#Sunspots on the Muddy Water

[williammarksommer]

Sunspots on the Muddy Water

Staring at the Sun series 

Hasselblad 500c/m

Kodak Tmax 100iso

[sammysdewysensitiveeyes]

8, 22, 24 !!

8. common fandom opinion that everyone is wrong about

Since Morph has become Tumblr-popular (and I am SO happy about that), I have seen a lot of people who interpret Morph's "can copy other mutants' physical abilities" in X-Men 97 to mean "Morph could potentially copy any mutant's power," and that's really not how it works. I'm not gonna ruin people's fun when they are playing around with the idea in fanfic, but Morph is a shapeshifter, not a power mimic. Actual power mimics in the comics, like Synch, Mimic, Hope and Rogue can use other mutants' powers, Morph can't. Technically Morph isn't really copying other mutant powers, they are using shapeshifting to give themselves certain abilities like flight or strength, and transforming into other mutants so that animators can throw in cameos. They don't HAVE to turn into Angel to give themselves wings, they could just shapeshift wings. In fact, that's usually what AoA/Exiles Morph does in the comics, even when "turning into" other people as a gag he keeps his base form. My headcanon is that Morph finds it easier to use other mutants as a template for physical characteristics like wings or claws. I'd also love to see an arc where Morph learns to shapeshift multiple characteristics of other mutants (like Wolverine's claws, Colossus metal skin, Angel's wings) without fully turning into anyone, and it's both greater mastery of their powers and also Morph learning more confidence and self-acceptance.

I think X-Men 97 really muddied the waters by directly stating that Morph can "copy physical characteristics" without explaining what that means. Turning into Quicksilver for superspeed was especially stretching it, and although I love making Morph more powerful, I was like "Bullshit," at that scene. The show really should have tossed in an "explainer" somewhere, like maybe newcomer Sunspot asks Morph how their powers work, and Morph explains. That could have also gotten into why Morph appears more powerful in 97, and their changed appearance, another thing I wish the show had addressed.

22. your favorite part of canon that everyone else ignores*

The existence of Shinobi Shaw, canonically the abused son of a supervillain, strongly implied to be bi, a rich and handsome "bad boy" who could easily be sympathetic, he would absolutely do numbers on Tumblr if a comic or show would just bring him to people's attention.

*Everyone else does not include you, obviously.

Also - Stevie Hunter - Kitty Pryde/the New Mutants' dance instructor, one of the few human allies of the X-Men that hasn't been killed or turned against them. Kind, strong, brave as hell, I want her back in comics, but I also don't, for fear that she would get killed off.

Also that time that Madelyne Pryor was given healing powers by Loki and called herself Anodyne and wanted to help people, but that's been far overshadowed by Goblin Queen Maddie.

Oh, and apparently in one of the X-Men novels written by Claremont, Frenzy is secretly a fan of Pyro's books.

24. topic that brings up the most rancid discourse

Oooooh boy, I have several. I'll leave aside the useful conservative bullshit that springs up whenever a character happens to be gay, trans, a PoC, etc., we've all been through the usual nonsense of "I have nothing against characters being gay, I'm just going to pick apart and find fault with every gay character in comics." That's old hat.

But for X-Men:

Arguments about Jean/Logan, Jean/Scott, Emma/Scott just seem to bring out the worst in everyone. Personally, I hate Jean/Logan, and I'm meh on Emma/Scott, but arguments always devolve into a character bashing, especially Emma vs. Jean. Why pit two queens against each other? They are both great.

Certain X-Fans have obviously not read any Marvel comics outside the X-Men, and love to bash on groups that have been set up against the X-Men in any event, like Avengers or Inhumans (and we all know that big events crossovers like AvX or IvX are generally pretty stupid forced conflict). I know writers have "called out" the Avengers for not doing more to help mutants, but what exactly do fans want? Do you want the Avengers to come flying in and solve every problem the X-Men face? Then there would be complaints about the Avengers dominating X-Men books. We all know why the Avengers can't save mutants whenever there's yet another massacre, it's because the X-Men's whole thing is "feared and hated," and it would ruin stories if the Avengers fixed everything. It's the awkwardness of these characters existing in a shared universe, I just accept that the Avengers are usually busy with their own stories in their own books. And while I can understand the frustration of X-Fans during the Inhumans push, as a fan of both groups I have limited sympathy for people still wanting to dance on the Inhumans' graves years afterwards. God forbid the X-Men not be the center of Marvel publishing for a brief time, or that the Inhumans actually get a few books of their own.

"Child soldiers." This is another one that writers have tried to address in-book, but to me it's about as silly as treating Sailor Moon, the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles or the Power Rangers as "child soldiers." Is Zordon a manipulative child abuser because he specifically asked for "teenagers with attitude"? Or do we accept this as a power-fantasy for kids, just like the 60's X-Men comics generally were? If anything, Xavier has a greater excuse for recruiting teens than other super-heroes, mutants usually gain their powers at puberty and that puts them in immediate danger. And fandom only ever seems to drag Xavier for the X-Men being "child soldiers," even though Cable was actively turning the New Mutants into a paramilitary group in the 90's. Meanwhile, Xavier actually seemed to grow and change from the 60's, since he actively tried to keep Kitty Pryde and the New Mutants out of danger instead of sending them into the field. The X-Men have always recruited and endangered teens, even when Xavier is retired or dead.

Related to the above, the "Professor Xavier is a jerk," thing. And I don't even like Xavier much, but he gets dragged more and held to higher standards than characters who were actual villains and mass murderers. Xavier has done some incredibly shitty things, but fandom seems to love cherry-picking all his worst moments, or even just panels where he appears to be a jerk, completely devoid of context. Some common arguments are just wrong, like people claiming that Xavier "abandoned the New Mutants to go bang Lilandra," which is just blatantly NOT what happened in the comics. If you want a story about Xavier abandoning his students and leaving them in the hands of a former terrorist, the whole Changeling story is much more fucked up, Xavier actively chose to not only have Changeling stand in for him, he gave Changeling some of his telepathic powers. And they didn't even have the long-standing friendship of Xavier and Magneto, so there's no reason for trust there. If we're going to drag Xavier for his many sins, let's at least drag him for what he's actually done.

