#I have a very real hoarding problem that I have been working on for years

[sunshineler]

.

[lurkdragonstuff]

I'm an atheist and a philosophical materialist. I don't think there's anything more to the universe than what can be observed and measured. Disagree if you want, that's fine, but take as read that this is where I'm coming from.

As you can imagine, this makes it very strange to me that my brain thinks I'm a dragon.

I have been trying to square this circle for years. Since around the 2000's, when I first made contact with the Internet, I would look in on the otherkin community, and the draconic community nested inside it, and I would think, man. I wish I could believe that. I wish I could believe that souls were real, and that I had one, and that it was a dragon, and that's why I was so odd. For quite a while, I just explained it as a furry fandom thing. Sure, yes, my fursona is feral, but ferals are furries, too. This is still true! I'm still in furry fandom, and my dragonself still acts as my fursona. But they are also, in a deeper sense, me.

I'm a secular pagan. I don't think gods exist, and I don't think magic is literally real. I can't really cast a curse on shitty charities. The moon's a big shiny rock. It doesn't care if I roar at it when the sun reflects off it just so and I can see the whole of its tidally locked face.

But my dragon brain doesn't know that. It likes the big shiny rock. It likes little shiny rocks, too. It likes to light things on fire, and considers this a sacred act, both bringing destruction to noxious things and bringing honour to things worthy of it. It likes to growl and hiss when things annoy it. It likes to collect things, to have a hoard. It likes to range around its territory, keeping an eye on what's around in what season. It finds it frustrating that its wings don't seem to work at all, and its other limbs barely better. It wants its tail back. It wants its fire breath.

I'm autistic. Sometimes speaking is hard, and I growl and hiss when things annoy me. I like to collect things related to my special interests; I have a sprawling collection of cetacean, Nintendo, and SEGA figurines, as well as lots of little animal figures. Plushies, too, and videogames, and books. I do wildlife photography, as well, marking who's around in what seasons. This is, to my frustration, limited a lot by waning energy because of chronic health problems.

If backed into a corner, to say what I really believe, of course I'm a human. It is in my DNA, expressed in a bipedal body plan, five fingers on the forelimbs only, nails and not claws, no wings, no muzzle, no tail, short neck, skin and fur instead of scales. Not even any horns. I find this frustrating, but it is what it is. I also find it frustrating when people call me 'she' and not 'they', and that really there is no feasible gender presentation that would guarantee that strangers would use the right word. The best I can hope for is that people will read the 'they/them' button on my hat, or otherwise call me 'he'. Still wrong, but at least novel.

I honestly think my draconic identity developed when I was younger as a way to explain why I was so weird. I have never been normal. I will never be normal. As an adult, I have fancy words like "autism" and "anxiety and depression secondary to post-traumatic stress disorder" and "seasonal affective disorder" to explain why I'm abnormal.

But a part of my brain, I think the same one that still believes in magic and deities even though I don't, tilts its head, then grins a sharp grin and says, "Cool story, bro. I'm still a dragon."

I generally have, for any given of my eccentricities, the philosophical materialist explanation (generally that I am either brainweird in some way or another or am playing pretend for placebo purposes to manage executive function etc.) and the dragon explanation (generally what the pretend play revolves around). But - and this is hard to explain - it isn't exactly playing pretend, either. It's me.

When I'm pretending to be Link, either playing a Zelda game or writing Zelda fanfic, Link isn't me. I might be inhabiting him as an actor, but he isn't me. When I play Animal Crossing, and I'm playing a character named after me, that's closer. It's me but greater. Me but more. Me existing in a life I wish I could have.

When I put on my mask, when I sit and daydream about the multiverse-hopping shenanigans I get up to, when I hiss at someone startling me by getting into my space, that's me. I'm not a dragon, I'm a human wearing a mask, daydreaming, hissing because "back the fuck off!" isn't allowed in the workplace.

Yeah. Cool story, bro.

I am still a dragon.

[hybbart]

Heya! I was wondering how medication and medical devices work in the ranchers au. Most devices need replacing quite often and after five years, many medications would be out of date and useless or even dangerous.

I definitely get if it's just a case of, they don't go off, since medicine is confusing but I was curious since it could lead to plot.

I should say that I specifically don't get into this stuff much just because I don't know much about it and I would rather keep things vague than accidentally impart incorrect information. As well as the fact that it is ultimately a biopunk setting with differences to our world. That said, have more rambles than I expected.

Right you are, there's in fact not a lot of medication left. People hoard anything they find but most is long expired. The hospital is lucky to have two doctors and Scar who know a bit more about medicine than the average person, but a lot of whats kept is just praying it still works.

Cleo thanks to being a gorgon is also in the drug development business, though she specialized in developing antivenom, but she not only knows but can help develop certain medicines. She and Scott have made quite a thing of their inn and I kinda wanna touch on it in the future.

Shubble, Katherine, Gem, Impulse, and Pearl know home remidies for a lot of things and have specifically been growing and creating them. These aren't going to replace complex modern drugs for specific conditions obviously, but they work and its easy to pass it around with the help of the radio station.

Overall, on bad days, Tango generally has to grin and bear it with homemade pain killers at most. It's rough and it contributed to the second wave of population decline after the first wave of zombie deaths. It's Scar's goal to specifically help survivors with this sort of thing, though.

As for medical equipment, it's a bit grim but since there's such a small population now and the hospitals were the first to go there was a lot of spare equipment from storage and patients left behind. In part because of Scar's own medical needs and in part for their desire to help others, Scar and Cub, and later Grian, collected what they could from abandoned hospitals and care homes.

It's obviously not going to cover everything, materials break down and as far as replacing them or things that need customization there isn't a factory just down the road that makes it all in house.

This is where I take the most artistic liberties, but Tango, with Doc and Zed, is the one to maintain Jimmy and Scar's equipment as well as his arm. Whether that's patching the existing, altering replacement, or crafting new parts. He knew a good bit from his job and hobbies but he's spent the past 5 years learning specifically how to diy for Jimmy and himself. It's not perfect but it's the best they have.

This is still a bit of a soft biopunk setting at the end of the day with mutliple species and genetic modification, I imagine it might be a little bit easier to get hold of certain things than it would be in real life. I also think they live in a very different economy, and its probably easier to find sturdier and custom made items due to the variety of their society making mass production more difficult. This leaves the problem of certain species not responding to certain medicines though and needing more specialized treatment.

The degredation of materials is something I do try to take into account, which is the reason gas power is nearly nonexistent, but it's hard to take everything into account and sometimes I would rather not, simply because it allows more stories to be told if something is available but difficult to get rather than impossible. I'm not great with drawing or knowing technology so it's easier to just say something is jerryrigged than it is to actively illustrate how they did it. If it seems it might be possible I allow it.

The important thing to me is to consider the types of people who would think about these things first and if anyone might be that person. You know, someone with asthma is going to think of medication and figure out how to get it, a truck driver might know where to go for storages of specific supplies instead of raiding malls, and a historical reenactor might think of how to get and create sustainable materials. Everyone leads a life that puts certain things at the forefront of their mind that other people probably wouldn't think of at all. Especially going from a modern specialist society collapsing into a society that requires generalized knowledge. And the saved knowledge of these things didn't turn to dust the second the apocalypse hit.

