to another human, vampire, or lycan in her exile. None lived near her settlement, and she doubted that trade would have been an option, her father’s control ran deep. But she knew how to survive, how to garden and grow what she couldn’t always forage, allowing her to build a hive to keep bees in order to make herself beeswax candles to burn. A simple luxury, she didn’t need anything to see in the dark, but she still enjoyed her creature comforts. It was the same reason she used a portion of the honey to brew herself meade, it made the longer and colder nights more tolerable on her own. In truth she was quite comfortable being on her own in a remote wild location, but as the years had progressed she had begun to long for company and news. What became of the lycans? Of Lucian? Was her father still in control or had another usurped him? Did she dare try to venture back to Europe to find out, or at least see if there was a human settlement closer to the coastline where she might at least find companionship?

Sonja had ventured out to hunt down her meal for the night, following the scent and tracks of an elk that had strayed from the herd. Night had only just fallen, only the light of the moon lit the way between the trees. She grew closer and closer to the elk, moving silently through the brush and readied herself at the sight of the animal close by. The vampiress dropped into a crouch and waited until the animal came just a little closer, then launched herself at the beast. She went to snap its neck to prevent herself from being gouged by its antlers or hooves, just as a bright light flashed through the forest followed by a concussive boom that left her ears ringing.

Hissing she jerked away, allowing the elk to bound away, disoriented from the sudden event and staggering about until her equilibrium was restored. She had no idea what could have caused such a noise and a flash, and was irritated at the loss of her meal. She weighed her options for a moment, then decided to head towards where she had seen the flash of light originate and the unfamiliar scents on the breeze.Something or someone new was in her territory, and she would find out what it was and decide on what to do from there.

[sisi-halloway]

Strange Man on the Fence

Hyde holstered up his pistol at the shelf in the foyer of his family’s house before taking his keys and heading out. The horses needed feeding and they were nearly out of hay. Been a while since it had gotten so low on stock anyway. He needed to go into the better part of town to get more. As much as they did on this farm, they didn’t bale their own hay.

The cowboy swung his keys on his finger while he trudged out into the November weather. It was cool, the wind trying to nip right through the denim of his jacket. The wool inside didn’t let it. His boots crunched the stiff, yellow grass underfoot. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he looked up at the silvery sky. Novembers in the valley got cold and lonely, that’s for sure. Not too many birds around singing, not too many butterflies like there were in the summer. November changed all the rich, red dirt to dull, copper dust. All the green flowering trees and bushes turned to scraggly limbs and squat tumbleweeds. November was sure enough different, but they were pretty in their own way. At least that’s what he thought.

Hyde could see the beauty in just about anything.

Hyde’s old pickup rattled to a start when he turned the key in the rusty ignition. It’d been a while since he had started this thing. It was the last time he went hauling anything, maybe in the early week of September. He remembered he had to get mulch for the garden. His sister had wanted it anyway. He thought about that time, all three of them lining their garden with pretty red mulch. His sister’s pale freckles got sunburnt that day. She looked as red as that mulch.

When Hyde stepped out of his truck in the barren drive up to his neighbor’s place, he saw someone else standing talking to him at the fence. Olius had never been one for talking, but every now and again, he’d listen. If someone had something important to say, that is. Hyde and Olius were alike that way. Men of little words and of great esteem with who to speak them to.

The world was a vacuum. The wide-open air drowned out any noise before it got too far. The crunching of the clay dirt underfoot, the jingling of the keys on his hip, breaths so deep and warm it looked like Hyde was blowing out the smoke of a cigarette. Everything was lost, swept up in the open range and wild country of Murik Valley. Hyde liked that quiet. That’s what he called peace.

That peace and quiet… it was good for a man like him. He wasn’t hard to please. He could live in this world and all its particularness as long as he could have that peace and quiet.

What he didn’t know is that the man in his neighbors yard was the source of his father’s worry and grief. Grief he didn’t know about yet. Grief that didn’t find him yet.

“Well, well, ain’t it a sight for sore eyes. Been a while since you been up here, boy! Keep on getting’ taller, look just like that daddy of yours!”

Hyde shrugs. It was true. At seventeen, Hyde was bigger and more ‘fatherlike’ than he’d ever been. His hair, which he kept in locs, was getting longer still. That was pretty much the only distinguishing factor he could say set him apart from his father, who sported a shaved head, clean.

His father, the mortuary worker for the whole town, was good friends with Olius. He buried so many of his family free of charge, you wouldn’t understand how he couldn’t be.

