#Also I only found out about the word Snafu recently and I have such a funny text rant about it as I was looking for names for this dude | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

gremoria411 · 1 year ago

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I’m reluctant to write off Gusion Rebake Full City’s Scissor armour purely because I have a history of looking at IBO’s odder weaponry and thinking it silly, then realising that it was designed to fight Mobile Armours, which are rather unique foes. That’s not to say that I genuinely think it was used in the Calamity War (mainly because I personally consider Gusion’s Long Range Sensors a more likely strength for the machine), but given it’s role as absolutely crushing armour, I imagine it wouldn’t be completely ineffective (Good angle on looking at the wider gundam configuration’s though, I hadn’t thought of that). The Gusion Rebake Full City’s manual regarding Akihiro though - looking at it now, I’d wager it was a word order snafu. “He previously belonged to the brewers and proposed that boys that do not have a family name should refer to themselves as Altland” to “He proposed that boys who previously belonged to the Brewers and do not have a family name should refer to themselves as Altland” (I’m no scholar of Japanese, but English has a fairly unique sentence structure compared to a lot of other languages, so at a guess that’s where I’d expect mistakes to happen).

I don’t really have much to comment on Deira Nadira and Mina Zalmfort - I haven’t read more than the first arc of IBO Gekko, and while I can suppose and guess about MS Designs, I find it significantly harder to do so about character motivations. Deira and Mina’s coupling probably wouldn’t preclude any heirs - it’s just that where the other half of that bloodline came from wouldn’t evoke much scrutiny (Deira is House Nadira’s heir, after all, of similar importance as Gaelio and Zadiel to their respective houses, so they’d require an heir of some description). It’s possible I’m overestimating the importance of the House Heirs, given what you said about how Gjallarhorn’s aristocracy likely propagates. I did think it was odd that Carta was explicitly the only Heir to House Issue earlier, but given that her death leaves the seat empty I can’t really see another alternative (McGillis’ and Iok’s deaths also take their respective houses out of the running as well, implying that they could not recover where Bauduin could, though considering that Iznario’s out of the picture, and Iok’s predecessor is established to be dead, it may be that it was Gallus and Almiria that kept the Bauduin House from being Heirless). I’d read Mcgillis as being officially adopted into house Fareed, though Iznario faking a blood relation seems very plausible. The blonde kid in the car has been irritating me ever since the series ended, because we have absolutely no idea who they were and what happened to them. Are they a prospective heir to house Fareed? Where did they go when Iznario was exiled? Was Iznario’s other dirty laundry exposed with them?

The houses operating under a “as long as it works” philosophy in regards to their lineages makes perfect sense, since it feeds into the Seven Stars (and thus down into Gjallarhorn’s) power base - even through direct descent, the Seven Stars position comes from actions taken by their ancestors on a meritocratic basis (mobile armour kills) so it’s unlikely they’d be too picky about their heirs, since the beginning of each lineage was founded through merit.

Heck, looping back around to the start of this, it’s possible there hasn’t been this much of a threat to the lineages until recently. If not for McGillis and Tekkadan, then Carta would likely have continued the Issue line and preserved the order of Gjallarhorn (though it’s possible the Kujan family would have always faced an uphill battle for continued existence). It’s even a possibility that until the events of the series there was never such a loss of Heirs in Gjallarhorn (Kujan, Issue, Fareed and the loss of the Zalmforts and possibly the Jizin’s in Gekko (and the Nadira and Warren families being pushed out prior). Suddenly the single line of succession isn’t cutting it anymore, and they can’t course-correct in time.

Sorry about the last-minute edits, Tumblr didn’t save the final changes until after I’d already posted it.

So I realised something - two things in fact, today when thinking about Iron Blooded Orphans again.

So, Gaelio, having realised that his Schwalbe Graze isn’t enough, pulls out the Bauduin family Gundam, the Kimaris, with which to fight the Barbatos. Mcgillis (as Montag) expresses amazement that Gaelio did this, and surprise that Gundam’s are fighting one another. However, his tone is rather dry, suggesting that, while surprising, such a situation is not an unthinkable one.

So, could there have been other fights between Gundam’s post-calamity war?

The other thing is that, while we’re told that there’s 26 Gundam’s known to still exist in P.D. 323, at the start of the series (I *think* it gets pushed up to 31 by the end, since Flauros, Gusion, Vual, Asmoday and Hajiroboshi get unearthed or revealed over that timeframe, but I might have forgotten one), we don’t know for certain that all of the missing ones were destroyed during the calamity war. It’s possible some were destroyed in the intervening 300-ish years, whether by politicking (think the Warren’s and Nadira’s being shoved out along with their gundam’s) or by some other conflict (it’s of course possible that not everyone was completely willing to accept Gjallarhorn’s rule postwar, no matter what the state of things).

So it’s possible that other Gundam’s have been discovered or lost since the calamity war, and they could have intervened in numerous other conflicts in that time. Mcgillis himself notes that Gundam’s “have appeared numerous times at historical turning points and have been a great influence on the history of man”. Not “the machines that won the calamity war”. It’s of course possible that Mcgillis’ romanticism makes him a biased source, prone to flowery descriptions. But. It does seem to indicate that the Gundams have had influence beyond the Calamity War already by P.D. 323, thus implying other conflicts they’ve been involved in.

I don’t know, it’s just cool to think about (and possible fodder for sidestories set prior to tekkadan’s formation in 323).

#gundam #ramblings #gundam iron blooded orphans gekko #Gundam ibo #iron blooded orphans #gjallarhorn #seven stars #gundam iron blooded orphans

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pocketramblr · 4 years ago

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how his hair do that, 5 options

the following is a crack fanfic in five parts, each section on the same premise but not same continuity. also, very spoilerish

bnha manga spoilers below! very recent leaks below! very spoilery!

Better than a charcoal milkshake v 1

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When the heroes first attacked, alarms blaring, compound up in chaos, Dabi snuck away. He let the others pour out of the doors and down the stairs, and crept backwards, turning and running once he was certain no one would notice him.

Not that it would matter much if he did, but why waste the energy on killing them too? He’d need all his firepower today.

Dabi tore through the halls to his room, making it there and slapping his card against the scanner. No time to lose, not when he knew he needed to take care of a few more things before locating where Endeavor was in this heroes’ mission.

He kicked open his bathroom door, hands occupied with carefully pulling the black wig off his head- snagging that on his staples was just the worst, and he couldn’t have blood messing this up today.

Not yet, at least.

Under the bathroom cabinet he grabbed the bag of powery charcoal. It was supposed to be used for some beauty purpose or another, something about enriching hair that didn’t even work- but it would work to darken his white locks.

He poured it on, barely bothering to lean over the sink and keep it from going everywhere. As a final test, he once more wet a bit of it, the color seeping from the hair as it dripped.

He already knew it would work, that’s why he had intercepted so much of it before the quirk cultists could offer it to Toga or Hawks or whoever, but his heart was racing with both nerves and pure excitement.

Finally. The day he’d burn it all down, and make them see why.

He left his door open as he ran back out into the hallway, making a beeline for where he left Hawks. First things first, take care of that, then find Endeavor.

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Better than a charcoal milkshake v 2

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“Hey, put me down by that camping supplies store. And Skeptic too.” Dabi ordered, surveying the carnage of Jakku and glancing over at the man hunched over his laptop.

Said man looped up sharply at that, frowning and spitting that he wasn’t going to do that or something.

Dabi didn’t really pay attention to that.

“Where?” Gigantomachia asked, still rumbling forward towards whatever he smelled. Two masters or something.

Compress cleared his throat and translated for the currently blinded giant. “It’s at 4:05 o’clock, I’d say thirty feet forward.” He then looked over at Dabi, mask as unsettling as any of them. “You’ll be carefull too, on your personal mission?”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” Dabi waved him off, snagging Skeptic by the back of his shirt and tugging as Machia scooped them up and placed them on the pavement.

He ran inside the evacuated store, mercifully empty and not decayed, and started looking for the bags of charcoal.

When he found one, he tore it open. Charcoal fell to the floor, and he ground his boot down into it.

“What…” Skeptic seemed without words, for once. Good.

Dabi tore off his black wig, tossing it aside. He wouldn’t need it anymore.

“You wear a wig??”

“Yeah.” He started to scoop up handfuls of the charcoal, rubbing it into his hair. “Hey, go grab me some water, and then go set up the cameras. We got a show to put on.”

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Stinky dumpster boy

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“But my good name?” He sneered the word and all it implied in the world of false heroes, “is Todoroki Touya.”

With that, he dumped the water over his head, and it streamed down over his face, filthy.

The dirty water, practically mud, stung the places on his face where his skin was barely stapled together, and Dabi was reminded of why he didn’t bother with showers anymore- the pain.

But now his true colors- literally- were revealed and it was all worth it. All the truth was out, and the truth had always hurt him.

Shoto, who seemed to be trying to juggle first aid on like, five different people with two random heroes he didn’t know next to him, gaped.

“Come on, I know my face has changed, but my own family should still be able to recognize me, yeah? But you never did. You never did, Todoroki Shoto.”

Dabi suddenly found himself encased in ice.

Ah, this again.

“Yumi’s is colder.”

Shoto’s jaw dropped, then he glared. “Stand back.” He said as he stood up. “He just dunked water on his head, to cool him off I bet. If he is Touya, his body never could handle his own heat. If he’s not… those burns come from somewhere at least.”

Ok, now Dabi was offended.

“What do you mean, ‘if I’m not’?” he demanded. “I just revealed my white hair? I know that’s what the picture on my shrine looks like, you never even looked at that?”

“How do you even know what your shrine looks like?” Shoto sounded dangerously close to judgmental for a little brother who was probably as emo as Dabi had been at his age. “And wait, that cup of water was supposed to wash out your hair? What, do you never bathe or something?”

Ok, now Dabi was really offended.

“Of course I bathe! I just have to sponge bath, because I don’t know if you’ve noticed from having your own scars, but when they take up most of your body and are killing you they end up controlling a lot of your life!”

Ugh, asking him if he didn’t bathe. He’d understand that asked of Shigaraki, sure, but him? Shoto had gotten close enough to smell him, at least.

“Um, sorry to interrupt,” the hero in blue, the one that was tending to Eraserhead, raised his hands. “But uh… do you want some help with that?”

“I’m fine, don’t want to cool him off too much so he can fight longer.” Shoto shook his head.

“I was talking to him.”

“Oh.”

“What?”

The hero waved his hand, bubble of water pulling up from the ground. Then he pointed to his own head. “I can take care of that? At the very least it’ll be cleaned out and um, whatever color it should be?”

Dabi stared at him. Shoto stared at him. The other hero in green stared at him, and the one who’d offered help started to sweat noticebly.

“Eh, sure, whatever.”

The hero nodded, and the bubble of water floated over to him, disappearing in his hair.

The bubble floated out a couple of time, murky brown and black with ash, dirt, oil, blood, anything else he’d never thought about too much. It would wring itself thin, much dropping, and return to cleaning.

Finally, his hair was mostly white and thoroughly soaked.

“Thanks.” He called over.

“Yeah.” The hero answered, still frantically trying to help Eraserhead with his free hand, which he’d gone back too as soon as he thought Dabi was distracted. Buying time.

The other hero was on his fourth facepalm.

Shoto just looked contemplative.

Endeavor, one of the ones receiving treatment, sat up but looked like he was going to pass out.

Well all right then. Time to really start- the hair snafu didn’t matter. They were all going to die that day anyway.

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Weirdest commercial I’ve ever been in.

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“We’ll be dancing in hell together, Todoroki Enji.” Dabi finished his speech with a sneer.

The watching heroes were all stunned silent, mouths open, eyes wide. The revelation must be sending them, like it would all who were watching Skeptic’s broadcast. This would burn it all down, perfect.

“I don’t understand…” Enji managed to say, spitting out a bit of blood.

“What, you don’t understand how I survived, or how I hate you so much I’d hurt innocent people over it? Because that second part is exactly what you did, take out all that self-loathing and insecurity, rage at your shortcomings and condemn children not born yet to them. Guess it’s a family trait.”

“No, not that,” He waved a hand. “I mean, I totally get how you’re a wreck, even if all of your other siblings managed to not become mass murders, I mean- I don’t understand, how did that pint of water wash out all of your hair dye? Aren’t you better funded after the Deika merger, can’t you afford proper hair coloring?”

“I was also wondering that.” Shoto admitted.

“Same.” The hero in blue nodded. The hero in green facepalmed.

“Water?” Dabi repeated, then looked at the can he’d tossed aside. “Oh, no. This isn’t water- it’s a momento of the only true hero.” He bent down, picking up the can and studying the image on it.

“Stain was right, you know.” He mused. “About hero society being rotten. So rotton, so full of fakes, that there was only one that deserved the title. He just got the wrong hero, guessing All Might.” Dabi snorted at the very idea. “No, the only real one, the pure one, the one that defines heroism, the only one with a kill count higher than me- for all the dear old man and his biggest fan Hawks tried, of course- is Wash.”

“… Wash?” Shoto cocked his head. “Wait, like, Wash, Wash?”

“The one and only. That’s how this Official Wash’s Hair Washing Serum, the only product that can wash out all dirt, dye, and any other kind of grime, in just one go.” He shook the can around so they could see. “What, you all thought I could just magically lighten my hair from black to white in the space of one fight?”

“No,” Shoto said, like a liar, and then he threw a glacier at Dabi, and the fight was on in earnest.

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Old news

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“And now you’ll see who I really am, who you’ve created.” Dabi poured the bleach over his head, giving it a moment to sink into the hair before he shook it out, grinning wide enough to tear his staples.

The heroes on the ground and the few tending to them stared in shock.

Then Shoto gasped.

“Hawks?”

“What? Where?” Dabi whirled around, looked up, because he was really sure he had managed to make sure that pest wouldn’t be flying or fighting again, but well… he’d thought that once before and been wrong then.

“No, you- you’re Hawks, you dye your hair black when its in Dabi mode, and its that beachy yellow blond in Hawks mode.” Shoto nodded to himself.

Blond? Dabi tugged at a lock of hair, and huh. It did seem more yellow than white.

“How could he be Hawks?” The hero in green demanded incredulously, before the hero in blue grabbed his arm and pulled it back to holding down Eraserhead for bandaging.

“The burns and staples are part of the disguise,” Shoto explained. “Fake, and misdirection. You were trained from young childhood to be a hero, sent to join AfO and the league as a spy, where you gained a fire quirk and decided to switch to the villains’ side because you hated the life you were forced into.”

Dabi stared at him.

Shoto stared back.

Enji stared at both of them.

“How are you so smart and so stupid at the same time?” Slipped from chapped, burnt lips.

Shoto looked offended at that.

“I mean, you’re half right, yes that’s what up with Hawks, yes he was sent as a spy, but I knew and I killed him at the compound. And not, like, in a metaphorical way.” He added when he saw something spark in Shoto’s eyes. “Literally. I’m not him. He is completely separate person and body than me and I totally literally killed him.” Or like. Close enough. “And like, thirty other people who were completely innocent.”

Or close enough, he really didn’t bother to keep track, but thirty sounded like a big number. Especially of murders.

“So then who are you?” Shoto asked.

“What, you don’t recognize me, little brother?” He almost growled it, feeling very tired of this all of a sudden.

“Little brother?” Shoto repeated, eyes wide, then narrowing. “Wait, how…”

“Oh not again.” Enji muttered.

“Not again?” Dabi asked. “Wait, you actually managed to drive one of the others to this too? And cover it up? Man, Enji, you’re more rotten than even I knew then!”

“One of the others?” Shoto looked around wildly. “What are you talking about?”

“I was talking about how Shigaraki also randomly showed up and called a first year student “little brother”.” Enji looked back over at Dabi. “What were you talking about?”

“Shigaraki did what?” The pyro looked over his shoulder, finding the villain looking absolutely stoned on the ground, almost as vacant as some of the unconscious heroes, with a curly haired student laying bloodied nearby, staring up at him. “Wait, which student is his little brother?”

“Midoriya, apparently.” Shoto shrugged.

“Midoriya?” Dabi almost choked on the name. “As in, the green bone-breaking kid? Isn’t he like All Might’s lovechild or something?”

“That’s what I said too!”

“I mean, his hair was also lighter when he showed up today.” The hero in blue pointed out to his fellow in a voice that would have been too quiet for Dabi to hear had everyone else not gone silent as well.

“And bleach boy tried to do the same thing with the bleach, yeah. Here, I’ll tie this off, you go take care of Bakugo.”

“I’m Todoroki Touya!” Dabi snapped. “Or I used to be called by that name, anyway, before you nearly killed me, Enji. Let’s just- get back to fighting, yeah, I’m going to kill you.”

#kjhgfghjk #this really is just me making fun of the hair thing #brought on by me and my sister giggling over possibilities #from 'do he wash' to 'wait... hair bleach doesnt work like that it'd be yellowy first'#my fic #my writing #ok i think thats enough tags #bnha manga spoilers #bnha #wish tumblr would give me my line break rights back #crackfic

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onesunofagun · 3 years ago

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Undeath in the Era of the Hero of Time : 1

aka Seeing the Hero’s Shade in this TP replay shook up all my feelings of agony again and now I’m working backwards from there because I like to hurt myself.

Part One: An Overview of How Fucked Things Are ™

aka The Blood Soaked Hyrule of OoT’s time

Take it as you will, in the Zeldaverse, the colour green has an overwhelming association with undeath.

Sure, sure, life too, I hear you. Farore came down and produced all the living beings that would uphold the law, apparently (specifically not claiming monsters and demons, but that’s another thing). On the surface, that make sense. Forests, lush green fields, prosperity, all of those good things. Green the colour of the most common rupee, green the colour of the Hero’s tunic. Green the colour of magic, and potions that revitalise the body and spirit.

The thing is, revitalising the body and spirit is a flexible idea. To imbue something with new life and vitality can have a lot of implications, especially when you stop talking about the strictly living.

I feel vitality is certainly the best word, not only because of it’s association with life and potency ala the Goddess origin stories, but in the ways that the game uses green itself, such as a measure of both magic and stamina. Green is the colour chosen to represent the unlocked potential within young Heroes.

Vitality specifically refers to a state of being strong and active, and it also refers to the continuance of something to exist. That’s a great thing for plants, or economies, or a potion taken by a young Link who’s swung their sword around or fired off a spell one too many times and feels a little low.

But the dead, though?

As it happens, Hyrule is absolutely littered with human remains, in no small part due to the very recently ended civil wars.

The Civil War, if you need the reminder, is described as a time when the many races of Hyrule were divided and each focused on establishing dominion over the Sacred Realm (because Triforce). I touched on this in my last meta post, but basically, its no holds barred to stop that from happening because if the wrong person gets into the Sacred Realm and makes a wish, it immediately malfunctions.