Life's not as rough as it might be in other apocalypse media, just because I guess I generally don't really care for the unrralistically cynical outlook a lot of american apocalypse stories are made in for drama's sake. This is a story about people caring about and helping one another, and developing a new life for themselves. If they don't have access to something, people work together to make due with what they have.

[cocoaandco]

Wildflower - George Russell x f!reader [prologue]

You and Delilah have been friends for years. When Delilah finds out the boy she loves has fallen for someone else, she seeks refuge in your arms. Little does she know you are the very reason for her undoing.

PROLOGUE

You smile as you shut the door to your apartment. The warmth that spread through your body was unmatched. In fact, you began to wonder if you had ever felt such a way before. The grin that was plastered on your face failed to dissipate, as if it had been stretched and glued that way.

You touch your cheeks, feeling how warm they were. How rosy they must have been the entire night, an evening where the blushing was endless. It was the middle of August in Melbourne, most nights had you spending countless dollars on the gas bill in order to heat the house. But tonight was different. No, not tonight. Your body was warm. Like you had been wrapped in an electric blanket and fed the best soup made by your Nonna. That just wasn’t true, though.

Your warmth was a direct result of your happiness. It’s crazy how a man you barely know could make you feel things that men you had allowed into your life and trusted in long term relationships had never come close to creating. You close your eyes, press your back against the, now closed door, and slide down. You bring a hand to your mouth, feeling the smile on your lips and pressing them against your palm before giggling.

God, I must look like a teenage girl! The giggling continues as you bring your hands from your mouth and look down at them, seeing that your lip gloss had smudged itself on your palm. You are startled when you hear a low chuckle sound from the other side of the door, before footsteps boom, growing softer as they moved away from the door and down the hallway. Oh my goodness, you thought to yourself, he just heard my fucking giddy laugh.

Springing to your feet, you move away from the doorway in embarrassment, and head to your kitchen. You switch on the kettle and pull out a stool from under your island bench. You sigh as you finally sit down, you must have walked around Church street for hours. As you wait for the kettle to boil, you think back to the past 24 hours and how the string of events followed through as a result.

————

36 hours prior. Thursday 9.30am

“Dan, I really don’t care about the bullshit corporate boxes. If you don’t release more upper ground seating to the public, we’re gonna have half empty stands to answer for!” You exclaim into your phone, gripping it tighter as if that would sway Dan into agreement.

You worked for the MCG, Melbourne’s biggest sporting venue, and had multiple blockbuster AFL matches to plan for that weekend, the biggest being Friday night’s class between Carlton and Essendon. The two teams are historical rivals that always draw large crowds and today was Thursday, the day before. Supporters from around the state were going nuts on every radio station and media outlet spraying the league for its lack of seating for the match. The problem? The large corporations hoarding the seats for businesses and international clients that had no real interest in the match, taking away from die hard fans.

Who has to deal with this problem? Why of course, it’s you. And the fact that you had gotten the train this morning made your venture that much more aggravating as the quiet roads were filled with electric scooters rather than cars. This probably seems like a boring and rather complex issue, so don’t worry, it is not pivotal to your story, Y/N.

“Y/N, listen. We can’t release those seats, we anticipate a large turnout from the upper tiers-”

“You’re telling me 8,000 seats are being put aside for Melbourne Demons supporters for a Bombers v Blues match?”

“Come on, Y/L/N. You know Demons supporters aren’t the only MCC members.”

“No but they make up the majority. I am doing your job- Shit!” All of a sudden something pushes into your back and you are sprung from the pavement and onto the road. You squeeze your eyes shut as you see a single vehicle plummet towards you. A large black car swerves before jolting to a stop just beside where you have fallen on your face.

You press your palms into the road, and push yourself up. You snap your head in the direction of an electric scooter which has zoomed off after screaming a “Sorry!”

“Fucking idiot!” You scream out. “Ugh!” You kneel down and locate your phone which is actually just a scrap of metal as it has been completely squashed by the wheel on the black car.

“Well, I guess thats a ‘no’ from Dan.” You mutter to yourself. Dusting your skirt off, you examine your outfit for any rips or pulls before returning to the sidewalk. You lift your head to notice the black car has not moved. Shrugging you continue to walk and wave off the car to let it know your alright.

Immediately, the rear passenger door swings open and a tall fair headed man hops out before approaching you. “Are you alright there?” He calls.

You laugh at his accent and continue to walk away from him, towards your office. “I’ll be alright mate, don’t worry about me!”

He frowns down and jogs lightly to catch up. “No seriously, are you okay? You were pushed and fell pretty hard.” You shrug.

“Im alive aren’t I?” He raises an eyebrow, “well you didn’t hit me, your car is alright, I’m in one piece.” He walks with you and motions to your hand, holding what was once your functioning phone.

“I’ll get work to get me a new one, it’s not a big deal.” Thats a lie, your work will not get you a new one.

“No, no. I almost ran you over, let me buy you a new one.” You furrow your eyebrows at him before shaking your head with a chuckle.

“Thats really not necessary, I need to get to work so I’ll just-”

“Well then what about a coffee? Tomorrow perhaps?” He quizzed. This brought you to a halt, which also stopped the tall man. You fold your arms over your chest before looking up to his face. This is the first time you’re able to take in his appearance.

He has wide bright blue eyes and fluffy eyebrows. His nose is large and pointed and he has defined cheekbones with a sharp jawline. His lips are full and pink, complimenting his soft cool brown hair. A gorgeously defined man, he does not look British at all. He wears a classically smart casual outfit that looks like it came straight from an R.M Williams catalogue; refined and sleek.

“Who are you?”

“Erm.” He coughs, “my name is George.”

You raise an eyebrow again, more whimsical this time. He really is quite attractive. “Well, George” you emphasise, “I am now well and truly late for work, and have a very busy couple of days, so if you would excuse me-”

“I’m sorry, I just-” he cuts his own sentence off this time, “I feel really bad, when I saw you fall, immediately felt awful for you and then I watched you get up and you looked so lovely, I felt even worse!”

He concludes and you look at him dumbfounded, quite literally with your mouth parted. You pause for a second. “Alright, so you have only checked on how I’m doing,” you pause again to recollect, “because you think I’m attractive and want to ask me out?”

Without hesitation he grins widely and responds “Precisely.”

This is ridiculous! You think to yourself about how completely absurd this is. You quite literally had almost died five minutes ago. But something inside you felt excited, felt warm. And so, the better part of you prevailed and entertained the idea.

“Alright.” You hum, “walk me to work then, George.”

“Uhh.” He turns back to his car which still is stopped in its same position. He motions for the car to go on with his hand and the car slowly pulls away and drives off without hesitation. Weird. “Okay then, where is work?”

“Just up here! About a five minute walk.”

“Only five minutes?” He smirks down at you as you both begin walking. A smile creeps onto your face before you respond.

“Yes, any longer and I may not have a job or a head if my boss has a say.” He laughs at your sadistic remark.

“What is your name?” He asks.

“Y/N.”

“Y/N.” He tests out, “suits you perfectly.”

You smile in response.

