cobaltsoulsearcher

[cobaltsoulsearcher]

fave cringe fail loser girlboss

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Is anybody listening?

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in absolute tears about the pride module at my work

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happy "everyone forgets that icarus also flew" monday. i want to throw up !

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Things that leveled me up as a Dyke Pt. 2

When I had dyke sex in the parking lot of the fire and brimstone church I grew up in

When a girl drew protective sigils on my arm for weeks after she overheard me tearing apart her old roommate for saying transphobic shit about her

When the sleep study doctor told me I have a medically large tongue and my wife shouted "I KNEW IT"

When the butch at the hardware store told me the shelf cutting machine broke and we spent 20min cutting shelves with bolt cutters for my wife's closet.

At the RenFaire, my wife tried the knife throwing but couldn't get it, then got huffy when I told her how to do it. She handed me the last knife and told me it's not that easy. I did not tell her I threw knives a lot as a kid, so with all her bags and jewelry balanced in one arm, I flipped the knife a couple times and sunk it into the wooden target guy. Felt like a damn hallmark movie and I loved it.

When an Aussie woman in a hotel lobby asked me to please please keep talking because she was fascinated by my american southern accent. I called her darlin and she blushed.

When my wife's grandfather was fine with her being a lesbian largely because I was such a big help with the cattle

When I moved an iron bedframe into the garden for my wife's coworker and she asked how long we'd been together. The answer was that morning. We'd been going steady for about an hour.

When I taught my wife how to waltz

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never be afraid to make ocs/characters u like chubby/fat. hit that mf with the fat beam right now

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Tumblr should let us have two pinned posts: one to share information and the other to force everyone to see a shitpost

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a spontaneous trip to bazzoxan and misunderstandings(?) ensue

reminder, ko-fi comms open

bazzoxan img art original: kent davis, call of the netherdeep [painted over]

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we can do it it

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Character, book, and author names under the cut

Ballister Blackheart/Ambrosius Goldenloin- Nimona by N.D. Stevenson

Magnus Chase/Alex Fierro- The Magnus Chase series by Rick Riordan

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i very much enjoy the dagger † mark. its like if the asterisk had its own shadow the hedgehog

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I just found the funniest font ever

Like. What is this. Why is this. Who is the target audience of this?

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I wish you would write a fic where...

More of the consecuted!Ashton being raised by Essek, please 😘

~580 words | Gen | Essek-centric | Mention of this being 100+ years post-canon and most of the Nein have passed, as well as Ashton

Short one! I stopped to think about how, exactly, Essek would somehow adopt Ashton before they even realized they had past memories, and perhaps this isn't fully sound but I had fun with it :D

I wish you would write a fic where... prompt game

--

Deirta Thelyss once claimed, in the gentle and patronizing way of one practiced at such speech, that she knew from the beginning that Essek was a new soul. He dismissed this immediately as justification for the cool detachment with which she raised him while waiting to see if he was anyone worth caring about.

This was a very solid conclusion until roughly three hours ago, where just as quickly as he disregarded his Umavi’s words he recognized this child. This child he had never met before in his life.

It had been a hunch to ask around. A gift of fortune that he was not immediately carted off as a (as Beauregard would have called it) a complete fucking creep.

But he knew where Greymoore had died. And so could extrapolate the - purely hypothetical - radius to investigate very accurately. And it’s not like the Cobalt Soul didn’t research the strangest of topics. Such as - again, hypothetically - any children born in this range of days potentially experiencing strange flashes and memories.

And if it became a long-term, fruitless research project, well. It’s not like he’s had much better to do. Caduceus is lovely, quite lovely, but there’s only so long he can garden before he’s gently being told to stop cross-breeding the plants and experimenting with grafts. 

(Only so long he can endure the reminders of what they’ve both buried in this same earth. He has always been a weak man.)

Essek long wrote this off as a fruitless thing. Ashton Greymoore was not consecuted, and calling their brain a biological Beacon would be generous (and swiftly provoke several rebuttal papers if he could publish the findings under another alias), and it had been too long. Frankly, he should have given up after fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, twenty years passed without a youth seeking him out on his rounds.

This child is not even toddling. It’s been over a century since he last met this soul, but he knows - he knows, deep in the pit of arcana in his stomach - that this is that genasi.

At this point the towns in his circuit consider it a queer sort of rite to show Essek their children. He’s learned to entertain them with simple spellcraft, enough of a delight to buy good faith. 

“Whoever birthed this little one dropped him on our doorstep,” the weary old orc is explaining; there’s a rush of sympathy and frustration swimming through his bloodstream. Deirta’s face flashes before his eyes, for no particular reason.

They keep talking. Essek keeps nodding and hopes his poker face has improved, because he is panicking. 

He had thought this out. Be the benevolent, strange sort of uncle (the memory of Jester’s voice trills, like a fairy godmother!) and be conveniently available when anamnesis occurred and otherwise simply… observe. For science. Because this was quite the unique sort of circumstance, and could disprove or bolster centuries of his work (and Caleb’s, the foundation of so much of it).