[owlf45]

oooo are we sharing underrated fics?

germinal by maximumdamage (a kind of from muddy waters rewrite with trans izuku)

izuku's rising by alunaar (manga spoilers, izuku gets kidnapped after jakku)

sunspot by spiritusrex (izuku gets kidnapped by a quirkless cult)

interesting

[dirt-cup-draco]

Ron x Reader- For Her

Hi! Could you please do a Ron Weasley × reader where the reader is with them on the horcrux journey because the reader was always part of the golden trio. So insted of like, Ron and Mione flirting/liking each other/ kissing at the battle its the reader and Ron? Thank you! 

a/n: sorta focusing on one part of the horcrux journey and tweaking it to fit!

“Harry!” You hissed after the boy who had gotten out of bed after seeing something peeking out of your tent. You knew he was easily distracted but this was maddening. How were you supposed to keep him safe, keep all of you safe, if he ran off? 

You could feel the damp ground against your socks as you trailed after him and you shivered, the foreboding air in the forest overwhelming. “Come back!” You tried again. “I can’t leave Hermione here,” 

“Then stay with her,” Harry tossed over his shoulder, never pausing as he followed the doe that had enraptured him. You could admit that it was odd, and more than likely a sign. Yet, you were more afraid that it was a trap.

“Harry!” You shouted after him once more but he wasn’t looking back. 

You wrapped your arms around yourself, looking around wildly at the dark forest as Harry took confident steps forward, chasing the doe through the Forest of Dean. You supposed that this would be a lovely place to come camping if you weren’t living in fear. 

You shuffled back into the tent, the glow of the lantern casting a warmth throughout the space that you didn’t feel. You shed your damp and muddy socks, replacing them with a thicker pair from your hastily packed back. Hermione was curled up beneath her blanket, the worry lines gone from her face. 

It had been some time since you had seen your friends without responsibility and fear marring their young features and you were absolutely certain the same was true for you. Suddenly, Hermione jerked in her sleep. Muttering something intelligible she rolled over in her dreaming state, settling back down as you remained silent. 

You know you should wake her. She’d be furious in the morning once she found out Harry had left in the middle of the night and she hadn’t been alerted. Yet, there were three of you and only two wands. Harry had taken her’s on his way out and now you were the only one of two with protection. The tent was the best place for you two to be. 

You paced around the small enclosure, chewing on your lip in worry. It seemed like the right thing to do, to follow Harry, yet you had already made up your mind. You needed to stay and protect wherever was safe and pray that Harry didn’t get himself into more trouble than he could manage. 

Needless to say, your expectations were at an all time low. 

--

“What are you doing here? Why did you come back?”

The words stung more than the bitter cold water Ron had just pulled a drowning Harry from. Ron gripped the sword tighter in his hand as Harry tugged his jeans on, still shaking from the ordeal. Even in the dark Ron could see the bruises already forming on his friend’s hands and feet from pounding at the ice that had nearly become his coffin. 

“You know why,” He bit out, his heart aching. Ron had too many questions to ask and now was not the time as Harry laid Salazar’s locket carefully down on a fallen tree. His palms were sweating and he had a difficult time looking Harry in the eye. He had left his best friends and the girl he loved to fend and fight for themselves when he could have, should have, been fighting alongside with them. It had been eating at him more than he’d care to admit.

Yet, when Harry looked at Ron, he felt like his friend knew his inner turmoil. “When it opens-” Harry began, choosing not to draw this out any further, “-you can not hesitate.” 

Ron gulped but nodded instead. He knew what he had to do and he wasn’t afraid. It would just be one more horcrux down and he could sleep that much better at night. Ron Weasley had the tool, and the power, to destroy a sliver of Voldemort. It might have seemed inconsequential to many, but for him it was just what he needed. 

“I’m ready,” 

The parseltongue slipped from Harry’s mouth with ease and Ron steeled himself against whatever was to come next. Shoulders squared, knees locked and eyes trained on the locket, he was more ready than he’d ever be. So when the clasp came undone, with an unassuming pop, Ron stalled. It was only a second but that second had given the soul within time to design a strategy. 

“I have seen your dreams Ronald Weasley” The thin voice whispered to him as inky black clouds swirled through air. The atmosphere was weighed down and Ron found it hard to take a deep breath as he stumbled backwards, the cloud stretching and shifting as it advanced towards him and then dipped away before climbing and hiding his view of Harry. 

“Smash it!” Harry hollered but Ron could hardly hear it as spiders appeared, peaking out from the trees and scuttling up from under the leaves. All advanced towards him and he took two steps back on shaking legs, falling on his behind as he tripped over himself. 

He couldn’t tear his eyes as the voice continued, taunting him by picking at his deepest insecurities. You seemed to materialize from nowhere, rising out of the onyx smoke like a heavenly spectre. “In what world could I ever love you?” Came your voice, a shrill laugh breaking free from your lips. 

“Ron! It isn’t her!” Harry tried to stand but a large gust from the impending shadow blew towards him and he fell back against the tree he had taken shelter against. “She would never hurt you, especially not like this!” He argued, hoping his friend saw sense. 

Ron was enraptured by your beauty even as you mocked him. From a distance he heard Harry speaking to him but it passed through his ears like a breeze and he was unbothered. Even in your cruelty your eyes were the prettiest he’d ever seen, your voice what kept him sane, your smile- however twisted and sinister at the moment- gave him his strength. You were Ron’s reason, always had been. 

So when Harry’s form shifted into the darkness, standing beside you as you linked your arms with his, Ron’s heart sank lower than it ever had before. “Why would I ever pick you over him? Harry’s family left him money, left him a legacy. But you? You’re nothing,” It was a nice to his heart and Ron couldn’t help but whimper, pleading for this nightmare to end. 

The pitch-black soul that had ruptured from the locket was pushing Ron as far as he could, but it was becoming drunk off of the way you could see Ron’s heart breaking so clearly. In all of it’s glorious emotional torture, the piece of Voldemort that had rotted long before being put in the locket seemed to have forgotten something vital. You never push a Gryffindor too far. They may hold restraint, but their bite is much worse than their bark, and now Ron was ready to bite back. 