“So what do you do for work, Y/N.”

You explain to him your role with the MCG, particularly how your responsibilities are spread across ticketing and media which somehow meshes into one title. He seems impressed with your extensive knowledge of sporting and passion for fan experiences.

He listens to you talk like you are giving the most captivating speech in world. His eyes peer into yours, you feel heard and understood. Not an ounce of judgement clouding his expression. He was so easy to talk to, you never wanted him to leave.

You quickly learn that your suspicions were correct and that George is, in fact, from the UK. As well as the fact that he has never been to an AFL match in his life. It was even more shocking that he had never even heard of the sport.

“What!” You shriek as you arrive out the front of your office, which is actually inside the MCG. “You’re telling me, you’ve never heard of the AFL?”

He laughs at your hysteria and nods “nope!” He pops his ‘P’.

“Oh my gosh, we have to go to a game!” ‘We’? Pull it together, Y/N! “Let’s um- oh shoot!” You look at your watch. It’s almost 10am. You may be hung when you get inside. “Ok, ok. If you’d like, we can hang out tomorrow.”

George’s eyes light up in excitement. “Really?”

“Yes, yes! If you’re keen.” You double guess yourself, of course he wants to hang out you freak. “If you meet me here, tomorrow night at 7.30, I’ll take you to your first AFL match.

He grins widely, “That would be wonderful.”

“Alright, so I’ll see you then?” You confirm, “I really have to go now, I am sorry.”

“Yes, I’ll meet you here.” You begin to walk away from George, backwards. And towards the sliding doors.

“I would give you my number, but I don’t currently have a phone!” You exclaim.

“Don’t worry, Ill see you tomorrow.” He waved.

“Bye George.” You wave before spinning and speeding inside.

You can’t help but peer over your shoulder one last time to see him watching you walk away with a slight smile on his face.

This is absolutely crazy.

————

You sip on the last of your tea, an hour later, cozied up in bed. The memory of yesterday makes you shiver, but in a good way. George was incredible. You had never known a human to be so welcoming and friendly. He was truly lovely.

As you set your tea aside, and push your supporting pillows off the bed, your body begins to drift into a heavy state of tiredness. Just as your eyes begin to droop close you hear a loud knocking on the door.

What the hell?

You slip out of bed and walk out of your bedroom. As you approach the kitchen you grow nervous. Oh my goodness, George must be a serial killer. You shake your head at your ridiculous conspiracy. You look through the peephole to see a familiar face, with tears streaming down it.

Instinctively, you quickly unlock the door and swing it open. “Delilah!” You exclaim.

She quickly moves inside and engulfs you in a hug as she lets out soft sobs. What has happened to your poor friend? More importantly, why was she here and not back at home in London?

————

[bombingqueen]

Wincest Recs Part 2

Gencest/Weirdcest

patchwork scars (1000 words) by Anonymous

Chapters: 1/1

Fandom: Supernatural

Additional Tags: weirdcest, Biting, Love Bites, Non-Sexual Kink, Mild Painplay, discussion of incest, Possessive Dean Winchester, Kinky Gen, Light Sadism, Light Masochism

Summary:

This thing—kink, sadomasochism, whatever it is between them—goes both ways.

This is the kinkiest shit I have ever read and they didn't even have fuck.

unlike lovers (4300 words) by Anonymous

Chapters: 1/1

Summary:

They’re not like that, and honestly it’s part of the problem, because how can you say ‘I want to spend the rest of my life with you and only you, like a lover would’, without all the connotations of a long-term relationship? It’s unconventional.

Then again, nothing in their lives is conventional. 

Funny story. I spent weeks searching for this fic because I thought I had dreamt it up but nope I finally found it. It's cute.

Deprivation (3339 words) by fogsrollingin

Chapters: 1/1

Summary:

Takes place around S14E5 "Nightmare Logic."

Sam's stressed. He's forgetting to eat and people keep waking him up the minute he salvages time for some shut-eye.

Dean's there for him.

When You're Not Here (37459 words) by raziella

Chapters: 5/5

Fandom: Supernatural

Summary:

The third time Sam Winchester comes to school with bruises, Mrs. Davidson decides it's time to intervene - before it's too late.

This is pretty much true gen despite how the fic is tagged. It involves social services and it has some outsider point of view.

What I've Done (1185 words) by Amoreanonyname

Chapters: 1/1

Summary:

He wasn’t going to say anything more about it. He could tell, Dean was happy to see him, but wasn’t going to humor this topic. Dean, young Dean would jump to obey John, to answer John’s questions, but this was an older Dean who was more loyal to someone else now. More loyal to his brother. John wasn’t the priority here, and he realized with another guilty jump in his stomach that he never should have been.

I enjoyed that John remained composed and did not choose violence like other fics I have read where he discovers the extent boys relationship.

Nothing Safe Is Worth The Drive (382 words) by angelszn

Chapters: 1/1

Summary:

Dean came home from Hell to a demon-blood-addicted little brother. He takes it in stride.

If you like some dark!weirdcest then this is for you. Dean is very accommodating.

save it for a rainy day (917 words) by according2thelore

Chapters: 1/1

Summary:

Dean has a wad of money hidden in his bag. It’s folded into a skin mag that he bought in Duluth, which itself is folded into a tube of socks. He calls it his Sammy Stash. Dad and Sam don’t know about it. It’s a stack of crumpled bills he’s earned through hustling at pool and hoarded from short-term jobs he’s worked, pressed flat as they can go to look as inconspicuous as possible. It’s for one very specific purpose, in the same way Dean’s entire life has had one very specific purpose.

Well, this was a gut punch of epic proportions.

Cracked (282 words) by Linden

Chapters: 1/1

Summary:

It was October, the season of frost and the early dark and the slow soft dying of the year, and John’s world was ending.

These Stanford Era fics are trying to kill me. Seriously.

Through the devil softly (4888 words) by siamesedreams

Chapters: 1/1

Summary:

It's like walking with a permanent veil in front of his eyes, everything's blurry. He can't tell if the world around him is real, or not, if he's in Dean's arms or if he was in the Cage all along.

An infernal cursed amulet? Chief would know what this is. I'm going to have him touch it. (2441 words) by fogsrollingin

Chapters: 2/3

Summary:

"What could go wrong?"

This is incomplete but I think it does the job. It's told from an outsider's point of view. This fic and the one above deal with Sam's hallucinations.

Sins of the Father (1434 words) by Amoreanonyname

Chapters: 1/1

Summary:

It’s true what they say about parenthood – it causes you to look at your own parents, and their choices, a bit differently. Though for Sam, perhaps that was for different reasons.

Sam, as a parent, reflects on his three parents, living day-to-day, and trying to parent when your soulmate has died.

Flowers facing the sun (2087 words) by StripySock

Chapters: 1/1

Summary:

Dean is sick as hell, and Robo!Sam is the closest thing he has to comfort.

swallow my breath and take what is mine (4636 words) by according2thelore

Chapters:1/1

Summary:

Dean Winchester wakes up and it’s dark. John Winchester stands sentinel in a cemetery. Sam Winchester’s hands are bleeding. A story in three parts.

Or: John Winchester has a new training exercise for his older son.