Essek can’t simply sit back and observe - can’t watch Ashton Greymoore grow up in an orphanage. Not again. 

The small human looks nothing like the Ashton he knew. And giggles and reaches for the flutters and skeins of magic without any hesitation, without pain. And he has a shock of red hair.

So with the heedless decision-making that’s evaded him since Caleb and Jester and Fjord and Beauregard and Veth and Yasha and Kingsley passed he says, “Ah. Well, I could offer-” they? They don’t know that yet, “- him a home.”

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Unmute !

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Why are jockeys not supposed to look at smartphones?? will it make them heavier

No, of course not!

It’ll make them criminals

This is in reference to something I mentioned about a prominent female jockey leaving the sport over breaking smartphone usage rules. Nanako Fujita, who raced for Japan, was an excellent jockey with a promising career and international prospects. She was lucky, talented, and in a sport that’s starving for public interest, popular. But she used her smartphone on a weekend, so on October 2024 she tearfully penned her resignation letter and left the sport.

Now, this is slightly more about Japanese sporting authorities than general horse racing practice, but it’s embedded in the idea that jockeys are inherently just such unscrupulous little bastards that they can only be prevented from cheating by locking them in hamster cages.

Going back to how horse racing is historically the province of organised crime, disorganised crime, chaotic crime, things that aren’t crimes but should be, crimes that haven’t been invented yet, and felonies; and given that it all happens for the amusement of billionaires and royalty, not noted for being generous and scrupulous; and given that - much like how claiming a hobby of “knitting” is really a cover story for collecting yarn - horse racing is really an excuse to gamble;

Given all that background - there’s always been a lot of anxiety about jockeys “fixing” races. After all, they’re historically treated as disposable and make inconsistent and indifferent money while entire fortunes are wagered on their backs they’re in an obvious position to influence race outcomes, and there are unbelievable amounts of money at stake.

Thus, the sport feels that we have to assume that jockeys are simply inherently susceptible to bribery. In the UK, jockeys can’t bet on any races and have to declare their mobile phone numbers to the horse racing authority, and have restrictions placed on where/how/what they can use smartphones for around the tracks. They can’t bring a phone to work, basically. Which isn’t too unusual in some professions. The idea is that jockeys with phones could communicate with each other or outsiders to change racing outcomes, or share information in advance before it can impact on the betting odds (like insider trading on the stock market.) this is not commonly practiced in other UK sports. It’s a working condition imposed by anxiety about preserving the integrity of the gambling.

The Japanese licensing authority is more strict. The night before a race meeting, Japanese jockeys surrender their phones and go into separate quarters without lines of communication. So you might give up your phone at 9pm Friday night, enter a sort of corporate youth hostel, work for 2 days, and recover your phone on Monday. Nanako was caught using her phone during this period of sequestration, even though there’s no evidence that she was using it for race fixing (another jockey caught for the same thing in the crackdown was making a restaurant reservation.) again, this level of control over personal communications isn’t practiced in other Japanese sports! Even Japanese pop idols, famed for having restricted personal lives, don’t risk getting pushed out of their job entirely for touching a phone.

It’s about a lot of things, but the level of control exerted over jockeys is interesting to me! and speaks to their position as athletes who aren’t the focus of the sport they do; of jockeys as the disposable pilots of things that are far more valuable than they are; of workers whose working conditions are unique; of sportspeople whose sport is defined by the anxieties of the rich about gambling; of people whose bodies are ferociously honed for a specific set of rules that don’t even necessarily make sense; of a sport thousands of years old, one of the oldest continuous sports of human history, in which the humans who play it are invisible; of ancient once-immovable traditions colliding, in the 2020s, with renewed interest in animal and human welfare and renewed pressures to Perform for social media and everything changing in ways we can’t see because we’re in the middle of them. Like when I say “one of the oldest continuous sports in human history”, as old as the domestication of horses, think about it for a minute and think how strange it is that the human athletes are this invisible, this disposable, this secondary to considerations. Why is it that you’ve been forced to learn about football against your will all your life, and you never thought for a second about this. Isn’t that wild? I think it’s wild.

(Disclaimer: I’m really not an expert, just a mild fan, which is a bit unusual for my demographic; despite the sport being ancient and internationally known, it isn’t very relatable to “people like us,” so this is kind of the first time anyone on tumblr’s really posted about having an interest in horse racing/jockeys. I’m really not an expert and I barely follow the news and do NOT attend races or understand the stats/gambling. It’s just that it was my first career ambition when I was 6, and it’s one of those things where literally no one else cares, so you get to feel like you have Secrets and a Unique OC.)

[cobaltsoulsearcher]

David Mack, cover illustration for the retail exclusive variant of Critical Role: The Tales of Exandria—The Bright Queen #3 (Dark Horse, forthcoming December 22, 2021).

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