He blinked back the tears that begun to well up at the sight of you and Harry, lips locked together and bodies intertwined. The sight of you both was too smooth, too perfect, too wrong. The smoke couldn’t create your imperfections, or possibly chose not to. Your eyes were glazed over, skin airbrushed and lips pale. Your cheeks were without freckles brought out by the sun, your chin absent of the small scar you’d obtained after Malfoy had tripped you and you’d fallen onto the floor of the Potions room first year. Your hair was neat and smooth all the way across your shoulders, when typically it stuck up everywhere. 

This wasn’t you. Ron knew that now. You weren’t perfect, and that was why he loved you. Your imperfections, your sunspots, your scars, they were a part of you and he loved them. With a mighty roar fitting of a Gryffindor, Ron raised Godric’s sword above his head and in three long strides he burst through the smoke, lungs constricting. With one powerful swing downwards, Ron felt the sword make contact with the horcrux and he relished in the breath of fresh air he was able to take as the smoke fizzled out, nothing to hold onto anymore. 

Harry gaped at him, standing with a shove off from the tree before wiping his muddied hands on his trousers. He shuddered even as the sun began to rise, his clothes still soaked through.  “I’m glad you came back when you did, Y/N will be pleased to see you,” He admitted to the Weasley that was not five feet away but felt impossibly far from him. 

Ron hesitated, but seeing Harry shake from cold reminded him of the eleven year old boy he’d met; thin and unused to kindness, shaking in his dorm room on the first night because he hadn’t thought himself allowed to search or ask for a second blanket. “I’m glad I came too...and it wasn’t all for her. I wanted to see you and ‘Mione too, you’re my best friends,” 

Harry cracked a smile, righting the glasses on his nose that had become crooked from the ordeal. “We ought to get back to camp then before they think I’m dead,” 

“Lead the way, Chosen One,” 

--

Hermione was the first to wake, the low sound of voices buzzing through the air and altering the white noise she had become accustomed to. Blinking away sleep, she let her eyes adjust to the shift from dusk to dawn. Tossing her blanket off of her, she made sure you were still asleep, before making her way out of the tent. 

Harry was on the hill above the tent, shuffling around on stiff limbs, lips...blue? The landscape had been painted in a milky blue light but that wasn’t right for the chill that seemed to have taken over Harry. “Everything alright?” 

“Better than,” Harry commented, arm sweeping forward to reveal Ron who had lingered a few steps back. The redhead looked sheepish, his bag supported on his shoulder while he supported the sword with his other hand. 

“Hey,” Was all Ron was able to think of. Hermione only scowled. 

“Hey!?” She asked, taking a step forward as her voice pitched towards the end of her sentence. “You’ve been gone for weeks Ronald, and all you have to say is ‘Hey’?”

The commotion broke through the thin veil of sleep that you had managed to slip beneath not even two hours ago. Exhaustion pulled heavy on your eyelids but Hermione’s shrill voice was filled with anger and Harry’s nervous was shaking on ever note as he denied knowing where her wand was. 

Why would they need a wand?  You wondered, smacking your lips at the sour taste that sleep had brought along. Wand. Safety. They need a wand. Not safe. They’re not safe, they need a wand. 

The thoughts jostled you from your sleep and you were tearing your blankets from you, struggling to stand as your feet got caught in your blankets. Grabbing your wand, you wasted no time in putting on your slippers before you were stumbling through the tent. “Harry, Hermione, are you alright?” You gasped as you tried to fix your watery vision on the pair. 

“I think they are,” Ron commented as the pair stopped in their tracks, Hermione pausing her threats to Harry as she eyed you, Harry forgetting to retreat from the Granger Danger in front of him. 

The reassurance should have comforted you, but the voice giving you that comfort was impossible. You fixed your gaze on the worse for wear Weasley a few yards away and your heart leapt into your throat, causing you to clear your throat in an effort to speak. One foot moved forward. You opened your mouth to speak. Once, closed. Twice, closed. Three times and you were lost for words. What do I say?! You wanted to ask your friends as they stood frozen in time, waiting for you to make your first move. 

Ron was biding his time as well, waiting for you to ask what he was doing here, like Harry, or threaten him (with good intentions) like Hermione. Instead, you chose an approach that was so completely you that it made Ron quake in his spot. 

A grin broke out onto your features and one step suddenly wasn’t enough as your legs propelled your forward with a new speed, desperation and hope licking at your heels as you collided with Ron. Your arms were quick to encircle his neck and his own found their way around your waist, securing you to him as you pressed your cheek against his. 

Struggling to keep his hold on you as you hung from him. Ron hoisted you up and you found your support as he changed his position- gripping the backs of your thighs before wrapping them around his own waist.Once you were steady, his arms snaked back around your midsection. His scruffy cheek was rough against your own but you reveled in the reminder that he was real, he was there, he was safe. 

“I’ve missed you so much,” You sighed, a weight lifted from you as the man you adored squeezed you tighter. 

“Merlin, I’ve missed you too,” He choked out, burying his face in your neck and breathing you in. “It’s good you’ve been here to take care of those two,” 

Harry opened his mouth to protest, Hermione elbowed him. Hard. 

You laughed for the first time in weeks but it was watery, tears having welled up. “Maybe so, but who is going to take care of you? I’ve never met a bigger fool in my life,” 

Ron seemed to loosen up too, laughing along with you as you took comfort in each other’s presence. However, he caught his two best friends staring at him from behind your back and embarrassment was quick to creep up on him. Begrudgingly, he loosened his grip and you settled to the floor, the damp leaves beneath you making no noise. When he looked back over your shoulder, the pair had disappeared back into the tent. Thank god he had you alone, he wasn’t sure he could cry in front of Harry or Hermione. 

You weren’t ready to part yet, keeping your hand against his jaw, thumb stroking along his cheekbone. “I feared every night that you were gone, that something- anything- happened, and none of us were there. I was so frightened I’d never see you again,” The admission seemed to be the straw that broke the camels back and you dissolved into tears, chest rising and falling erratically with the force of your sobs. 