This was fucked up. I liked it and I lowkey can see this happen if John lost his mind somewhere on his journey to Azazel.

It Goes Like This (36085 words) by sprinkles888

Chapters: 8/8

Summary:

It goes like this: They both say yes. And somehow, the world doesn't end. With little else to do, Sam and Dean take hold of an opportunity that comes their way—taking charge of a diner in a small Iowa town. But, even as the hubbub of the diner fills their day, the nights of fighting back the archangels in their heads will drive the two of them closer than ever in an effort to keep the apocalypse continually on pause.

Meanwhile, the residents of Lageme attempt to understand the two new, weird guys who took over Darla's.

This is an odd fic but it's worth a read. The struggle to remain in control was done really well. A good portion of the fic is from the perspective of an outsider.

[doberbutts]

I also think like. IDK. I’ve worked as a dog trainer for years. Now I’m in vetmed. And honestly??? A lot of abuse and neglect I see has outside causes and often is a symptom of a larger problem (which I also said in that post). Sometimes it’s untreated mental illness or disability. Sometimes it’s monetary. Sometimes it’s a value problem. Sometimes it’s a behavior problem on the part of the animal.

Like, don’t get me wrong, I think Phoebe’s previous owner is 100% responsible for the condition she came to me in. However I also am aware that the person has some serious mental illness concerns that aren’t being addressed, and that can (and is) manifest as this sort of treatment of the dogs.

My job was involved in a serious hoarding bust over this past summer and same thing, the symptom (abuse and neglect of hundreds of animals) was a sign of a larger problem (untreated and very severe mental illness).

A client at work today thanked me profusely for giving her patience and compassion. She had a severe brain injury, she was then assaulted, and shortly after went through a messy divorce, all while learning how to be a single mother, and has been playing catch-up with her animal care ever since. Technically her animal care for the duration of this has been under legal standards. The woman also couldn’t speak or even wipe herself after using the toilet for four months and her kids were mostly fending for themselves in a house that had no food while she was incapable of caring for herself. Of course her animals�� care slipped a bit.

I’m not saying these folks have no responsibility in the states their animals ended up. I am saying however that I think a lot of times we see the symptoms (animal abuse and neglect) and freak out about that, rather than seeing the real problem and addressing it so it doesn’t happen again. Peeb’s previous person has had 9 dogs removed from their care by the state. Clearly treating the symptom is not solving the actual problem.

[anime-owo-kage-san]

Past Overlord Husk in the show

I've said this before, and I'll say it again--If we ever get a glimpse of an Overlord Husk past, I want him to be an ABSOLUTE shitty person in the show. Maybe not the worst person, considering that there are worse overlords and characters in general already. But I want him to be the kind of character that, once fans have dug up everything about who he used to be--they start comparing him with who he is now.

To be the type of character that receives controversy, because some fans couldn't handle nor couldn't imagine a suave wise bartender, being a total dick.

Something like the Pink Diamond plot twist (Steven Universe has been around for years, I'm sure there's no need for a spoiler warning, right?)---Most fans that I've seen couldn't handle a complex woman like Rose Quartz, that there were flat reviews of her character being straight up evil and a bad mother. (Okay, she kind of did leave her son with trauma. Even though she didn't mean to, she's just as responsible as everyone else in the show.)

But the point is, she received so much controversy because her redemption arc was shown backwards.

Order from Present-Past:

Literally almost every Disney mom (Sweet, loving, elegant, wise, and dead)

Rebel leader and war criminal

Was originally one of the antagonist, and a colonizer (was also a bit of whiney bitch back then)

If you arrange her arc by its timeline, then the real order is "3, 2, 1".

......

Okay back to Husk, it would actually be pretty cool if his character development was shown in reverse too.

In my opinion, he's already a decently developed person with who he is in present time right now. The only problem is being a drunkard (and still kinda addicted to gambling), but he's probably overall the most matured sinner in the hotel. He's been humbled down from his high horse, and gives good advice, through his own experience. (Sound familiar? --That's literally Rose lol.)

So if the show ever gives us some overlord Husk lore of before being shaped into the man he is now, I want him to be the opposite of how he usually behaves.

I want him to be irrational. I want him to be angry. I want him to be cocky, and overly confident.

But of course with some personal strength and silliness here and there. (He can't be a gamble-focused overlord if he has shit control of his tell. And you can't expect him to be evil all the time when he likes magic tricks; he'd probably be a silly magician once in a while, performing on his casino stage, blocking his own performers of the spotlight.)

And then, along with this shitty (yet hilarious) person, his downfall comes to get him; Maybe a man child tantrum when he isn't viewed or respected like the other overlords because gambling is luck based, and not always a guaranteed business. And Husk's business is pretty small. ---In fact, I want a flashback scene of him yelling at another overlord (I'm picturing Carmilla for this because it would be funny if it was) for refusing to trade or sell a piece of their territory that they haven't even touched in years;

Husk: *slams his fist on the table* "I don't get, why the fuck you won't sell it?! I know very well you've only rose in ranks to keep your little brats safe. Your own home is secure enough, that you barely bother with your other obtained territories! Why keep that single chunk of land to collect falling exterminated corpses, when you can hand it to someone who'd actually make use of it! Hoarding bitches like you are the reasons why people like me can't expand their business!"

Carmilla: *slams giant-ass hands on the table * "Maybe I don't want to hand it over to an immature manchild and a sorry excuse for an overlord! --It's true that I own plenty of land that I barely make use of, but here's the thing Husker... I earned it! I've worked to get my hands on what I have and could give to my family, rather than harrassing other overlords to hand over their property! I apologize, that you seem to be one of the lower ranks. But if you want to be treated like an overlord... start acting like one."

*Cue rage quitting scene when Husk gets back to his casino.*

......

Okay this is awkward, idk how to end this post. I'm sure you all get it anyway.

[soup-of-the-daisies]

☕️ do you have thoughts on... um... rita skeeter/voldemort? [i'm so sorry for putting this image in your head 😭😭😭]

thanks i hate it 😭😭 but let’s try to figure out how this would work 😇

i thought about it a little bit last night, and i think that vee would find rita very useful for spreading propaganda. in my headcanon voldemort is all about destroying the wizarding world (or at least the british one) to laugh over its ashes, after which he retreats into a large ominous castle, hoards all knowledge on magic possible, and promptly morphs into a dracula-like academic but without the blood. but before that he does need to take over magical britain, and propaganda is very useful for that.

rita is a great journalist. i wouldn’t say she’s a morally good one, but she’s a great journalist in the way that she 1) is very ambitious, 2) is naturally curious and knowledge-hungry (…gossip-hungry, but gossip is knowledge), 3) is very capable of writing intriguing stories (that quote-quill doesn’t do all the work), 4) has a loyal and enthusiastic reader base who usually believes her, and 5) can write multiple types of journalistic articles (see her accurate investigative journalism for the book on dumbledore). apart from being like the only real journalist we know of in magical britain, there’s a reason why fic often uses her to further the mc’s or the antagonist’s agenda—even if it’s done under the threat of blackmail. she’s got power and talent, and writing tabloid-quality articles for a trash rag like the daily prophet does not mean that she’s not a genuine journalist. her biggest problem is her lack of morals (which is, contrary to popular belief, quite important in ‘neutral’ journalism), and all she cares about is sensational news and (presumably) money.

