#weather problems

[primrosebitch]

I am so sensitive to dry weather and i hate it, like one time when i was visiting family in the mountains i got a nosebleed every night and i used up like an entire box of tissues for the like 3 days i was there, i had saturated an entire box of tissues in my blood that visit, and where i live has been going through a bit of a dry period (for some godforsaken reason, it's never been like this before) and while it wasn't/isn't as dry as the mountains i had still gotten a bloody nose every night for around a week at the worst of it

[hellenhighwater]

augh! The newest part of my hundred and fifty year old house is the den and sunroom, which were added on...sometime between the 60-80s, if I had to guess. And they are by far the poorest-constructed parts of the house. The sunroom had a leak last winter, which I initially attributed to an ice dam in the gutters (cue me on a ladder in an ice storm, chiseling ice out of the gutters with a pick and my bare hands while getting pelted with chunks of sleet) and that seemed to have done the job. But I've cleaned the gutters out plenty and for the last three rainstorms, there's been a leak in the sunroom every time, so I think it's a more serious issue.

On the other hand, I have a rube goldberg machine of houseplants feeding ceiling-drip water into each other before all dripping into the rainwater bucket, so that's certainly saving me some watering. The fiddle leaf feeds into the philodendron; the philodendron feeds into the rubber plant; the rubber plant feeds into the monstera; the monstera feeds into the parlor palm, and into the bucket on the floor.

[apathyfairy]

last year i found a wii at goodwill for 25 dollars and it came with everything except a wiimote but it was in such good condition i was like hell yeah ill take it how hard can it be to find a wiimote. the answer is it's nearly impossible to find them at thrift stores now so i've spent like 8 months looking for ones in thrift stores but there wasn't a single one and then online but i just couldn't bring myself to spend 30 dollars on one single wiimote so i waited so. patiently. and then 2 weeks ago i finally found one at goodwill for 9 dollars but it was absolutely disgusting and the battery cover was missing and the compartment was all corroded so i put it back and regretted it the whole week but then this last weekend i went to savers and there was an absolutely perfect wiimote just sitting there with no corrosion and a jacket and the wrist strap and motion plus and the nunchuck was there too and i got it all for 10 dollars so the moral of the story is that sometimes things seem right for you in the moment but you have to recognize that they aren't and leave them behind so the things that are meant for you will in fact find you when the time is right. peace and love <3

[mcflymemes]

please don't mistake silence for hatred. please don't mistake unanswered plotting messages as indifference, or a lack of enthusiasm towards you. considering the ages of most roleplayers, many of us have bills to pay, families to take care of, medical conditions to treat, appointments to make, classes to take, homes to clean, and lives to live away from the computer that are far, far more important than writing on tumblr — life has a tendency to get in the way of hobbies and fun things like this. be patient with your fellow writers. if it doesn't work out, it doesn't work out. of course you can set your boundaries, keep your space comfortable, and softblock whoever you wish, but do so while recognizing it's probably not hatred or apathy that keeps them from leaping into your dms with message after message. they probably love this hobby just as much as you... but sometimes life gets in the way.

[lady-raziel]

hilarious that with each new day that passes a new bit of dirt from JD Vance's past gets discovered and plastered over the internet...it's almost as if this is why presidential campaigns have always announced their running mates well before the convention...so that if glaring issues with a candidate came to light quickly there would be time to replace them on the ticket before they were officially locked in...it's almost as if certain things in political campaigns were done for a reason, donald...because the very same critical failures had happened before...but no i'm sure you and your guys attempt to recreate a fantasy version of history while ignoring all the reasons that history was a disaster will work this time...because you are built different and the 10000th time trying fascism will work like a charm...

[stars-and-branches]

What if I wasn't in pain. What if there was peace and love on the planet earth

[tequileah]

A little more than sun kissed

[forestshadow-wolf]

It's raining, ghost idly notes. Technically he should be focusing on the field briefing that they're getting, but they'd already gooten one when assigned, one before they left base, and one on the plane ride here. So really, they're just talking in cirlces now.

Price is at the front of the table explaining the plan, which they have to wait four hours to even begin acting on, standing next to the open laptop showing all the documents they need.

Gaz is trying very poorly to act like he's listening. Poorly because he's been flicking wadded up pieces of paper at price (who is ignoring it pretty well)

Ghost usually doesn't sit during briefings, he gets distracted, so he takes up a spot by the wall.

But soap, uncharacteristically is also leaning up against the wall next to him. Usually he playing footsies.with gaz across the table, but not today.

Price is still droning on about the mission blah blah blah, ok well not blah blah blah but it's nothing he hasn't already memorized.

He watches soap squeeze tightly at his knee again, for the third time in the last 20 minutes, as far as he cam reach without making it obvious. Ghost also notes that he's stiffer than usual.

He leans into soap's space just a bit, "you 'kay?" He whispers. Soap nods almost imperceptibly.

"Yeah, why?" He hisses.