The criteria for getting into the Sacred Realm and touching the Triforce without royally fucking everything, is basically impossible for anybody not chosen by Hylia.

If you are neither of Hylia’s Bloodline (The Hyrulean Royal Family) or one of her Chosen Avatars (The current incarnation of the Hero), you are not supposed to touch the Triforce. Ever. You WILL be found wanting, it WILL shatter, the Sacred Realm WILL be corrupted by your selfish desires, it WILL unleash and onslaught of mystical influence (reflecting your heart) onto the country.

Now, if it’s Zelda or Link who touches it, that’s fine. Good vibes will pour out. An age of prosperity will ensue. The Sacred Realm is in its default state, a blank and neutral wellspring of magical force.

The game has been rigged from the get go because Hylia still had a job to do. She had to get creative because Demise almost captured the flag, so to speak, leading to the snafu of the Cycle and all that because she cheated at the game, but ultimately Hylia’s task was to guard the Triforce. And that still remains true, for the most part. The Hyrulian Royal Family (and the Shiekah by extension) had to stop at absolutely nothing to win the wars and unify the country, and retain the stasis of the Realm and Triforce, because that’s what their divine orders are.

That’s what they’re supposed to do, ‘the very reason that they’re born’, to lend a quote from King Daphnes. With Hylia on their side by default, they’re willing to do a lot of fucked up things to make sure that happens, ‘for the greater good’.

These dark times are a result of our deeds... -- TP Zelda

In OoT The Sheikah are known as the Shadow Folk. They are heavily associated with death, whether that is caring for the dead’s rest in the graveyard, or working as spies and assassins on behalf of the Royals, or dabbling in various forms of necromancy. Red eyes are an established trait of their people. I will note that, at least from a Japanese point of view, red is often used with the intention of intimidating evil spirits. But it is also a color identified with power and vitality.

So, one could suppose, the Sheikah red eye also symbolises power/control over evil and darkness (spiritually).

That’s a little something that plays nicely with things like the OoT Manga’s explanation of the tear on the eye (and the previous betrayal of the Royal family) and the high probability of a Shiekah faction defaulting during the wars and being banished with other traitors to become the Twili. I know the manga isn’t canon and also SS Impa has a tear, but if you squint, that might be because of her own feelings of personal failure to the Goddess after Hylia’s shedding of her Divinity. You could headcanon that. The existence of the Yiga later in BoTW as a similar happening of division and betrayal lend some more weight to things.

Also, Sheikah who defaulted during the civil war might have even been the ones who actually utilised the Shadow Temple.

Headline: Necromancer ninjas in the process of torturing enough info out of the enemies of the Royal family, who were reportedly seeking the Sacred Realm, decide ‘hey fuck it, let’s take it ourselves’.

That certainly fits into the description of, ‘interloper skilled with dark magic started to appear, seeking dominion of the Sacred Realm’, for me.

Anyway, to the point.

In ostensibly one of the most haunted areas of the game, Kakariko village, we’re treated to the Graveyard and the Royal Family’s Tomb, the Shadow Temple, and the Bottom of the Well. All of these showcase the obvious death and torture that went on, as well as the creepy byproducts of places so saturated with blood, pain, regret, and hatred.

There are skulls in little alcoves on the walls of the catacombs, literally built of bones, who deliver messages to Link. The ones that whisper these messages are all marked by the glowing green eye sockets. Here, the green is used to make the presence of a ghostly sentience inhabiting the skull.

Unsettling. Musty. 4/10 heebie-jeebies.

The Deadhand, giver of childhood trauma that it is, really does its job to hammer home the fact that there has been so many deaths, so much anguish and horror, that those remains can seemingly form into entirely new monstrosities. An amalgamate of undead flesh and nightmare fuel, made up of the body parts of torture victims and the grudges of lingering spirits, seeking to consume the living vitality of whatever comes near-- Link wearing green around the thing might as well be red to a bull.

When defeated in game, it typically drops a small green pot that refuels Link’s magic.

This is a common theme with undead enemies, specifically the ones that are of the zombie flavour. Redeads, Gibdos, Deadhands. All of them generally give up, effectively, distilled magic as a drop item.

Terrifying. Probably smells even worse. 11/10 heebie-jeebies.

Literal torture device. So many people died here, the room has a green tinge to it. It is soaked in the spiritual imprint of the pain and anguish that took place here. Blood sits here looking freshly spilled, despite the civil war ending many years prior and the Shiekah having ‘died out’, save Impa.

Elsewhere in the temple and under the well, blood splatters are darker red and at least have the decency to pretend to be old. This means one of two things:

Impa still has to make sacrifices to the Seal that contains Bongo Bongo, or feeds people to the undead creatures who lurk down in the dark so they don’t wander up. (Cue the gasp of ‘so that’s why she let the Hylians into Kakariko! Every so often one of them goes missing!’)

Which is a fun dark headcanon to play with, but probably not the case.

Or more likely, the residual spiritual energy that the green haze suggests manifests fresh blood in a manner typical of extreme hauntings. For the victims, their hatred and pain persists so strongly, that their blood seeps up from the cracks no matter how long it has been.

Poltergeist shit. Slip hazard. 8/10 heebie-jeebies.

Then there is this. Some people say its just another torture thing, it could have been intended to convey some sort of acid dip. If not torture, maybe bodily disposal. And sure, that’s a reasonable guess.

But it is at the very bottom most cavern of the Well of Three Features, and if it were acid-- for how long the bodies have just been marinating in it-- you can assume nothing would be left of them to stick out. And the fact that all the bodies are neatly spaced, with the arms oddly preserved. They’re presumably like that from lowering bodies in from the wooden beams, the victims may have been tied up with their arms straight upwards.

But, given the Redeads wandering around nearby, I’m pretty sure that’s what this thing does. Make Redeads.

The liquid itself hurts Link, but Link is also alive, and this pool seems to be lacking much of a glow. It’s green, sure, but it’s not exactly teeming with energy. And I think that might be part of its designated purpose-- extracting that green vital energy from living prisoners, draining them until they’re dead. I’m talking juicing people and scooping out the good stuff like the pulp from a really disturbing OJ.

But still steeped in the juice as a corpse, you’re basically pickled in magic brine, so then those gross husks crawl out as Redeads. (Hey, you know what’s handy in wartime? Scaring the shit out of enemy forces by sending some zombies at them. And if they kill them, you’ve lost nothing. If the Sheikah could actually control them? Undead soldiers. Excellent stuff.)

But all the pulpy good stuff is gone, and has been for a while, so most of the bodies in there haven’t pickled in enough magic to reanimate, I suppose.

Human juicer that churns out zombies. Out of juice currently. 6/10 heebie-jeebies.

Now, THIS is active zombie juice, if I’ve ever seen it.

This is the Royal Family’s Tomb, by the way. Note the skeletons, picked clean, missing a lot of bones. And that’s a choice they made, because there are also full skeletons around to find.

There are plenty of Redeads down there, for good measure, so I’m going to assume the skeletons are potential graverobbers who were eaten. If Sheikah can presumably command the dead, then the Redeads down there might actually be a counter measure against thieves. If a thief freaks out in the dark when he realises there’s undead down there trying to eat their face, there is also a good likelihood they’ll trip and splash into this green death. A few seconds of exposure is probably enough to kill the average person, and then if their corpse stews for a bit, you have another Redead.

Their living energy revitalises the goop. Their body becomes bolstered security measures. It’s a self sustaining system.

Horrific but effective. 5/10 heebie-jeebies.

Also, there’s a chance that a couple of the skeletons or one or two Redeads down there are the remains of the Composer Brothers. But they will get their own special part in this series, covering Poes in particular.

But for the moment, let it be noted: their eyes are also that ghostly green.

Poes are spirits that are unable to move on and who have the unfortunate fate, if left unattended, of turning into phantom monsters who forget their human selves and prey on the living. They tend to pop up the most in two places. One, the Kakariko Graveyard, is obvious and somewhat expected. Dead people, lots of lingering spirits, most of them probably Sheikah and Knights of renown who died in the line of duty. Understandable.

So when you apply the same thought to the fact that Hyrule field is the second most common place to find them, you may as well be concluding that it’s an enormous mass grave of war casualties.

We have established that mass quantities of concentrated death, especially earth that is saturated by the spilled blood of strong soldiers and highly skilled warriors (full of life and magic, as it were), can result in creepy shit made from human remains reanimating over time.

Poes share their haunting of the field with these bumpkins:

These hauntings are not the result of Ganondorf, or the corruption of the Sacred realm. They are not a particular curse placed by anybody.

The Poes and Stalfolk are present in the game from the very beginning, and quite normal fare for Hyrulean life. Lon Lon ranch and castle town are walled off for good reason, and the drawbridge raises at night specifically in response to the literal skeleton monsters who roam around at night.

Stalchildren, specifically, seem akin to the Deadhand in that they are not a direct reanimation of any one particular set of remains. Rather, they seem to be mutated amalgamations of various parts. In the case of the Stalchildren, they rise up under the dark of night, a not-quite-human formation of bone and magic. They seem to possess an aimless drive to attack, perhaps possessed still by the orders of the soldiers who died there.

Interestingly, in a somewhat similar fashion to BotW’s blood moon reanimating the fallen monsters (due to the potency of Malice in the land peaking at those times), Stalchildren only seem to be active under the moonlight. They disintegrate when the sunlight touches them, which promotes the idea that they are the bones of the fallen possessed by the ghostly memory of the war.

They also appear to wear raggy leather kilts, which is a feature they share with the related monster, the Stalfos, who are often acting out the part of a soldier as well. Even better, those bastards are actually WEARING GREEN, to boot, which given the history of Hyrulean Knights prior and their uniforms (SS and Minish cap) is pretty self evident.

Stalfos, however, are also confirmed as humans who have died under certain unique circumstance (such as the magical influences of the Lost Woods) and reanimated as a consequence of what I assume is basically magic poisoning.

It could be a bit like an overdose, succumbing under the intense mystical forces at play within proximity to the Deku Tree (which the strong of spirit can resist). It could be a draining effect, maybe even just a gaseous version of what’s happening when people come into contact with the green goo, except extracted by the forest spirits and plants (also possible that the strong of spirit might resist). That could go either way.

The forest absolutely does eat people’s spiritual energy, though. RIP to Grog and Link’s mother. They’re Stalfos now.

"Anybody who comes into the forest will be lost. Everybody will become a Stalfos. Everybody, Stalfos."

Upon killing both kind of Stal, however, the bones rapidly deteriorate into flames.

You guessed it: green.

I’ve already pointed out a BoTW reference already, but to add more context back into this thing about the tie between green and things in Hyrule that refuse to die properly:

That last one is cheap of me I’m sorry but we’ll get to him too

So we have established that green has an overwhelming association with not only life, but states of undeath.

The overview is, things were already pretty fucked in OoT Era before Ganondorf got the Triforce.

On to part 2!

#tloz #legend of zelda ocarina #Ocarina of time #link #zelda lore #zelda meta #zelda theory #zelda theories #zelda discussion #death tw #blood tw #shadow temple #shiekah #stalfos #poes #undead tw #long post #hero of time #hyrulean history

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abigailnussbaum · 4 years ago

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Infinity Train, S1-3

Infinity Train is a Cartoon Network animated series (now transferred to HBO Max) that premiered last year. Three seasons, each made up of ten 10-minute episodes, have aired, so you can watch the whole thing in an afternoon. The premise is quite familiar - the titular train picks up passengers (mostly, though not always, children) who are at some kind of crossroads in their lives. As they traverse cars filled with challenges, puzzles, dangers, and sometimes just nifty environments to explore, the passengers work through whatever issue brought them on to the train. Their progress towards wellness is reflected in a number that appears on their hand, and when the number drops to zero a vortex appears and returns them to their home. The train also contains native inhabitants, usually referred to as “denizens”, who sometimes help the passengers, sometimes hinder them, and are often just going about their own lives.

Like I said, the sort of premise familiar from many children’s stories, in which a character who is struggling with some important challenge or milestone is whisked off to a fantasy setting that just happens to have been tailored to help them work through their problems. The execution is pretty fantastic, with both the writing and animation striking a compelling mixture of humor and emotional depth. The train itself is a wonderful creation, vast and often surreal or even phantasmagorical, and the denizens are quirky and winning in their own right, not just as reflections of the passengers’ needs. The show also features an absolutely stacked voice cast, with guest appearances from Kate Mulgrew, Bradley Whitford, Ernie Hudson, Lena Headey, and many others.

But what I find fascinating about Infinity Train is how, almost from the first episode, it sets to work examining the core assumptions of its story template, chiefly the idea that the train is helping people, and that its kind of help is effective and positive. As someone who grew up on stories like Infinity Train and didn’t question their premise until I got older, it’s fun to watch a show that leans right into those inherent problems.

The first season of Infinity Train tells its story pretty straight. Our protagonist is Tulip, a tween who is struggling with her parents’ recent divorce. When a scheduling snafu between them leaves Tulip unable to get to a youth coding camp she’d been dreaming of, she impulsively runs away from home, and ends up being picked up by the train. There, she’s quickly joined by a royal corgi called Atticus, and a scatterbrained robot called One-One, who try to help her in her journey towards the train’s engine. Along the way, the trio are menaced by a sinister, semi-robotic figure who is destroying the environments in the train’s cars, and who seems to be fixated on One-One.

Even in this fairly basic spin on the story, a few reservations crop up: first, Tulip doesn’t actually have a real problem. Yes, her parents’ divorce has put a strain on her, but she still seems fairly well-adjusted - she has friends and interests and, apart from the ill-advised decision to run away, doesn’t seem to be acting out in dangerous ways. The things she learns over the course of her journey through the train - to face up to the hurt that her family’s breakdown has caused her, to admit that her parents’ marriage wasn’t perfect, to realize that their divorce wasn’t her fault, to ask for help when she needs it - are probably things she would have figured out as she gained some distance from the trauma of the divorce (or, for that matter, that any halfway-decent child psychologist would have helped her realize). It’s hard to justify a cosmic interference in her life, much less one that puts her in mortal danger, as the journey up the Infinity Train often does

And sure, this is a children’s adventure story, so it’s far more compelling to watch the child protagonist struggle with real danger (that is always avoided at the last possible minute) than attend a therapy session. Even if, as adult viewers, we might see the whole thing as unjustifiably risky. But the thing is, Tulip herself very quickly expresses resentment towards the train. When she realizes that the number on her hand drops when she does something healthy and good, Tulip’s reaction is anger, and for a while she refuses to cooperate with the system, covering her hand and refusing to consider how her actions are affecting her number. Even within the children’s adventure template, the child protagonist says what most of us would feel in her situation - that being kidnapped and made to jump through hoops for the sake of some seemingly arbitrary, numerical value of “wellness” is high-handed and manipulative, and encourages hostility and suspicion, rather than participation in the train’s system.

Ultimately, Tulip goes back to playing along with the train’s scheme and benefits from it. She gets her number down to zero fairly quickly, and gets to go back home. But along the way she also solves the mystery of the train’s mysterious villain, who turns out to be another passenger, Amelia, who was picked up by the train after the death of her husband. Instead of letting the train walk her through her grief and learn to accept it, Amelia tried to take over the train and use its reality-bending capabilities to recreate her lost husband. Along the way she’s committed so many acts of abuse and mayhem that her number has extended all the way to her neck. So even once Tulip talks her down and convinces her to stop hurting people, they both acknowledge that she’s never going to get off the train (oh, and by the way, the journey on the train happens in real time, so Amelia is now an old woman).

Now, it should be obvious that Amelia’s problem was significantly more complex and fraught than Tulip’s, and rather than helping her, the train gave her a venue to indulge her grief to anti-social, even psychotic extremes. So at the end of the first season, we’ve encountered two passengers. One who benefitted from the train’s system (after some initial hostility) but who also probably didn’t need its help that badly. And one who did need serious help, but instead got an opportuntity to screw her life up even more than it already was, and probably irrevocably. Not a great track record, in other words.

The second season mixes things up a bit by making its protagonist a train denizen, and giving us a behind the scenes look at the train’s community when the passengers aren’t there. MT (or: Mirror Tulip) is a character first encountered in the first season, whom Tulip helped to escape from the mirror world. She’s being pursued by mirror cops who want to destroy her, and in the process of evading them, she comes across a passenger, Jesse, and decides to help him get his number down so that she can piggyback on his exit and evade her pursuers. Jesse initially seems like he doesn’t belong on the train - he’s almost preternaturally friendly and happy-go-lucky. But it’s eventually revealed that his willingness to go along and get along is fairly indiscriminate, and leaves him prey to stronger personalities, as when he tolerates and even enables the violent bullying of his younger brother.

It’s a thornier problem than Tulip’s, not least for making it harder to sympathize with Jesse. But it’s also one that exposes the train system’s flaws, as Jesse is so passive that he doesn’t even try to move through cars and get his number down until MT lights a fire under him. And that, in turn, triggers MT’s own identity crisis, as she begins to wonder whether she has a right to exist as her own person, or whether her entire purpose is to reflect Tulip or help passengers.

That tension comes to a head when Jesse and MT encounter the Apex, a group of child passengers, led by teenagers Grace and Simon. The Apex have come up with a theory of the train’s nature that runs completely counter to its actual purpose - they believe the train is their reward, and that the system trying to bring their number down and send them back is cheating them. They strive to get their number as high as possible by committing acts of violence against the train’s denizens, whom they dub “nulls” - not real people, incapable of feeling pain.

Because S2 has been told from MT’s perspective, we know that the Apex are wrong about her and the other denizens (and in general, it’s not a good sign when someone says “this being, which exhibits all the signs of personhood and feeling, is actually not real, and is only shamming a form of suffering while feeling nothing”). But at the same time, it has to be acknowledged that this is an entirely plausible conclusion to draw from the evidence at hand. The train exists for the passeners. It has created environments and beings whose sole purpose is to interact with and affect the passengers. Why should those beings be real? Which is yet another failure point of the train’s system, because as both Tulip and Jesse’s stories show, developing connections with denizens is what spurs passengers to travel up the train and get better. The Apex have therefore interpreted the train’s system in a way that can only accomplish the exact opposite of what it was designed to do.

The show returns to Grace and Simon in its third season, in which we learn more about their history and their understanding of the train. We learn, for example, that Simon’s hostility towards denizens was sparked when the one who befriended him (The Cat, a character who appears in each of the show’s seasons) left him when they found themselves in a dangerous situation. And we learn that the Apex worship Amelia (whom they view as the train’s true conductor) and believe that the current system is a corruption of the one she intended, in which the passengers get to enjoy the train for as long as they like. In yet another demonstration of how open the train’s system is to misinterpretation, the Apex warn their new members that if they let their number get down to zero, they will “disappear”. Which is the same reaction Tulip had when she first witnessed another passenger departing, and, again, a thoroughly logical conclusion to reach given the evidence.