all of that means that she’d be absolutely stellar for furthering voldemort’s agenda. given the proper resources, she can easily put aside any morals she still has and write articles that at first subtly, and later blatantly try to convince the reader that voldemort’s side is the right side of history. especially in a society as corrupt and easily manipulated as magical britain (after years of peace available to heal from the damage of the first war, vee and his DE’s took over the country in like… a few months? just after dumbledore died?? that is NOT a healthy system). she’s THE way to get the regular populace on voldemort’s side, through sensation and gossip.

so how would it play out? thank you for asking. i have no idea rita is kidnapped and wakes up in whatever mansion voldemort has decided to hibernate live in. she’s understandably furious at first and promises to utterly destroy voldemort in the eyes of everybody, but voldemort bargains with her. “You will receive riches and safety in exchange for putting the media on my side,” he says snakily, forked tongue flicking out with a distinct air of smugness, “or I kill you.”

the choice is easy. rita is returned to her home with some kind of unbreakable vow or a dark mark or whatever else would tie her to voldemort, and voldemort sits back and decides to get a subscription to the daily prophet. her articles are (god forbid) actually quite entertaining and voldemort thoroughly enjoys picking out how she twists objective truths into lines supporting his cause with his morning coffee, after which he does the dreadfully easy crossword or the sudoku or whatever. soon after, he starts sending her the articles she’s written, annotated with things he enjoyed and things that he thinks could be better; rita, fearing for her life but also rather enjoying the praise, begins to send him her final drafts for him to review before she has them printed. they begin to send each other letters.

voldemort only writes to her when he’s bored at first (nobody to torture, be it through magic or just his general presence) (draco malfoy has gone back to hogwarts for the week and everybody has been awfully obedient), but later on he’s also starting to do so?? at nearly every available moment?? because her fear and passion is just so enjoyable. he’s fully aware that she may betray him at any point (this is the case of most of the vermin following him), but currently she loves her life too much, so she won’t. besides, it’s working: people have become suspicious of the order, are genuinely musing about what it would be like with voldemort in charge of everything, besides the fact that people are still getting killed or kidnapped. it’s delightful what good propaganda can do.

eventually (maybe??) she’d live with voldemort, so he can keep a proper eye on what she writes (possibly because he’s getting busier with paperwork related to Taking Over A Country and she’s in increasing danger or smth). maybe they’d sit in his office in silence in the evenings as they both work. she’s still under threat of getting killed when he grows bored of her, but he’s decided against torturing her because she could just as easily take his empire down if he makes her genuinely displeased.

i’m unsure how this would continue and if they’d ever have sex. i think voldemort would grow vaguely fond of rita in that same way one grows fond of a robotic mower: you smile when you see it, but it’s still no more than a useful robot. and similarly, rita grows fond of voldemort because 1) he gives her a lot of money, 2) he’s not actively killing her, and 3) he’s intelligent and enthusiastic about her work.

they will not love each other. they’d be vaguely disappointed about the other’s death, at most. this is a very cursed ship but it’s viable through some mental gymnastics.

some shipname options:

skriddle

soulquill

ritamort

… you are welcome to send me more absurd ships to ask my opinion about ♥️

[smallerplaces]

House inventory

With Arvin Lebec's modern condo proceeding apace, I decided to record all my other dollhouse to-do projects. These may push building the Mulberry Lane into 2025, but that's okay.

Because these are complex little things that are a bit of a mess, the alt-text descriptions will focus on what I want you to notice.

The Playmobil Victorian Mansion is my sole 1:18 house at the moment. It's inhabited by a pack of Lil Bratz, and I resisted buying more at the thrift store. Some need new hair rubbers when I braid Kid Kore Dancing Brook's hair.

I'm going to move the best of my Jaydon furniture in here with the DIY Modern Minis and sell or donate the remainder of the Jaydon.

The house itself primarily needs curtains that match the current decor, and a good spray paint job on the dollar-store beds. Alas, spray painting season ended yesterday, so this one is a project for next summer.

The Modern Abode is the house I've had longest -- Dad built it when I was three -- and I was thrilled to re-find, in the back of one of Mom's boxes, the Japan Center furniture I'd used in it years ago.

The goal is a very Zen-looking house, which requires a different style of origami paper than what I bought in San Francisco last year. Progress is delayed until the next time we go to the city or to Daiso, but it's a two-evening project, max.

The real challenge is to clear up the mess in front of it.

The Florida Barn got its rehab last winter. All I need to do is work out the land-sea arrangement around it, and I have the scrapbook paper for that. So this needs max two hours of attention some afternoon when I'm bored.

The Maine Cottage is the Project House that's the biggest problem right now. I bought a Melissa & Doug portable 1:24 house at Saver's for $4 shortly after my visit to Maine in summer 2020 (New England had vanishingly low covid levels and I wore a mask indoors). I got it mostly painted, then completely froze on the trim color, ran out of touch-up paints, and stopped. I did find the right paint set before moving, and I have all the furniture and a ton of plausible wallpaper, so this should be first winter dollhouse project.

The Sunflower Cottage was a spontaneous project last December and took maybe two nights. I'm going to dust it and bring it out for Christmas.

This tree was a $5 impulse purchase at Target last year. If I could once decide what it is, I could improve it in an evening.

The Hipster Restaurant was another Target impulse purchase. Its concept is in place, but it needs a couple hours' work on accessories.

This is another of Dad's creations, in 1:48. I love this house but Mom got rid of its proper furniture years ago, and I haven't decided how to furnish it. I'm okay with this being a low priority for a bit.

The Birdhouse Project was something I started last fall, to have a hands-on project in evenings. It stalled on indecisiveness over how to furnish the little houses. I like it and need some thought on un-stalling it.

This is an Art Minds kind that I got at Michaels, last year, believing it would be 1:24 because I put no mental effort into checking. I love the house and it's going to be part of the Birdhouse Project, so it has the same un-stalling issues.

This birdhouse has no project assigned to it, having been an impulse purchase at Dollar Tree. I'm okay with that level of "useful to have but idk" because after Mom's hoard, it's so minor.

[orionowhere]

walk poem 11/19/23 + additional thoughts

(background below cut. enjoy!)

telling's in the lung and throat, full of air, vap'rous and spilling, coming out like extrusion, reservoir full of material, words chopped off one by one fast enough the quantity blurs by, but who needs piles and piles and piles of pieces, who's appreciating the craftsmanship, only the design brooks admiration, no individual goes enjoyed for more than a moment-

poetry's in tongue and tooth, chewing on its cheek- running over molars, lolling at a lozenge, sucking spit, it lingers- got you by the tongue, pulling on it, got you gagging- poem wants the meat in your hand to examine, cut muscle held under your eye, doesn't care you need it to keep singing, thinks the blood falling in your lap is pretty enough, good enough fruit to leave on the table, bruised and sweet and drawing eye-thought-flies back to taste and taste and taste- like a tongue at toothless socket- at the gnawed-cheek-sore- circle back at your tail, dog, poem gets chased, rarely caught, hurts to catch. gets a little deader every visit. same as any living thing.

