#bottle conditioned

[herebebeer]

Strong and slightly different! Fullers 1845 is full bodied and strong. Certainly hit the mark on the night I drink it.

[snakebites-and-ink]

Feel free to expand on the weirdly loving handler and living weapon thingy you blessed our eyeballs with 👀👀

F-feel free to share more 👀👀

The thingy in question

With pleasure :D

I hope you wanted a lot more because this got long.

You can have:

Cuddles with undertones of power dynamics

Handler gently guiding/maneuvering a currently very dissociated living weapon (possibly after a hard mission/battle/something else that was difficult for them to go through)

Dogged loyalty and devotion

Weapon too conditioned to fully understand what they’re feeling

Both protective of each other but express it in different ways according to their roles

Denial. Denial that the living weapon is really a person, denial that one or both of them have gotten too attached/emotional about the other, denial about the ways the relationship is unhealthy, whatever else.

Can’t express their love/care the way two people normally would but find other ways to show it to each other.

They get each other in a certain way that no one else does, see sides of each other that aren't shown in many other situations

The drastic contrast between violence on the field and tenderness in private

And it comes in different varieties

Flavor 1: “I take care of my things.”

Very possessive

Heavy on the dehumanization

Handler/owner won’t let the weapon forget that they’re no more than an object in their eyes; every kindness and comfort serves as a reminder of this because each one is the handler taking care of and maintaining a thing that belongs to them.

—But they’re a very valued object. Maybe they’re expensive. Maybe they’re irreplaceable. Maybe the handler is very picky discerning about what kind of living weapon they’ll work with and others don’t fit the bill. Maybe they’ve saved the handler’s life more times than anyone else the handler has worked with on the field. Regardless of the reason, the handler won’t even entertain the idea of tossing the weapon aside like any other object.

A form of ownership that looks a lot like love. It’s hard to tell where the lines are drawn between sole ownership and monogamy, between maintenance and tenderness, between carefulness and caringness.

Handler definitely will not share. This weapon is theirs and theirs alone. You are not taking it on a mission without them.

Flavor 2: Basically BDSM but more questionable in the ��safe, sane, and consensual” department.

Heavy on the affection & fondness. Probably in both directions.

Handler treats the weapon as more than an object, but never as a peer. They’re beloved but ultimately expected to obey.

One or both of them delight in their unequal roles.

Likely some kind of tension and want between the handler and the weapon. Also probably in both directions.

Some dubcon intimacy going on. I’ll let you decide how dubious and how intimate. Suffice it to say, the weapon is conditioned to do what their handler tells them, and that conditioning doesn’t just disappear when they leave the battlefield.

Maybe there is some consent involved, at least at some stage. Maybe they volunteered to become a living weapon out of their own desires.

Flavor 3: Stuck in this situation and doing what they can to be nice

Handler knows this is a weapon but it looks so human

Surely the conditioning can’t completely eliminate their emotions. They must be able to feel the difference between kindness and callousness even if they don’t show it. It would be cruel not to give them gentleness and comfort when they’re past the point of being able to seek it out for themself.

Finding excuses for the “unnecessarily” nice treatment. It’s to keep them operating in peak condition. It’s to reinforce their loyalty to their handler and contrast with the violence of the enemy. It’s because it would be more unnecessary work for the handler to break the habits they formed interacting with actual people. It’s because the handler has fallen for those doe eyes.

Would probably decondition them if they were in any place to do so. But they have to answer to a higher power, whether that be a commanding officer or a greater moral good, etc. so instead they focus on making the aspects that they can control of the situation they are in more merciful and comfortable even as they continue to use them as a weapon.

Flavor 4: Love each other but both believe the dehumanization.

Conditioned like you wouldn’t believe

Maybe the handler has fallen for propaganda. Maybe they took the weapon at their very conditioned word. Maybe they’ve gone through some kind of conditioning themself. Regardless, they see the living weapon as just that: a living weapon. Definitely not a person, but not some lifeless, inanimate thing either.