The season’s story involves Grace and Simon being separated from the rest of the Apex, and, in their attempts to get back to them, picking up a young passenger, Hazel, whom they try to initiate into their understanding of the train. The two teens’ interactions with Hazel shed light on the crucial difference between them. While Grace genuinely cares about the kids she’s gathered and sees herself as their protector, Simon only teaches Hazel about the train because he wants converts to his worldview, and validation for his anger at the Cat and other denizens. Once separated from the Apex and their regular schedule of destruction, Grace’s care for Hazel causes her number to go down, all the more so when she discovers that Hazel is really a denizen, and lies to Simon about it to protect her. Simon, meanwhile, only sinks further into his anger and resentment, and when he discovers Grace’s lie he sees it as a betrayal of everything they stand for. The conflict between them ultimately leads to a confrontation in which Simon is killed, while Grace reveals to the Apex that their conclusions about the train and its denizens were wrong, and that they need to come up with a new system.

So, to sum up, the Infinity Train:

Kidnaps people whom it perceives as being in need of help and holds them, sometimes for years or decades, until they achieve a predetermined threshold of wellness.

Advances this goal through a system of rewards and punishments that is so transparently manipulative, it alienates basically everyone who engages with it except the guy whose problem was being pathologically passive.

Relies for the success of this system on a community of denizens who haven’t signed on to it and who are often unsuited to the task of shepherding others towards growth.

Is so open to misinterpretation that a large chunk of the train’s passengers take the exact opposite message from it that they were meant to, which leads them to behavior that could put them permanently beyond being able to leave the train.

Sometimes kills people.

I’m pretty sure most of this is stuff I’m meant to be taking away from the show, but I also wonder how far Infinity Train is willing, or able, to take this idea. The open ending of S3, in which Grace, though headed in the right direction number-wise, is still nowhere near being able to leave the train, and also more focused on remaking the Apex into something more constructive, suggests that future seasons will get further into the question of whether the train can be reformed or made more productive. Or, conversely, the show could abandon its original premise and just become a story about the train, and the community of passengers and denizens that develops on it. I wonder, though, how much you can push against the inherent limitations of this premise - when you’ve got a story where getting better and more well-adjusted causes you to be forcibly ejected from the story, where does that leave you as far as plot progression and character development are concerned? There’s an inherent conflict to a world that is designed for a specific character (or group of characters). Infinity Train is fascinating for how it leans into that conflict, and I’m very curious to see how it handles its core contradiction going forward.

#infinity train

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cantdwellonanyofit · 4 years ago

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Sledgefu Fic Dedicated to @stolperzunge

Hello @stolperzunge!! I decided to finally make an account. I’m the anon that has been messaging you Sledgefu asks for a couple of days XD

I finally wrote a fic, and wanted to share it with you. Let me know what you think! It’s based on all of the meta we have been talking about recently.

Please note the warnings in the tags. There’s some mention of suicidal thoughts, dissociation, internalized homophobia, and descriptions of gore related to the war. This was meant to be a oneshot and has turned into a multi-chapter fic already. :| Creative criticism is requested and would be appreciated.

Rating: Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh R? For now?

He couldn't sleep. If it wasn't the nightmares, it was the intrusive thoughts. The thoughts were always gently sliding their hands around his throat like an enemy sneaking up on him in the dark. Trying to snuff him out before his comrades could hear. The dreams were worse. They waited until he was lulled into a false sense of calm, warm, security. Finally too tired to fight them off. Blackness opened up to screaming women holding babies. Blood rained from the ceiling of a hut while a woman reached her hands towards him. She begged in a language he couldn't understand. But blind panic was the same in every language. He could see it in her eyes, and he couldn't wipe it out. He couldn't stand to put either of them out of their misery. So he planted his feet and watched until the hut crushed her in front of him. Paralyzed by his fear and angry at his weakness. He would jolt awake, and every morning the anger and shame followed him into waking life.

He used to be a morning person before the war. He'd wake up before sunrise with a cup of coffee. He'd take Deacon on his morning walk. He enjoyed the solitude of morning, and watching the world wake up around him. It was like he and the world slept and woke together in the same rhythm. Everything felt aligned. But now the silence was like screaming. His mind would race while he tried to deal with the onslaught of thoughts and dream laden memories. He began to confuse what he really witnessed in the war with what he dreamt. But he didn't much think it mattered. The feelings that overwhelmed him were the same. He hated himself. He hated what he had brought on himself. He resented his mother for not understanding. He was angry at his father for being forgiving. Didn't his father know what he had done? Who he had become? He crawled in his own skin every waking moment.

He didn't go to Sid with his problems. Sid was busy creating his life with Mary. Gene couldn't bear to burden Sid with his troubles when Sid was just trying to forget and move on. He knew Sid also had trouble with sleep. But unlike Gene, Sid tried not to torture himself about the things he saw and did in the war.

"You can't dwell on it. You can't dwell on any of it.” Ack Ack had said. And it seemed like everyone but Gene was able to abide by that law. The only person in the world who seemed able to pull Gene out of his moods had abandoned him. When Gene woke up on the train to a gentle shove, he expected Snafu's big blue eyes to be staring a hole in him. Like they always did. But instead, he realized another soldier had nudged him awake to ask if he was meant to be disembarking the train. They had arrived in Alabama. Gene looked around confused for a moment before the soldier repeated himself. But Gene wasn't listening. Where had Snafu gone? He couldn't have left without waking him. It wasn't possible.

But it had been possible, and now here he was. Alone. Like he deserved to be. God was punishing him, and Gene couldn't blame him. He'd killed countless people. And by the end of the war, he didn't much care about the damage he caused. He wanted to kill every Jap left with his bare hands. He wanted to make them feel as helpless as he did. He often thought back to his conversation with Leckie.

"God created Japs too, right? Yellow slants who've tried to kill me on many occasions. Japs come from the garden of Eden too?"

God had sent Gene on a mission to kill Japs for what they had done. But he also sent the Japs to bomb Pearl Harbor in the first place. And Gene no longer had any idea what God wanted from either side. Were they all meant to die? Had he survived by accident when God had deemed him disposable? And now God cursed him with these thoughts and dreams. To haunt him for daring to make it out. Maybe they had all been too dirty for God's love in the first place. He knew he'd never again feel the safety of that embrace. He tucked his bible away under his bed months ago after unpacking his suitcase. He couldn't bear to open it. He worried it would burn his hands if he even tried. He was no longer welcome in God's plans. He just knew it.

So, with no faith, no plans, no life, he withered away. He spent hours staring at the walls, off into the distance as he sat outside. And he tortured himself with his thoughts and his lack of purpose. He had no idea what he was going to do with the rest of his life. He wondered if God meant for him to commit suicide. If he had somehow messed up God's plan for him to die. If someone else had died in his place. If he no longer had God's love, then killing himself wouldn't matter. But he lacked any motivation to go through with it. It was as if he was meant to remain stuck between life and death. A ghost among the living.

He knew God had more than one reason to reject him. Not only had he lived when he was meant to die, but he had been born homosexual. He was doomed from birth. He knew something was wrong when he was 6 years old and Betty Cannon had kissed him on the cheek, and he had cried. Sid would nudge him and point out the pretty girls at school, and Gene couldn't have cared less about them. He'd tease Sid for being a pervert and they'd laugh. His sinful nature was further solidified when he gazed at the nurse on Pavuvu. He demanded himself to feel something for her. She was beautiful. She had a kind voice. His mind recoiled as he tried to imagine kissing her, sliding off her clean hospital whites. He felt repulsed. "Alright, you had your looksey," the lieutenant had jeered. If Gene could've glared a hole through that lieutenants body he would've.

If he could've grabbed that asshole by the head and slammed it repeatedly into every damn cup on the table he would've. ‘I feel nothing, I see nothing, I am nothing,’ he would've screamed at him. Can't you see it written all over me? I'm a sinner, you fool. He couldn't ignore the fire in the pit of his stomach every time Snafu leaned against him. Played along with his jokes. Watched him. Snafu always watched his every move. And it drove Gene crazy. Gene thought about what Snafu's curls would feel like in his fingers. What his sweat would taste like as Gene ran his tongue along Snafu's neck. Along that fucking smirk. He went mad with lust thinking of all the things Snafu could do to him. So when he gazed at that fuckin' nurse and felt nothing another piece of him snapped off and was taken by the ocean. He was ruined, and God knew it.

All through his thoughts Gene found himself biking. As he came to, he realized he was approaching Sid's house. It had to be no later than 0500. He hesitated at the start of the driveway. This was crazy. He couldn't bother Sid. But then he felt his right foot swing over the left side of his bike to land beside his left foot on the ground. He began steering and walking towards the front door. He was like a man possessed. Before he could stop himself, he knocked three times in succession. He waited. What the hell are you doing? His mind screamed at him. He was about to knock again when the door slowly opened. Sid was holding his rifle, but quickly lowered the butt of it to the ground when he realized who was at the door.

"Eugene, you scared the daylights out of me. I heard the bike coming along the drive and just about jumped in the bushes to scout." Sid was laughing, but Gene was not. Sid's smile slowly faded. "Get in here," Sid made to grab for Gene's arm but Gene blurted out, "Can you take me to the train station?" Sid's brows came together in confusion. Or maybe it was concern. Sid's hand halted in the air, "You need me to do what now?" Sid's hand landed gently on Gene's bicep. He tugged him gently through the doorway and into the kitchen. "Have a seat." Sid moved to the stove and grabbed the kettle. "We can have coffee and talk it."

Gene was already shaking his head. "I don't need to talk about it. I need you to do this for me. I don't have a car and it'll take me days to bike there." Sid was pouring coffee anyway. "What are you going to do at the train station?" Sid asked.

"Ride the train." Gene answered, curtly. Sid laughed, and set the cup beside Gene. Sid added hot water to his own cup which had likely gotten cold while Sid had watched a stranger approaching his home from the window. Gene could tell the curtain was off-kilter, as if someone had pulled it aside in an attempt to spy without being seen. Gene felt guilty for worrying Sid. He'd have felt guiltier if he woke Sid up, but it seemed Sid had no better luck sleeping than Gene did. "Ride the train where, you smartass." Gene debated whether he should be honest about his intentions. He trusted Sid. He and Sid had been friends since Gene could remember. Sid had always been on Gene's side. But this would be asking something else entirely of Sid. It would be asking Sid to see him for all of his sins, and accept him anyway. If God couldn't manage, he doubted Sid could. "Louisiana." Gene answered. He provided no context. He planned to provide no further geographical context. Sid didn't know about Snafu. He wouldn't even have guessed what Gene's plans were even if Gene told him he was going to New Orleans. But this secret pounded loud in his ears. Matching the beat of his heart. He felt like he was shouting the word Louisiana so he could be heard over the thumping of his heart. He was laid bare in front of God and his best friend. And he planned to deceive both of them. He really was beyond saving.

"Louisiana?" Sid answered. "What's in Louisiana that has you sneaking up to my front door and demanding I drive you down to the station this instant? Did you meet someone you haven't told me about?" Sid's eyes were mischievous. They were full of hope. Hope that Gene had something or someone out there to look forward to. Would they be so full of hope if Sid knew it was a man that Gene ached for? "You could say that," Gene found himself replying. He was skirting the truth. He was living in half truths and short responses. He was a man to be hanged but he kept outrunning the law. "You sly dog!" Sid slapped his knee and scooted his chair back so fast it made an awful screech. There was a thump from where Gene assumed was the bedroom, when Mary emerged from the doorway in her silken robe. Gene would've blushed had he been his old self. Had he been anyone at all anymore.

"What in the Lord's good name is going on out here?" She didn't seem to be mad, but rather playing at it. "Eugene Sledge, is that you causing trouble in my house?" Gene caused trouble everywhere. That's what the devil did when he got inside your soul. He made you destroy yourself and those around you. His lips lifted in one corner in a true Snafu impression. "Sorry, ma'am. I didn't mean to cause such a disturbance." He stood and bowed gently to her. "Sid and I were just about to head out to the train station." Gene looked down at his untouched coffee and thought to hand it to Mary. She might as well enjoy it before it gets cold. Sid stood up and grabbed his coat. It seemed letting Sid believe this was for a woman had propelled him into action. "I won't be long," he kissed Mary on the cheek. Sid grabbed his keys from the same hook his jacket had been on. "Well, come on now lover boy we best be gettin' on." Gene couldn't move fast enough to get out of his seat. He needed to keep moving before his mind came to. Before he hopped on his bike and rode all the way back home and never came back out again. This was his only chance to act. "Lover boy?" Mary smiled, "Gene, that's wonderful. I wish you the best." Gene cringed inwardly. "Thanks." He mumbled. It was a benefit to him that everyone thought him shy. His guilt could easily be mistaken for sheepishness.

He nearly squeezed himself through the front door at the same time as Sid. He took long strides to the car, and grabbed the handle before Sid had even reached the car to unlock it. "Alright, alright, I'm comin'!" Sid had picked up the pace to unlock the door and climb in. He leaned to the right and opened Gene's door for him. Gene immediately flung himself into the seat and fastened his seatbelt before he could run away. Strapped himself in good. "I'll take your bike home later for you." Gene nearly threw up. He hadn't even told his parents he was going on a walk. And now he was planning to leave the state entirely. His mother would call the police. "Shit, Sid. I forgot to tell them I was leaving. I didn't even leave a note." Gene began attempting to unbuckle himself. He needed to get home. If the police came for him and found him with Snafu they'd be arrested. They'd be blue discharged. He didn't know which one was worse. Sid stopped his hand, "I'll tell 'em when I drop your bike off. Don't worry about it. I'll be home and back to your place before they even realize you're gone."

Gene steadied his hand under the pressure of Sid's. Sid would probably never touch his hand again if he knew. He'd never jokingly wrestle with him. He'd be too afraid he'd catch what Gene had. That Gene would be attracted to him. That Gene would ruin everything like he always did. This was just another secret he would have to take to God before he was banished to hell. Why couldn't he get the devil out of him? But despite his inner chastising, Gene let his body rest in his seat. Sinking into the leather and willing himself to calm down. No one knew. No one would know. Sid would take care of him like he always did. Sid, who trusted him, while Gene wore a liar's face. Gene had no idea if Snafu was even still in New Orleans. Gene had no idea if Snafu even wanted to see him. Snafu had left him on the train after all. Gene had probably read into ever stare, every gentle touch, every time Snafu seemed to cut in the shower line until suddenly Gene and Snafu were undressed and standing close. Every time they searched desperately for each other on the battlefield, or in the line of fire, until they knew the other was still breathing. Both sneaking glances, but doing well to hide it. He had imagined all of it in his sick homosexual mind.

"You alright?" Sid asked, glancing sideways at Gene. Unbeknownst to Gene, he had been wearing a pained expression and holding his breath. "I'm sure she'll be delighted to see you. You don't need to be so nervous." Gene almost laughed. Sid had no idea what he was saying. He had no idea at all. "I'm just tired. I haven't slept well in ages." Gene responded, changing the subject. He couldn't stand telling Sid anymore lies than he had to. And there was no way to explain the worry without explaining the truth. "Yeah, I hear you there. Some nights I get a couple hours. Some nights it feels I get a solid couple minutes. Mary's understanding about it." Gene's mind wandered to whether he and Snafu would keep each other up at night with their nightmares. With their stirring. Maybe they'd both stay up together knowing what it was like in each other's brains. Maybe they'd get real good at distracting each other instead. Gene would give anything to let Snafu use him as a distraction. Gene could wrap his legs around Snafu. He could let Snafu move inside of him until they both forgot about everything but each other.

"I'm happy you two have each other," Gene shouted over his thoughts. Sid laughed at him. "Well, I'm overjoyed you want the whole world to know how happy you are for us, Eugene." He was ripping apart at the seams and it was only a matter of time before he lost the ability to pull himself to reality. He had to get away from Sid. From this town. From these burdens. Luckily, the rest of the drive remained uneventful as Sid let Gene get lost in his thoughts, and Gene willed his thoughts to stay in his head. He worried every thought was writing itself out on his face. On every inch of exposed skin. And when he stepped out of the car to say goodbye to Sid, the truth would be there staring back at him. And Sid would stare on, horrified. Until he called out for the police, and Gene was taken away. All his rights stripped, as if he had never existed at all. Just as God had intended.

They pulled into the station, when Sid slammed on the breaks and the car jolted. "Eugene, you don't have any bags with you! How did I not notice? What the hell are you going to do? You can't show up to your lady looking like that." Gene's head snapped to look at Sid. "How dare you? I've never looked so good?" He left his mouth slightly agape in mock horror at what Sid had insinuated. Sid laughed in return. "You haven't shaved, and I think you slept in those clothes." Gene hadn't even thought about clothes. About belongings. He guessed he'd have to start over when he got to Louisiana. "I bet they dress differently down there anyway. I'll consult the best shopkeepers around when I arrive." Gene wanted to get on that train before he changed his mind. If they left to go to his house to grab clothes he'd never come back.

"Do you even have any money?" Gene could've kicked himself. He really brought nothing. He wouldn't even be able to leave if he wanted to. Sid leaned slightly and dug in his coat pocket until he pulled out a wad of bills with a rubber band around them. Sid had a lot of distrust for banks, and often kept cash on him or hidden in his home. "No," Gene was already protesting. He would go home. He would forget this foolishness. "Yes, take it." Sid was pushing the money into Gene's coat pocket. "Absolutely not, stop it. I won't take money from yo-" Sid unfastened Gene's seatbelt and then pushed open his own car door and stepped out. "Sid!" Gene threw his door open and their eyes met over the roof of the car. "I can't take this." Gene couldn't lie to his friend and then rob him of his money too. "Eugene. If you don't take the money and get the hell out of this town I will take it personally. You can't stay here and keep doing this. Look at you. This is your chance to start over. Don't you want that? I'd do anything to get you back. This is the least I can do for you. Now get your ass up to that counter, get your tickets, and get out of my hair before I drag your scrawny ass up there and embarrass you in front of all of these decent folk."

"Sid--"

"I mean it!" Gene snapped his mouth shut. "I won't take no for an answer. Now get."