“Yes sir. Got any spare bales for me? I done called Zack, but his yield’s been low. Can’t afford to spare anything before the winter.”

The third man, the man Hyde noticed talking to the old farmer, was standing nearby along the fence. He was clad in a dark jacket, leather. He had freckles, head to toe it seemed like. Almost looked like vitiligo, how his freckles was a milky white compared to the dark umber of his skin. He wore some dark washed jeans and black snakeskin boots. Dark sunglasses obscured his gaze, but he was definitely looking at Hyde. Hyde sized him up right back as he waited for Olius to think of his next piece.

Something about this man had seemed so familiar. Not just his freckles, but his aura. Hyde could’ve sworn he had seen him somewhere here before. Somrald, the Valley’s most beautiful gem, was a small enough one that everybody knew everybody. If you didn’t, well you had some catching up to do. There just wasn’t right about him. Hyde would’ve let it go if that man didn’t say anything to him before he left. He was about to get in his truck and take all that baled hay loaded up in the back, and that man wasn’t gonna say a single world to him…

But he did.

“Tell, that sister of yours to keep up with her riding. She’s gettin’ pretty good. Just like that doll Monica.”

That would’ve been fine but…

Last time he checked, his mother didn’t ride horses.

Never did.

[imalsorettish]

i really hope my work doesnt explode when i try to fire it. theres a good chance it will, which would fucking suck! but ive made this one shot glass about two and a half times now (once because the side broke off, the second because i FUCKING SAT ON IT) and id really love to be able to just give it as a gift finally lmao.

[jaeltree]

Mozenrath, what's your plan for if you attract the attention of an eldritch being like Chaos or the Etherial? Do you believe they'll show up at any point?

“Chaos?” He grinned, which gave way to a laugh that started low. Then grew louder and louder as it dragged on. “Oh, oh! Yes; a million times yes!” Fate and Chaos; the two driving forces of the universe… The Supreme Being and its antithesis subordinate? Chaos? The god of its own namesake?

The god that has more magic in its whisker than a small army of djinnis?

What kind of megalomaniac would he be if he didn’t seek their attention?

Though he wasn’t stupid. He would need to greatly level up his game; which, again, led back to the djinni. Everything seemed to come back to Aladdin’s djinni.

Mozenrath calmed himself down, a smile lingering on his face and in his voice. “Now, for the Ethereal…” something that was a little more within his league as of currently. Though that would obviously change for his benefit. “As you may as well know, civilisations rise and fall. Whether if it’s due from within the internal structure, outward, or invading outside forces. No doubt this has been happening since humanity multiplied enough to nomad and settle.”

Mozenrath read surviving primary sources of ancient Babylonia. The clay tablets, while somewhat damaged, described an ethereal being. One the Babylonians thought to be a forgotten goddess who helped Marduk battle against Tia-mat. And that this goddess was not only angry at humanity disturbing the peace divinity enjoyed so much, but also for being forgotten as one of humanity’s rulers.

Mozenrath didn’t believe the ‘ethereal being’ to be a goddess, but he did find it very interesting that she arrived around the time Cyrus the Great conquered Babylonia for Persia, freed the Israelites, and allowed them passage to Palestine. If Mozenrath had to take a wild guess, he would say that she had something to do with that, if Babylonia fell in less than a century of its founding. And that she did not take kindly to slavery. Or at the very least, how the Babylonians practiced it.

Which meant she would not take kindly to him.

Though it really wasn’t a matter he was bothered with. There was simply no way he’d allow her to end his reign with the fall of his citadel, and bring total destruction to his land. The very idea was preposterous.

Besides, he had his sights set on Genie’s magic. Once he had that, then he’ll focus on greater entities. All of which will be used as stepping stones to become an equal to Chaos in power; then, eventually, Fate.

Ultimately he will have all-encompassing cosmic power.

“The Ethereal, whatever she is, can certainly try to ‘pass judgement’ on me. In fact, I welcome her to the Land of the Black Sands.”

“As for my plan to attract Chaos’ attention… Well,” he chuckled, “that would be telling.”

[ao3feed-crimeboys]

now it's red, now it's dead

by aprildesire

Ranboo hums out a noise of confirmation. Tommy closes his eyes, lets himself delicately sink into the void he finds himself encompassed in, and stands still as a strong burst of power surges through his veins, then comes up at the surface of his palm in a flurry of purple and black particles. He guides the particles back to Ranboo by mentally advising them to fly right over to the boy; they chitter jubilantly in a language only Tommy and Ranboo can comprehend, happy to return to their rightful owner. The particles surround Ranboo, swirling in the motion of a wild tornado, then disappearing in a flash.