- THIS IS JUST HOW IT FEELS FOR ME, PROBABLY NOT UNIVERSAL, I'VE BEEN GROWING AROUND SOME KIND OF PAINFUL INTRUSION SINCE I WAS A KID, NOTHING COMES EASY THE RIGHT WAY, NO ONE TOLD ME HOW TO WORK A SEWING MACHINE, ALL I DO IS DREAM

addendum 11/29: conceived this in my brain on a dog walk and then wrote it out as soon as i got home. needed to express a frustration. continual problem here where poetry and verse has come easier than prose 'writing' (entirely different skillset than storytelling, we are finally discovering after... twelve years?) since we were about twelve. first memory of sharing any with another person was showing our mom a song we wrote in the style of owl city's ocean eyes... and her response was "it's really nice! but i don't really get what it's about." one of those benign awkwardnesses that ends up as part of a pattern of upset that twists into pain. any poetry we write is very present, real, alive and bodily felt for us- but as a medium it's perceived as less accessible/relatable/understandable writing than just, telling a story about some people. some people actively dislike it, blame their refusal to attempt engaging with the work (baffled, resentful, both) on writers' pretensions. the idea of having our work perceived as meaningless, shallow, pointless melodrama, and consequently ignored is... existentially horrifying! but we are working on it. mainly by how we are starting to post publicly instead of only hoarding to ourselves and occasionally dropping things in our groupchat. perhaps someone else's body will feel the same kind of alive we felt when writing it. we have to give it away to allow the opportunity.

[orchidbreezefc]

saw a fascinating case study of people just not understanding the problem with billionaires. [here] is a tweet of a tiktok--the source link is [here]--of a guy showing the step-by-step process of making a concrete sarcophagus immortalizing a bag of flamin' hot cheetos set in resin. it is fucking hilarious and very impressive and puts archaeological finds in a different perspective re: shit humans will do as a prank.

now, a sensible person may ask, how does this have anything to do with billionaires? that's my first point: it fucking doesn't. the twitter replies are angry about the misuse of money and resources because they assume OP is a billionaire, which is an unfounded and bizarre assumption that contradicts every logical conclusion (more on that below the cut).

a billion dollars is a lot. if you were in a family of five and all of you made $100K a year with no expenses, it would take 2 thousand years for your family to make a billion dollars. you know, like the approximate length of time since the birth of jesus of nazareth.

the concrete cheeto sarcophagus is humorously extravagant, yes, that's the joke. but it's not expensive. how much do people think some fucking concrete, rebar, springs and eyelets, spray paint, and resin costs? the equivalent of the accumulated wealth of five people who each made six figures every year since the birth of christ, apparently.

this guy did the labor himself with some help here and there (mostly lifting) and it seems like he does construction/shop work for a living (uncommon for billionaires). he probably already owned the materials or used some from his workplace. the sarcophagus is concrete, not uncut diamond. buying all those materials new, he'd have to buy some real premium shit to break $150.

so, point 1 is that people don't know what billionaires are. point 2 is that even if this had been wildly expensive, framing it as a 'waste of resources' is fucking incomprehensible. even if OP were a billionaire spending millions on a cheeto passion project, that money doesn't just evaporate??

concrete and resin manufacturers would get the several million he apparently spent, which they will spend on stuff, to fund the company and to pay workers who will spend THAT money on things. yes, a lot of it will go to CEOs and billionaires again, but supposedly that's where it started anyway, so no loss there. at least now SOME of it goes to workers because elon bezos here splurged on concrete. the only "resources" that were wasted (as in taken out of use) were the physical materials that went in the ground, and that's only a waste if you hate fun.

the problem with billionaires is that they 1. exploit people and underpay them for that money, and 2. DON'T spend it. they suck that money out of the economy and keep it in a metaphorical (maybe literal for all i know) private swimming pool like scrooge mcduck. they hoard it so there's not enough to go around without seriously fucking with the value of the currency (and thus the price of Literally Everything).

yes, it sucks when billionaires buy something frivolous when they could spend that money on, say, solving world hunger. but it's important to remember that the problem is the purchase they didn't make (solving world hunger), not the purchase they did make ($1mil of concrete). when they spend money, that means money goes to someone else. probably not someone deserving, probably just some other rich asshole. but it's better than that money going into the scrooge mcduck pool forever.

[anniekoh]

Silicon Valley, despite being a supposed hub of innovation, one separated from the garish demands of regular industries, has culturally grown to resemble an open-air private equity firm where companies are incubated like animals bred for slaughter.

While I’m not saying the Valley is entirely bereft of innovation, the modern tech ecosystem has become an alternative asset market built to enrich the very same people it once claimed to reject. Fred Wilson, the co-founder of Union Square Ventures, said in 2016 that startups that took corporate money were “doing business with the devil,” yet the only remaining difference between the current state of venture capital and private equity appears to be how willing they are to say the quiet part (“we need to make money off of this investment”) out loud. 

Silicon Valley’s key differentiator was that it was theoretically the place where venture capital took risks on interesting and innovative technology, yet the best-funded startups remain siloed in whatever industry venture capital believes will be “big,” even if they haven’t got any true path to profitability.

It may also be a result of the different incentives that bring people to the Bay Area and the tech industry in general. A decade ago, engineers made an average base salary of $92,648 versus $139,729 in 2023. The software industry has created 82 new billionaires since 2010, and the 2019 tech IPO rush created an estimated 5000 new millionaires across eight tech companies. In 2013, there were 39 unicorns (tech companies worth a billion dollars or more). According to CBInsights, there are now over a thousand of them. And because Andreessen and his fellow venture stooges forced so many lossy, unprofitable companies to go public, many of them are underwater (and they have been for some time), with the top 50 Tech IPOs since 2020 losing 59% of their market capitalization as of May 13 2023.

As a result, the Valley is left with the avaricious culture of the finance industry without any of the stability. Venture capital’s elite turned startups into alternative investments, fattened them up to sell, and, when the market dropped out in 2022 and 2023, shrugged their shoulders and blamed the workers. They, along with tech’s leaders, derided a culture of “entitlement” that they themselves created. Oh, workers want food at the office? They want a gym? They want a place to nap? Then why didn’t you fucking complain when companies started offering this shit back in 2015?

Because tech’s elite hates labor, and hoarding talent was a necessity to pump valuations. The tech industry — by which I mean the Valley’s powerful venture arm — spent a decade convincing software engineers that they were an elevated class, promising them the world and oftentimes delivering it without requiring them to build something that improved the world in any way. And the second the party ended — the moment that the economy stopped endlessly providing growth to every single company in the market, and when money stopped being free — tech was ready to eject tens of thousands of workers, and tech’s venture capitalists were ready to stop signing checks and start requiring “hard numbers” for the first time in years.

And the problem with an industry that is led and powered by venture capital is that it doesn’t build any real culture. “Startup culture” is a vague shibboleth that exists to justify labor abuse in exchange for a theoretical massive payday in the future, with the hollow premise that there is something more noble about writing code or “working at an early-stage company” than there is any other job. While there are people doing cool, weird or societally-beneficial shit, they are endlessly drowned out by a combination of founders trying to build “the next big thing,” with “big” referring to how much they can sell it for, and “thing” being “whatever is going to sell to someone.”