There’s a deep, non-sexual intimacy to the relationship between a weapon and its wielder. To depend on another to save your life time and again, to destroy foes you could never overcome with your own bare hands. To trust someone so deeply you respond to their orders faster than you can assess a threat or target yourself, so completely you don’t even think to question them. To participate together in the intense acts of killing and fighting for your life.

That forms a bond no one else can truly understand. No relationship in polite society compares with one founded on mortal peril and unquestioning faith.

In the end one is a person and one is a weapon, but they’ve both developed a love for the other. Their relationship is built on the difference in their roles and functionally inextricable from that difference, yet is defined by more than roles alone. If you asked them what they were to each other they would say “It’s my weapon” and “They’re my wielder” with absolute surety, but they would say it with love in their eyes and fondness in their voices.

Flavor 5: Handler doesn’t realize how deeply gentle their treatment affects the weapon

Maybe the handler considers it basic human decency. Maybe they consider it more efficient to keep their weapon in top condition. Maybe they’re just a naturally gentle person. Regardless, they treat the weapon better than any handler or trainer before them but (at least initially) don’t think much of it.

No one else has shown the weapon any sort of kindness since before they were a weapon.

Taken by surprise when the weapon breaks down crying in a tender moment

Handler is kind because it just makes sense. Cruelty doesn’t serve any purpose. It doesn’t have especial meaning to them.

In contrast, the kindness means everything to the living weapon. They become deeply devoted to the handler over it.

Maybe the handler finds out how much it means to the weapon. Do they try to tell them it’s no big deal? Do they make it more of a point to always show that kindness now that they know how important it is? Do they worry this means the weapon needs more conditioning?

I’ve had this on the mind a lot can you tell

[icewindandboringhorror]

Little bright colored outfit with a fun vest ~

(shoes from ebay like 10 years ago. everything else is thrifted)

[shibaraki]

personally would’ve had my tubes tied asap in the mha universe u will not catch me giving birth to a baby with a deodorant stick for a head

[essektheylyss]

it is not only the years that start coming and don't stop coming, but also pretty much everything else as well, and not least, Tasks

[tomatoluvr69]

Post-Helene diary 10/16/2024. (As a general warning, lots of talk about death, including children)

Life (in the city at least) is slowly inching back to normal. I’m still out of work. Schools will be closed at least a month, all told. And it’s getting cold. An outlying town a stone’s throw north of the city, where I have a couple friends, got snow last night; one of them slept on our couch. Still no running water, signal is still fucked, and the power goes on and off. But having power is such a luxury, so you can boil the water you bring home and microwave and refrigerate food. Still struggling with morale, but getting more and more able to get out of bed & take care of myself, and forcing myself to be around people when I can, which really helps. Hoping to host a movie night maybe this weekend, we’re all super fried and it’d be nice to gather in a super low-stakes way.

Had a burial yesterday. The man was shrouded, and lowering him into his grave meant touching his body through thin fibers. He died on the third of October, a couple days after the storm, so not a drowning death, but I’m not sure what the cause was. The family was able to be present for this one, and the ceremony moved me, I’m so profoundly honored to have had the opportunity to do this through no merit of my own. It’s good work, to which I feel well-suited. But it’s strange to shovel dirt onto the decedent while his wife and children look on. They were all new to ecoburial, the man hadn’t chosen it the way many in the sanctuary have; it’s what’s called an at-need plot (and folks, WNC is at need right now, lol). You could tell that the informality and wooded surrounds of the setting unsettled them at first, but the way things are done there is far more ancient and meaningful than at a conventional lawn cemetery, with its mandatory cement vaults, embalming fluids, and non-biodegradable casket materials, and we encouraged people come up to lay soil, aerate the first layer with sticks to aid in microbial access, fill in more soil if they wished and lay pine straw over the finished mound for erosion control and seed germination. I believe strongly in ecoburial’s capacity for closure, that seeing the shrouded body be covered, and being involved in digging and closing the grave, or pallbearing/lowering the decedent, can be a powerful way to process death. People used to/still do die at home. People wash their loved ones’ bodies, braid their hair, burn incense over them, sew them into shrouds, lay them out unembalmed and unrefrigerated in their own homes; in 21st century America we are cold strangers to death— everything happens behind steel doors. (Even hearses are outmoded— odds are you’ve driven down the highway next to a Toyota Sienna or somesuch that’s been retrofitted to transport bodies to and from funeral homes, hospitals, mortuaries, crematories, and burial grounds, and you had no idea.) Ecoburial removes this gulf, and I believe it’s especially crucial in the aftermath of the wide-scale death and destruction our region has seen. But the cemetery is tiny, and can only take a sliver of the storm’s dead— only a couple plots remain unsold. The admin was looking at purchasing more land, but the woman at the helm of that drowned with her entire family in a flash flood.