"It's just... you know you can sit down right?" He says, gesturing slightly to the 3 open chairs at the table. One of which would normally be occupied by a certain scot anyway.

"Yea- I knoe tha', I chose to stand for a reason."

"Well- I was jus' sayin', ya look uncomfortable, s' all."

"I am, tha's why I'm standing."

"Yeah, 'cus that makes sense-"

"Are you two done arguing yet?" Price cuts in. Soap looks just as chastised as Ghost feels, which... is really only enough to fake it.

"Yes, sir." They both respond, and peice goes back to his rambling.

The meeting ends soon enough, and they're finally released to get ready or whatever they need to do.

"You sure you’re okay, johnny?" Ghost catches a stiff legged soap just before he leaves.

"Aye, s' rain s'all" Ghost isn't really sure what that has to do with anything, and he says as much. "I fucked up my knee a few years ago, it's fine now, the rain just makes it act up a little. Something Something low pressure atmosphere, basic science, I think."

"Okay, well you know you could sit down. Would probably help." Ghost suggests... again

"Yeah and I'll not stand up again, not with this wanker" soap snorts at him, referring to his knee. Ghost frowns.

"Well... anything I can do to help?", soap shifts from one foot to the other.

"Not unless you got me some new knees. It's fine, Ghost, I'm still mission ready if that's what you're worried about. I actually had to redo the fitness tests once I healed up just to make sure I could still do my job."

"..."

"What?" Soap shifts hsi weight again

"... that's really.. not what I was asking about."

"Aye, well- what do you brits say- 'cheers, mate' I'm fine. Swear it."

"And that's why you're limping around?" Sure, maybe a bit of an exaggeration, but it's not technically inaccurate.

"I'm no' 'limping' around, and even if I was it's hardly noticeable. Why do you even care so much, it's no' you're problem." Soap sasses back.

"Well, I'd like to help if I can-"

"How? You gonna shout it outta me? There ain't shite you can do for it. Just leave it be, aye?"

"... fine, but I can help if you let me."

"Aye, I'll keep that in mind, thanks." And then he was walking away, off to do whatever he need to do before their mission.

Ghost makes a note to himself to ask about it again after they're back on base.

[powdermelonkeg]

Google is getting progressively, frustratingly more useless.

[flickeringflame216]

blessings roll call!!!

[jelly-fish-wishes]

I have been doing….this background…for the LAST 5 HOURS AND I KEEP GETTING DISTRACTED BY TWITTER NOTIFICATIONS.

I click on one by mistake and stay stuck scrolling down 🤬🤬🤬

[quecksilvereyes]

“You cannot live your life to please others. the choice must be yours.” Susan

Uh. So this prompt possessed me a little bit, I sure hope smoking isn't a trigger for you, anon.

____

Sometimes, in the summers, when the air is thick and heavy, dripping with unshed rain and pressing into the hollow of her clavicles, Susan Pevensie stands in her mother's garden, and bathes in the sun. She drapes her blouse, soaked with sweat, and her skirt, soaked with perfume, over the old rocking chair that has long since splintered under the weight of its age, and then:

A breath.

With closed eyes and soft mouth, rouge-dotted and lipstick-smeared, Susan Pevensie tilts her face towards the light. Her brassiere is damp with English rain that won't fall, her petticoats are stiff with English breeze that won't blow and her wrists are strung up by English strings that won't pull.

Blue skies are rare, here. England is grey, and England is cloudy, and England rains and rains and rains until it has made itself sick and its ground unsteady. Some weeks, the clouds hang low for so long that the sun cannot reach what it wishes to nourish. Some weeks, Susan sits by her window, her head pressed against the glass, and watches the clouds drip into fog, the fog drip into the earth, and the earth drown and cry. Until her skin matches the grey of the skies, until her mind drips from her every breath onto the paneled glass, until she can't see through the fog, anymore.

"Su", says her brother, then, his hands on her forehead, his mouth in her hair. "Susie." His hands, shaking and unsteady, are warm and getting warmer with every passed winter. His voice, soft and careful and stripped of teeth, drops steadily deeper. When he turns his head, the beginnings of a stubble scrape against her cheek.

"Light of my life, sun of my skies."

The skies are grey. The grass is grey. The fence is grey. The world is grey.

Peter's eyes are blue. The clouds don't gather around his pupils, and his irises are clear as they've been for days. The English sky has never echoed the yellow freckles.

The Narnian skies were ever centered around the pupil of her sun, in the soft yellow streaks of Peter's eyes.

Susan wets her lips. She doesn't wet her cheeks.

Peter climbs onto the bench. "My sister", he says softly. "Where have you gone?"

Susan buries her face in his chest and leaves behind great streaks of make-up on his bleached dress shirt: a mouth of lipstick, a blur of rouge, a dust of powder. Splotches of mascara, lines of kohl. Marks of eyeshadow.

Peter rubs her back, and Susan doesn't cry.

In the summers, she drinks the sun with greedy mouth and empty stomach and hungry, hungry skin. In the dripping air and the burning grass, Susan Pevensie strips to her undergarments - and breathes.