Gene came around to Sid's side of the car. "I'll never be able to repay you." Sid wrapped an arm around him in a gentle hug. This may be the last time Sid would ever touch him without disgust. Without questioning what dirty thoughts Gene took away from these interactions. Gene loved Sid, but never in that way. He was his brother. But Sid would never understand that distinction. Sid would be horrified by every time Gene had ever touched him. Gene hugged Sid, hard. He loved him like family. The thought of losing Sid crushed him. He tried to pour every ounce of his love into Sid with one hug. 'Please,' he mentally begged, 'Please know that I'll never be able to repay you for all the love you've given me. I've lied to you. I've deceived you. You're pure, and I'm rotten, and I deserve none of this.' Sid hugged him back with a similar strength before pushing Gene gently to arms length and putting a hand on each bicep. "You write to me, Eugene. You tell me everything." Gene nearly crumbled under the weight of his lies. He'd never be able to tell Sid everything. Even if he died to.

"I will," he lied. He was becoming a pro at this.

Sid stepped to the left and turned around to rest against the drivers side of the car. Giving Gene the room to leave and head towards the counter. Gene took the opportunity before he could stop himself. He approached the long line to wait for his turn. He stole a glance at Sid who waved goodbye at him, and got in the drivers seat. Sid must've wanted to keep his promise to return to his house for Gene's bike, and notify Gene's parents before they worried. Gene again mentally thanked Sid for every single thing he ever did for him, and moved one step closer towards his future.

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kicksaddictny · 3 years ago

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How Nike’s Turning Play Into a Lifestyle for Kids

According to NIKE

Jumping rope with a garden hose. Holding a squat while you create a secret handshake with your bestie. Hanging from monkey bars as you see LeBron James get quizzed on his second best sport.

You must be watching Playlist.

The episodic Nike YouTube series, now entering its ninth season, launched two years ago with one clear goal: “We wanted to show kids that sport, at its core, is all about play,” says Jessa Moon, Global Brand Director for Nike Kids. “It doesn't have to be soccer or football or traditional sports — it can be a mash-up or something totally wild and different. We wanted to inspire kids to think about moving their bodies in all kinds of ways and having it be about joy as opposed to winning or competition.”

Hosted by kid athletes like 13-year-old skateboarder Sky Brown and her 9-year-old brother, Ocean, a typical Playlist episode takes kids through fun and funny movement challenges, ratchets up the silliness with sound effects and slapstick gags, and includes appearances from star athletes like Russell Wilson, Mo Farah, Bebe Vio and the aforementioned King James — all of whom are game to be goofy and show off their inner kid on-screen.

Season after season, the series has grown its presence and audience, fine-tuning on its primary channel, YouTube, and streaming across Instagram, TikTok and Snapchat. Playlist has also found its place in the Nike digital ecosystem, alongside its adult counterparts like the Nike Run Club and Nike Training Club apps, proving that Nike offers not just product, but also day-to-day service and benefits to all its consumers.

The constant throughout, says Moon, is that all Playlist episodes are rooted in fun, because when kids are having fun, they’ll be naturally motivated to move.

For parents, inspiring kids to want to move is more important — and harder — than ever. Today, only one in five kids get the physical activity they need to be healthy and successful. Parents also have even more on their plates, often acting as a child’s cook, chauffeur, stylist, teacher and coach within the course of day. Playlist is one way Nike sought to help solve this universal problem by providing resources that get kids and their families to enjoy movement together, improving the relationship and bond between grown-up and kid, and setting kids up for a lifetime of healthy habits and movement that they could one day pass on to the next generation.

Doing that meant understanding that the words “play sport” have tension built into them, says Rami Jabaji, VP of Kids Global Brand Management. To today’s kids, explains Jabaji, sport can feel too structured, too competitive — high stakes, yelling coaches, parents pushing them into it. “They feel disconnected from its benefits, from its joy,” says Jabaji. There’s another kind of tension too: Gen Alpha is the most dedicated to activism, yet the least physically active. That’s partly because they don’t fully resonate with today's definition of traditional sport, says Jabaji. “While young kids naturally enjoy movement and play, it’s the moment when sport takes a turn — when it becomes too structured and rule-bound, not based in freedom and discovery — that kids start to opt out, and they trade physical activity for sedentary screen time,” he says. “The screen provides them with a tool that fulfills their needs in a deeper way than sport does.”

How do you solve for that?

“Our answer was, ‘We have to make sport fun again,’” says Jabaji. “We have to anchor it in play and get back to why kids fell in love with sport in the first place.”

More Ways Nike Serves Kids

Cool Gear, Just for Them Listening to what kids need to move and play and solving kid-specific challenges are hallmarks of Nike Kids product design. That’s reflected in extended sizing, gender-inclusive apparel lines, and gender-inclusive shoes like the new Nike Air Zoom Crossover. The kid-informed basketball shoe features a last with room in the toe box for growing feet, a snug fit and support around the ankle, and a playful “Game Mode” written on the tongue.

Coaches Who Make a Difference Sport is uniquely positioned to help kids handle stress and thrive when the environment is fun, inclusive, and served up by caring and trained coaches. That’s why Nike partnered with ICOACHKIDS to create an accessible, approachable series of coaching essentials that preps anyone to be a volunteer youth coach. The ICOACHKIDS coaching essentials are free and available on the Nike Training Club App and Nike Run Club App in Europe, the Middle East and Africa; if you already have one of the apps on your phone, click here to check out the essentials now.

Nike is also the founding partner of The Center for Healing and Justice in Sport (CHJS), a nonprofit organization fueling a movement to bring research-backed, healing-centered sport training to youth coaches across North America. “A lot of young people who show up to sport experiences may be treading water in other parts of their lives,” says CHJS founder Megan Bartlett. “We prepare a coach to create an environment in which kids can feel like they belong, feel seen and feel safe.” Nike is training its store employees who serve as Nike Community Ambassadors to coach kids in their communities and offering the training to its North America Made to Play partners, Nike employees and consumers. Learn how to get involved here.

That began with putting the kid at the center of every decision, a foundational part of Nike’s new approach to its kids business. Jabaji’s team dubs it “kidvision,” or the idea that kids see the world not as it is, but as it could be. “It’s an innovative lens, a creative lens, a more inclusive and accessible lens,” he says.

Take a screen, for example. Look at it through the eyes of a kid, and they don’t see a negative device. They see a portal into a world where they can be anything they want to be. And that’s where Nike saw opportunity, says Jabaji. “We can meet kids where they are and convert that time into healthy and purposeful movement and activity, and ultimately create a deeper connection with sport.”

Evolving with the World

Playlist was an instant hit on YouTube, notching millions of views. When the pandemic hit, the team knew their series had to step up. “We were in the middle of our third season, and we thought, ‘We know this content is critical for kids, now more than ever, but how do we bring it to them in a way that resonates with what they’re going through?’” says Moon. They found the unlock in shifting the entire show to an at-home model, with kid athletes like Brown leading a new content pillar called “Shake-Ups,” creative home-based challenges that throw a zany twist into traditional exercises like planks or squats.

Since then, the team’s moved to an entirely remote-capture model, asking kid hosts and pro athletes to film themselves in their homes, where you inevitably see their kitchens, pets and real-life snafus and interruptions. “It feels more raw and personal, and it’s allowed us to expand globally; recently we’ve included kids in Barcelona, Chengdu and Guadalajara.”

The most rewarding part for Moon has been seeing the social element of Playlist unfold. “We’ve found that most kids are watching it with their siblings or their families. They tell us, ‘Hey, I watched Playlist with my sister, and then we went on and made our own secret handshake,’ or ‘I watched it with my mom and we went out to the backyard and tried to jump rope.’” That aim to strengthen the familial bond and inspire everyone to move? As a Playlist host would say, “Knocked it outta the paaark!”

Doubling Down on the Future

Kids will continue to fuel creativity within the brand when, later this year, Nike introduces the Nike Play Council, a group of young athletes and creators who all share a passion for making sport more fun, accessible and inclusive, and who will help bring Gen Alpha’s vision of sport to life. “It's our opportunity to literally give kids a seat at the table and co-create the future of sport with them,” says Jabaji. The confirmed council members: Sky and Ocean Brown, Brazilian kid skateboarder Rayssa Leal, kid football player Lorenzo Greer (aka Tekkerz Kid), and kid drummer Nandi Bushell (aka “the Most Badass Drummer in the World,” according to drummer Dave Grohl). Each member of the Play Council will consult and collaborate directly with Nike and also help inform and expand the future of the group. While Nike has always been committed to listening to the voice of the athlete*, the Play Council ensures that young athletes’ voices are heard loud and clear.

According to Jabaji, channeling that voice has been Nike’s greatest win in its new approach to its kids business. “If you look at the world through the eyes of a kid and put them at the center of your work, he says, “the potential of what it can unlock is limitless.”

*If you have a body, you are an athlete.

youtube

#nike #kids #kicksaddict

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izzy-b-hands · 5 years ago

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Our House

Eugene is away on business for a few weeks, and they’ve both wanted bits and pieces of the house fixed up/changed.

Snafu can do that all on his own, right?

Important lessons about home improvement and how it is a fickle beast below the cut!

At the end, re: wine, I’m basing their reactions off of what wine does to me (makes me sleepy af and basically useless if I have more than a glass or two.)

Also, I did get a weird headache mid-writing this so hopefully it sounds decent and I didn’t accidentally a word anywhere (I read over it for a quick edit, but y’all know I’m notorious for still missing mistakes until three days later.) If y’all do notice something off/an error on this, please let me know so I can fix it asap!

My love to all who read/like/reblog!

The three weeks marked on the calendar had seemed long, in the days prior to them. He’d spent those days moaning to Eugene about how difficult it would be, and how long the weeks would take to pass.

They hadn’t felt long enough now though.

The bedroom was done, at least, in a cheerful, soft, pastel yellow. A pastel sage green trim made the whole room feel like spring, at least to Snafu. Eugene would love it, that much he knew for sure.

“He ain’t gonna love the rest of this though,” Snafu sighed, and took in the rest of the house as he walked through it. Eugene would be back in a day, and he had so much left to do:

The kitchen was missing half the cabinet doors, which were outside near the shed, halfway to being refinished, varnished, and repainted a light rose pink with white accents. He had never realized just how many cabinets they had until now, and it seemed like too many.

The guest bathroom had yet to be retiled, though the tiles were sitting ready for him to put down.

The guest bedroom was waiting to be repainted a greyish green, but he hadn’t had time to even crack the paint cans open.

And finally, and perhaps worst, the living room was...

“A fuckin’ disaster,” Snafu muttered to himself as he walked into it, carefully. The repainting of it to a plum had gone just fine. However, a bit of paint had gotten onto the velvet chaise lounge they’d recently bought at a flea market. They were going to reupholster it anyway, why not do it now to get rid of the paint?

Snafu shook his head at the memory of asking himself that question. From there, he’d been on a search for a nice velvet to replace the original that would also match the walls, and be to Eugene and his tastes. Easier said than done, and made all the harder at the realization that some of the wood flooring had, at some point, somehow been damaged (maybe when they’d moved in the lounge? He couldn’t be sure.)

Which meant of course the wood flooring needed to be repaired, which was...a task, putting it mildly.

“How the hell am I gonna finish this?” Snafu asked Queen, who was preening on the leftover velvet for the lounge.

She rolled over and turned away from him, still preening with one paw.

“Exactly,” he sighed, then traipsed into the front hall, sitting onto the first step of the staircase to the upper level. “I just gotta make a plan, right? I mean, he might not even notice the guest room; I can paint that later. Bathroom might be an issue, but we don’t even use that bathroom that much, I can hide the tiles. And how often does anybody really look at a cabinet, like really look, ya know?”

Queen looked over, sighed, and closed her eyes for a nap.

“Right? I don’t look at cabinet doors, that’s for sure,” Snafu continued. “So that just leaves the living room, and the living room-”

The front door creaked open, and he just barely resisted the urge to bolt.

“Hey! Is Eugene ba-what in the everloving...” Sidney froze in the doorway, staring at the living room mess. “So, he isn’t back yet then?”

Snafu shook his head. “Nah, or I’d be dead.”

“He won’t be that upset,” Sidney soothed. “I know you mentioned you were doin’ some work but...damn. Hey, nearly done though, really. Just the chair there, and the floor some, and-”

“Most of the rest of the house,” Snafu interrupted. “I got a little ambitious.”

“How ambitious?” Sidney asked gently, and joined Snafu on the step.

By the time Snafu was done regaling him with everything that needed doing, Sidney had gone pale.

“That’s maybe a little too ambitious indeed, Snaf. But, I admire it.”

“And now you’re headin’ on home, right?”

Sidney frowned. “Hell do you mean? I’m gonna help you get done whatever we can. We’ll call Mary, she can come by and help paint, and help you with that lounge. Between the three of us, we can get some of it done at least.”

Snafu stared. They were friends more for Eugene’s sake, rather than to actually be friends (if anything, he got along better with Mary.) There was nothing wrong with Sidney, they just hadn’t clicked in any major way. But it was moments like this he was grateful they both put in the work to become better friends, because what was a good friend if not occasionally a home improvement knight in shining armor?

He hugged Sidney tight, until Sidney finally tried to wriggle out. “Thank you. I know he wouldn’t actually kill me-”

“He doesn’t even like raising his voice to you,” Sidney interrupted. “Every time y’all argue, he calls me and says how bad he feels about any shouting. And I highly doubt it’s even really ‘shouting.’ But you might have earned it this time, though I would defend you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. This was done with good intentions, to give him a nice surprise to come home too. Not your fault home improvement shit never goes right,” Sidney replied. “Come on, get up. We got a long night, and I still gotta call Mary.”

Once Mary was over, it was shocking how fast it all seemed to go. It wasn’t that Sid and Mary rushed him or their own tasks, just that it seemed...easier. The house was warm and loud (as well as the backyard for the last few hours of daylight, while he and Sid finished up the cabinet doors, leaving them painted and drying near the back door) and with the dog and cats occasionally peeking in to check on them, it all felt lively and just good. Better than it had felt for the weeks of being empty except for himself and the pets.

It was six in the morning when they gave up, and, and Sidney put it “had to accept it for what it was.”

Which wasn’t terrible, all things considered.

The last bit of the living room flooring had been fixed up, and the lounge reupholstered thanks to Mary’s endless hard work on it.

The guest bedroom might need another coat, but it was at least mostly done, and the animals had been kept out of it so the door could be shut, keeping the paint fumes mostly confined to the hall near it.

The guest bathroom still had some tiles to finish putting down, but it was about halfway done, and that was a hell of a lot further than Snafu had figured they’d get.

The cabinet doors still needed to finish drying and be actually put back onto the kitchen cabinets, but they looked damn pretty.

They cleaned up, and settled in to wait for Eugene.

And waited.

“He would have called by now,” Snafu muttered, after four hours had passed from when Eugene was supposed to be home. “I should go down to the station, see why he isn’t in yet. Maybe he meant for me to pick him up and forgot to say...”

Sidney shook his head. “That ain’t Eugene. He has a checklist for his checklists; he would have told you. At least four times.”

Mary nodded. “Do you have a number you can call him at? Maybe his train got delayed and he’s still at his hotel in, where was it again he was going?”

“Atlanta,” Snafu replied, and walked to the phone with them and three of the cats on his heels.

He wasn’t at the hotel, nor at the train station in Atlanta. Nor was he at the train station in Mobile, waiting to be picked up.

“Merriell, don’t panic,” Sidney said softly as they walked back to the couch, and Sid using his proper name was enough to send him spiraling.

“What if he’s hurt, what if something happened? I should have just gone with him, y’all could have looked after the pets, and I could have found somethin’ to do in Atlanta while he was busy. This is my fault.”

“How on earth is this your fault?” Mary asked. “I’m sure he’s just fine, probably just...held up, somehow. Who knows, maybe he just can’t catch a cab to the station.”

“For four hours?” Sidney scoffed, then winced as Mary slapped his arm. “I mean yeah. You never know. Could be a cab driver shortage...”

He expected them to leave, but they stayed even as the day wore on into the evening. Mary eventually got up to check on the paint in the guest room, and when she didn’t return, Snafu figured it was dry enough for the final coat. Sid followed shortly after in getting up, and the sound of the back door opening and closing let him know that the cabinet doors were apparently ready to be put back in place.

Meanwhile, he waited and watched the phone.

“Snaf, I’m sure he’s fine,” Sidney said as they finally slipped on their shoes and retrieved their keys from the front hall table. “Somethin’ silly just held him up, and he’ll be rushing in here before you know it. Let yourself get some sleep, okay?”

Mary nodded, and turned to the door, only to nearly be smacked in the face by it as it swung open.

“I am so sorry,” Eugene was a mess, hair clearly unbrushed, clothes wrinkled, and eyes wild. “Are you okay? Why are you two here? I mean, I don’t mean that like; you just don’t live here is what I mean-”

“Gene,” Sidney said gently. “Shut the fuck up and breathe for a minute. What happened?”

Eugene sighed, kicked off his shoes, and moved past them to drop on the newly upholstered chaise lounge. “Snaf, it’s for you. Got it sitting outside. It’s wrapped up, but take a look. Hopefully you like it, and then we can bring it inside. Thought we could hang it in here, on the-did you paint in here?”

Snafu ignored Sidney’s face-palm and Mary’s shaking head as he headed outside. Just by the front door, was a too-big-for-one-person-to-carry framed canvas, bits of the golden colored frame sticking out from under the brown paper wrapping. And under the paper...

“Those are our babies!” Snafu crowed, and ran back inside, nearly knocked the lounge back as he dropped onto it to hug Eugene. “You had to have commissioned that ages ago, to get them pictures of the cats and God knows how you got a decent one of Ack-Ack, and when did you do that?”

“Soon as they mentioned they might need me to travel,” Eugene replied. “Called around, found a local artist, sent the pictures along in the mail whenever I got a chance that you weren’t paying attention. Thought it would be a way to make up for me being gone, but gettin’ that thing in and off of a train was something else, and then they nearly didn’t want to let me on, and-”

Eugene shrugged. “But I made it. And it made it. You like it?”

“I love it!” he buried his face in Eugene’s shoulder, hugging him tight again and taking in everything about him again, how he felt, the scent of his cologne. “But you better not be goin’ anywhere for awhile regardless. I can tell you later, but I-”

“You two are absolutely meant for each other,” Sidney laughed. “You with the picture, and this fool...he redid half the damn house while you were gone. With our help, though we were happy to do it. That lounge you’re sittin’ on?”

Eugene looked down at it as he moved out of Snafu’s embrace as if he was seeing it for the first time. “This wasn’t green velvet when I left.”

“No, no it wasn’t,” Mary smiled. “But it is now! And wait’ll you see the rest of it, he worked hard. Ran out of time, but he worked hard.”

“How much did you try to do in three weeks?” Eugene laughed, though his smile drooped slightly as not one of the three of them answered.

“Tell you what,” Snafu replied after a moment. “We get that painting inside, hung up, and have dinner. And then I’ll tell you all what I did, and how I owe our Sid and Mary a very big favor for it, starting with a late dinner tonight if you both want to stay.”