A girl we know works/worked at a mortuary that was along the river— drove by there the other day on my way home, the obliteration is eerie, they were gutting it for demo. Driving near any river right now still has the surreal, gloatingly detached feeling of a soundless dream, especially along roads you took all the time before the flood. The building had been nondescript before, just a medium warehouse looking structure with vinyl siding. But the bodies stored inside went unrefrigerated and were exposed to floodwaters, an aspect of the disaster few people without contacts or experience in deathcare would consider. Imagine the times you’ve been grieving a family member— now imagine phones are off, the mortuary’s been obliterated, and you’re stranded in your building for a week with no information or answers.

Found out about the death of a little boy, first or second grade, who attended one of the schools whose students I work with. He wasn’t my student, just a classmate of some of mine, but I still find myself really broken up over it. He was around the same age as [best friend]’s coworker’s boys, 7 and 9, who drowned in [outlying county], and I know they’re not mine to grieve— but working with so many kids in that exact age range in our community i’m so acutely aware of the caliber of loss. It hits me in these overpowering waves. Nobody in Appalachia knew to fear a hurricane, you know? Life here has shifted tremendously.

After the burial, we ate some cold lunches and a random packet of imported Japanese grape candies, joking grimly and catching up on an out-of-the-way bench near an Iranian woman’s grave and a couple adelgid-ridden hemlocks, where we wouldn’t be heard by the lingering members of the funeral party. Then, donned chaps and ear pro/eye pro to buck a bunch of trees downed by the storm around the land. I like chainsawing, but I lost a ton of physical strength after my ribcage fracture this summer, and I definitely feel it when doing manual labor. The difference is palpable. But bucking is easy, it requires no brainpower, and my friends just told me which trees to cut, while they worried about tension and felling. But both burials and saw work is quite physical and my stamina is beyond shot— definitely felt it today. And I got fucking DOMS in my back!!!!???? lmao. Hung low most of the morning because my volunteer childcare thing got canceled— it stormed, of all fucking things.

It’s getting cold. It’ll dip below freezing tomorrow night, and my window’s still out; I may sleep on the couch in the living room, which sucks, but I’m gripped by severe fear for all the people in the region who have nowhere to go; when I drove with my friend through his neighborhood in Swannanoa we saw families whose prefab/mobile homes got swept down the river, gone forever and destroyed, camped out in tents along the riverbank. Tens of thousands are still lacking power and gas to heat their homes— we are in the south, but we are up in the highest mountains in the entire eastern US. People will be unable to clean themselves because washcloth baths will be untenable in the cold. People will freeze to death in their homes, tents, and cars. It just feels like wave after wave of horror keeps hitting the region. Even though life begins to be bearable for those of us in the city— groceries, internet! Showers at the YMCA!— you cannot enjoy it amid the destruction. It’s a really weird feeling to be one of the lucky ones. Just sheer dumb luck. There’s no wrapping your head around it, when old classmates lost family and watched as their homes were swept away, their farm animals drowned. Survivor’s guilt is fucking insane. It’s really insane.