“Fuckin’ hell, those things are chatty,” Tommy muses.

“They sure are,” Ranboo snickers affectionately, eyes flicking back and forth to view the empty space where the sea of particles was afloat just a minute ago. His multicolored hand tentatively reaches upwards to grasp the air as if maybe he would catch a stray particle that ended up discarded from its herd, but he evidently clasps onto nothing.

or; wilbur soot is a menace to society, tommy needs a break, ranboo is just trying to get by, and tubbo blows up a few buildings

Words: 2993, Chapters: 1/25, Language: English

Fandoms: Dream SMP, Video Blogging RPF, Minecraft (Video Game)

Rating: Not Rated

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: Gen

Characters: TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Wilbur Soot, Toby Smith | Tubbo, Ranboo (Video Blogging RPF), Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Alexis | Quackity, Karl Jacobs, Jschlatt (Video Blogging RPF)

Relationships: Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit, Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit, Ranboo & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Ranboo & Toby Smith | Tubbo, Ranboo & Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit, Wilbur Soot & Technoblade & TommyInnit & Phil Watson, Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Alexis | Quackity/Karl Jacobs/Sapnap, Alexis | Quackity & Toby Smith | Tubbo, Alexis | Quackity/Jschlatt, Jschlatt & Toby Smith | Tubbo

Additional Tags: Background Relationships, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Hurt/Comfort, this is my first fic and i have no clue what im doing, TommyInnit Needs a Hug (Video Blogging RPF), Blood and Violence, Angst, Fluff and Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, i allow tubbo to go feral, as a treat, TommyInnit-centric (Video Blogging RPF), Wilbur Soot and Technoblade and TommyInnit are Siblings, Villain Wilbur Soot, Villain TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Villain Toby Smith | Tubbo, Villain Ranboo (Video Blogging RPF), Hero Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Hero GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Hero Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), i love writing las nevadas quackity, Ranboo & TommyInnit Friendship (Video Blogging RPF), Good Friend Ranboo (Video Blogging RPF), Wilbur Soot and TommyInnit are Not Siblings, thank god for Grammarly, Codependency, Unhealthy Relationships, Dark Sleepy Bois Inc

source https://archiveofourown.org/works/38767881

[kunoevokeexperiences]

Kuno Forest Retreat: A Culinary Delight In The Heart Of Madhya Pradesh

Nestled amidst the breathtaking natural beauty of Kuno National Park lies Kuno Forest Retreat, a haven for both nature enthusiasts and food connoisseurs. This unique destination offers a harmonious blend of modern comfort and the raw beauty of the wilderness, complemented by an array of culinary delights that will tantalize the senses of even the most discerning palate.

Embark on a gastronomic adventure that celebrates the rich culinary heritage of Madhya Pradesh, where the fusion of local flavors and aromatic spices creates a symphony of taste and tradition.

Bhuna Gosht: Lamb Perfection Slow-Cooked To Excellence

For those who crave the rich flavors of lamb, Bhuna Gosht is a must-try. This slow-cooked delicacy is a testament to the culinary expertise of the region, where tender pieces of lamb are infused with aromatic spices and yoghurt, creating a dish that is both indulgent and deeply satisfying.

Dhokla: A Steamed Savory Sensation

For a lighter vegetarian option, Dhokla is a delightful surprise. This steamed savory cake, made from fermented chickpea and rice batter, offers a burst of flavor and a light, airy texture that will leave you wanting more.

Kadaknath Chicken: A Rare Culinary Treat

Indulge in the rare and exquisite Kadaknath chicken, a native breed of Madhya Pradesh known for its tender meat and distinct flavor. Prepared with aromatic spices and cooked to perfection, this delicacy is a must-try for meat lovers seeking a culinary adventure.

Kachori: A Crunchy Delight From The North

Satisfy your cravings with Kachori, a fried sensation from the North of India. Made from soft, smooth dough and filled with a variety of savory options, ranging from spiced lentils in Dal Kachori to zesty chopped onions, Kachori offers a delightful crunch and a symphony of flavors.

Jalebi: Sweet Crispy Indulgence

For a sweet treat that will tantalize your taste buds, indulge in Jalebi. These deep-fried sweets, made from a batter of all-purpose flour and sugar, create a crispy and syrup-soaked indulgence that is a beloved favorite across India.

Kulhad Chai: A Cultural Tradition

Complete your culinary journey with Kulhad Chai, a cultural experience that connects people to the roots of Indian tea traditions. Served in traditional clay or earthenware cups known as ‘kulhad’, this aromatic tea enhances the flavor and adds a touch of nostalgia and rustic charm to the tea-drinking ritual.