“...Everything is one piece, right?”

“Except for the tile of the guest bathroom, yes,” Sid interjected. “And if you’ll have us, we’d be happy to stay. Can get that last bit of tiling done with Snaf before we go.”

“I like it! And we’ll have a bit of wine to celebrate your being home,” Snafu said to Eugene, and kissed him before hopping off the lounge and towards the kitchen. “In fact, wine first, picture hanging, then dinner, then tiling?”

“Sounds like a dangerous combination,” Eugene said. “But why not, if we’re celebrating. How badly can it turn out?”

Two bottles of wine between them all, and the rest of the night later, they managed to get the picture inside and resting safely against a wall in the front hall, and the guest bathroom was left mercifully untouched by any drunken work.

Despite it, Snafu had never been happier. Eugene was home, there was good food, good wine, good friends, a gorgeous gift, and the house looked lovely. He couldn’t ask for more.

#text post #LeeH writes #Sledgefu

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r-ahh-mi · 5 years ago

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Ocean Eyed Phantom

Pairing: Merriell Shelton (Snafu) x fem!reader

Summary: When a women has a dream about her past lover, the nightmare seems a little too real for her liking.

Warnings: Sad!Sad!Sad!, mentions of death, and mentions of pregnancy.

Word Count: 2.4 k

A/N: This is my first time writing for Snafu so I hope this is up to par. Let me know what you think of this -- I am very open to writing another part if the interest is there. Hope you enjoy xx

His large tanned fingers ran along the waves of my hair, tangling themselves lightly until he pulled his hand away so his palm rested on my cheek. His warmth spread along my face, surely creating a crimson glow to my skin tone, as my hand moved to rest on top of his. His lips moved nearer and nearer until our mouths collided in a sweet and gentle peck—not too short, but not too long. It was just the right amount of PDA for our little picnic in the park during the hot and humid summer in New Orleans.

“I love ya so much.” His lips tickled along my earlobe as he moved to press a brief kiss to my neck.

I whispered a reply identical to his as my lips spread into the most vomit inducing, lovey dovey smile one could fathom. But I was in love, and smitten, and dumbfounded by this glorious feeling of wanting someone just as much as they wanted me.

“Wha’ do ya think we’re gonna’ do now that we’re hitched?”

I shrugged, leaning my face into his palm that was still cupping my cheek. His thumb responded naturally as it began rubbing along my sun kissed skin. “At least now, in the eyes of God, we aren’t fornicators.”

Merriell bit his lip as he stifled a laugh. “Oh but baby, how I did love fornicatin’ with ya.”

“Stop it,” I giggled, pushing away his hand as it slowly began creeping up under the hem of my flowing dress that was resting about mid thigh.

His eyes were round and mischievous as we gently wrestled back and forth with one another in the fresh smelling grass; giving gentle shoves and pats until we were both out of breath and in dire need of a good rest.

Merriell was left laying on his stomach in between my legs. His chin rested against my lower stomach as my fingers knitted themselves into his dark, wavy hair. He watched me with light, loving eyes as his hand came up to gently rub along my cotton covered stomach. I couldn’t help but smile as he fixed his gaze on the navy colored fabric that was tightly fixed along my twelve week bump that had just recently started to show. He didn’t say anything, but his expression was a clear indication that he was utterly in love with this child that we had unexpectedly created together, which only made my fondness for him grow more intense with every loving look and caress he gave to the child growing in my belly.

“You’re going to be a great daddy Mer, you know that, right?”

He peered up at me with an unmarked expression on his face as he withheld a response.

“Did you hear me?”

Merriell nodded, but his eyes were all over the place except for my face which made me move my hand from his hair to his chin and gently tilt it upwards. When his eyes finally found mine, they were still blank, but I knew him better than anyone and when he was unreadable, that’s when he was needing to be questioned.

“Talk to me baby.” This time he leaned his cheek into my palm as it replicated his prior actions; I loved running my thumb along the dusting of freckles that rested just below his eyes.

“I just don’ wanta’ disappoint ya’ or the baby is all.”

I shook my head vigorously, moving my shoulders off of the ground so I was nearly sitting upright. “You could never do such a thing Merriell. Don’t be so hard on yourself; you’re going to be a great daddy to her and you’re already an amazing husband to me.”

His body didn’t move besides his eyes beginning to rapidly blink as his thick black eyelashes gave him a splash of innocence, almost making him replicate a sleepy toddler. His fingers began picking at the dry cuticles set on his calloused hands--a nervous tick he had always relied on in moments of discomfort.

“I just wanta’ get this right, ya’ know?,” he whispered the words out as if they were a little secret and true, it wasn’t a side of him that he enjoyed flaunting. Not many got to see the timid and self conscious Merriell Shelton like I did.

“I do know. I’m just as scared as you are baby.”

“Ya’ are?” His lips began to relax and the crinkles underneath his eyes softened back into his skin as I nodded to him with a small smile.

“But we can do this. We have each other now. We aren’t two different units, we are one support system and you know i’m always here for you.”

This time he nodded with a soft smile on his face as he let his eyes close briefly, allowing himself to revel in this feeling of being adored and supported by another. Then his eyes met mine, holding me there in an intense stare and I could feel it. You know how you can just tell someone is staring at you--that’s what i’m talking about. I could physically feel his eyes glued to me paired with a gorgeous toothy smile.

But suddenly, I was gasping for air. I placed my hand on my tightening throat, looking to Merriell with wide eyes for some sort of support or assistance, but he watched on with his mouth turning downwards into a slowly forming frown. I wanted to call out, I wanted to scream, and most importantly I wanted to scold Merriell for not helping me. Why wasn’t he frantic? Why wasn’t he acting like he cared?

My body jolted upwards, making me jump several inches off of my pillow top mattress as my loud gasps rang throughout the dark and dusty feeling room. My chest ached from having to do so much work, but my lungs slowly but surely began evening out and falling back into their rhythm as the harsh noise of my attempts to grab onto air began to quiet. My hand was on my throat, just as it was in my dream, except this dream was different from all of the others.

I had plenty of dreams about my past lover and father to my little girl who wasn’t so little anymore, but this one was the most real feeling. It was like I could feel his hand on my stomach, I could sense his stare; even now, I could feel his digits as they combed through my hair. Except he wasn’t and he hadn’t done that in nearly twenty years. Almost two decades ago, Merriell left me and his baby girl for the war and I supported him every step of the way, no matter how much it hurts me to know that I wouldn’t be seeing him for a long period of time. What I didn’t expect was to never see him return at all.

Sure, I knew the stories about this war and I knew a lot of people who had lost husbands, brothers, and sons, but they weren’t my Merriell. In my mind he was invincible and I suppose that’s where I got it wrong. I should’ve prepared myself for the chance of him not returning, but instead I played my role of devoted mother and wife and counted the days until he was scheduled to be home. But that day never came.

Instead, I was greeted by some men in fancy, colorful uniforms as they knocked softly against the cheap wooden door of our rented, run down house that had become our paradise. Their expressions were blank and I greeted them cheerfully, expecting them to give me an update on my boy. How naive could a girl be?

My breathing had calmed now as I thought back to that awful, horrendous day, but the shakes in my body were not completely gone. They were more like small vibrations against my fingers and arms now, but they were still noticeable and still such large reminders of how I would never be over him. My Merriell, my sweet, sweet Merriell who didn’t get to see his baby girl grow up or grow old and weary with me.

I looked to my left, ensuring that my sleeping husband was still snoring away--which he was. Although he cared for me just fine, he was not Merriell. He would never be able to give me that love that Mer was able to give it to me, but instead I moved on and settled for something closer. I gave my husbands resting body a gentle caress before lifting the duvet off of my body. My legs wobbled and shook as they lifted my body from the mattress and carried me into the hallway.

It was just starting to get cold in Boston. The leaves were just beginning to dissipate and fall to the ground in various hues of brown, yellow, and orange which also meant the mornings were becoming darker and darker with the sun not wanting to rise quite as early as it did during the summer months.

Though the floor was usually creaky, I managed to tiptoe my way down the hallway without so much as a slight squeal from the floorboards. As my hand twisted on the shining silver door knob, I nearly pulled myself back, scolding myself for doing such an odd thing, but seeing her face was something that I knew would calm me. I needed my little girl right now.

The door opened silently as I stood in the entryway, admiring how the moon seemed to set a spotlight on my daughter's sleeping form. She lay on her back with a hand sprawled across her stomach, just like her daddy did. Her dark, springy curls covered half of her face and I couldn’t help myself - I had to get closer. Some more tip toeing ensued as I moved my body closer and closer to her bed until I was stood right next to her.

Her face was all her fathers—thick eyelashes and all. Her attitude wasn’t too far off either, although she wasn’t quite as sarcastic as Merriell was, but she definitely had his charm and little spark to her. She drove me crazy at times, but what seventeen year old girl didn’t. Her body stirred lightly as she began rolling to her left, then a minute later to her right. Her attempts to getting back to sleep were not doing very well, so I figured I could comfort her as i did when she was just a bed of curls and a diaper. I laid my hand on her back gently and began moving the pads of my fingers across her back.

Eventually her breathing came back to an even pace and her body stayed still. I figured I’d been creepily staring and admiring my daughter for long enough so I set off back to bed, hoping that some movement and change of subject would be good enough for my brain to let me fall back asleep. However, as I was walking back down the hallway, I felt a cold gust of wind smooth its way past me.

I double checked the window just down the hall--nothing. Though it would’ve been difficult, I suppose a breeze could’ve moved all the way to the upstairs part of the house. I brushed it off and continued my journey, clutching the robe to my body as the temperature seemed to continue dropping and dropping, but what ultimately startled me was a creaking noise that clamored from the dark wood floor, but the sound seemed to come from the opposite side of the hallway.

Quickly, I swiveled my head around my shoulder, expecting my very tired daughter to be standing there, questioning why I was in her bedroom in the middle of the night, but there was nothing. The hallway was empty, excluding myself and the grandfather clock that was ticking away at the other end of the hall. To test the waters, I moved my foot back to the step it had just taken, testing the floorboards as I jabbed at it with different amounts of weight and pressure, but they never made a peep.

My mind was probably just too exhausted and creating things that weren’t there. I’d only really slept for two, maybe three hours tops--I shook my head at my ignorance in believing a mind as sleep deprived as mine and continued my steps until my feet landed on the blush colored carpet of my bedroom. My husband was still snoring away peacefully in his deep sleep--it must be nice to get a good night’s rest. I really haven’t gotten one since the dreams of him began, nearly ten years ago.

Never the less I had found some tricks that seemed to work better than others. I usually just needed to walk around or find something to keep my mind preoccupied until my eyes were so exhausted they could no longer stay open. My little visit to my daughters room had done the trick, I hoped, as I settled into my side of the bed and began burying my body under the warm covers.

My eyes were lazily hanging open as I glanced towards the wall in front of me, set maybe ten or so feet away. I wasn’t even aiming to look and focus on anything at the moment, all I wanted was to envision and relish in the darkness of what lies behind my eyelids, but something or rather someone caught my eye. The pupils were still getting used to the complete darkness of the room, but as they became more familiar with seeing in this dimmed light, that’s when I could fully see the figure sitting in the arm chair in the corner of the room.

All I could manage to do was freeze as my elbows supported my body while I leaned my weight back onto them. At first, my thoughts were “There’s an intruder in my house and i need to find out a way to get rid of them while still keeping myself safe”. However, my thoughts began to shift once I took in the figures appearance--my eyes had to have been deceiving me, for this man was one I hadn’t seen in nearly twenty years. This man was dead. This man was gone. There was no possible way and yet--he is sitting in front of me! He is looking at me! My precious Merriell is alive and well and looks exactly like the young man who had lost his life much too soon.

Tag: @lovelymalekk @mezzomercury @sherlollydramoine @rami-malek-trash@amcquivey @rogers-wristbands @deacytits

#rami malek #snafu #merriell shelton #snafu x reader #merriell shelton x reader #the pacific #rami malek fic #rami malek fluff #rami malek x reader

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dailyaudiobible · 5 years ago

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05/03/2020 DAB Trancsript

Judges 17:1-18:31, John 3:1-21, Psalms 104:1-23, Proverbs 14:20-21

Today is the 3rd day of May welcome to the Daily Audio Bible I’m Brian it is a pleasure to be here with you as we…well…we continue to move in fully into this brand-new. It’s before us but now we’re crossing the threshold into a new week, our first full week of the month of May. And it does my heart good to be here with you around the Global Campfire and I hope the you feel the same. So, we’ve got a brand-new week we’ll read from the New Living Translation this week and we will continue our journey through the book of Judges by reading chapters 17 and 18 today.

Prayer:

Father, we thank You for this new week and we thank You for this new month and we thank You for all that You have brought us through not only in recent times, but in our lives and we thank You that You continue to lead us forward, step-by-step, day by day, minute by minute, second by second. We thank You that we can never flee from Your presence. You are always with us. You are within and among us. Give us eyes to see, give us vision to see Your kingdom and our place in it as we move through and navigate this week being guided by the presence of Your Holy Spirit. We pray this in the name of Jesus. Amen.

Announcements:

dailyaudiobible.com is the website, its home-base, its where you find out what's going on around here in our virtual community around the Global Campfire. So, stay connected. Stay connected in any way that you can. We’re all on this journey together. And this is…I mean…we are obviously all on the journey of life together on planet Earth at this point in history but we’re also on a unique journey that is specific to us, we’re making our way through the Bible here around the Global Campfire so let’s stay connected. So, yeah, dailyaudiobible.com.

The Community section will keep you connected. The Shop will keep you resourced.

And if you want to partner with the Daily Audio Bible you can do that dailyaudiobible.com and I thank you profoundly and humbly. If you’re using the Daily Audio Bible app you can press the Give button in the upper right-hand corner or the mailing address, if that is your preference, is PO Box 1996 Spring Hill Tennessee 37174.

And, as always, if you have a prayer request or encouragement, you can hit the Hotline button in the app, which is the little red button at the top, or you can dial 877-942-4253.

And that's it for today. I'm Brian I love you and I'll be waiting for you here tomorrow.

Community Prayer and Praise:

Hey DAB family this is Living in His Presence Scooter in Tuckahoe. My mother’s going through some challenges. She’s quarantined in New York City and while she still symptomatic they’re looking to send her back because of time limits and procedural snafus and red tape silliness. So please, if you can pray for my mother it would be appreciated. And Diane Olive Braun I wanted to thank you so much for singing Mr. Rogers bringing your joy and your voice back in…in this way it was just a real gift. I remember when you first came on at least the first time I heard you, you were speaking of having lost her voice but it’s there, it’s still beautiful and it was a real gift. So many are loved, are so dearly loved by me and my wife Diane. I’ll be calling back to lift all of you up later. Not enough time to do it now. Be blessed everyone.

This is Kim from Florida and I apologize for not calling my prayer…my praise report in sooner. I asked you to pray for my best friend having major brain surgery, by the way her name’s Teresa. Talk about raising hallelujah, wow! God showed up in a miraculous way and I believe it is because so many people prayed. I don’t fully understand the dynamics between the prayers and God, I just know it’s a synergistic platform that works. So, they were able to remove the entire tumor, all but one tiny little speck attached to that major blood vessel. She is walking and talking and doing great. She is tired and weak right now because she had a major brain surgery on her central nervous system. So, healing must continue but praise the Lord. Now we just need to pray her or two sons into the kingdom. Thank you again everyone for praying. It works. God is good all the time and all the time God is good. By now.

Good morning Daily Audio Bible this is Bimbola Lagos. I’m calling to say thank you to Nicole from Florida for calling in. I found her message so encouraging, that no matter how dark the times are just stay in the Word and the Lord himself will walk you through things. Oh, I am so encouraged, and I decided to __ and __ to the word of God than ever before. Thank you, Nicole. Thank you, Brian. Thank you, Jill. Thank you for all the people that call in and those that listen. God is good and this community’s…

Hi, my name is Jill. I just want to call in and thank Nicole from South Florida who I heard today. Today’s the 29th and it has been one month since my husband passed away and I really needed to hear Nicole, what you said, because I almost fast forwarded because your voice was just so cheerful, and I am not. But I’m glad I listened because I really needed to hear that after you said your husband passed away a couple years ago, I think, that there was joy and that the Lord would bring joy in the morning. And I’m hopeful for that. So, I just want to thank you again because I…I really needed to hear that after a night of praying and feeling like maybe God wasn’t listening. So, thank you Nicole. And I would just appreciate prayer for being able to go on and figure out who I am after 25 years of marriage and leaving…my best friend leaving to go and be with the Lord. So, thank you.

Hi Nicole from South Florida I want to tell you that your testimony of the way the Lord brought you through those difficult days after your husband died and you staying in the Word, that was such a beautiful testimony. It’s a true word of encouragement. I’ll be praying for you and you just continue to stay in the Word as you find that blessing. Thank God. Praise God for what He’s done and what He’s gonna continue to do in your life. This is Randolph from Canada.

Brian I am in the middle of your comments for today’s lesson, the 29th of April and you’re talking about, “weren’t our hearts on fire” and immediately I thought…I cut back to reading the first book you wrote about what caused you to start Daily Audio Bible. And you talk of us sitting around the Global Campfire. So, He ignited a fire within you that you have shared with us and it’s been going on these many years and will continue. I think that is just wonderful and I praise Him for lighting a fire in you so that through Daily Audio Bible that flame will never go out. As long as we are alive and pass it on it will never go out. Thank you, Brian and thank You Jesus for doing this. Thank you. Amen.

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gingerwerk · 5 years ago

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little bit of flo and gene from ch 19

~🌻~

“For fucks sake, who the hell does my brother think he is, telling me he thinks he lost his passport days before he’s leaving the country,” Flo cursed as she angrily typed away on her phone; Eugene chuckled into his glass at the irritated expression on her face, not wanting any of her annoyance at her brother to be redirected to him for laughing at her. “He didn’t even ask mum if she’d seen it! Just texted his already stressed sister ‘can’t find my passport lol’!”

“But he did find it, right?”

“Yes!” she huffed, freshly dyed rose-colored hair flying as she tossed her head back angrily. “Mum had it the whole time because she didn’t want the dick to lose it!"

Smirking, Eugene leaned back in his seat on Flo’s couch, happy to watch her chew her younger brother out via text message. It was Monday, which meant that it was Eugene’s day off. Although things weren’t nearly as bad around the apartments as he originally anticipated, it wasn’t exactly the most pleasurable environments to spend every waking minute around. During his off hours now, he tried to stay away from the apartments and the balcony and a lot of time that meant spending time at Flo and Burgie’s apartment. It was nice- nice not feeling as if he’s on alert all the time, unsure if he can enjoy his break on the balcony or if Snafu’s about to come out of his apartment, if he’ll be around the parlor smoking while he’s trying to go about his day in one piece. Sure, Flo and Burgie’s apartment wasn’t completely free of uncomfortable feelings- seeing as it was the scene of the crime that sent off the chain of messy events that brought him here -but he’d happily take what he could get at this point.