“I’m here now,” Ron promised, voice cracking. Resting his hand atop yours, he stopped you as you moved to pull away. “I am here, and I am never leaving again,” 

You sniffled but the fears were all rising up and shoving down any semblance of calm you might hold onto. Everything you had been worried about was rising to the surface as the man you trusted most, the man you trusted to support you, arrived. You didn’t have to be strong anymore, he was here to hold you. 

“Never again, Ron, swear it,” You finally managed to get out between heaving breaths, tear stained cheeks on fully display as you brushed your nose against Ron’s, leaving him breathless. 

Nuzzling his nose back against yours, his lips felt the ghost of yours as he spoke. “I swear,” 

The faint feel of his lips nearing yours, the overwhelming relief and the crippling fear, the enormous amount of love you felt for him- it was boiling over as you breathed each other in and when Ron tried to steady himself and pull away, you were following after him.

“I need more than words,” You hinted as his hands flexed on your hips.

“What do you need?” He managed but he was practically becoming nonverbal at your proximity, his only thought being you. 

“You, only- and always- you,” You promised before skimming your lips over his, experimenting. 

It was all Ron needed for his restrain to break and he was smiling, angling your head up to him so that he could slide his lips against yours with more confidence. You whined when his tongue prodded against your lips asking, begging for more. It was soft, subtle noise that Ron wouldn’t have noticed if he wasn’t taking in your every breath and sound. Your hands were tangled in his hair, breathing him in to replace any other thought and sensation. 

You felt as if you were on fire, your skin hot wherever Ron touched you. Your desperation was clear as you sighed into his mouth, a plea for him to never let you go again. Yet, Ron was burning up and he didn’t want to fizzle out. He would be damned if he didn’t have more time with you. 

“We have to go,” Came the startling interruption from a panicked Hermione. 

You whipped around to face her, realizing only now that she and Harry had taken the tent down, all of your belongings packed. “W-why?” You asked, Ron’s hand squeezing your hip comfortingly when he sensed your spike in panic. He was forced to swallow down his own. 

“Harry was checking the area, making sure it was safe but it isn’t, he said he spotted six snatchers and Greyback. We have to go before they catch up, we aren’t.... ready to face them yet,” She explained in a hurry, grabbing Ron’s bag from where she had thrown it at him earlier. It was true, you were all too exhausted to put up much of a fight, and you were clearly outnumbered. 

“Let’s get out of here then,” You croaked, stepping out of Ron’s safe embrace as Harry and Hermione trekked ahead. 

Ron fumbled for a moment, grabbing Godric’s sword before chasing after you. Slipping his hand into yours, he smiled down at you and you couldn’t fight the smile you gave back.

“Remember, I’m here,” He whispered in your ear, squeezing your hand. 

“Good, because you’re stuck with me now,” You tried to tease even if the worry was clear on your face as you raced through the forest. 

“And you’re stuck with me,” He promised. 

Despite the unknowing, Ron felt his chest swell with hope. Today wasn’t the end of what you two had started and he would be damned if he ever let anything happen that meant otherwise. Ron would make sure you all made it out of this. 

After all, he’d come back for you and he wasn’t planning on losing sight of you ever again. 

Tag List: @angelinathebook @thehumanistsdiary

[neopronouns]

Do you know any genders tied to rivers/streams, forests, sun/fire, and nature in general?

this got kind of long - under the cut! i’m sure i’ve missed some, so if none of these really fit, let me know!

rivers/streams:- brookletic: a small gender related to brooks and water- gendertorrent: a gender that feels like it flows like a river, ever changing but feeling similar. can be muddy, have rocks and moss in it, and other things that a river would contain- liquorfluix: a gender that’s fluid in nature and flows similarly to rivers/streams of liquid. however, the rate at which the stream “flows”, or changes genders, is flux - pannilegender: a gender related to all rivers in the world- rivusfluid: a gender that flows quickly and hastily, like a small stream- waflugender: a fluid gender that feels like a calm ocean at night when male, a raging river after a storm when female, and a frozen creek when nonbinary- wrenhavine: a gender associated with riverways and places where the rivers meet the ocean, fish and whales, ports and harbours, and the smells of brine and salt air

forests:- dasogender: a gender that is 3/4 some gender (boy, girl, neutrois, atrinary, etc) and 1/4 related to pine forests, moss, wet ground covered with leaves and cones, and feeling of comfort with your own being - dryagender: a form of agender with a connection to an open forest- genderforestis: a gender that feels like an open forest. It can be connected to fog, and may even feel “thick” or “cloudy at times - lysfirgender: a videgender / aesthetigender that, visually, is like a cold, clear night in a forest, the full moon and the stars overhead. may also be associated with wolves, streams, nature and (nature) magic - ouygender: a gender related to trees and wood- radyrine: a gender related to swedish forests, caribou, elks, mosses, lichens, and rocks. feels warm and quiet- silvafoginix: a gender that feels like fog over a forest- silvestrisbaonic: a gender that feels like it gradually gets lost, similar to a thick forest. eventually it may come out and is related to woods and sunsets - skogine: a gender related to cold, rainy and foggy forests and rains. feels isolated and covered