Though I’m worried about what two months’ rent and utilities is gonna be like without any work, my morale is slowly ratcheting upwards. Three of my friends are leaving the city forever in the upcoming weeks, which is a tremendous blow. One of my favorite haunts, the indie cinema in the river arts district, was obliterated beyond repair— I nearly cried seeing those photos. I’ll be stuck watching Joker and Beetlejuice sequels at the fucking Cinemark forever now I guess. And the Blue Ridge Parkway, where I went to run and camp and drive and picnic, is closed indefinitely. But I believe that many of my other frequent haunts will come back, unless, like many of the businesses dependent on a tourist economy in the height of leaf season, they crumble financially. But the tiny little cinema is a huge loss. We fucking adored that place. And you could tell it was the product of its owners’ passion and love, and filled with character, quirk, and charm. Truly no idea how different life here will be over the next months and years. Definitely altered— but how much? I can’t imagine living in Marshall, or having a studio in the RAD, or working in Swannanoa. Again, I’m so lucky. But it’s gonna be a really hard couple of months and years here.

The long and short of it is that life is getting easier for some of us, myself included, and though the trauma is at times genuinely incapacitating— I feel as though I am crawling towards feeling better. Being able to shower and launder my clothing in my own home will be huge, but still weeks away by the sound of things. I’m really wary of the coming months but cautiously optimistic— I am starting to feel alive again, and enjoy things, and think about things that aren’t potable water access, and the drowned. But it will take time to recover. To give some context, to Americans at least— think of what would need to happen for your public schools to shutter for an entire month, county wide (I don’t know much at this point about the surrounding counties’ schools, some will start earlier, some are still fucked indefinitely). All that being said, though, it is beginning to get easier. And I have people to lean on, and the capacity to hold up others when they lean on me. My home is intact and I have shelves full of food, and a stovetop to cook it on. And I watched a movie a few days ago! We’re crawling out of it bitches.

Ok, I have to go haul flush water now, lmao, time to drive my reeking whip around to a bunch of ramshackle old baptist churches in the area to see which ones still have big unmanned water totes in their parking lots. How does it feel to help a member of the LGBT community!!!!!!

[howldean]

i have to keep drinking water even though i’m not thirsty. because surgery. and i’m watching supernatural so my mom said ok make up a drinking game. so every time jared does his un-acting face journey. i drink water

[bacchuschucklefuck]

I love how you completely changed everyone’s wardrobe for the Beach Episode, save for gorgug’s hoodie (do they take it in the water?) do you wanna talk about the outfit choices at all?

I mean there's not a lot to talk about there I think? I'm a big fashion-focused character design artist, I'll say that, but a lot of that I can't really translate into words sadly... there are just certain character-specific silhouettes that once u've picked out u can hang onto to give them new clothes and it'll usually be good that's kinda how I do it. I fully see gorgug going Anywhere in that hoodie tho I think by this point babygirl's like I have a theory it's indestructible and I intend to test it

[fisheito]

kuya is such a particular peepaw princess. my golie. he wears SPF 800, carries a lacey purple parasol, and dons massive UV-blocking sunglasses every time he steps into the sun adn huey is just like

uh. ok. message received. i'll take u to the sunless grimdark automaton country next time

[nocapesdahling]

Preparing for a visit from a vampire:

[fizzseed]

”i’m fine”

”no, try again”

i need to sit down

[kerink]

guy who literally cant stop thinking about lubelle seeing cecil as a washed up deadbeat who dragged carlos down when he was vulnerable then baby trapped him, and lubelle and her team pitying carlos and wanting to help him because they miss the man he used to be, but carlos keeps avoiding them pushing them away dragging cecil and his team away from fights, looking at them with sad and tired eyes and asking them to just leave him alone

[peaches2217]

Y’all already know wtf is goin’ on

Help me

[faithfromanewperspective]

idk how to explain it but a rage-driven desire to change the world coupled with the anticipation of finally dealing with something weighing on me for a long time and the relief that something can be done about that thing but also. racing thoughts and being unable to not act Right Now or say no to any of the ideas I have on how this can be done, while also having a breakthrough and processing a bunch of things that have happened to me and how they impacted me all of a sudden—that’s not normal ‘period is about to hit’ behaviour/experience is it?

[ughgoaway]

my period cramps rn are actually killing me like WHYYYYYYY

I'm glad I'm not pregnant but is this really the sacrifice for that?????

[themme--fatale]

king of making myself late to a first date bc i tried to go run an errand on a bike in 30° weather full sun and gave myself heat exhaustion