Sometimes they’d go hang out in the local park or grab lunch somewhere between their apartments- wherever they went, Flo easily carried most of the conversation. With her long-awaited ceremony now only a couple days away, she had plenty to vent and worry about. All the flowers, food, and all the proper fixings needed for a wedding had long since been straightened out but now her biggest source of stress was making sure her various friends and family members made it safely from one side of the planet to the other and did so in time for the wedding. Some people- or most people -probably would have found Flo’s constant anxious listing of names and flight numbers and times stressful but for some odd reason Eugene found it oddly comforting. Perhaps it was because it gave his brain something complex to focus on that had nothing to do with him, created a good distraction for his overworked mind.

On the off chance that Flo wasn’t visibly venting about someone or something, Eugene filled the time by asking her questions about her family, her siblings and parents, various nieces and nephews. Once again, he felt a little bad, realizing that here was another lapse in information between good friends but Flo waved away any apology he tried to give, unbothered.

“Flo? You home?,” Burgie’s voice called at the same time the front door swung open. A second later and Burgie entered the apartment; when his eyes landed on Eugene sitting on the couch next to his wife, he looked completely unsurprised. “Hey, Sledge.”

“Burgie,” Eugene said with a respectful nod as Flo jumped up from the couch to greet her husband happily.

“Babe, I thought you said you were working late tonight,” she said, smiling softly as she fondly wiped at the small smudge of lipstick her kiss left on his face.

“I was but then my last appointment canceled and Snafu told me to go home.”

It was brief but at just the mere mention of his name, Flo scowled. The look was gone in a flash and without another word on the matter, Flo began filling Burgie in on the antics of her brother.

After the initial fallout, after he realized that his friends were on his side, everyone’s reactions made sense to him- Bill was unbelievably pissed but also almost irritatingly happy that Snafu had seemingly fucked up beyond repair and both Burgie and Jay were clearly frustrated and angry with their friend but were still playing civil for the sake of the business. They made sense, all except for Flo.

Out of all them, Flo appeared the most outraged. He had expected anger, even a couple hits- she had promised to beat Snafu’s ass when he returned -however, after a couple weeks, her fury had not dimmed. She was still so angry it almost came off of her like disgust; all it took to set her off was just the mention of his name. One time recently while Eugene was at Burgie and Flo’s apartment, he overheard Burgie say something about Snafu but before he could finish, Flo instructed him not to say his name under their roof.

“He’s out of the family,” Eugene heard her hiss as he accidentally eavesdropped. “If it weren’t so close to the wedding, that fuckwit’d be written out of the wedding- fuck it, let’s just do it. He’s going to ruin to for me- Jay could be your best man.”

A part of him felt guilty that because of him- to some degree at least -Flo and Snafu’s sibling-like relationship had seemingly disintegrated overnight. Another part of him, however, felt grateful, almost vindicated in a way. He couldn’t find it in himself to be as furious as he wanted to be anymore- he was just too tired, didn’t see what good would come out of that anger when he should probably save his energy for other things -so that gnarled part deep inside of him was happy to watch someone else be nasty and angry with him. He wasn’t proud of it but he also never told Flo to stop acting like that.

#kelly writes #flowers and tattoos au

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jiminthestreets-bonesinthesheets · 6 years ago

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Lost in Translation

Title: Lost in Translation

Fandom: Star Trek

Pairing: Mckirk

Rating: Lemon

Tags: minor character death, hurt, little bit of self destruction, stranded, possible smut down the line, FLUFF!!!

Summary:

“Attention citizens. This is the crew of the Enterprise asking for your aid. On Stardate 2264.78 a shuttle manned by our captain and fourteen cadets was ambushed by an unknown source and chased out of sight of our ship and into open space. Those cadets as well as our captain, James Tiberius Kirk, are still missing. We are asking anyone with any information on their whereabouts, or regarding the attack, to please contact the Enterprise immediately. Our family would appreciate any assistance you can give.”

AO3 Link

Masterlist

Special Thanks: wanted to give a huge shout out to my girl Katie, AKA @goingknowherewastaken for being a huge inspiration for this fic as well as for being a huge help (especially when it comes to putting up with my frantic ramblings lol) you're awesome boo <3

A/N: So this is a work in progress but it’s basically finished and I’ve been making great headway with this recently, so this will be the first fic I’ve ever finished! Woohoo!! And I'm thinking that I’ll probably stick to a Sunday post schedule.

Also a little note for y’all to keep in mind while reading. I have tagged this fic “possible eventual smut” and that’s because right now I don’t have any planned buuuuut… I'm going to leave that option up to you guys! Between the readers here and AO3, if you're still with me by the end of this fic, leave a comment and let me know if you would be interested in an epilogue or end scene with smut. I’ll post a reminder at the end, but keep it in mind while reading.

And if anyone is interested in being tagged for future posts for this fic or any others I may post, please let me know and I’ll add you to the list! Thanks for reading <3

AN: Sorry this is so late... I’ve had a shitty shitty weekend. But now it’s up and I cant wait to see what you guys think of this one!

SO MUCH FLUFF IN THIS CHAPTER! SO MUCH FLUFF!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter 6

“Damn it kid, look what you do to me.”

Leonard ran his thumb gently across the back of the hand he was still holding. He remembered waking up that day in the sickbay, he remembered his conversation with Uhora, remembered the feeling of acceptance that washed over him but also the fear of possibly never being able to admit that to the person who actually mattered.

He looked over to Jim still unconscious in the bed, as lifeless as he had been when he was being rushed through the sickbay after Spock had finally found him.

“Jim,” he began, nervously, “kid… you gotta wake up. You heard the log, I’ve got a lot of things to say and I want to be able to say them to your face. I don’t even care if you don’t… if you don’t feel the same, I just need to say it. I need you to know the truth. I don’t want another chance lost on us like this Jim, I-”

Tears clouded his vision and a lump filled his throat as he squeezed Jim's hand a little tighter. What were the words worth if Jim couldn’t even hear them?

The padd in his lap prompted him with a new log, this one belonging to Jim again, and a shaking finger touched the screen allowing Jim's voice to fill the room.

“Kirk’s log, stardate 2264.97. I buried them today Bones, all of them. I buried fourteen rookie cadets, kids, in the sand, on a planet we don’t even know, a planet that’s not even federation! Kids, Bones, they were all kids!” Leonard heard a muffled sound through the padd, he was sure it was a sob Jim was trying to cover, “I couldn’t just leave them lying there like that, it didn’t feel right. So… so I took a piece of metal from the wreckage and used it yesterday to dig out fourteen graves. The metal tore up my hands pretty bad but… a small price to pay for the indefinite price those cadets paid. And I don’t know if I’ll ever be found, but at least this way, whatever happens, I know I did my best to make sure those kids have some kind of peace. And if you do find me, Bones, or if somehow this comm makes its way back to you, will you let their parents know that I tried. I tried my best to keep them alive long enough but I just… I couldn’t do it. Not with the supplies I had, I just… god, Bones. Kids, they were all just kids…”

~~~~~~~~~~~

After a full day of digging fourteen graves, Jim laid down for one last sleep in his battered shelter, surrounded by his fallen crew members. The next morning he woke with the sun and began finally laying his cadets to rest.

He started with the first fallen, Trever, their pilot. Then moved on to the second, VooHook, then Amanda, and Kent. One by one he pulled their lifeless bodies into their far too early graves, with ripped apart hands and still limping on his injured knee, until all fourteen graves were filled. And one by one he filled in each and every one of them.

When he was finished it was mid day and Jim stood panting before the graves in the blazing hot sun. He stared down at them, the fourteen bumps of freshly turned ground at his feet, and fell to his knees in a crying lump. “I'm sorry,” he choked out around the uncontrollable sobs, “I let you all down and I'm so sorry. I’ll never be able to forgive myself for this. You all deserved better then me.”

~~~~~~~~~~~

After Jim had said his goodbyes and cried until he couldn’t cry anymore, he gathered what little he could from the shelter, shoving it into the now empty medkit, and started making his way towards the lonely mountain.

As he was walking he pulled out his comm and began talking, trying to keep his mind off of how far the mountain really was. “Kirks log, stardate 2264.97. I’ve started walking, Bones. I'm making my way towards the only other thing I can see besides desert, the single mountain. It’s definitely going to take me much longer then I was hoping with my injured knee, but I'm trying not to think about that so much.”

Jim paused, continuing to limp towards the mountain as he thought back to better times. To his times in the academy after Pike had finally set him straight, and to think on it now Jim realized he had a lot more then his captaincy to thank his mentor for. He thought back on meeting Bones on that shuttle in Riverside, to the first time he laid eyes on that grumpy old doctor who seemed to worm his way right into his closed off little heart in the blink of an eye. To the ship, his ship, and the crew that came with it, his family. To the good times and the bad times, and the times he managed to drag Bones’s argumentative ass along on away missions, just so he could hear the doctors ever present negative outlook on whatever crazed idea Jim had come up with. In fact, now that he really thought about it, a lot of his memories involved Bones.

“Hey, Bones,” he chimed, glossy eyed as he sunk back into the memory, “remember when we first met? You were hiding in the bathroom on the shuttle in Riverside. I was bruised and covered in blood after Pike just pulled my ass out of an epic whooping, and you were drunk off your ass and fighting with the attendant on the shuttle, rambling on about your aviophobia.” He scoffed as he continued, “You know, I’ll never get over the fact that a man as terrified of flying as you ever joined Starfleet to begin with… but I'm damn glad you did. And on the bright side, you never did throw up on me.”

He chuckled at the thought. The entire flight to the academy was spent listening to the man beside him ramble on and on about everything and anything that could go wrong in space, sharing the flask the man had hidden in his jacket pocket, and praying that he wouldn’t end up with a lap full of the mans lunch by the end of it. But regardless of the fact that he was the most down trod man Jim had ever met besides himself, he couldn’t help but feel right away that they fit together better then any two beings in the entire universe. And he missed him so much right now.

“Remember,” He laughed trying to remember the exact words, “remember what you said to me that day, Bones, how you described space. You said, “space is disease and danger wrapped in darkness and silence,”” he did his best to imitate the mans gruffy southern accent and looked around him at the vast amount of nothing before him, “ain’t that the truth. But no matter how this ends, Bones, I want you to know that I am thankful for you. I'm thankful for everything that brought us together in the end. For your ex wife who took the whole damn planet in your divorce, for the flight attendant who forced you to sit next to me on the shuttle, for the rooming snafu that ignored your request for a single room and landed you with me as a roommate instead, for being suspended and having my pouty ass hypoed and snuck onto the Enterprise by you. I feel like every being in the universe was always trying to bring us together, Bones, and by some god damn miracle we finally managed it after all those years. I just hope… I hope it doesn’t end on this sour note. I hope we pull off another miracle and I can find my way back to you. We’ve got a lot to talk about that’s for sure.”

~~~~~~~~~~~

“Hey, Bones.” It had only been a few hours since his last log, but his injured knee was starting to ache even more with the walking and Jim needed some kind of distraction, “Remember first year, it was second term, and you were all riled up about passing the shuttle exam? And you killed me in the shuttle crash?! I know I never let you live it down but you have to admit it was pretty damn funny.” He trailed off, laughing at the memory of it. “It was when we were just starting to become really close, closer then we already were at the time. And despite the fact that you crashed our shuttle a bunch of times it’s a really great memory for me. When we were in that shuttle together, alone, just the two of us, it was the first time we really touched, we… we held hands for the first time. And when we were in there together, I thought for sure… Bones, I thought you were going to say something, I thought you were going to tell me that-” he sighed, still not quite able to say it yet, “but you didn’t. Anyways, I uh, I was just thinking about that memory. I hope you remember it, Bones.”

~~~~~~~~~~~

“Just ease the shuttle out of the port, Bones.”

Jim sat beside Len, the two of them in their casual grey academy sweats and matching oversized hoodies, just the two of them after class hours. Len was in the pilots seat, hand wrapped around the control stick in a white knuckled grip as he did as Jim said, and tried to ease the shuttle out of the port. Jim gripped the arm of his chair as the shuttle stuttered out of port, past the few docked shuttles around them, and into open space.

“Good,” he nodded, “a little shaky, but good. Now, accelerate forwards at a nice pace and head for the planet’s surface.”

Len nodded without taking his eyes off the view screen, focused on his task while trying not to have a mental break down mid flight, like he had while his instructor was in the passenger seat a few days prior.

The shuttle continued at its slow and not so steady pace, and Jim was sure the planet was actually getting further away from them instead of closer. “Speed up a bit grandma or else we’ll die of old age before we even get there.”

Len's fingers gripped tighter around the control stick as he ground out around clenched teeth, “Jim, this is stressful enough as it is!

“Easy there, Bones” Jim chuckled, “but you do need to go a little faster, we’re in open space, and stop shaking so much, everything’s fine.

Len tried to take a steadying breath but what came out was more like a stutter. He chanced a glance down at his hand still clenched tightly around the control stick and noticed just how much he was shaking.

He closed his eyes for a moment and shook his head. “You know I hate flying, kid. It’s not as easy as you make it sound to just relax while I'm holding not only my life in my hands, but now yours as well.”

Jim let go a small smile as his eyes travelled over to Len’s still shaking hands. Before he could stop himself he stretched his arm across and let his fingers trail gently down Len's arm, starting at his elbow and stopping at his wrist. He let his fingers linger on the back of Len's hand for a moment, tracing small circles on the skin there, before wrapping his hand around Len's and running his thumb soothingly over Len's and pushing the stick forwards into a slightly faster speed.

Without looking up he spoke to Len again, in an almost whisper, “You know I willingly give you my life, right, Bones.”

Len scoffed, “As a doctor, yes, but as a pilot you shouldn’t.”

“It wouldn’t matter the situation, Bones, I would trust you with my life regardless.”

“Kid,” Len shook his head again, “I'm the worst pilot the academy’s got. You’d be better off never getting into a shuttle with me, it’d probably be a hell of a lot safer.”

“You're not a bad pilot,” he continued to ease Len's hand forwards bit by bit as he continued, “you're just a little too high strung at times and over worrisome. You’ve just got to learn to let things go, whatever’s going to happen will happen, and as long as it happens with you and I together, then I'm ok with it.”

For the first time since they entered the shuttle Len took his eyes off the view screen to look at Jim. He didn’t know exactly what to say…well that was actually a lie. He did know what to say, but what he struggled with was how to say it. “Jim…”

Jim still refused eye contact, eyes focused on their hands as he whispered barely audible, “Yeah, Bones.”

“Jim, I-” before he could get it out the shuttle rocked violently to the side. Len's eyes widened in panic and Jim sat straight up in his chair. He removed his hand from Len's and kept his eyes fixed on the view screen. “Jim, what was that?!”

“You’re the pilot, you tell me.”

“I thought you were supposed to be helping me!” Len was in full panic mode. His hands flew across the controls, trying desperately to locate the source of the hit, and stop the deafening alarms from going off around them.

“I am helping you, Bones,” Jim’s voice remained calm and collected, and it flustered Len even more, “this is a great time for a lesson.”

“It sure as hell is not!”

“It sure as hell is!” Jim shot back full of enthusiasm, “Now tell me what's happening, and quick before we’re hit again.”

Len's hands continued to move across the controls before he sat back, face pale and eyes wide, “We’re in an asteroid field!”

“Yes we are!” Jim sat back and crossed one leg over the other, turning slightly towards Len, “Now what do you do?”

Len turned to Jim, annoyed at the very collected and undisturbed kid beside him and growled, “How are you so calm?!”

Jim merely ignored the question and asked the same one again, “What do you do, Bones? I know you know the answer.”

He huffed a breath and searched his memory, thinking back to class and what his instructor had told him before stuttering out, “I… I pull up a view screen of the field to help navigate through it and then… land on the nearest safe surface until I can get aid.”

With out so much more than a nod Jim said, “Then do it.”

Len turned back to the controls and brought up the view of the asteroid field on the screen, and quickly tried to navigate a path through the debris towards the planet he was originally headed for. His frantic movements caught Jim's eye and he reached over and placed a firm hand on Len's shoulder.

“Relax, Bones.”

“Kid…” Len was sure that if he gripped the control stick any tighter with his right hand it would mould to his skin, but he just couldn’t bring himself to the calm level that was Jim Kirk.

Jim gave his shoulder a light squeeze, “You wanna get through this asteroid field then you have to have a calm steady hand and a clear mind. Just breathe.”

“Kid…” Len could feel every muscle in his body tensing despite Jim's words, “We’re gunna hit that huge asteroid!”

“Reverse thrusters, Bones, you can get through this field easily.”

Len found himself completely frozen as the asteroid was coming closer and closer. He couldn’t move any part of his body no matter how hard he tried, no matter how loud his brain yelled at his hand to reach across and activate the reverse thrusters, nothing was working. All he could do was stare straight ahead and think about the inevitable.

“Kid…” was all he could manage to choke out.

Jim gave Len's shoulder another squeeze, leaning closer to him, “You know how to do this, Bones, reverse thrusters.”

“Jim!”

With Len completely locked up, the shuttle crashed hard with the large asteroid, shaking the entire shuttle as the view screen went black. The shuttle around them filled with a deep red hue and the alarms were replaced with a robotic female voice.

“Away mission to class M planet, Maldova, failed. Shuttle destroyed on impact, all life forms aboard perished. Simulation end.”

The red hue was then replaced with the normal glow of artificial light as Len slumped back into his chair with a huff, rubbing at his eyes with both hands.

Jim shook Len's shoulder where his hand still held him tightly, as he breathed with a smile, “It’s ok, Bones.”

“No, no it’s not, Jim!” He threw his hands up in frustration, “I have another simulator test coming up in two weeks, and if I don’t pass this one I won’t be allowed to move into the next semester with you. I’ll be held back until I can pass this god forsaken test! Not to mention if this was a real life situation I would have killed you!” he sighed, “I'm a doctor damn it, not a pilot! Why do I have to learn how to fly?!”

“Every member of a ship has to know how to fly, no matter what their position is, everyone has to be certified. It’s Starfleet regulation. If something happened and every crew member was unable to fly except you, then we would all look to you to pilot.”

Len groaned, not even wanting to think about such a mess, “I'm never going to pass this test. I'm going to be held back and you’ll move on without me.”

Jim shook his head, “Not a chance, Bones.”