sun/fire:- aestasfluid: a fluid gender that beats down on other genders like the summer sun, and it can scorch small genders into nothing - ardorian: a typically female or feminine gender that feels warm and flame like. tends to fluctuate eagerly and with other genders - caldusgender: a gender that feels like its in a blast furnace. extremely fluid and unstable, and never seems to end - charredaxin: a hot gender that feels charred by other genders - cinderaxin: a hot gender that feels like the remains of another firegender- cumberhellenic: a gender that feels cumbersome and related to hell, fire, light, or heat mostly - dolchechaufgender: a gender that feels soft and warm like candlelight, sometimes flickering- emberfluid: a fluid gender that flows up like a flame only to disappear and “melt” like an ember- espegender: a gender that evolves from a connection to the sun or daylight- favillaegender: a gender that feels like burning embers. warm, charred and wispy, can also feel barely existent - feugender: only having/feeling a gender when the weather is warm- firegender: a fluidish gender in a constant state of flux, that never truly extinguishes. linked to passion, strength, and difference. can be destructive or beautiful. can burn if not handled properly. aesthetically linked to fire- flamarian: the definition of this one isn’t 100% clear, but i believe it’s a nonbinary gender that is tied to fire in the way that a solarian person’s gender would be tied to masculinity- flammaenine: a gender related to fire, hellish flames, scorching warmth, etc - fyrian: a slightly pangender gender related to fire, camping, winter, fireplaces, candles, and/or wind - genderamburo: a gender that feels slightly scorched- genderheat: a xenogender related to heat, light, fire, or anything that gives off heat/light - gendersidus: a gender that feels like it is on fire or close to the “sun” of the gender- gendersolisaquae: a gender that is calm and peaceful, and related to the sun reflecting on the ocean waves - heliogender: similar to agender, a gender with a strong sensation of warmth a genderlessness- hestigender: a gender associated with fire/flames, calm, love and warmth. named for the goddess hestia - ignisfluid: a fluid gender that flares up like fire sometimes, only to flow back down to quietness - ijusgender: a gender related to candles- innerfiraxin: a hot gender that feels like the inner part of a flame/fire. it is very hot and can destroy other genders - midfiraxin: a gender that feels like the middle of a flame/fire. it is significantly warmer but not hot enough - nisgender: an exemgender (pokemon type gender) related to the fire type; a xenogender that is animalistic and otherworldly with a strong connection to fire- outerfiraxin: a gender that feels like the outer part of a fire. it is hot, but not as hot as other parts- pyrogender: a gender that feels like fire- pyroshift: a gender that acts as a flame. can flicker to feeling varying degrees of masculine and/or feminine for short periods of time, yet it generally settles right back down into a neutral, burning, and calm state. the intensity of the gender you feel shifts with how hot this flame is - solflackine: a gender related to sunspots, sunlight, warm, calm spring days, arid deserts, clean air, and yellows. feels warm, and somewhat blocked out - soligender: a gender related to heat, warmth, summer, brightness, etc- solusia:  a gender that feels fiery, but small like a small sun/star- sommeragender: a gender like summer, related to it, its attributes, etc. warm, soft, “sunny”, refreshing and clear. vast and ever growing - sonnegender: a gender related to the sun; a gender influenced by the sun/by the placement of the sun in the sky; may be stronger during the day and on sunny days; a gender influenced by a kintype to the sun; a gender related to the greek/roman god apollo, greek god helios, roman god sol, or any other sun deity; a gender influenced by one’s devotion to any of the aforementioned gods; a gender that can be otherwise explained or identified using the sun- sungender: a gender that is warm and happy- sunigender: a gender related to the sun and sunflowers- sunnyuso: a gender related to crisp and sunny weather- sunrainbuso: a gender related to sunshine and rainbows, and feels calm and peaceful

general nature:- naturogender: an aesthetigender tied to nature in some way; often used as an umbrella term for all nature-related genders- biogender: a gender related to nature in some way- earthgender: a gender identity that is directly affected, tied to, or influenced by the earth or nature; a gender identity similar to/the same as that of some form of earth deity. - mulchian: a gender that has bits of other genders mixed in, but overall has a nature-related energy- naturaefluid: fluid between nature genders- willowan: someone who feels their gender to be softly fluid but inherently tied to nature.  often have a neutral gender/gender element an anchor point from which they will fluctuate. the fluidity in willowgender can be subtle and occur over a longer period of time (months or seasons) and can be hard for the person experiencing it to notice. often accompanies a neutral gender element or internal feeling of gender, even when this does not match the external gender presentation. the neutrality of this gender is inherently linked to the earth and nature in that its fluctuations often occur alongside seasons, environment, and weather. willowans will often feel most neutral in the forest. like willow, this gender will bend away from its anchor gender but never fully break from it, always returning eventually - worlgender: a gender that feels connected to the earth and its nature

[pkucin01-blog]

Prompt: Since being diagnosed with a rare blood condition, you have required regular transfusions. This lead to discovering an unexpected ability to glimpse memories of the donor & while you came to enjoy this window into other people’s lives, the memories of your latest infusion has left you...troubled

                I closed my eyes as the nurse inserted the needle into my arm. A sudden pinch was soon met by a familiar chill as normal saline began to flow through my veins. I couldn’t bear to watch this part of the process, no matter how many times I’ve had to endured it. I turned my head to face the window. Sunlight billowed through the pains of glass, engulfing my face in a warm embrace. Once the I.V site was established, the nurse began her craft. Out of the corner of my shut eye, I saw she hung a red bag of blood, which glowed a crimson red in the afternoon sun. The tension in my forearm lessened. The blood was heated to body temperature, which brought slight reprieve to the cold sting radiating up my right arm. The worst was over. I opened my eyes once again.

                This procedure was far from unfamiliar. For the past 11 months, I have been receiving treatment for Thalassemia - a genetic condition normally inherited at birth. However, this is not a trait my parents carried. After a traumatic work accident, I underwent massive reconstruction surgeries to save my life. It was like my body was undergoing a midlife crisis. I received a new liver, a new spleen and new bone marrow. I do not remember the accident itself. After months spent in a coma and countless surgeries, I find myself alive, albeit a half-life. New organs weren’t the only thing I received. A rare blood disorder was also transferred to me. My body can no longer produce adequate hemoglobin levels.  Along with a dozen different daily medications added to my regimen, I must now also receive bi-weekly blood transfusions to function at near-normal levels. It is a small price to pay to remain in this world. However, there is one silver lining which no one could have predicted. One that I have told no one about, out of fear the doctors may confuse it for a mental deficit. I can SEE into the memories of those whose blood I receive.