In, and out.

A breath, and then another.

Beyond her closed eyes, the world drips reds and oranges, and bright, stark yellows. Beyond her hollow mouth, the air coats her windpipe; a slow dripping of heat.

She is alone, here. She drops her ball-jointed limbs and her painted porcelain face, turns her opal glass palms right side up, and breathes.

Until her lungs settle, and the fog has run dry. Until the colours are a bit sharper, a bit brighter. A smear more familiar.

-

The party is slow. Nicotine gathers heavy on the ceiling, and the music is a little too loud to be ambient. The drinks are spiked, the hems are lifted, and Susan is standing by the door, watching her friend lose the last of her lipstick to a stranger's mouth.

The boy is. Well, he's fine. Polite and gentle, soft-spoken. He ducks his head and worries the tips of his fingers and the spread of his lips until they bleed. His hair would curl, if it was long enough, and when she blows smoke in his direction, he coughs.

Smiles.

Susan takes another drag of her cigarette. Flicks the ash to the floor. Smiles.

"You'll have to forgive the cigarette", she says around the smoke seeping from her mouth. "It calms me down."

The boy blinks at her, and wets his bottom lip. It is dark with blood, dotted purple where he has almost broken skin, swollen with the almost-injury. "I can't imagine anyone ever denies you much of anything", he says. "You're too pretty for that."

"Too pretty to be annoyed with?"

He shrugs. His shoulders are slumped forwards, and it makes his suit jacket sit oddly on the rounded curve of his back. "People love pretty things. Better to keep them around."

Her cigarette is stained with her lipstick, and the tips of her fingers drip with it. The smoke in her lungs is warm, and the alcohol in her blood is warmer, still, so Susan tilts her head. "When I was a little girl, my mother bought me a little lace collar. I wore it until it broke, and begged her to fix it when it had long become too threadbare to even be touched."

The boy nods, and takes a breath.

Susan clicks her tongue. "I'd gotten beet juice on it, and it wouldn't come out in the wash. No matter the soap, no matter the scrub. There was a small pink stain near the lapel, and it simply bled in all directions. So my mother soaked it in bleach."

The boy cannot pull his shoulders forwards any further. He cannot bend his back more. He digs his teeth into the purple marks on his lips.

"The bleach dissolved most of it. The lace was too delicate." Susan throws the cigarette stub on the floor and savours the last breath of it, the hot coating of her tongue. "If she hadn't tried to get the stain out, it wouldn't have broken."

The boy's teeth break his skin. The blood pools, dark and shy, around the enamel and into the corners of his mouth. "You couldn't have worn the stained collar", he says, with his soft voice and his soft eyes, his soft, soft hair.

"Why not?"

"Well", says the boy. His shirt is starched and bleached. There is a wrinkle ironed firmly into the placket. He coughs again. "It was already ruined before your mother bleached it. It was stained."

Susan crushes the stub underneath her shoe. The music covers the sound of the grinding and the soft hiss of the dying embers. "It was mine, and I loved it", she says. "Was it my mother's call to make what I could bear?"

The boy shrugs. "It's a lace collar. There are others."

Susan hums. "Perhaps. But I wanted this one." Across the room, someone spills red wine over someone else's lap. Someone else holds their cigarette too close to their lover's sleeve. "You shouldn't live your life to please others. You mind the smoke, and you mind the talking. And yet-"

The boy laughs. The corners of his eyes wrinkle, the apples of his cheeks flush dark, and the blood on his lips spreads slow across his teeth.

"And yet", he says, "here I am."

[oobbbear]

I barely animate myself but oh how I want to dissect others animation frame by frame I can talk for hours if you don’t watch animation frame by frame you’re missing out big time

[the-maddest-robot]

This is a picture of the hydrogen and dust cloud surrounding the star Sadr (the bright white dot near the center) also known as IC 1318. The bright parts represent hydrogen clouds and the dark parts dust clouds. Those types of clouds are the birthplace of new stars. This particular photo is in black and white because it was made by using a filter that lets only the light emitted by ionised hydrogen (the H alpha spectral line) pass through it. This increases the visibility of the hydrogen clouds. Since this light is at 656 nm, it would appear bright red if coloured. Together with H beta (496 nm) also from hydrogen and O III (around 500 nm) from oxygen both cyan in color, they represent the majority of light emitted by gas clouds. So in conclusion if you were able to see this gas cloud directly it would appear a reddish-magenta color (H alpha being the dominant emission).

[andi-o-geyser]

“oh the gods are bad the gods are bad” i actually realized i dont give a fuck. crazy concept i actually realized i do not give a fuck lmaooo. people have lived not liking or worshipping the gods for so many fucking years its actually CRAZY like people honestly just go about their day to day lives. they believe or they don't! big whoop! they just care about the price of milk and if the world isn't ending!!

[nefja]

Hmm, nah. Big time unhappy about the stormy weather.