Farm-To-Table Experience: A Commitment To Freshness And Authenticity

Kuno Forest Retreat is committed to showcasing the culinary treasures of Madhya Pradesh using fresh, locally sourced ingredients. They partner with local farmers for meat and poultry, procure fruits and vegetables from nearby villages, and source spices from local markets. This farm-to-table dining experience ensures that guests enjoy meals prepared with the freshest, seasonal ingredients, capturing the true essence of the region’s flavors.

A Culinary Adventure Awaits

As you immerse yourself in the wilderness of Madhya Pradesh, don’t forget to embark on a culinary adventure at Kuno Forest Retreat. From the rare Kadaknath chicken to the nostalgic charm of Kulhad Chai, every bite and sip tells a story of the region’s rich heritage and flavors. Discover the best of both worlds – the untamed beauty of nature and the culinary delights of Madhya Pradesh. Embrace the wild, savor the local delicacies, and make memories that will last a lifetime at Kuno Forest Retreat.

[mosesdumpin]

What a wild topic to start on with my first post back on this site

One of the biggest reasons I stopped carrying a gun around in various places (either on my person or in my vehicle. It now stays locked up in my home) is because the more I was forced to think about any situation where that tool would be used, correctly or not, the more I understood that my life would end the moment it left the holster.

Jail, guilt, violent post-trauma, it doesn't matter. Even if I envisioned the perfect scenario where I can be "the good guy with a gun" and only wounded whoever was the threat my life was already surrendered and no longer my own. Therefore, it would be intolerable. In that latter scenario, I think I'd continue walking the earth despite my death for a while. I'd probably lean into the hero rhetoric and tell myself that I managed to prevent incredible violence by using a smaller, less lethal violence. That might last a few months at best. After all, I know I'm not alone in daydreams of hero fantasies, unbidden or invoked. In their most fantastical, its faceless monstrosities bearing down on us like the Orcs surging into Osgiliath. In our most mundane, its minimizing the destruction of Acts of God or the mistake of being in the wrong kind of car crash. I would hold on to that feeling while trying to ignore the personal judgement about humanity that I've cultivated from a long, painful, annoying life. I might even manage to convince myself, for a while, that I was wrong. That might work, as I've held the judgement firmly long enough to have developed a logic around it - but it was never something I built from common sense or rationalizations. It was a thing of experience, pain, loss, and guilt. I simply do not believe a human being can meet the expectations of our imaginary evil as an irreversible rot deserving being burnt out. Even if that judgement is wrong, there is not another human being who can make, or act/react upon, this hypothetical evil. But yes, in my dreamlike hypothetical above, I did not kill whoever threatened incredible enough violence. It does not change that I decided in those moments that I would fail the responsibility of another person's life by ending it before taking care of it. I know that sounds really overly compassionate or naive, but the fulcrum of my point rests on the fact that I Decided To Make That Choice. The merit of that choice, or the trolley-problem philosophy of it doesn't really matter to me. See, I think this idea that "our choices, and/or actions, define us" to be an absurdly reductive view of the world and ourselves. It feels a bit like describing the entire planet of Earth as edible if only you were big enough to swallow it whole. We aren't alone. To feel alone is to trust in the animalistic instinct that nothing exists beyond the edges of light from the fires we built around us. Even if we can't wait for daylight to see the trees of the forest in the darkness, we can hear the rest of the world creaking and snoring and making their own lights. We didn't even build those fires ourselves. We can't even point to everyone who lived in our presence as the entire source of ourselves - death and time being primarily our ways of coping with change. With that said, trying to figure out whose actions or choices matter the most in who or what we are is meaningless. Importance, priorities, and hierarchy can work for all the non-human things. Gravity, mass, and fucking orbital mechanics can be positioned in a strict order of power. If I ask myself what makes humans, and frankly all of that which can cognate, any different from the smashing of particles lighting our sun on fire I would answer with "choices" And they all matter. They do not take away your own just by having helped create you. You have birthed a million fingerprints on the souls of people whose eyes you never met, and the clay surrounding the contents of your thoughts are kaleidoscopes of the fingerprints your passers-by thoughtlessly left upon you. That means, to me, this man who I would have chosen to die, was equivalent to me in that moment. My choice towards his deserved death was one I created whether I succeeded or intended it, but I also created the reasons I would use to justify my choice. If I say "It is my responsibility whether you live or die," then I have linked our fates. And in the end, the good guy with a gun would choose death too.