                It is a crazy notion, I know. I first experienced it when the transfusions started. Initially I was scared, thinking it was a side effect from all the pain medication I was receiving. However, after several sessions, I realized it for what it was; someone else’s reality. Flashes of people’s lives overcame my vision, much akin to wearing a virtual reality headset. I was still aware of my surroundings while simultaneously experiencing a film play out before my eyes. I could hear, see and even FEEL what was unfolding before me. A birthday. A cake. Happiness. Childhood. Gifts. Sadness. Loss. Where is dad? Why isn’t dad coming to my party? Crying. Suddenly, back in the treatment room. The nurse disconnecting my I.V site. It was over as quickly as it started. After awhile, I went from being frightened of these episodes to being outright ecstatic at the promise of what they would bring; a break from my own life. I found solace in this escape. It quickly became the highlight of my week. It was like a T.V series to me, and I wanted to binge every episode.

                I have come to call these episodes “mind movies”. Most vary in intensity, depending on how strongly the memory lies in the owner’s mind. A man barbequing at a party, a feeling of intoxication and happiness filling my body as he sips a beer, unable to make out what is happening in the foreground. A woman having a first dance at her wedding, feelings of overwhelming joy trickling down to my very bones as her father gazes on lovingly. A mother yelling at her son for leaving the kitchen a mess, annoyance bubbling up from my chest. The more infusions I receive, the deeper I want to go. I sometimes find myself slowing my infusion rate when the nurse isn’t looking, in the hopes the mind movie lasts just a little bit longer. I crave it. I need it. I need my release.

                The sun which is beating on my face begins to cool.  The nurse adjusts setting on the I.V pump. The blood is circulating around my veins, finding its way to my heart. My vison slips to darkness before me. Ahhhhh, so it begins. Like curtains drawing before me, the main feature is about to start. The treatment room fades to black. Then…a piercing cold meets my cheek. A cement floor presses against my face. I am under a bed in a dark room. A sharp pain in my feet. Looking down, I barely make out the ropes bound around my ankles, securing me to the bedpost. Bruises old and new surround the site. I have been here for some time. In the distance, a loud creaking escapes from the hinges of a shelter door. Sunlight slips into the room. I get a glimpse of my soundings. I blink sunspots out of my eyes. I am in an underground cement room. No windows. No furniture. Water leaking down the wall. At its’ base, a pool of partially dried blood. A metal door directly adjacent to my location. The sound of someone. Some…thing, climbing down what sounded like a metal ladder. The door slams shut. The light quickly vacates the room. Darkness once again. Foot steps approach. Fear fills every fiber of my being. My body shakes uncontrollably. Every inch of my body begins to ache, as old wounds remember repeated trauma. The foot steps get closer. I gasp for air. My heart beats faster…and faster. The footsteps stop.  I hear Keys jingling. The door creaks open. A pair of muddy black boots enter the room. They find their way to the bed. They turn to face me. Suddenly, a tool box drops to the floor. Knives, hammers, whips and all sorts of instruments of torture slams on the floor with a loud bang. I let out a blood curdling scream…

                Sir, sir SIR, are you okay? I open my eyes. I am back into the treatment room. A nurse bending over me. A blood pressure cuff squeezing my bicep, a stethoscope pressing against my arm. I am drenched in sweat. I blink repeatedly at the sun blazing threw the window. I welcome its presence. The nurse jots something down onto her note pad. She presses a call bell and summons an overhead response. More nurses and doctors come. They give me some I.V medicine, unhook me from the infusion pump and wheel me over to a bed. They lay me supine. I try to find my breath. My mind is racing. Who was that? What had happened to them? How did I get that person’s blood? I never want to feel those feelings again. I flew too close to the sun. But I know that I cannot avoid the infusions. The only other option is death. But is that worse than that cement room?

[vagabondretired]

It is worth exploring this point today, when an eclipse will cast a shadow across a large swathe of America. Let’s review why we are confident in making this prediction: Shannon Schmoll, Director, Abrams Planetarium, Department of Physics and Astronomy, Michigan State University, writes at The Conversation: Solar eclipses happen when our view of the sun is blocked by the moon. When the moon lines up between the sun and Earth, the moon will cast a shadow onto Earth. This is what we on the ground observe as a solar eclipse. We know when they’ll happen because over centuries astronomers have measured very precisely the motions of the Earth, moon and sun, including their orbital shapes, how the orbits precess and other parameters. With those data about the moon – and similar information about the Earth’s orbit around the sun – we can make mathematical models of their movements in relation to each other. Using those equations, we can calculate tables of data that can predict what we will see on Earth, depending on location, during an eclipse as well as when they will happen and how long they last. (The next major solar eclipses over the U.S. will be in 2023 and 2024.) Note that Professor Schmoll says that predicting eclipses involves making mathematical models. The same thing is true of climate change. But Exxon-Mobil and the Koch brothers and other oil, gas and coal interests worth billions of dollars are paying people to muddy the waters. Maybe the earth isn’t warming. It is. Maybe it is because of sunspots or tree-pollution rather than from people setting coal on fire. It isn’t.

[theconservativebrief]

In recent years, leaders of the Republican Party have become aware that denying the existence of global warming makes them look like idiots. Changes in climate have become obvious, not just to scientists, but to ordinary people — they can be directly measured, with such exotic instruments as a “thermometer.” Majorities of every group except the most conservative Republicans (who will trust their media over their lying eyes) believe it is happening.

Denying visible, tangible reality is a dicey business, even for the modern US right. It makes the party look like a death cult. So Republican climate-communication strategy has undergone something of an adjustment.

Not a large adjustment, mind you. The GOP remains dead set against doing anything about climate change, against any policy that would threaten the profits of fossil fuel companies. That is the non-negotiable baseline, despite a few fringe figures who signal otherwise (until the time comes for votes).

But front-line, hardcore denialism of the “it’s a hoax” variety has largely receded to the base. Republican leaders and spokespeople have moved back to the next line of defense: Yes, the climate is changing, but we don’t know to what extent humans are responsible.

Professional double-talker Marco Rubio, senator from the climate-battered state of Florida, ran a version of this on CNN’s Jake Tapper show about a week ago.

“Sea level rise and changes in the climate, those are measurable,” Rubio said. “I don’t think there’s a debate about whether that’s happening because you can measure that.” See? He’s a reasonable guy! Not some crazy denier.

“The secondary aspect,” he adds, “is how much of that is due to human activity…”

Tapper pushes on: “Do you believe it is man-made?”