[mercy--killing]

how're you doing? You've been quiet on here for a while now. Sending good vibes y'all's way, hope you're doing as well as you can

hey i randomly logged into this account today and saw this and sort of wanted to give an update :)

the last year and a half ish i think has been good and bad. i started college, i got my first real job, i got my drivers license, and i got my first semester with straight a's since like middle school! but also ive had a couple more major traumas, had a major loss, had issues with hoarding, had an alcohol problem for a while (pretty much okay with it now though), where i live is getting very dangerous for trans people, and my physical health has kind of tanked. also i realized i was a lesbian! i almost forgot that one lol

one of those major traumas (losing someone i was very close to in front of me) just kind of changed me. it was like how the psych ward i was in killed a part of me. i just dont feel like that same person anymore because she was in my life since i was a baby and i dont think that same me can exist in a world without her. that was about a year ago and im okay but its still really hard.

im in a lot better of a place now though. im actually still living with abusive family that im totally financially dependent on, but tomorrow im getting my car put in my name and this weekend im doing a doggy date for a dog shelter with a very old pitbull and i have friends and im learning to work on cars. i still very much am a lot better off than i was the last time i posted here.

also i sort of found religion? its weird but thats been a really major part of my life lately. i call myself christian adjacent because i believe in jesus and everything but i dont agree with literally any conservative christian belief. God loves queer people, abortion is a right, other religions should be respected and christians are privileged in the west (myself included), hell doesnt exist, refugees and immigrants should be welcomed with open arms, etc. i mostly align myself with quakers. thats been a really big thing with trauma and im so much better at coping and having healthy behaviors now because of it.

i did quit therapy and im pretty strongly anti the institution of psychiatry. @/trans-axolotl has a lot of posts on it and i dont want to get too into it here. basically therapy and meds arent inherently bad and should be much more accessible and many people benefit from and need them, but not everyone does and stripping autonomy away from mentally ill people is bad.

so yeah. im sort of okay. some things are worse and some things are better. and if anyone is still following this blog i hope yall are doing well. i probably wont ever come back, i dont really find this blog helpful anymore, but ill keep it up for now just in case.

[abalonetea]

Can I ask a kind of thinky GHD-adjacent question that's sort of more form than substance? I remember the original, and how it was sort of this fusion of cute and nice with dark and horror because of the 2 versions and glitches and all. Since, since then, you seem to have put a lot of work into more darker-toned and more horror-themed pieces, does that have an impact on the direction you think the eventual GHD rewrite might end up taking? (This is the part where I am hinting you should TOTALLY ramble about changes and tone and themes if desired). Also, would one expect more "these things start small and become more noticeable as we go until OOPS maybe things aren't so nice," or a jarring back and forth between the light and dark parts? (I think either would be fun there tbh).

Yes, you can! I love questions like this! Also nonny, you've been here that long, that makes me super happy to hear <3 I'm glad to still have you in the area!

Okay, so! I have definately been writing a lot more horror and crime stories recently, and even a lot of fantasy and modern-day pieces with a darker tone to them. It's been a lot of fun! And I actually put GHD on the back burner for a long time, because I wasn't sure whether I wanted to twist the new draft to match those darker, more horror-esque vibes.

Like, it's been on a solid year long haitus because I couldn't figure out whether I wanted to keep the lighter tone or not! And I've actually recently come up with an answer: yes, and no.

When I first started writing for GHD, the story didn't have a cemented plot on Locke's side of the world! As such, the first draft was a hot mess, it was so hard to sort through, for real. But as I started to grow in my writing, and then read over GHD, and explore other themes, and return to GHD, I realized that I already had the skeleton of the story that it was meant to be.

GHD is not meant to be the same as, say, Sun Touched. Sun Touched is the break down of a singular character; an up close look at someone who was never meant to be in a war suddenly being in a war. It has a lot of heavier themes to it (side eyeing Isaac's cigarette problem here, and I don't mean smoking them) and a very specific tone. I thought about it and... That's not GHD!

GHD is a dichotomy, and it's a story of hope. And it's meant to stay that way.

BUT I'm finally at a point with my writing where I can handle the nuances of the story more.

In the first few drafts, I tip toed around Fara Falls (the glitched dystopian world) a lot, because I wasn't sure how hard into the dystopia I wanted to lean. In the current draft, that's going to be a huge focus. We're going to look at the world and see exactly how Bolte ended up the closed off person that he is by the time the story starts. But more importantly, we're going to use it as a warning.

Fara Falls has always had EXP hunters, famines, food hoarding, fight clubs, and gangs. But in the current draft, it's going to be highlighted even more. The glaring danger of the world, the heavy burden on Bolte's shoulders, as well as both Celeste and Captain's stories. Neither of them are happy.

But then we're going to bounce to Locke's story, and it's going to remain the cute, soft, hopeful world that we've always seen. Locke is the embodiment of Hope. His world is, for the moment, still mostly good. The candy is still sweet, the bees are still buzzing, and... Locke's story is still one of Hope, but here's the thing, nonny, here's the thing.

Bolte's world has already fallen. But it's in such a state because of something that's about to happen in Locke's world. That's the key feature the first draft missed! So while Locke's story starts out as a venture of health and hope and healing, we soon realize that the world isn't as happy as it used to be, that the Queen is acting different, that there's something wrong.

There's going to be a tonal shift at the middle of the story. A sudden departure from the slice-of-life style at the start, shifting closer to the action before a brewing war. And it's never going to be as dark as Fara Falls and Bolte's journey, but we're going to be able to see the places where things could go wrong, where if left unchecked... Well, maybe Bolte's world makes a lot more sense now.

So, it's a jarring back and forth, and then a slight creep towards... Maybe the back and forth isn't so jarring after all.

[pavspatch]

RIP Harry Twamley

I ALWAYS like to tell people that Harry Twamley was responsible for my first rollocking when I became sports editor of the old Ashton Reporter Group.

It was back in 1987, and while I'd like to say I was given the job because I was so good, the truth was I was the only member of staff with any interest in sport. So, with barely four months' experience as a sub-editor under my belt, I was promoted.

Of course Harry didn't know I was struggling badly, and duly rang to give me a broadside because he felt his beloved Curzon Ashton weren't getting enough coverage. Worse than that, Ashton United were getting more because their stuff was written by former group editor DCN Jones, a man who had been covering events at Hurst Cross since 1929.

There wasn't much I could say as Harry barked at me before signing off with: "We've had enough of people seeing the world through red winders. We need somebody with blue specs."

When I was appointed sports editor, I was warned Harry would be difficult, and I did have some experience of him. Back in the Seventies, as a callow youth, I was there when he made his opinions very clear to a linesman at Ewen Fields one Monday night.

But we gradually became good friends, and especially after I started to cover Curzon games in the 1987-88 season. It was a job I was to keep for ten years, following them all over the country.

There are all sorts of stories I could tell about him. Where do I start?

At one point his employers, Friedlands, a doorbell manufacturer, vetted his calls as they worked out 90 per cent were about Curzon rather than their business.