“Jim,” Len began in a firm voice, “you are not halting your education or dream of captaincy because this old man can’t pass a damn simulation test. It just means we won’t graduate together.”

“I'm not walking that stage without you.”

“Kid-”

Jim stopped him, looking Len directly in the eyes as he spoke his next words with sincerity, “Bones, I meant what I said before. No matter what the situation, I willingly lay my life in your hands.” Len could only stare at him in awe as he continued, “I would never give that trust to anyone else, only you. And I can’t do that if I'm in space and you're still grounded. No one else on any ship, or anywhere in the universe, would be worthy enough of that trust, and I don’t want anyone else, I only want you. And if that means that I have to stay here with you for another year and wait while you pass the test, or two years, or ten years, even if we never leave earth, I will wait right here beside you, Bones. I am not going into space without you, do you understand?”

Len didn’t know what to say. All he could do was stare and nod to let Jim know that he did understand, but what he wanted to say was how much Jim's words had meant to him. After a hardened childhood and a shitty marriage followed by an equally shitty divorce, Len was starting to think he would never know compassion again. But sure enough, Jim Kirk had some how managed to flip his entire life view around and flutter his heart like a love sick teenager, despite the hard exterior he worked so hard on.

“Good,” Jim smiled, leaning away from Len, “but I'm not going to let you fail. We are going to work on this until you feel comfortable with it.”

While Len continued to stare at Jim, he turned away and started rebooting the simulator to play a random mission. While his hands worked the controls Len reached forwards and caught Jim's hand in his, holding it firmly, linking their fingers together and giving them a squeeze. Jim stopped all movements and looked to Len, waiting for him to say something.

“I...” He began, “Thanks, Jim, for sticking with me, it means a lot.”

Jim returned the squeeze and smile, and when Len let go they both found their hands feeling very empty. A want to pull back and never let go washing over the both of them, but neither knowing how to go about that. So Jim decided instead to turn back to his work and busy himself with rebooting the simulator, and less then a minute later they found themselves looking through the view screen at the now very familiar port.

“Ok, Bones,” Jim settled back into the chair once again and explained Len's new mission, “this time you're rescuing a stranded four man crew stalled in open space. You’ve got to locate them, bring your shuttle to rest beside them without jostling them further into space, and engage the boarding tube so they can safely leave their ship and board ours. Got it?”

“Got it,” he confirmed with a nod.

“Great.” A smirk quickly found its way onto Jim's face as he turned to face Len, “And this time don’t forget to watch out for oncoming debris or danger, don’t get distracted while ogling my fine self again.”

Len just reached over and gave Jim's shoulder a shove. Jim burst out laughing, and as much and Len tried to give the kid his signature scowl he just couldn’t, and ended up laughing along with him. He spared him one last glance, Jim's face bright with laughter and Len couldn’t help but think how much he loved that smile on Jim kirks face, what he wouldn’t give to have it always there and only for him.

As the shuttle pulled further out of the port he returned his eyes reluctantly to the view screen. Taking the shuttle out into open space, this time with more confidence and less of a shake to his hands, as Jim's laughter beside him filled the shuttle.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Len ran his thumbs over Jim's fingers, his hand still tightly held in his while Jim still lay unconscious beside him. “How could I forget, kid,” and how could he.

He remembered that day perfectly, as if it were yesterday. The day Jim had not only sent a whirlwind of shivers through his body with his touch, and held his hand, but it was also the day that Jim had given his whole self to Len. After knowing Jim for close to a year at the time, Len knew that Jim was not one to trust others easily if even at all, and for Jim to openly and completely give that trust to Leonard was a feeling he could not explain. Jim's declaration of trust meant more to him then the universe itself.

Looking at the padd revealed yet another one of Leonard's logs. He pulled Jim's hand into his lap, still not letting go, and opened the next file.

“CMO’s log. Stardate 2264. 98. Its been two days now since lieutenant Uhura found me in a heap in my room. One day since I woke up in the medbay an absolute mess. I will admit that… that Jim's disappearance has taken a huge toll on me. I’ve never been this long without the kid and once we get him back, and we will get him back, I will do everything in my power to personally make sure Jim never leaves my side again. Protocol be damned! But after yet another hard day with news of another planet coming up empty, it was the lieutenant’s words that helped me get through the night without another incident. Uhora was right, we can’t help Jim if we can’t even help ourselves.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: I warned you... FLUFF!!! ok, getting into some flashbacks now as Jim’s journey across the empty planet begins... more good times to come XD

Let me know what Y’all think <3 Love you guys!!

Tags: @goingknowherewastaken @weresilver-in-space @medicatemedrmccoy @bi-e-ne @flaminglupine @resistance-is-futile81 @0dannyphantom0 @haveyouseenmymind @jimboy-mccoy

If anyone wants to be tagged let me know <3

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nothingman · 6 years ago

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The most famous psychological studies are often wrong, fraudulent, or outdated. Textbooks need to catch up.

The Stanford Prison Experiment, one of the most famous and compelling psychological studies of all time, told us a tantalizingly simple story about human nature.

The study took paid participants and assigned them to be “inmates” or “guards” in a mock prison at Stanford University. Soon after the experiment began, the “guards” began mistreating the “prisoners,” implying evil is brought out by circumstance. The authors, in their conclusions, suggested innocent people, thrown into a situation where they have power over others, will begin to abuse that power. And people who are put into a situation where they are powerless will be driven to submission, even madness.

The Stanford Prison Experiment has been included in many, many introductory psychology textbooks and is often cited uncritically. It’s the subject of movies, documentaries, books, television shows, and congressional testimony.

But its findings were wrong. Very wrong. And not just due to its questionable ethics or lack of concrete data — but because of deceit.

A new exposé based on previously unpublished recordings of Philip Zimbardo, the Stanford psychologist who ran the study, and interviews with his participants, offers convincing evidence that the guards in the experiment were coached to be cruel. It also shows that the experiment’s most memorable moment — of a prisoner descending into a screaming fit, proclaiming, “I’m burning up inside!” — was the result of the prisoner acting. “I took it as a kind of an improv exercise,” one of the guards told reporter Ben Blum. “I believed that I was doing what the researchers wanted me to do.”

The findings have long been subject to scrutiny — many think of them as more of a dramatic demonstration, a sort-of academic reality show, than a serious scientific finding. But these new revelations incited an immediate response. “We must stop celebrating this work,” personality psychologist Simine Vazire tweeted, in response to the article. “It’s anti-scientific. Get it out of textbooks.” Many other psychologists have expressed similar sentiments.

Many of the classic show-stopping experiments have lately turned out to be wrong, fraudulent, or outdated. Yet many introductory psychological textbooks have yet to be updated. And it’s high time that we teach the next generation of students to understand them this way.

In science, too often, the first demonstration of an idea becomes the lasting one — in both pop culture and academia. But this isn’t how science is supposed to work at all! New studies offer conclusions that are most likely to be amended with time. No one thinks of Galileo’s simple tube telescope as the go-to instrument for modern-day astronomy. Our most sophisticated telescopes in operation today don’t even work with light our eyes can see, a fact Galileo might have found preposterous.

In recent years, social scientists have begun to reckon with the truth that their old work needs a redo, the so-called “replication crisis.” But there’s been a lag — in the popular consciousness and in how psychology is taught by teachers and textbooks. It’s time to catch up.

Many classic findings in psychology have been reevaluated recently

Getty Images

The Zimbardo prison experiment is not the only classic study that has been recently scrutinized, reevaluated, or outright exposed as a fraud. Recently, science journalist Gina Perry found that the infamous “Robbers Cave“ experiment in the 1950s — in which young boys at summer camp were essentially manipulated into joining warring factions — was a do-over from a failed previous version of an experiment, which the scientists never mentioned in an academic paper. That’s a glaring omission. It’s wrong to throw out data that refutes your hypothesis and only publicize data that supports it.

Perry has also revealed inconsistencies in another major early work in psychology: the Milgram electroshock test, in which participants were told by an authority figure to deliver seemingly lethal doses of electricity to an unseen hapless soul. Her investigations show some evidence of researchers going off the study script and possibly coercing participants to deliver the desired results. (Somewhat ironically, the new revelations about the prison experiment also show the power an authority figure — in this case Zimbardo himself and his “warden” — has in manipulating others to be cruel.)

Other studies have been reevaluated for more honest, methodological snafus. Recently, I wrote about the “marshmallow test,” a series of studies from the early ’90s that suggested the ability to delay gratification at a young age is correlated with success later in life. New research finds that if the original marshmallow test authors had a larger sample size, and greater research controls, their results would not have been the showstoppers they were in the ’90s. I can list so many more textbook psychology findings that have not stood the test of time.

Like:

Social priming: People who read “old”-sounding words (like “nursing home”) were more likely to walk slowly — showing how our brains can be subtly “primed” with thoughts and actions.

The facial feedback hypothesis: Merely activating muscles around the mouth caused people to become happier — demonstrating how our bodies tell our brains what emotions to feel.

Stereotype threat: Minorities and maligned social groups don’t perform as well on tests due to anxieties about becoming a stereotype themselves.

Ego depletion: The idea that willpower is a finite mental resource.

Alas, the past few years have brought about a reckoning for these ideas and social psychology as a whole.

Many psychological theories have been debunked or diminished in rigorous replication attempts. Psychologists are now realizing it's more likely that false positives will make it through to publication than inconclusive results. And they’ve realized that experimental methods commonly used just a few years ago aren’t rigorous enough. For instance, it used to be commonplace for scientists to publish experiments that sampled about 50 undergraduate students. Today, scientists realize this is a recipe for false positives, and strive for sample sizes in the hundreds and ideally from a more representative subject pool.

Nevertheless, in so many of these cases, scientists have moved on and corrected errors, and are still doing well-intentioned work to understand the heart of humanity. For instance, work on one of psychology’s oldest fixations — dehumanization, the ability to see another as less than human — continues with methodological rigor, helping us understand the modern-day maltreatment of Muslims and immigrants in America.

In some cases, time has shown that flawed original experiments offer worthwhile reexamination. The original Milgram experiment was flawed. But at least its study design — which brings in participants to administer shocks (not actually carried out) to punish others for failing at a memory test — is basically repeatable today with some ethical tweaks.

And it seems like Milgram’s conclusions may hold up: In a recent study, many people found demands from an authority figure to be a compelling reason to shock another. However, it’s possible, due to something known as the file-drawer effect, that failed replications of the Milgram experiment have not been published. Replication attempts at the Stanford prison study, on the other hand, have been a mess.

Science is a frustrating, iterative process. When we communicate it, we need to get beyond the idea that a single, stunning study ought to last the test of time. Scientists know this as well, but their institutions have often discouraged them from replicating old work, instead of the pursuit of new and exciting, attention-grabbing studies. (Journalists are part of the problem too, imbuing small, insignificant studies with more importance and meaning than they’re due.)

Thankfully, there are researchers thinking very hard, and very earnestly, on trying to make psychology a more replicable, robust science. There’s even a whole Society for the Improvement of Psychological Science devoted to these issues.

Follow-up results tend to be less dramatic than original findings, but they are more useful in helping discover the truth. And it’s not that the Stanford Prison Experiment has no place in a classroom. It’s interesting as history. Psychologists like Zimbardo and Milgram were highly influenced by World War II. Their experiments were, in part, an attempt to figure out why ordinary people would fall for Nazism. That’s an important question, one that set the agenda for a huge amount of research in psychological science, and is still echoed in papers today.

Textbooks need to catch up

Psychology has changed tremendously over the past few years. Many studies used to teach the next generation of psychologists have been intensely scrutinized, and found to be in error. But troublingly, the textbooks have not been updated accordingly.

That’s the conclusion of a 2016 study in Current Psychology. “By and large,” the study explains (emphasis mine):

introductory textbooks have difficulty accurately portraying controversial topics with care or, in some cases, simply avoid covering them at all. ... readers of introductory textbooks may be unintentionally misinformed on these topics.

The study authors — from Texas A&M and Stetson universities — gathered a stack of 24 popular introductory psych textbooks and began looking for coverage of 12 contested ideas or myths in psychology.

The ideas — like stereotype threat, the Mozart effect, and whether there’s a “narcissism epidemic” among millennials — have not necessarily been disproven. Nevertheless, there are credible and noteworthy studies that cast doubt on them. The list of ideas also included some urban legends — like the one about the brain only using 10 percent of its potential at any given time, and a debunked story about how bystanders refused to help a woman named Kitty Genovese while she was being murdered.

The researchers then rated the texts on how they handled these contested ideas. The results found a troubling amount of “biased” coverage on many of the topic areas.

But why wouldn’t these textbooks include more doubt? Replication, after all, is a cornerstone of any science.

One idea is that textbooks, in the pursuit of covering a wide range of topics, aren’t meant to be authoritative on these individual controversies. But something else might be going on. The study authors suggest these textbook authors are trying to “oversell” psychology as a discipline, to get more undergraduates to study it full time. (I have to admit that it might have worked on me back when I was an undeclared undergraduate.)

There are some caveats to mention with the study: One is that the 12 topics the authors chose to scrutinize are completely arbitrary. “And many other potential issues were left out of our analysis,” they note. Also, the textbooks included were printed in the spring of 2012; it’s possible they have been updated since then.

Recently, I asked on Twitter how intro psychology professors deal with inconsistencies in their textbooks. Their answers were simple. Some say they decided to get rid of textbooks (which save students money) and focus on teaching individual articles. Others have another solution that’s just as simple: “You point out the wrong, outdated, and less-than-replicable sections,” Daniël Lakens, a professor at Eindhoven University of Technology in the Netherlands, said. He offered a useful example of one of the slides he uses in class.

For example: pic.twitter.com/WdtbjcZ6mR

— Daniël Lakens (@lakens) June 11, 2018

Anecdotally, Illinois State University professor Joe Hilgard said he thinks his students appreciate “the ‘cutting-edge’ feeling from knowing something that the textbook didn’t.” (Also, who really, earnestly reads the textbook in an introductory college course?)

I tried to frame things as four steps: 1) here's the big idea 2) here's the famous study and how it illustrates 3) here are the damning criticisms 4) here's what you can do as scholars to figure out what you believe / make a contribution to the literature

— Joe Hilgard, that psych prof we all know and love. (@JoeHilgard) June 11, 2018

And it seems this type of teaching is catching on. A (not perfectly representative) recent survey of 262 psychology professors found more than half said replication issues impacted their teaching. On the other hand, 40 percent said they hadn’t. So whether students are exposed to the recent reckoning is all up to the teachers they have.

If it’s true that textbooks and teachers are still neglecting to cover replication issues, then I’d argue they are actually underselling the science. To teach the “replication crisis” is to teach students that science strives to be self-correcting. It would instill in them the value that science ought to be reproducible.

Understanding human behavior is a hard problem. Finding out the answers shouldn’t be easy. If anything, that should give students more motivation to become the generation of scientists who get it right.

“Textbooks may be missing an opportunity for myth busting,” the Current Psychology study’s authors write. That’s, ideally, what young scientist ought to learn: how to bust myths and find the truth.

via Vox - All

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wineanddinosaur · 4 years ago

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Accusations of Sexism and Discrimination at Boulevard Brewing Company Show the Industry Still Has Far to Go

From harrowing disputes like Founders Brewing Company’s 2018 racial discrimination lawsuit to sexist marketing snafus (of which there are too many), the craft beer industry continues to struggle with myriad forms of discrimination. The latest controversy comes from Kansas City, Mo.’s Boulevard Brewing Company. It contains all the hallmarks of an unchecked culture of misogyny: accusations of bias against a pregnant person, gaslighting women by responding to claims of sexual harassment with “it’s just a joke,” and so on. Additionally, a former female employee calls out Boulevard for perpetuating targeted harassment while also participating in women-positive events, such as Women’s Brew Day, organized by national women’s nonprofit organization the Pink Boots Society.

Founded in 1989, Boulevard has long been revered in the craft brewing world, with iconic brews like Tank 7 American Saison putting it on the global map. Duvel Moortgat acquired the brewery in 2013 and was ranked No. 5 on the latest Brewers Association’s Top 50 Brewing Companies by Sales Volume report.

On Jan. 23, 2021, a Reddit post made by user notfrankthecat (a former Boulevard employee) publicly outlined her accusations against the brewery, claiming she was harassed because of her pregnancy. She specifically referred to her former boss, as well as another man employed by Boulevard, as the primary perpetrators of ongoing toxic treatment toward women, herself included. She goes on to recount her struggles to be heard and taken seriously by Boulevard’s human resources department, but says nothing was done to correct bad behavior or discipline those contributing to the hostile environment. In her statement, the former employee ultimately concludes that “If you fuck up, you are forgiven. If you report misbehavior, you are punished.”

In the same post, the former employee says she left Boulevard in March 2020, and no longer works in the brewing industry due to the discrimination she faced in her position there. During a brief correspondence with VinePair, the former employee described feeling “overwhelmed” with the response to her anonymous accusations, but ultimately declined to provide a comment for the time being.

On Jan. 25, Boulevard released a statement in response to the allegations, saying it took the accusation “very seriously” with a promise to “use this situation as an opportunity to learn and to grow.” However, nowhere in the statement were the words “apology,” “sorry,” “amends,” or any other reference to repairing the harm it is accused of. Feedback on social media has largely remained vitriolic to the statement from Boulevard, demanding more details about the investigation the brewery claims took place a year ago, as well as condemnation for the lack of accountability.

On Jan. 26, after facing widespread reproach to its first statement, Boulevard released a second statement titled “Reflecting,” which begins with an apology and acknowledgment of failure, before revealing an executive has been let go from the company. Boulevard also says it plans to hire an outside HR firm to investigate the internal issues.

We’ve heard this before. Danii Oliver, recently elected to the Pink Boots Society board of directors and owner/brewer at Island to Island Brewery in Fort Worth, Texas, laments this avoidable loss of another woman in beer. “Once again, we learn the story too late, of a woman who has been discriminated against, forced out and who has lost her livelihood,” she says on her website in a post titled “A Call To Action.” “These women are out here telling their [stories], because they’re at the point where they have nothing left to lose,” she says. “It’s all been taken from them. So now they speak. But now, they can’t do anything. It seems like every time I stop grieving from one incident, another one comes up.”

In August 2020, the Brewers Association outlined a code of conduct for its membership, which includes Boulevard. It created a “member complaint process” with a stated intent “to hold our peers accountable for unacceptable behavior while pursuing an educational path forward that leads to a more inclusive and respectful craft beer community.” It goes on to promote a partnership with the Racial Equity Institute, but does not specifically mention any gender-based discrimination partners or training other than a goal “to eliminate discrimination, harassment, and bias of all types,” which, presumably, would include gender discrimination.