“Humanity and its behavior, scientists say, is contributing to that,” Rubio acknowledged. “I can’t tell you to what percentage is contributing and many scientists would debate the percentage is contributable to man versus normal fluctuations, but there’s a rise in sea level, temperatures are warmer in the waters than they were 50, 80, 100 years ago. That’s measurable.”

In short: The climate is changing but we’re not sure why.

Make note of what policy might follow from this perspective. We don’t really know how much humans are contributing to climate change, so there’s no sense in trying hard to reduce our emissions. But we do know sea levels are rising — “that’s measurable” — so we know we need to build up Fortress America to withstand the changes.

This thinking leads directly to the ideal reactionary climate policy: all adaptation, no mitigation. That would benefit only local constituencies (“America first!”), not the world; it would exacerbate, not ameliorate, inequality; and it would give the federal government carte blanche to hand out adaptation funding under the guise of “security,” where it will not be too closely scrutinized.

Nationalism + graft = that’s the right-wing sweet spot.

Rubio’s is not a new rhetorical ploy, of course, nor is it unique to him. But it has helped the GOP wriggle out from under the uncomfortable “denier” label. Conservative leaders who pull this move tend to get the headlines they want: “Republican acknowledges climate change.”

There are two things to say about this rhetorical move by the GOP.

First, this is still denialism. It doesn’t get Republicans out of the trap like they think it does, unless the media is incredibly lazy. (Ahem.) Second, and more broadly, the ever-shifting rhetoric of climate denial reveals that particular arguments about science were never really offered in good faith. The fact is, the GOP is the party of fossil fuels; it recognizes, accurately, that to acknowledge climate change is to empower its opponents.

Firstl, and we’ll put this in bold, so perhaps everyone in US media and politics can absorb it once and for all:

Denying human responsibility for climate change is climate change denial.

Human responsibility is the whole point. It is the heart of the matter. That is precisely what the much-discussed scientific consensus is a consensus about. Denying it — or muddying it up, saying “many scientists would debate the percentage [that] is contributable to man versus normal fluctuations” — is what we mean when we talk about denialism.

It’s just not true that “many scientists” debate the human contribution to climate change. Climate scientists are effectively certain that human beings are responsible for most or all of the warming over the past few centuries. (Or more than all of it — there’s some evidence we’d be drifting toward an ice age if not for global warming.)

Nothing is 100 percent certain in science, but the reports from the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change (IPCC), which summarize the state of science, express a 95 percent confidence that humans have caused more than half and most likely all or more than all of recent global temperature rise. That is about as close to certain as scientists ever get about anything.

Here, from Skeptical Science, is a selection of independent peer-reviewed studies and their conclusions about the balance of human and natural “forcings” that warm the climate:

Skeptical Science

As you can see, most put the human contribution at or above 100 percent. Natural forcings are small and possibly negative, i.e., cooling.

So: Yes, humans are causing global warming and the only thing that can slow it is a rapid reduction in human greenhouse gas emissions. That is a fact, at least insofar as anything counts as a fact in these ridiculous post-truth times. There is simply no other plausible story.

Having just made that basic argument for the 12 billionth time in my career, let me follow up by pointing out that making that argument is almost certainly futile. There is no interlocutor on the other side interested in arguments of facts. There’s no one to talk to.

To see the true nature of right-wing climate denialism, it’s better to look past people like Rubio, who have trained their whole lives to pass as moderate on Sunday talk shows. Instead, the real truth of right-wing tribalism works on climate change is embodied by none other than President Donald Trump.

Consider Trump’s responses to the questioning of Lesley Stahl of 60 Minutes on the subject of climate change. Historians will marvel over this document:

Lesley Stahl of 60 Minutes presses Trump about his climate change views. He says: “I think something’s happening. Something’s changing – and it’ll change back again. I don’t think it’s a hoax, I think there’s probably a difference. But I don’t know that it’s man-made.” pic.twitter.com/MAIO1gJNKY

— Daniel Dale (@ddale8) October 14, 2018

There’s no argument here. Trump does not make arguments. There are just … phrases, unconnected to the phrases that precede and follow them. It’s just bits of rhetoric Trump has heard — his impression of what his people say about these things — jumbled up in his brain.

Note that someone clearly told him before the interview that the “hoax” thing is a trap and he should not outright deny climate change. You can tell, because he just blurts it out: “I don’t think it’s a hoax.” And then, “I’m not denying climate change.”

But if you rewind or fast forward through the phrases, you can find plenty that do exactly those things. He says “something’s changing and it’ll change back again.” That’s denying climate change. He says “I don’t know that it’s manmade.” That’s denying climate change (see above). He says there’s no way to know if Greenland glaciers would be melting without human activity. That’s denying climate change.

She protests: “But that’s denying it.” She asks, “What about all the scientists?”

“Scientists also have a political agenda,” he says. That sounds like he’s calling it a hoax!

The point here is not to catch Trump in a contradiction. Trump contradicts himself every time he opens his mouth. He does not have beliefs as such, not like we ordinarily understand them, and so he can’t really contradict himself. Nothing divided by nothing is nothing.

Rather, the point is that Trump, in this as in so many other areas, is a rawer, truer reflection of right-wing thinking on this subject.

Listening to him talk, it’s clear that everything is geared around defending the right’s tribal position. He just says whatever comes to mind in that pursuit, grabs whatever talking point bubbles up from his Fox-informed subconscious. It doesn’t matter — I’m sure it never occurs to him — that half the things he says don’t fit with the other half. He’s not offering good-faith arguments, statements of fact or reasoning meant to be subject to critical scrutiny.

Persuasion is not any part of this, in either direction. The goal is only to deflect, confuse, and mislead, in defense of the status quo.

That is obviously true when it comes to Trump, because he scarcely tries, indeed doesn’t know how, to pretend otherwise. But it’s just as true of the entire conservative movement, for decades now.

All the denialist talking points — nefarious scientists, sunspots, natural cycles — have their true believers in the base, among the chumps who drink the Kool-Aid and fill up the comment sections.