He once sold an advertising board and had the new client's information painted on the back of an old hoarding. Then, as the previous information was still visible inside the stand, tried to negotiate a payment from the former advertiser.

Harry also saw things in a game no one else did. He was terrible to stand with. When Curzon conceded a late goal against Whitley Bay in the FA Vase he was bereft. "But Harry, you're winning 7-1". "Yes, but the scoreline's ruined".

However, the story that sticks most in my mind occurred 29 years ago. It took place when Hyde United were using National Park while the Baspograss at Ewen Fields was being replaced with real turf.

The Tigers were due to face Winsford United one miserable Monday, and despite the referee saying the pitch was playable, Harry decided it wasn't. This led to an argument with the official and while it went on the crowd were left standing in the drizzle on Katherine Street in scenes reminiscent of a 1920s mill lock-out.

Harry insisted the game couldn't be played and said he would refuse to put the nets up. When the ref said he'd go ahead without nets, Harry promptly locked the cabinet that held the floodlight switches and asked the referee if he fancied playing in the dark.

The match did eventually kick off, and it's easy to laugh at Harry, but he did what he did because he was devoted to Curzon Ashton. He would do anything to protect his beloved club.

In the same way, Harry was renowned for being a bit careful with money. In the National Park boardroom, there was a battered sideboard that held a bottle of White Horse Scotch. Written on it in thick black marker was "guests' whisky" and there were marks down the side so no one dared take a crafty nip.

On one famous occasion, Alan Butterworth from Ashton United decided he'd try to drain the bottle. "I want to break Twamley's heart," he told me.

Yet for all that, I never remember Curzon going through the financial problems so many other clubs have experienced.

And he could also be extremely generous. For me, he was the friend who was there for me when times were hard. When I was ill, when my marriage broke up, and when I was made redundant, Harry Twamley helped me and I'll always be grateful for that.

What Harry achieved at Curzon was incredible. Curzon Amateurs was formed barely 60 years ago as an amalgamation of Hurst Wesleyans (Curzon Road Methodists) and Assheton Amateurs sharing Hurst Cross. Yet by 1980 they were in the semi-finals of the FA Vase and had their own ground at National Park. In 1987, they were founder members of the NPL first division.

And now, despite all the predictions they wouldn't last five minutes at the level, they have established themselves as a force in National League North and genuine play-off contenders. They regularly reach the first round of the FA Cup and, thanks to Harry's negotiating skills, have a first-class ground that is at the centre of the community.

I dislike using clichés and "legend" is a much, much over-used term in football. Yet Harry Twamley was a legend. He was Mr Curzon Ashton in every sense of the word. He and the club were effectively one, and he served it in just about every role: chairman, secretary, treasurer, president. It's good to know that his son, Richard, a director, will continue to carry the flame.

Perhaps Curzon will name the main stand after Harry. It's an honour he deserves. All I can be sure of is that I've lost a good friend and Curzon Ashton, and non-league football in general, have lost a colossus.

God rest you Harry. Thanks for everything.

[ledenews]

Jill Eddy Ready to Lead as YSS Celebrates 50th Anniversary

She’s never shied away from caring. Not when she was one of six Pennybacker children growing up on Edgington Lane. Not as a student at St. Michael School or Central Catholic High. Not as a wife. Not as a friend. Not as a caregiver working in social services. Never. That’s why after serving nine months as the interim director of Youth Services System, Jill Eddy has been hired as the non-profit’s new executive director. Eddy served in a number of positions during the past quarter century, and as the interim executive director, she’s orchestrated rehabilitation. “I accepted because I was concerned about the organization, and I wanted to do what I could to make it strong again because I believe this agency has amazing potential for the future,” Eddy said. “I definitely believe we are on track now and I believe we are building a team that will make us the best we’ve ever been. We focus on experience, and we have focused on a specific type of person who has areas of expertise. The YSS Board of Directors is comprised of local residents who assist the organization with the non-profit's provided services. “We now have the right people taking care of our buildings, in human resources, in our programs, and in development and communications, too,” said the 1988 grad of Fairmont State University. “Now that the state has divided the Department of Health and Human Resources, we’re going to see a lot of changes, and we’ll have to learn how to change along with it. But it was most important for us to return our focus to youth and families.” Youth Services System will celebrate its 50th anniversary this Saturday with a banquet event at Stratford Spring. Roger Hoard will perform during dinner, and then Eli and the Mojo Kings will perform once the program is complete. Tickets are available here. Eddy plans to share with the large crowd the progress she’s witnessed take place in 2024 alone. “We have been working hard as an organization and we’ve been fine-tuning and working on all of our existing programs. We’ve been accredited after an extensive review, and we’ve renewed all of our licenses, and it’s like we’re regrouping to make sure we’re offering the best care possible,” Eddy said. “We’re also working on our buildings to get everything corrected that needs to be corrected, and that includes getting the Samaritan House open again after having an issue with that hillside. “We have some damage that needs to be repaired but that’s going to happen soon, and we’ll freshen the building, too,” she said. “It’ll be an expense for us, but once it’s complete we’ll be able to meet more of the need.” The Hazel Atlas Building in East Wheeling has been the headquarters for YSS for more than 10 years. (Photo by Tammy Kruse of YSS) Sadly, The Need Is Real The first line of the non-profit’s website page titled, “About” offers an honest assessment: “Youth Services System, Inc. is committed to responding to the complex needs of youth at serious risk.” At serious risk. Of being abused. Of being a victim. Of being in an environment no child should be in. Some cases are uglier than anyone wishes to realize. Except Eddy, and that’s because admitting the problem creates the mission. “I’ve been here while our services have grown, and I’ve been here to see how much our programs and our services are needed by so many people, and I have seen us become very, very good at what we do,” Eddy said. “We’ve learned through the years what we’re good and what we’re not, so it only makes sense to evolve this organization the way it needs to the most. The anniversary celebration will take place this Saturday evening at Stratford Springs and the event will include live entertainment by Roger Hoard and Eli and the Mojo Kings. “Plus, I have watched while some organizations have brought in someone from the outside, and I was concerned it could happen here and that it would change the entire face of this organization.  I never applied for chief executive officer. I was asked by the board if I would step in on an interim basis. After about nine months, I accepted the position on a full-time basis.” Her path to a career in social services began while she was a junior at Fairmont State, but then she was accepted as the first student intern at the Ronald Mullholland Juvenile Center along Chapline Street in Wheeling. Today, the 26-bed facility serves all 55 West Virginia counties and the superintendent is Linda Scott, but YSS also operates youth emergency centers, recovery homes, and transitional living facilities. “Since then, I’ve written grants, I’ve been a manager, a director, a program officer, and everything else, and now executive director. Why now? I have the history and I know the organization through and through. I’ve developed a lot of community-based services. From there, I hope to grow as we have to grow,” Eddy said. “I remember thinking there was no way I could ever do this job. I believed it just had to be too overwhelming because there’s just so much that we do. “And it is overwhelming,” the executive director added. “But I get up each day and I’m doing it. And I’m doing it with an amazing team.” Jill and her husband get together with her large family as often as possible. https://ledenews.com/age-old-urban-myth-busted-to-bits-in-bellaire-ohio Read the full article