According to the Brewers Association’s only brewery diversity report from 2019, women continue to be a minority in the beer industry in every single position except non-managerial service staff roles. That means in the majority of cases, women remain reliant on tips — a practice that puts workers in compromising, and sometimes dangerous, positions — and often lack access to support systems available to those in managerial or higher-level roles. Without widespread representation, women often find themselves without an advocate in their corner, even from the most seemingly inclusive brewery.

Jen Jordan, board of directors president for the Pink Boots Society, says in an email to VinePair: “Discrimination and harassment issues have been prevalent and pervasive in our industry for too long, and have done severe damage. … Please educate your management and staff on how to create a safe and inclusive workplace.” She goes on to explain that the group’s mission has always been to assist, inspire, and encourage female-identifying industry professionals working in the fermented alcohol beverage industry, and she hopes more organizations join the cause. “The Industry is now asking for self-advocacy and workplace safety education,” she says. “Pink Boots Society is working to meet those needs too, but we shouldn’t have to do it alone.”

Putting together a task force of women to review allegations of sexism, as Boulevard claims it will do, does allow women to have a voice in shaping HR framework. However, this type of thinking is wholly reactive, and relies on the labor of women to correct wrongs largely perpetuated by men who participate in toxic masculinity. It also runs the risk of non-objectivity: What employee is going to feel empowered to point out flaws to the person who signs their checks?

The Pitch, a Kansas City-based publication, reports a possible mass walkout of Boulevard employees to protest the recent scandal. Allies putting their livelihoods at risk is admirable, but individuals should not have to carry the weight of organizational failures on their backs. It’s a shame that’s the final card people feel they can play.

A better solution? Believe women. Putting women in leadership roles where they can identify areas of improvement — before they become areas of reproach — is a crucial step that many breweries have yet to take. And, breweries: If you’re going to hop on a progressive initiative like Women’s Brew Day, or Black is Beautiful, or any of the opportunities to support marginalized members of the beer community, back up those splashy PR moves with action. Earn the clout through work, in the brewhouse and out. Don’t assume you have it, regardless of how good your beers are.

[Ed. note: This is a developing story. Updates are published on thepitchkc.com.]

The article Accusations of Sexism and Discrimination at Boulevard Brewing Company Show the Industry Still Has Far to Go appeared first on VinePair.

source https://vinepair.com/articles/boulevard-brewing-company-controversy/

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izzy-b-hands · 5 years ago

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20-30!

Thank you so much for asking!!!!

20. Favorite character to write?

Already answered, but I don’t mind re-answering cuz I thought maybe I’d narrow my three way tie, but alas, no lol. Still a tie between Ahkmenrah, Snafu, and Skwisgaar.

21. Least favorite character to write?

Ooh-tbh, Larry from NATM just because I feel like I always make him an asshole? Like, I haven’t published all my fic ideas for NATM because I keep making him really mean? And in some it works but in others I’m like ‘jesus chill Lee he’s just a Dude trying his best’ but also at the same time I feel the way Stiller played him and his character arc means he’s got some major ego to him as the films go on? Idk that isn’t a hot take or anything just me being frustrated with Ben Stiller lol

22. Favorite story you’ve ever written?

Hard choice, because I love all my kids, but I cried after writing this one lol: https://aboutthatmelancholystorm.tumblr.com/post/186781309036/you-know-that-i-love-you

It hit some personal stuff for me, so to be able to have it work organically in a fic so I could also like, mini therapy session myself? Cool af. Also, ppl seemed to like this a lot too, and while that validation isn’t the only reason I write, it’s always cool when my writing makes ppl happy.

23. Least favorite story you’ve ever written?

I don’t really have a least favorite, but I do have some I’m more frustrated with, due to how long they took me to write, etc. Currently? The answer to this is my Mark the Date series because A. it is taking me a day and an age to finish it and B. I feel like it kinda flopped, so it’s hard to pull up any energy to finish it, but like...I may as well now lol. I’ll get it done eventually.

24. Favorite scene you’ve written?

Oh god tbh I have too many I love just cuz like

I can go back to how I felt writing them and yeah

But as of most recent fics, I really this bit:

-Snafu patted the blanket near his head, and waited for Eugene to put out his pipe and lay back beside him before snuggling close to him. “You could be right. Could be God. Could just be love.” “How’s that?” “I think love has its own way. Even before you meet someone, even before you know you’re fallin’ for ‘em. Love’s just…out there, like the air or somethin’. Finds you when the time is right, and finds who you click with. You gotta do the rest, the stayin’ in love part, but that bringing together, that first spark…that’s love just existing, and doin’ what it needs to so the world keeps spinnin’, so people make it through tough shit,” Snafu replied. “I like that,” Eugene said. “Think love did a good job with us. Makin’ sure we found each other.” Snafu pressed a kiss softly to the corner of Eugene’s mouth. “Sure did. Wouldn’t ever want to be with anyone else. I don’t even know what that looks like, and I don’t want to.” “Same here,” Eugene’s mouth was warm as he kissed him back. “Here’s to love for making sure you found me.” -

from this fic: https://aboutthatmelancholystorm.tumblr.com/post/186926226531/absolution-is-the-taste-of-your-lips

Because I’m sappy af more than I let on, and also this was a chance to like, write out my own feelings via Snafu. And that was a pretty cool and fulfilling thing for me, ya know?

25. Favorite line you’ve ever written?

oh god this is another hard one to narrow down but

I always come back to this line and go ‘oh shit did I really write that. Nah, someone better than me at this had to have. They briefly possessed me or something”:

-Music and talking and shouting and footsteps collide kaleidoscopic in his ears, but none bearing the one sound that he’d run to if he heard it.-

from this fic, mentioned twice now in this post lol: https://aboutthatmelancholystorm.tumblr.com/post/186781309036/you-know-that-i-love-you

I really love alliteration, and for me this line just sums up how it feels to walk thru a city when you aren’t just wandering really, but are looking or waiting for someone, and have that awful yet sometimes good feeling of expecting to hear or see them but it feels like you’re waiting or searching forever and in the meantime the city just lives on around you, a stopped platelet stuck in a vein full of vitality. Like, idk if it hit any of my readers that way, but that’s what I was trying to get across lol, so the line always hits me hard in a good way when I scroll thru my writing tag and see it.

26. Story you’re most proud of?

Gosh

I gotta choose just one kid for this aldsfkja I’m bad at choosing I love my gaggle of ragtag goofballs. I have an original piece I’d choose for this, but I’ve never posted it on here, so I’m gonna choose out of my fanfic on here instead.

One I am really proud of is this one: https://aboutthatmelancholystorm.tumblr.com/post/186781309036/you-know-that-i-love-you

and I know it’s the third time it’s been part of an answer on here but

I really love this one idk. Thinking back to how I felt while writing it, how it all flowed in a certain way. The whole experience was just something else, and I’m proud of this one in a certain way I find myself, funnily enough, unable to describe.

27. Best review you ever got?

Okay this sounds cheesy but like

I really do love and appreciate every review or review-like thing I’ve ever gotten so I can’t choose just one for this

Like, y’all gotta understand, I’ve deleted some of it and erased traces of it from my blog, but I’ve written for years on here, I have some stuff on my ao3, and for the longest time I got nothing back, or very nearly nothing. Maybe a few likes, but no comments and not much else. I always just rolled with it and assumed I just wasn’t writing anything good enough to inspire reviews. Idk if that’s true or not, but in any case it means I cherish every comment, like, reblog, and anything review-like in nature because I’m so grateful to have it now, and I know it could well be pure luck that I stumbled up on a really supportive bunch of fandoms with great readers.

In other words, thank y’all for every kind word and like and reblog and also I may be an immortal feeding off of validation of my art, but we’ll see on that last bit, because I haven’t tested it.

28. Worst review you ever got?

One from middle school. I’d just finished my very first novel, gave it to a friend to read, and he said it ‘smacked of being too fanciful and childish, something only kids and women would read’ (it was a YA fantasy novel so I mean... what exactly he expected, idk cuz he knew what it was before I gave it to him, like it’s supposed to have those elements as a lot of these sorts of novels/stories do, and that isn’t a bad thing about them at all, so like...what his damage was idek.)

Also this is the same dude who texts me randomly and is really weird abt his friendship with me and happens to be an English teacher now (RIP to his students.)

Anyway, after he said that I tossed a review right back, because well, middle school and also I was very upset with him because I’d not asked for anything other than a general ‘if you picked this up randomly and started it, would it suck you in enough to keep reading or would you put it down’ like that was literally all I needed him to answer for me. So I told him his latest novel (his second at that point) was essentially just him masturbating to his own opinions (because he’s an arguer, who loves to tell ppl they’re always wrong, and that’s by his own admission) for one hundred pages, and not in a way that anyone else would care to read. He was pissed, but so was I. We didn’t talk for a good week, and we had almost all our classes together lol.

Like, getting nothing back in review sucks too, but this one has stuck with me forever. Best part? I mentioned it to him a few years back, and he only vaguely remembered it, and followed it with “but I’ve said a lot of rough stuff about your work. I mean, it deserved it at the time, but you might be good at this someday!”

I didn’t smack him, but I really, really wanted to.

29. Favorite story/poem of another author

This doesn’t specify on Tumblr or not, so I’ve got two: one from outside tumblr, and one from on here.

A. When I have Fears That I May Cease to Be by John Keats

When I have fears that I may cease to be Before my pen has gleaned my teeming brain,Before high-pilèd books, in charactery, Hold like rich garners the full ripened grain;When I behold, upon the night’s starred face, Huge cloudy symbols of a high romance,And think that I may never live to trace Their shadows with the magic hand of chance;And when I feel, fair creature of an hour, That I shall never look upon thee more,Never have relish in the faery power Of unreflecting love—then on the shoreOf the wide world I stand alone, and thinkTill love and fame to nothingness do sink.

B. Again, this Tumblr one could be a huge ass list because y’all on here are amazing, but one I’ve been rereading over and over again recently is @xmxisxforxmaybe ‘s Remnants series, which can be found here: https://xmxisxforxmaybe.tumblr.com/post/186702235396/remnants-complete-work

Like, Ahk as a character is captured so well, and I love the way the plot twines and also when the smut comes up? Very good A+ smut, something I value pretty highly on and off Tumblr because man, sometimes smut is just work to write, so I appreciate it when it’s really good. All around, this series has captured my heart and I legit have a link to it saved on multiple devices so if I need something to read, I can just pull it up right away.

30. Hardest part of writing?

Self-doubt. It’s the biggest hurdle for any artist, regardless of the art in question I think, but with writing it seems to double down a lot. Like, you have to really get out of your own head, even as you spend all your time there with your writing ideas. Shit gets weird and twisted, man.

For the longest time, I really let self-doubt defeat me too, and I regret the time I lost to that. I still get hit with it randomly, cause I don’t think it every really goes away for any writer, not even the big names like Stephen King or Neil Gaiman (who I’m half tempted to @ on here purely because I wanna know his feelings on this stuff because I respect and admire him as an artist and his thoughts very much, but also he’s a very busy man so I’m not gonna bug him by doing that lol.)

All there is to do is to work with it, push past it, and most importantly keep writing. I have days where that feels like the hardest thing, but each day I manage to get past it and get the words down? I let myself feel proud of that, and mark it as an achievement in my Big Book of Stuff I’ve Done in This Life.

#text post #ask box things #these answers got long and wordy but I doubt that surprises anyone lol #this helped to answer a bunch of these too #finally got me to a point where I feel ready to try and sleep even if I'm not tired #so thank you to everyone who asked me stuff!!!!#apineappleheart

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easynaturalhairstyle · 5 years ago

Text

Kanekalon hair story

When I walked into the quiet atmosphere of Jenny's Beauty Supply in Dallas, it was far from the crowded shops I visited as a kid. I saw people between the hairstyles and others who had clearly finished a shift. Very few wandered aimlessly. It seemed that the majority of guests had clear intentions. A new wig, a pack of hair. My intention was clear. Prior to this year, I had never installed my own Kanekalon hair, a synthetic fiber that's messed up and worn everywhere, from the red carpet to catwalks for fashion weeks to my own neighborhood.

Instead, I sat between the legs of someone else who would weave it with my natural hair to make thick, golden cornrows and micro-lichens. However, a recent move has resulted in a change that matches my new environment. After watching old photos of TLC member T-Boz, I knew I wanted to pay homage.

In the midst of my impulse transformation, I realized how secondary a trip to the Kanekalon hair shop had become, not just for me, but for the black community in general. Although it's not exclusive to our culture, most people think it's a black innovation because we invest the most in it. Even if we are not responsible for its creation, its heritage began with our demand for it. And, as with most of the trends initiated by PoC, kanekalon hair is involved in both celebrated pop culture moments and often repeated controversies, the latter of which are still compounded by the fashion and cosmetics industries today.

Its origins are, to say the least, confused. Although it is most closely associated with and bought by black women, its original purpose may not have anything to do with structured hair. Some say that Kanekalon was intended as a wool alternative when it was founded in the 1950s. However, a more well-known story of origin is associated with the rebellion of Korean beauty companies, which in the 1960s overshadowed the industry and satisfied the demand of their mostly black consumers. According to InJin Yoon's book, "On My Own: Korean Business and Race Relations in America, 1967 is a more accurate date of birth. And once again, the cosmetics supply chains profited from it, Hollywood wanted a piece of the cake.

Black women, what are your favorite hairstyles you've done using braiding / kanekalon hair?

QT / Reply with photos.

I'll start: pic.twitter.com/sZPAYc7txq

– IG & YT: DE LA FRO (@delafro_) July 11, 2019

In the mid-1970s, the fashion and cosmetics industries used synthetic fibers not just for magazine shots and the runway. They also started to create their own brands. It became normal to see Kanekalon wigs sold by ebony ad placements and worn by white consumers. For example, most people forget that Lauren Hutton was the face of a Kanekalon brand in 1972.

The irony of his quick and lucrative trajectory is that the most popular Kanekalon options have been poor replicas of what black hair looks and feels like; the hair tied to women who have helped make it a hot commodity. As black supermodel Naomi Sims retired from the runway in 1973, she took her status to found Kanekalon Presselle, one of the few brands to curate products tailored to the consumer's hair.

Naomi Sims: Some consider her the first black supermodel. She was ahead of her time with her own makeup & wig lines. Sims cosmetics grossed over five million. pic.twitter.com/Rxqy9t4Nbc

– Brianna (@veraslang) February 3, 2018

According to Sims in an interview with The Washington Post in 1980, 40% of women who bought wigs were black women, which almost confirmed that the quality of supply was definitely out of demand. There was also the influence of Sims' own modeling career, which helped influence her move after retirement. Often, she was assigned to make her own hair or wigs that did not look like her own. Instead of settling down, she mastered a recipe that would become a model for her business years later.

"I bought several Caucasian, silky haired wigs, moistened them with a fixative cream, rolled them with steel rollers and put them in the oven …. I baked them at 175 degrees for about 15 minutes, and when they came out, they looked like black, straightened hair, "she said. According to The Entrepreneurial Spirit of African American Inventors, Sims' products have become bestsellers and helped secure Kanekalon's place as a permanent hair care product. In other words, a black woman's investment once again helped bring the staple foods to new heights.

Janet Jackson braids>

she still did not em & # 039; BEST !!

pic.twitter.com/UM7RDIEFcO

– karismaaa

(@Kayrenaex) December 9, 2014

In the 90s it had settled in its heritage and became synonymous with moments of pop culture that we still admire today. For example, Janet Jackson's Box Braids in Poetic Justice (1993) are just as popular as the movie itself. The hair Jackson's' do was made from was probably Tiara II, a series within the Kaneka Hair Care line developed almost 15 years earlier ,

Unfortunately, with a legacy clearly highlighted by black women, it is not surprising to acknowledge those who are only influenced by something they did not contribute to, especially in the age of social media. For example, when Kim Kardashian's wavy Kanekalon pony tail and smooth baby hair were introduced to the Vogue website in March 2019, it was labeled "modern" on Instagram. In other words, total extinction of the people who were innovative decades ago and who carried the style. Fortunately, social media has made it easier to challenge the people and spaces that make such assumptions.

Kim Kardashian West is bringing crimped hair back in a big way. https://t.co/iV1vWoCP0J pic.twitter.com/x23VEK78wr

– Vogue Runway (@ VogueRunway) March 15, 2019

she did what ????

she did what ???? pic.twitter.com/ltps6ieJAE

– micah (@kuwonustesoro) March 15, 2019

In response to Vogue's relative tweet, Twitter user Micah Nicole shared four photos of Nicki Minaj, Rihanna, Beyoncé, and Janet Jackson, who had a similar look months or years before and others took the opportunity to voice their displeasure to sign the misinformed beauties of the media. Likewise, Ariana Grande was accused of wearing Kanekalon braid hair, although she claimed her hair was simply wavy.

This is what Ariana thinks she looks like pic.twitter.com/ZvydLZG2dJ

– idalis (@KILOGNASH) August 26, 2019

But unlike celebrity hair moments, the runway was more definite in lending looks that are rooted in the black community. For example, for the NYFW Show Spring 2015, the Blonds white models were made with jumbo, blond kanekalon braids and baby hair. The hairdresser called the hairstyle "madness", which many rightly considered offensive.

Of course, for every Snafu, a feast that feels like a healing balm. The adventurous but joyous DMX Challenge was one of the youngest and most unexpected tributes to the basic beauty care package. Using the rapper classic "What These B-tches Want", which recites over 40 names, social media users (most of them black women) made mashup videos that featured different hairstyles that resonated with each name were.

might as well

#DMXchallenge pic.twitter.com/KxEBZh2iIm

– ari (@tthingtwo) September 6, 2019

"I'm 16 years old and hair is one of the expressions I express myself with. Especially with braids. You have … Passion, Havana and Marley[Twists].[and] Twists stuck in a bob, "Twitter user Abygail Metellus told me in the midst of the challenge. "Then you have the real hair …. My favorite color is purple, so you'll always see me in purple. But not the same color – dark purple, plum, lavender and ombré. I keep changing my style and never look the same again, even though I always have the same color in my hair … "

Oh! Virgin Hair owner Jasmine W. also shared the way she wears Kanekalon and wrote, "I use it for a ten-minute ponytail, a long rapunzel braid, a twin bun or a braided bun! If I do not have time to play and I still have to kill, I'll just put out a ponytail and put on the bad boy. "

Fleeting viral moments like these make it clear how intertwined – literally and figuratively in this case – that products or looks have been integrated into our culture. Kanekalon hair is undoubtedly one of those things. Although its genesis and its ultimate advancement may well be multicultural, no one has accepted and invested in it more than the black community. And regardless of the hair innovations that will emerge in the future, it will be impossible to part with our rich history.

Kanekalon hair story

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