But the motive force is not any assessment of science. It’s the tight alliance between the cultural politics of white resentment and the power of fossil fuel and related industries. To acknowledge anthropogenic climate change is to empower liberals, open the door to additional taxes and regulations, and threaten the power of the fossil fuel industry.

The Republican Party as currently constituted will simply never do those things. Ever. The arguments are secondary.

Media Matters

It’s difficult for people who care about climate change to accept this. It implies that all those hours spent earnestly arguing about climate science have been, to a first approximation, wasted. And it’s been a lot of hours — thousands and thousands of hours, spent by people of good faith in hopes that evidence and reason can change minds.

But it always should have been obvious that those with power connected to fossil fuels will not give up that power without a fight. They certainly will not give it up based on scientific or humanistic considerations. They will defend their prerogatives and privileges, as those with power always have, throughout history.

And they will always find people who will defend their interests, using whatever language serves the purpose. The arguments offered to the public may be scientific, political, or economic, or some jumble thereof, as with Trump. They may make occasional rhetorical concessions, if the tide of public opinion threatens them. They will perform substantive engagement, to the extent circumstances demand it.

But defense of the status quo is the point, not the arguments. And the only way it can be overcome is through power and money, i.e., organized political opposition. Focusing on the words — scrutinizing the exact mathematical degree of denial displayed in a particular Republican’s comments, as though it reflects anything deeper — is just getting played.

They are gaslighting, not persuading, and it will end when they are beaten and removed from office, not when climate scientists find just the right argument.

Original Source -> Yes, Republicans are still denying climate change

via The Conservative Brief

[poorjamesbond]

The 9150, Part 3.

Finally, zero was all that mattered.

Between moments of its totality, our faces colored darkly violet in the blacklight, conversations about everything and nothing poured from our mouths like we had all the time in the world. Mostly because we did. Time was not a factor, only distance, which was nonexistent. I told her several people had left me in their dust for being too affectionate. Little points of purple light reflected off the lenses of her eyes as she posed the question, laughing only slightly between the words. "How's this for affectionate?" she asked, leaning her face toward my own so quickly I was sure her forehead would break my nose, not afraid of the pain. She sprayed my face with lip prints, one after the other, each falling in a different place, overlapping only slightly to make sure the entire surface area was covered with the ink of her immediacy. I felt each one like a shard of shrapnel breaking my skin, her face a detonation of the kind of love only found in half-lit bedrooms. Her lips, as unique as her fingerprints, covered all the marks that others left, faded out like old tattoos, yet lingering on through memories of days when my bed faced a different direction. Each print was a zero, an ouroboros consuming itself, lacking the ones needed to spell anything more than the sound of her quick breaths between the shots. If she were venomous, I accepted the chance that I may not live long enough to see morning. And I didn't care.

If the world were a warzone, we were both making the best of a ceasefire, hiding beneath a rickety wooden overhang in a trench on the wrong side of a conflict that would remain irrelevant until our names were called, dogtags thrown into the muddy water gathered around the bed of our clothes, her fingers running over the birthscars that peppered my back, sunspots that would never fade, soft light creeping in across the edges of our skin, allowing us to see the contours of all we usually hid from eyes and the cold that somehow didn't come in through the open door, a 4AM cigarette jumping from between our mouths, the little bottle of Jameson capped on the bedside table, unneeded, handing her water that I drank only after she was finished with it, yet another thing to pass between our tongues, though none of it could fill us up, enough only in the fact that it was never quite enough, never close enough for us to reach a sense of satisfaction for any more than a fraction of a second, reaching back toward each other, each of us eclipsing the opposite body in quick succession, rolling over and over in sheets of grass, leaves of shimmering green sprouting out from the rains finalizing the tail end of the long drought, Gregory singing in the background as she bit her bottom lip, a grin so sharp it cut my vision apart like Lucifer's light, the little vial sewn into my skin, torn out, tossed between the bars of his prison for him to pour back down his throat, his influence dying, unwanted, we tumbled like precious stones, our edges wearing down into smoother surfaces, the patterns we held becoming clearer than the perfect imperfections of a fine quartz, veins of what we couldn't see beneath the scratches and gouges of our regrets, old mistakes becoming blessings as they led us into each others scars, tissue broken apart, allowing muscles to stretch for the first time in years, movements we forgot about, shadows dancing on the walls like smoke in the wind, shadows of the passers by in the alley of our becoming, worlds colliding, solid planets liquefying as they met in the vast emptiness of space, gravity far too strong to fight against, breath becoming secondary to our embrace, gods watching from above and below, refusing to use their powers of divine control, allowing us to simply be, pages flying out from the books piled high around us, tearing themselves from the spines of their bindings, no longer needing to be parts of a whole, covers flapping like predatory wings, falling from the sky in their final dives, plummeting toward the earth, never looking down to fight the acceptance of fate, the cusp she was born on grinding against my centerform, reaching across the divide between our constellations, sparkling like seaglass worn smooth over decades beneath the surface of the ocean, the ribs of a chip allowing us to see inside, the clarity of a world within, usually obscured by frosted surfaces, death clenching his fist outside the window, knowing he would have to wait at least a few more hours, the killers of my darkened city sleeping through the whimpers in our wake, memories seeping into me of trains barreling through tunnels along the Feather River as I fought back sleep in my tent, the skin of my arms tingling sharply, catching static electricity from the dew of dawn’s break, wanting so badly to share the moment, knowing I may never have the chance, and accepting that some things have no words, but she was there around me, even then, across the the sea of the 9150, space being made for a memory years before it could be filled, we danced a two step across my bed, horizontally absolute, our feet meeting nothing but the tops and bottoms of each other, socks still covering hers in ways I could never live with on my own, the ashtray resting on my chest, a hint of warmth seeping through the glass, her fingers placing the filter against my lips before taking it back, walls moving out to give us space, souls of a sunken city separated for eons, nearly forgotten through the ages, brought back together if only to remember how it was before the fall of the tower, the fall of the empire lost in the water, speaking in tongues of a language written, but never recorded, sponging sweat from our stomachs with each others foreheads, tasting all the reasons we kept going.

Zero. The second mark ever to be drawn in the sand.

The first being a line waiting only to curve in upon itself.